[Astarion's thumb slides higher in search of softer borders, though observation brings on a quickset stop at the dead center of Leto's lower lip, and the breathtaking conclusion that he is handsome, this young, uneasy thing. More so in the sunken angle of his ears, and the widening of his eyes— tsavorite ceding into pitch.

Darling boy. Beloved boy. How could he ever judge you when you sound so enticing?

(When you're you.)]

Fret if you wish, I've no intention of holding you hostage any longer than I already have. [His inhale's gentle. Narrow. Sweet.] But you're more dashing than any of my long-toothed kin or marks combined, and there is no one whose seductions sway me more. The rest belongs with the Silverhands and Jannaths of the world for how irrelevant it is.

I only melt for one voice. One tune.

I can promise you that.