[This time— and only this time— Astarion's velveted minauderie hitches in its moors, bringing him back to the forefront of this moment against the taste of brandy on hot lips. Hotter senses.
Far hotter inclinations.
He fits strong fingers over Leto's own under the table.]
no subject
Far hotter inclinations.
He fits strong fingers over Leto's own under the table.]
....is that a line, or do you mean it?