If not on the spot, (heart hammering, bare chest left shallow from breathlessness unprompted), then in the inevitable hardship of living on the run or faking his own death— or both. In a car he's pictured submerged beneath the surface of the bay with a brick jammed tight against the pedals, he's struck with inspiration made up of one part the unthinkable, and the other woven out of desperation. A desire to make this easy on them; reducing the odds of failure to a pinprick nonexistence by way of a bottle of poison and the matter of inheritance.
Anything to keep this view.
To keep those warm, rough hands clutched across his sides.
(....it's not as if his father wouldn't do it first, he thinks. Or tells himself, the way that any highborn adolescent in Baldur's Gate does. When decorum has a nasty habit of confessing its own limits behind closed doors, it's hard to trust the concept. Even Petras is convinced his parents tried to drown him at least once.
Though in their defense if true, that song was fucking annoying.)
Astarion's softened exhale almost sells the idea of oblivious confusion. (If he's wrong about the look in gold-green eyes— if this has nothing to do with the way those fingers arrest over his ribs and everything to do with indigestion or a second shot of bourbon, then he needs it: the easy smile on his mouth. The one that hitches only when it's watched closely.)]
....hells below, what's gotten into you, darling? [Is tender. Deep-throated in a way he'd curse, if not for the fact that his hands have already moved to gather up around an angled jawline marked by magic, smoothing the imprint of his thumbs with care over those cheeks.
He can't stand being the fool.
He plays it just to have agency first, but gods, he can't take it anymore.
....for this, though....]
First you want to fuck me till I see nothing else but stars, now you're pouring out your soul....
[He's smiling, ready to laugh it off the second Fenris confesses that he's drunk and didn't mean it. Leave it on the car floor with his shirt and keys.
It doesn't hide the audible click when he next swallows.]
no subject
If not on the spot, (heart hammering, bare chest left shallow from breathlessness unprompted), then in the inevitable hardship of living on the run or faking his own death— or both. In a car he's pictured submerged beneath the surface of the bay with a brick jammed tight against the pedals, he's struck with inspiration made up of one part the unthinkable, and the other woven out of desperation. A desire to make this easy on them; reducing the odds of failure to a pinprick nonexistence by way of a bottle of poison and the matter of inheritance.
Anything to keep this view.
To keep those warm, rough hands clutched across his sides.
(....it's not as if his father wouldn't do it first, he thinks. Or tells himself, the way that any highborn adolescent in Baldur's Gate does. When decorum has a nasty habit of confessing its own limits behind closed doors, it's hard to trust the concept. Even Petras is convinced his parents tried to drown him at least once.
Though in their defense if true, that song was fucking annoying.)
Astarion's softened exhale almost sells the idea of oblivious confusion. (If he's wrong about the look in gold-green eyes— if this has nothing to do with the way those fingers arrest over his ribs and everything to do with indigestion or a second shot of bourbon, then he needs it: the easy smile on his mouth. The one that hitches only when it's watched closely.)]
....hells below, what's gotten into you, darling? [Is tender. Deep-throated in a way he'd curse, if not for the fact that his hands have already moved to gather up around an angled jawline marked by magic, smoothing the imprint of his thumbs with care over those cheeks.
He can't stand being the fool.
He plays it just to have agency first, but gods, he can't take it anymore.
....for this, though....]
First you want to fuck me till I see nothing else but stars, now you're pouring out your soul....
[He's smiling, ready to laugh it off the second Fenris confesses that he's drunk and didn't mean it. Leave it on the car floor with his shirt and keys.
It doesn't hide the audible click when he next swallows.]