[Look, he’s not a lovesick teenager; he doesn’t turn into a hopeless puddle the second Fenris’ hand closes around his own—
All right, fine. Yes. Sometimes he very much does, and it’s not unpleasant even now, either, the weighty feel of Fenris’ dichotomous touch as it so patiently pulls him through his own listing apprehension (and maybe his shoulders are a little more rounded in the aftermath, his expression a little milder), heart a softer patter high in his chest as he watches the animal calm warmly beneath his palm.
But he’s still weighing it all. Still thinking. Plotting with a racing fervor as he tries to decide which is better: the security of being otherwise unremarkable when already they’re both so distinctly odd— or a doting wolf that might come blinking out of the void in a second to rip apart their enemies.
And for a second he thinks of Cazador. The packs of dire wolves he commanded. The raw threat that control had made him in conjunction with all his other gifts. He feels the heavy rise and fall of her chest as she strains with all her might to work her face farther into Fenris’ scritching fingertips, the broadness of his grin something the marked elf might not even realize exists at all.] Can’t imagine there’s a better guard dog than a hulking beast that can leap through walls.
You train it— train her, then. So that she’s useful.
I don’t want it pissing on any of my belongings. [Good luck with that dream, Astarion.] And if she starts terrorizing the local populace, I—
[And, almost as if on cue, she whips around to roll towards her other side, caking Astarion's fingertips in drool as she licks at them in elated greeting.]
no subject
All right, fine. Yes. Sometimes he very much does, and it’s not unpleasant even now, either, the weighty feel of Fenris’ dichotomous touch as it so patiently pulls him through his own listing apprehension (and maybe his shoulders are a little more rounded in the aftermath, his expression a little milder), heart a softer patter high in his chest as he watches the animal calm warmly beneath his palm.
But he’s still weighing it all. Still thinking. Plotting with a racing fervor as he tries to decide which is better: the security of being otherwise unremarkable when already they’re both so distinctly odd— or a doting wolf that might come blinking out of the void in a second to rip apart their enemies.
And for a second he thinks of Cazador. The packs of dire wolves he commanded. The raw threat that control had made him in conjunction with all his other gifts. He feels the heavy rise and fall of her chest as she strains with all her might to work her face farther into Fenris’ scritching fingertips, the broadness of his grin something the marked elf might not even realize exists at all.] Can’t imagine there’s a better guard dog than a hulking beast that can leap through walls.
You train it— train her, then. So that she’s useful.
I don’t want it pissing on any of my belongings. [Good luck with that dream, Astarion.] And if she starts terrorizing the local populace, I—
[And, almost as if on cue, she whips around to roll towards her other side, caking Astarion's fingertips in drool as she licks at them in elated greeting.]
Oh. No. No no no no— stop—
[ugh!! UGH!!]