[This time it's Astarion that laughs, clear and bright as the sunlight washed across their tangled feet through half-shut windows.]

I was tired.

[His hips shift....just a touch. A test. Not strictly misbehaving, but not not misbehaving either in the way he tugs against the leash of stronger fingers, scalp burning in a way he's come to love.

(And if Fenris wants none of it— if he stiffens in the wrong ways, stopping's so easy when they're both laid up like this.

Well.

Mostly laid up, considering it's more of an intertwining tangle, now. Knuckles to his scalp; knuckles to the warm, inviting center of Fenris' chest. Knees to thighs and ankles to ankles.)]

Trying to make you jealous was exhausting; that spoiled brat [says the elf barely any older, if that] wouldn't stop wriggling in my lap.

By the time I got to you, it's a wonder I was even awake at all.