[Aren't you sweet, darling? He's charmed to know his gallant-yet-monstrously-befanged vampiric mate will come rushing in to free him— hypothetically.]
As can I. We'll make an enviable team, I think, between my pactborne prowess and your unmatch [Astarion starts to pen in response to that secondary point before being distracted by:]
You were the one who changed the subject in the first place and no. it. does. NOT. sound the same. Not unless you've somehow gone deaf before even reaching your full years from spending all your time around those
So insulting. As if you weren't constantly straining your ears to hear what they were gossiping about.
And you still haven't answered my question. Distracted by a matter of L and T's, which sound similar enough across most languages and accents. [That's absolutely not true at all.] The first two syllable match— and you knew who I meant.
Oh no no no. Don't you dare play innocent with me.
You're too much trouble to pull it off. [And no, he won't be considering the implications of that in reverse for all the times he himself has lounged about with a coy rumble in his throat and a smile on his lips after starting a fight.]
No, I erred. I have no desire to be a Duke, on principle alone if nothing else. You'll have to stick with my being a hero and put away your dreams of being fucked by me at both ends.
And if you are going to deliberately cheat, I will not ask you another hypothetical.
I'll never put that dream away, thank you very much. But fine. Even if the logic in your scenario makes no utter sense, given the sole creature that I'd choose—
I'd seduce the Duke, take his (or her) copious wealth, and away with it in the night to marry the aforementioned Blue Wraith.
That is a proper answer— and the correct one too, now that I think of it. Though so long as you are in the neighborhood, you can kill the Duke and we can steal their estate too.
Drizzt won't do that with you.
[He has 0 idea what Drizzt Do'Urden will or will not do in any given hypothetical.]
Tell me another of his exploits tonight.
[But then:]
A slow death via poison, so you have time enough to finish some task even as you writhe in agony, or a swift, albeit useless one via sword?
[And for the record: no, Drizzt undeniably wouldn't. Sometimes the sort of love you dreamed of as a young, daft little creature can only pale beside the real thing when it comes.
Particularly when it's wiling to assassinate a Duke.
Romantic.]
Ah ah ah. Not so fast, my pretty little love. You don't get to avoid playing your own hand: it's your turn to answer now. Marry the handsome, wealthy enviable vampiric aristocrat
At least give me a new question. What sport is there in a question you already know the answer to?
[A deliberate pause, and then:]
Though I suppose I could learn to live with the aristocrat, so long as he rid himself of the habit of patronizing his lover whenever he wished to score a cheap point.
[And of course the answer is Astarion. Of course it's always him. No matter the world, no matter the circumstances, high-born or low, rich or poor, monstrous or mortal— always, always, Leto will choose him.
But where's the fun in that?
That said: he does feel a tiny bit bad for not saying so when Astarion's own answers had been so fiercely devout. Perhaps, too, for the tease about patronizing, for he does enjoy it (and his heart has not forgotten their fight, Astarion's hurt over Leto's rejection of his form of doting; he never wants to imply that he does not cherish and crave each indulgence Astarion revels in giving him).
But on the other hand, they neither of them are so thin-skinned. And he can mollify his vampire later, whispering assurances of love and devotion between hungry kisses.]
Try again, my handsome aristocrat. And count yourself lucky I bite my tongue when it comes to your age in return.
[He absolutely cannot think about Astarion fucking him at both ends, because that way lies ruin. His ruin, specifically, and his ruin of his pants to begin with.
And yet:]
Interesting you bring that up. I have a surprise for you when next I see you.
[But then, without pause:]
The Black Divine. If only for the look on every magister's face when they see an elf in a seat of power above them all. I will not deny Corypheus' power is a tempting thing, if only to bring down Tevinter.
But the Black Divine (or the True Divine, as you would be forced to call me; the Black Divine is a mocking name, and frowned upon in Tevinter) can do that as well, preferably with a minimal of slaughter and death. It would be more difficult, admittedly, and I do not doubt I would have my fair share of trouble— though I think immediately dissolving the magisterium would force all those mages to rush to save their own fortunes and meager power instead of allying against me.
For a time, anyway. I suspect such a position would only end in assassination. But it would be a useful role for how long it lasted.
And I will not be forced to become a corrupted amalgam of red lyrium and a darkspawn, which is a plus.
[There's a slight pause, as if made by someone who knows damn well where they're heading and is debating if it's sensible to stoke both their fires. On the other hand: he can't really resist. Besides: he misses Astarion, and there's nothing wrong with indulging in a bit of fantasy while they're apart.]
I meant forced by the country at large, but I would not let them do that to you. If you are to be on your knees, Astarion— and you would be, in this scenario— it will be at my order and no one else's.
You would have to be discreet. No Divine is allowed any kind of attachment; we would be an illicit thing. And I know full well how much you enjoy being seen . . . do you think you could be good? Quiet as anything while you tended to me? Or would I need to fit you with a gag, just to be sure?
The scandal alone is enough to have me panting in your ear. I'd be hard pressed to stay silent from the first moment I heard the Magisterium wracked with dismay over your decrees, let alone sprawled between your open thighs on that grand, grim throne.
Or the other way round, if his Grace felt so inclined.
[Gods, he might need to tuck himself away in an alley if this sort of game keeps up.]
What I'm saying is if the worlds ever turn on their heads and bring such a fantasy to fruition: do make it a pretty gag, won't you?
For you, I would ensure it was as pretty as you wished— made of steel, naturally, so you couldn't bite your way through it, but adorned with all the diamonds you wish. Tevinter is nothing if not hedonistic, and I suspect I could spoil you far better in such a position of corruptible power. Just so long as it was adorned with my personal seal, so there would not be a person alive who did not know you belonged only to me— and that I would bring all the wrath at my fingertips down upon them if they dared think of touching you.
[There's a thoughtful little pause as he contemplates the vast world of religious-themed kink, and then adds in a swift scrawl:]
I could mount you across an altar, too. Sebastian once told me he used to fantasize about that before he grew devout, and I can understand the appeal. Though I would not actually try it, I think. Not in Thedas, where I doubt the Maker approves of such things, and certainly not here, where the gods are endlessly roaming about, apparently.
[But then:]
The same question at you, though. Would you rather lead the devout or Corypheus' armies? And to what end?
Or if you prefer a new question: a week spent having to spend significant quantities of time with my pack of friends— and acting as a friend, not simply pouting the entire time— or a month working at that sex shop, having to endure every pitiful noble's timid questions and packs of giggling teenage heiresses that try unsuccessfully with you?
[It takes a long while for him to write back after that. Don't ask why.]
Corypheus.
Heresy flatters me in a way that religion— even the ruling aspects of it— never could. I've seen too much divinity in my time: I'd rather become god than ply another one's script.
Besides, all that means is that when I inevitably storm your tower, I'll push you on your back across that altar to complete my ursurpation, and rut you until you're a pliant, well-behaved, whimpering mess.
One with a new god to serve, I think.
[An elf can (wet) dream, after all.]
Sex shop. Your rowdy packmates know more than enough about me as it stands, whereas deftly skirting the affections of a fleet of lovedrunk nobles is just another day ending in [err, well:] -day.
[No, really, look up the days of the week in DnD. Ridiculous.]
[Oh, there's no pause on Leto's end: begins writing the moment those flirtatious words appear. Perhaps he'd otherwise be content to merely shiver in private and bring up the scenario later so they could indulge it properly— but one with a new god to serve, I think, is simply too hot to ignore.]
God you might be, Astarion, but you know how stubborn I am. I suspect you'd have to mount me again and again, splayed on that altar or pinned over it, until I began to contemplate worshiping you.
Or seduce me. Me me ravenous for your touch, your voice, your tongue, your cock— until I forgot anything save you. Devout and addled enough to sit in your lap and impale myself atop your cock for hours on end just for the chance that you might deign to lay a hand on
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
As can I. We'll make an enviable team, I think, between my pactborne prowess and your unmatch [Astarion starts to pen in response to that secondary point before being distracted by:]
Drizzle?
It's Drizzt, my love. D r i z z T.
no subject
My unmatched what? Don't get distracted.
[:)]
no subject
the same either
DISTRACTED??
You were the one who changed the subject in the first place and no. it. does. NOT. sound the same. Not unless you've somehow gone deaf before even reaching your full years from spending all your time around those
howler monkeys you call friends
no subject
And you still haven't answered my question. Distracted by a matter of L and T's, which sound similar enough across most languages and accents. [That's absolutely not true at all.] The first two syllable match— and you knew who I meant.
[A pause, and then, thoughtfully:]
Perhaps that's his full first name.
no subject
I know what you're doing.
no subject
no subject
You're too much trouble to pull it off. [And no, he won't be considering the implications of that in reverse for all the times he himself has lounged about with a coy rumble in his throat and a smile on his lips after starting a fight.]
Anyway to answer your posited question: neither.
no subject
2/2
no subject
no subject
[But no, no: he lightly crosses that out, the written version of holding up a hand in silent, grinning truce.]
You are a taken thing, though. So slot me into each position and pick an answer.
no subject
Oh so you're hypothetical twins in this scenario? If so I'm tempted to say I'll take the heroic Blue Wraith and the highborn Duke Fenris.
no subject
And if you are going to deliberately cheat, I will not ask you another hypothetical.
no subject
I'd seduce the Duke, take his (or her) copious wealth, and away with it in the night to marry the aforementioned Blue Wraith.
Or Drizzt, if my first choice doesn't apply.
Hypothetically.
no subject
Drizzt won't do that with you.
[He has 0 idea what Drizzt Do'Urden will or will not do in any given hypothetical.]
Tell me another of his exploits tonight.
[But then:]
A slow death via poison, so you have time enough to finish some task even as you writhe in agony, or a swift, albeit useless one via sword?
no subject
[And for the record: no, Drizzt undeniably wouldn't. Sometimes the sort of love you dreamed of as a young, daft little creature can only pale beside the real thing when it comes.
Particularly when it's wiling to assassinate a Duke.
Romantic.]
Ah ah ah. Not so fast, my pretty little love. You don't get to avoid playing your own hand: it's your turn to answer now. Marry the handsome, wealthy enviable vampiric aristocrat
or a famous, dashing hero.
no subject
[A deliberate pause, and then:]
Though I suppose I could learn to live with the aristocrat, so long as he rid himself of the habit of patronizing his lover whenever he wished to score a cheap point.
[And of course the answer is Astarion. Of course it's always him. No matter the world, no matter the circumstances, high-born or low, rich or poor, monstrous or mortal— always, always, Leto will choose him.
But where's the fun in that?
That said: he does feel a tiny bit bad for not saying so when Astarion's own answers had been so fiercely devout. Perhaps, too, for the tease about patronizing, for he does enjoy it (and his heart has not forgotten their fight, Astarion's hurt over Leto's rejection of his form of doting; he never wants to imply that he does not cherish and crave each indulgence Astarion revels in giving him).
But on the other hand, they neither of them are so thin-skinned. And he can mollify his vampire later, whispering assurances of love and devotion between hungry kisses.]
Try again, my handsome aristocrat. And count yourself lucky I bite my tongue when it comes to your age in return.
no subject
Besides, I was the aristocrat and the hero. Unlike someone, I've not given up on the alternate reality in which I fuck you at both ends.
[More to the point, in fair play:]
Quick death. I've had enough torture in my time, and I've never loved a long goodbye.
Take Corypheus' place and continue his campaign in favor of yourself, or become the new Black Divine?
no subject
And yet:]
Interesting you bring that up. I have a surprise for you when next I see you.
[But then, without pause:]
The Black Divine. If only for the look on every magister's face when they see an elf in a seat of power above them all. I will not deny Corypheus' power is a tempting thing, if only to bring down Tevinter.
But the Black Divine (or the True Divine, as you would be forced to call me; the Black Divine is a mocking name, and frowned upon in Tevinter) can do that as well, preferably with a minimal of slaughter and death. It would be more difficult, admittedly, and I do not doubt I would have my fair share of trouble— though I think immediately dissolving the magisterium would force all those mages to rush to save their own fortunes and meager power instead of allying against me.
For a time, anyway. I suspect such a position would only end in assassination. But it would be a useful role for how long it lasted.
And I will not be forced to become a corrupted amalgam of red lyrium and a darkspawn, which is a plus.
no subject
Pardon?
[Care to run that by him again? Tell him what that surprise is? Give him a hint?? Maybe?? Please???
But no. No, fine, he knows he'll never get an answer until it's well and truly time for the grand reveal.]
Forced to call you? Perhaps on my knees in service at your side?
Oh now that would be a thrilling treat. Your own personal sharp-toothed consort, capable of keeping even the finest assassins in check~
no subject
I meant forced by the country at large, but I would not let them do that to you. If you are to be on your knees, Astarion— and you would be, in this scenario— it will be at my order and no one else's.
You would have to be discreet. No Divine is allowed any kind of attachment; we would be an illicit thing. And I know full well how much you enjoy being seen . . . do you think you could be good? Quiet as anything while you tended to me? Or would I need to fit you with a gag, just to be sure?
no subject
Or the other way round, if his Grace felt so inclined.
[Gods, he might need to tuck himself away in an alley if this sort of game keeps up.]
What I'm saying is if the worlds ever turn on their heads and bring such a fantasy to fruition: do make it a pretty gag, won't you?
no subject
[There's a thoughtful little pause as he contemplates the vast world of religious-themed kink, and then adds in a swift scrawl:]
I could mount you across an altar, too. Sebastian once told me he used to fantasize about that before he grew devout, and I can understand the appeal. Though I would not actually try it, I think. Not in Thedas, where I doubt the Maker approves of such things, and certainly not here, where the gods are endlessly roaming about, apparently.
[But then:]
The same question at you, though. Would you rather lead the devout or Corypheus' armies? And to what end?
Or if you prefer a new question: a week spent having to spend significant quantities of time with my pack of friends— and acting as a friend, not simply pouting the entire time— or a month working at that sex shop, having to endure every pitiful noble's timid questions and packs of giggling teenage heiresses that try unsuccessfully with you?
no subject
[It takes a long while for him to write back after that. Don't ask why.]
Corypheus.
Heresy flatters me in a way that religion— even the ruling aspects of it— never could. I've seen too much divinity in my time: I'd rather become god than ply another one's script.
Besides, all that means is that when I inevitably storm your tower, I'll push you on your back across that altar to complete my ursurpation, and rut you until you're a pliant, well-behaved, whimpering mess.
One with a new god to serve, I think.
[An elf can (wet) dream, after all.]
Sex shop. Your rowdy packmates know more than enough about me as it stands, whereas deftly skirting the affections of a fleet of lovedrunk nobles is just another day ending in [err, well:] -day.
[No, really, look up the days of the week in DnD. Ridiculous.]
Fuck, marry, kill: Danarius, Cazador, Meredith.
no subject
God you might be, Astarion, but you know how stubborn I am. I suspect you'd have to mount me again and again, splayed on that altar or pinned over it, until I began to contemplate worshiping you.
Or seduce me. Me me ravenous for your touch, your voice, your tongue, your cock— until I forgot anything save you. Devout and addled enough to sit in your lap and impale myself atop your cock for hours on end just for the chance that you might deign to lay a hand on
2/2
(no subject)
1/2
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
me looking up the old mission details after 3 years, my god
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
1/2
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
1/2
2/2
1/2
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
1/2
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
2/2
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
voice;
2/2
(no subject)
(no subject)
2/2
(no subject)
(no subject)
2/2
(no subject)