[He promised him that. And for all the stupidness and recklessness and bold-faced roughhousing behind shut doors, the reason Astarion is coltish (or buckish, or whatever you want to call it), is because he knows his limits. Knows everyone else's, too, which is arguably more important in the long run when ambition's like a set of hungry jaws around your ankles, and it doesn't care if you don't want it or don't ask for it or don't even care.
It just wants whatever it is you're holding, if you've got anything at all worthwhile.
And gods' breath does it ever hate what doesn't pay it tribute.
So: safe.]
Lesson one? [Rearranging himself, Astarion only fidgets to find a better angle for the cushion of his bare hips (he's trying— as much as he can— to not jab either of them with the sharp bones under his skin), lacing his fingers over the back of Fenris' neck. Casual the only summary.] Lover. Thrown out by a patriar with a title, it really means I own you. Said by a patriar that's married, it means I want my significant other to really feel their pride sting. Said to someone else completely unaffiliated? It just means whore. Bitch.
Said by a smitten idiot that doesn't know when to keep his mouth shut, like the word friend, it means I want to ruin my life as fast as possible and let everyone have a nice clean shot at it— and that rule goes for even the pack I hang out with, too.
If I told them I don't hate being around them? They'd rip me apart before sunrise.
no subject
[He promised him that. And for all the stupidness and recklessness and bold-faced roughhousing behind shut doors, the reason Astarion is coltish (or buckish, or whatever you want to call it), is because he knows his limits. Knows everyone else's, too, which is arguably more important in the long run when ambition's like a set of hungry jaws around your ankles, and it doesn't care if you don't want it or don't ask for it or don't even care.
It just wants whatever it is you're holding, if you've got anything at all worthwhile.
And gods' breath does it ever hate what doesn't pay it tribute.
So: safe.]
Lesson one? [Rearranging himself, Astarion only fidgets to find a better angle for the cushion of his bare hips (he's trying— as much as he can— to not jab either of them with the sharp bones under his skin), lacing his fingers over the back of Fenris' neck. Casual the only summary.] Lover. Thrown out by a patriar with a title, it really means I own you. Said by a patriar that's married, it means I want my significant other to really feel their pride sting. Said to someone else completely unaffiliated? It just means whore. Bitch.
Said by a smitten idiot that doesn't know when to keep his mouth shut, like the word friend, it means I want to ruin my life as fast as possible and let everyone have a nice clean shot at it— and that rule goes for even the pack I hang out with, too.
If I told them I don't hate being around them? They'd rip me apart before sunrise.
[And then, with a thoughtful little scoff:]
Maybe even you.