[Amongst the sudden swell of unbidden, bitter nostalgia (it's a damned phrase, it oughtn't sting half as much as it does), oh, of course Fenris thinks that comment directed towards him. In the same way all that flinching tension must be the result of a lifetime of enslavement slamming up against a few hours of freedom, Fenris' mind offers the most logical— if not actually correct— explanation.]
Is that a comment on your choice in protector, or your newfound freedom?
[It's a joke, or at least a gentle tease. He's not going to baby Astarion by asking are you all right, but anyone with eyes can see just how shocked the pale elf seems. As if he thought that Fenris might well backhand him at the last moment just for the impudence of wanting care; breathless as if he thought that perhaps his newfound protector was not so strong as all that. He will not judge either way.]
I'm almost done.
[Added as he keeps up his careful motions. The dirt has all been washed away, as has most of the dried blood; now he's just making sure the clot holds. And truthfully? He will never say this, but there's something . . . well, nice about feeling another person beneath his fingertips. Astarion's skin is like ice, freezing to the extreme, but it's been so long since Fenris has felt another person's touch that it doesn't matter. So he lingers a little. Not creepily, he's not going to feel Astarion up, but . . . perhaps he's a bit more thorough in his cleaning than strictly necessary.]
no subject
Is that a comment on your choice in protector, or your newfound freedom?
[It's a joke, or at least a gentle tease. He's not going to baby Astarion by asking are you all right, but anyone with eyes can see just how shocked the pale elf seems. As if he thought that Fenris might well backhand him at the last moment just for the impudence of wanting care; breathless as if he thought that perhaps his newfound protector was not so strong as all that. He will not judge either way.]
I'm almost done.
[Added as he keeps up his careful motions. The dirt has all been washed away, as has most of the dried blood; now he's just making sure the clot holds. And truthfully? He will never say this, but there's something . . . well, nice about feeling another person beneath his fingertips. Astarion's skin is like ice, freezing to the extreme, but it's been so long since Fenris has felt another person's touch that it doesn't matter. So he lingers a little. Not creepily, he's not going to feel Astarion up, but . . . perhaps he's a bit more thorough in his cleaning than strictly necessary.]