[He can hear it in Astarion's tone: the attempt, and then the failure. Rough waters, his voice thick as it almost never is, all the lighthearted fluttering gone out of his tone in favor of something deeper. More genuine, more concerned. It's a tone only Leto ever gets, and despite himself— or maybe because of it— he doesn't want to have noticed it.
It's a momentary impulse. A desperate attempt at moving past an open wound, savage degrees of false levity— and if that was the direction he went in, Leto knows, Astarion would follow. Maybe not forever; likely he'd bring it up later, delicately laying the subject between them for Leto to nudge as he sees fit. But if Leto's tone all but screamed please, not yet, I can't talk about this yet, his amatus would follow.
But he doesn't want to do that. Not really. Not if he's being honest.
It's just that he's never told anyone about Hadriana before.]
. . . it's all right, Astarion.
[No, it's not. He doesn't know why he says it, except that he can't bear to not acknowledge that tonal shift. His fingers slide against the dirt, blindly seeking out a small rock so he can fidget with it as they speak.]
I hated her.
[Spat out. Forced out, and he does not know why his heart thunders in his chest.]
More, sometimes, than I hated Danarius. [At least the magister occasionally praised him.] She hounded my sleep, salted my food, used me as a toy, set me up to be humiliated over and over in front of important guests or visiting dignitaries— and if Danarius was displeased by my performance, all the better. And if I told Danarius, she would find a way to punish me. And if I didn't, he would punish me.
And it never ended. She had only been an apprentice a year before Danarius turned me into his bodyguard. And from the start to the very end, she never ceased her gnawing jealousy, nor her spiteful torment.
[Another pause. Another hesitation, and now his fingers work faster, rubbing at the rock with distracted motions.]
The first time she used me . . . it was not long after my first time with Danarius. I could not have been more than twenty. And she . . . she delighted in trying to earn a reaction. She thrilled when I moaned, and took such savage glee out of fitting herself atop me. And I didn't know . . .
[Gods help him, he barely knew who he was. He had no context for anything, never mind something so monumental as sex. All he'd known was that he was miserable even as his body responded, reacted to a heated palm coated with oil and a soft voice crooning Tevene in his ear . . . little wolf, maybe I won't even let you remember this. Maybe this isn't even our true first time . . . look at how well your body responds to me, after all.]
I did not know anything about sex but what they two taught me.
no subject
It's a momentary impulse. A desperate attempt at moving past an open wound, savage degrees of false levity— and if that was the direction he went in, Leto knows, Astarion would follow. Maybe not forever; likely he'd bring it up later, delicately laying the subject between them for Leto to nudge as he sees fit. But if Leto's tone all but screamed please, not yet, I can't talk about this yet, his amatus would follow.
But he doesn't want to do that. Not really. Not if he's being honest.
It's just that he's never told anyone about Hadriana before.]
. . . it's all right, Astarion.
[No, it's not. He doesn't know why he says it, except that he can't bear to not acknowledge that tonal shift. His fingers slide against the dirt, blindly seeking out a small rock so he can fidget with it as they speak.]
I hated her.
[Spat out. Forced out, and he does not know why his heart thunders in his chest.]
More, sometimes, than I hated Danarius. [At least the magister occasionally praised him.] She hounded my sleep, salted my food, used me as a toy, set me up to be humiliated over and over in front of important guests or visiting dignitaries— and if Danarius was displeased by my performance, all the better. And if I told Danarius, she would find a way to punish me. And if I didn't, he would punish me.
And it never ended. She had only been an apprentice a year before Danarius turned me into his bodyguard. And from the start to the very end, she never ceased her gnawing jealousy, nor her spiteful torment.
[Another pause. Another hesitation, and now his fingers work faster, rubbing at the rock with distracted motions.]
The first time she used me . . . it was not long after my first time with Danarius. I could not have been more than twenty. And she . . . she delighted in trying to earn a reaction. She thrilled when I moaned, and took such savage glee out of fitting herself atop me. And I didn't know . . .
[Gods help him, he barely knew who he was. He had no context for anything, never mind something so monumental as sex. All he'd known was that he was miserable even as his body responded, reacted to a heated palm coated with oil and a soft voice crooning Tevene in his ear . . . little wolf, maybe I won't even let you remember this. Maybe this isn't even our true first time . . . look at how well your body responds to me, after all.]
I did not know anything about sex but what they two taught me.