I’m just keeping to the limits of my own self control. [Astarion protests gently, keeping a remarkably sufficient lid on his own instincts in demurely stepping away; the air smells pungent with the shared blood they’ve spilled, his eyes lingering just along the flushed edges of Fenris’ expression— that tongue pressed against the edge of his teeth.
Astarion very much needs that space all of a sudden, thank you.]
Ahah. Don’t think I don’t know what you’re doing. [He adds slyly in sudden amusement, glance shot back across his own shoulder before— oof. Just a little wince, shaking out his arm where it decides to sting. It’s not the worst they’ve picked up tonight, but somehow it bites more than the others.
And he realizes then than he’s certainly managed to do an ugly little number of his own on Fenris’ side, somewhere around his stomach.
Aren’t they just a pair.]
Come here, darling. [Bottle of wine found (corner of the roof, just near the edge— Fenris must’ve set it there when they first scurried out of the alleyway, which is decidedly better than having left it in the alleyway), Astarion plucks it up and sits down across dusty stone, patting the empty space at his side.] You look like a battered fighting dog if ever I’ve seen one.
No point in letting it fester before we play.
[Play, he says, as if they’re amusing themselves with simple board games.]
Anyway I don’t quite know, if I’m honest. I don’t think this was always my forte— though it’s always possible I was just particularly good at five-fingered-fillet long before my master found me [the latter addition is a joke, judging by his tone] whatever memory I had of my old life is....
[His lips purse, shoulders lifting in an inconsequential shrug.] gone.
no subject
Astarion very much needs that space all of a sudden, thank you.]
Ahah. Don’t think I don’t know what you’re doing. [He adds slyly in sudden amusement, glance shot back across his own shoulder before— oof. Just a little wince, shaking out his arm where it decides to sting. It’s not the worst they’ve picked up tonight, but somehow it bites more than the others.
And he realizes then than he’s certainly managed to do an ugly little number of his own on Fenris’ side, somewhere around his stomach.
Aren’t they just a pair.]
Come here, darling. [Bottle of wine found (corner of the roof, just near the edge— Fenris must’ve set it there when they first scurried out of the alleyway, which is decidedly better than having left it in the alleyway), Astarion plucks it up and sits down across dusty stone, patting the empty space at his side.] You look like a battered fighting dog if ever I’ve seen one.
No point in letting it fester before we play.
[Play, he says, as if they’re amusing themselves with simple board games.]
Anyway I don’t quite know, if I’m honest. I don’t think this was always my forte— though it’s always possible I was just particularly good at five-fingered-fillet long before my master found me [the latter addition is a joke, judging by his tone] whatever memory I had of my old life is....
[His lips purse, shoulders lifting in an inconsequential shrug.] gone.