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[illithidnapped]

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[arkitect]

[He continues the touch, at that reaction-- finishes brushing over his cheekbone and cups the side of his face, allowing Astarion to lean into it if he likes.]

Oh, I did want the answer. It just didn't particularly matter which it was.

[Just which he chose, and Emet is pleased enough with the decision.]

[illithidnapped]

Oh.

[Impressed. Approving. Smile widening by degrees as he sinks in against the curve of that palm, relaxed down to the very marrow of his bones.

It's not often he finds someone so thoroughly devoid of pretense without also lacking in spine.]

Well in that case, how free are you this afternoon?

[arkitect]

Free enough for what you have in mind, no doubt.

[Though, as he observes the way Astarion relaxes further into that touch, he adds:]

Or free enough for you to simply stay, if you can tolerate the place long enough.

[It doesn't have to be anything more; this can be an indulgence of its own.]

[illithidnapped]

The former, darling. Always.

[Teasing. Coy, to say the least. He’s in a good mood, having been granted a peerless gift, flattery, indulgence— and a glimpse of tangible sorrow. Few things satisfy as much.

Or whet his appetite so.

He draws himself up, then, pulling away the loose fabric of his shirt— discarding it with the darkest of chuckles in the brightest streak of daylight. And when he pounces, catching the former emperor’s mouth with his own, it’s in anticipation of wickedness that will undoubtedly span an entire afternoon.]