[Hadriana is dead, her corpse long since rotted in the depths of Sundermount, and that means Leto won, doesn't it? No matter how many indignities she enacted upon him; no matter how many times she spitefully smirked as she closed the door and left him in darkness, trembling in misplaced lust and badly suppressed rage. No matter how many times she'd drag cool fingers against his cheek and coyly whisper in his ear insults about breeding stud or elvish perversion before pressing him into a kiss . . . he won, hadn't he? She'd ended up on her belly, begging him for mercy that never came, her last seconds agonizing as she'd realized her fatal error and felt pain as she never had before.
So what does it matter? He won, and that should be enough. It is enough.
Most days, it's enough.
So why does his mouth tighten when he hears Astarion seethe on his behalf? Why does some part of him whimper in desperation? Tell me more, don't stop, validation still such a startlingly soothing thing even now. Leto exhales slowly, his eyes unfocused as he stares at the trees near him— and then, at a distance, the looming city of Baldur's Gate.]
Yes.
[Soft. Dazed, a little, before he manages to wake himself up.]
Yes. In terms of that kind of use . . . yes. Danarius did not share me, not ever. He would show me off, dress me in scraps of fabric and delight in the stares I attracted, but . . . not share. Hadriana taking me was just another evolution in her favorite game: tell our master and see what I do to you next.
[And then— a hesitation. An intake of breath, and then a pause.]
And then afterwards . . . there was Isabela.
And then there was you.
[And that's it, really. It's not that he never had the opportunity for more, but he had never trusted it. Isabela was a constant, a battle-tested friend who would rather cut her own hand off than sell him to slavers— but a stranger? Oh, bounty hunters were always so clever, and there's no better way to lower someone's guard than sex. And after Danarius' death . . . oh, it was all so awful those last few years. He had no time for sex; he certainly had no time for romance.]
And . . . do not mistake me, but . . . I am glad I had her before you. I do not think I could have . . .
[Stop, start.]
She did not coddle, but she did not rush me, either. We danced around each other for ages before the first time— and though she likes nothing better than to take, she had me lead the way the first time. And under her touch, I learned what it was to enjoy sex. To thrill in it, the way I thrill in it with you.
It was she who taught me how to . . . how to enjoy giving and taking. How to play games in the bedroom, and how fun it could be to both win and lose. She was the one who taught me that there is pleasure to be found in subjugation— so long as it comes between the thighs of someone I choose.
[Oh, yes, and despite himself, his mouth twitches in fond recollection. The steel trap of her thighs and her cunt pressed against his mouth, her fingers knotted in his hair as she'd ridden him, just like that, sweet thing . . . oh, Bela, and he misses her so very much.]
no subject
So what does it matter? He won, and that should be enough. It is enough.
Most days, it's enough.
So why does his mouth tighten when he hears Astarion seethe on his behalf? Why does some part of him whimper in desperation? Tell me more, don't stop, validation still such a startlingly soothing thing even now. Leto exhales slowly, his eyes unfocused as he stares at the trees near him— and then, at a distance, the looming city of Baldur's Gate.]
Yes.
[Soft. Dazed, a little, before he manages to wake himself up.]
Yes. In terms of that kind of use . . . yes. Danarius did not share me, not ever. He would show me off, dress me in scraps of fabric and delight in the stares I attracted, but . . . not share. Hadriana taking me was just another evolution in her favorite game: tell our master and see what I do to you next.
[And then— a hesitation. An intake of breath, and then a pause.]
And then afterwards . . . there was Isabela.
And then there was you.
[And that's it, really. It's not that he never had the opportunity for more, but he had never trusted it. Isabela was a constant, a battle-tested friend who would rather cut her own hand off than sell him to slavers— but a stranger? Oh, bounty hunters were always so clever, and there's no better way to lower someone's guard than sex. And after Danarius' death . . . oh, it was all so awful those last few years. He had no time for sex; he certainly had no time for romance.]
And . . . do not mistake me, but . . . I am glad I had her before you. I do not think I could have . . .
[Stop, start.]
She did not coddle, but she did not rush me, either. We danced around each other for ages before the first time— and though she likes nothing better than to take, she had me lead the way the first time. And under her touch, I learned what it was to enjoy sex. To thrill in it, the way I thrill in it with you.
It was she who taught me how to . . . how to enjoy giving and taking. How to play games in the bedroom, and how fun it could be to both win and lose. She was the one who taught me that there is pleasure to be found in subjugation— so long as it comes between the thighs of someone I choose.
[Oh, yes, and despite himself, his mouth twitches in fond recollection. The steel trap of her thighs and her cunt pressed against his mouth, her fingers knotted in his hair as she'd ridden him, just like that, sweet thing . . . oh, Bela, and he misses her so very much.]
You would have liked her.