[Fenris lounges. Astarion does too (There's the theme eternal since arrival: Fenris does anything, Astarion does too). Bottle in one hand (slosh, go its dwindling contents with every pull), though his stare never leaves the outline of the other elf's face in growing firelight— still drafty, but starting to feel warm. First through his soles, and he knows it won't take long for ambient diffusion to take over.
Quick, his next intake of breath, kissing the lip of that bottle.]
no subject
Quick, his next intake of breath, kissing the lip of that bottle.]
His power.