[Oh, gods, what is he meant to do when Astarion looks at him like that? When he sounds like that, his voice dripping in sin and his fangs gleaming as he coaxes anything he wants out of Leto . . . gods. He swallows thickly, absolutely aware he's being manipulated and utterly content with that state of affairs.
Less content, though, with what he's being told to do. But he'll try . . . and after all, he's flirted with him a thousand times. How much harder can this be?]
I like, [his voice an open imitation of Astarion's smouldering tone,] I like watching you do it more.
[And it's odd, because the words are right. The effort is there. Even the smouldering heat isn't false, but there's something off about it. He's tensed up despite himself, something in him instinctively curdling at the thought of performance. Couple that with a natural slurring of words, and it's . . . fine. Ish.]
no subject
Less content, though, with what he's being told to do. But he'll try . . . and after all, he's flirted with him a thousand times. How much harder can this be?]
I like, [his voice an open imitation of Astarion's smouldering tone,] I like watching you do it more.
[And it's odd, because the words are right. The effort is there. Even the smouldering heat isn't false, but there's something off about it. He's tensed up despite himself, something in him instinctively curdling at the thought of performance. Couple that with a natural slurring of words, and it's . . . fine. Ish.]
Mmm.
[And doesn't Leto know it.]
And you know I am not good at it like this . . .
[Don't judge me.]