As were you....[swears more than just the measure of his lowered voice: every inch of him wending nearer to that joining silhouette—demanding its attention, vying to smolder hot against his skin. Against Fenris in deep, shameless full, as though the nightclub and its distant headache-inducing atmosphere mean nothing to their present arrangement. Little to hide from the world and less to fear.

How very like Astarion.

It's as intoxicating as the muted burn of brandy on those lips. As the soft give of pallid hair underneath fine, spoiled fingers. It cranes him onto the balls of his feet, dull ache shivering sweetly through his arches just to meet it where it stands, knocking the bridges of their misaligned noses together once more— and again.]

....though you could've done us both the favor of turning up sooner.

[A kiss, pressed warm to the center of Fenris' drawn mouth.]

Happy Valentine's Day, sweetheart.