[Years later, there's still something so novel about the slow, subtle way Astarion seduces him. He doesn't know why it takes him by surprise each time, save that perhaps so much of his experience with sex up until Astarion had been bluntly unsubtle; his experience with intimacy all but nil. To be so gently but firmly guided onto his back, his thighs urged into happily spreading as they breathe out intimacies and talk about . . . it's novel, even now.
Novel, too, to have a partner that combines intimacy and adoration and sensuality all at once. One arm stays stretched out, the sword kept in his open palm as he keeps it firmly away from their bodies; his other hand cups Astarion's cheek fondly, his thumb brushing over the curve. Hello, sweetheart, and he will gift him a heart soon, even if it must be carved out instead of torn.]
They combine magic and swordplay, she said. And I remembered . . .
[Mph, and let him pretend his own hesitation is due solely to the rumble of Astarion's voice so close to his ear and the way his legs are kept parted. It's not a lie, not completely, and he can live with that. His head turns, his nose bumping up against a cold cheek as he nuzzles at him.]
You mentioned something similar. Long, long ago, when we first met . . . when you told me stories of this world, and the wonders therein.
[Eladrin was the word that stuck out most in Leto's mind, his own subsequent fluster and confusion making the memory linger.]
If I am a, a sorcerer, [and he uses the term deliberately, replacing mage just as Gods had replaced Maker,] then it would be foolish not to learn how to combine it with my fighting. I no longer have my lyrium, but with this sword . . . I might amplify my own magic, and become all the more deadly in the process.
[And I will need every advantage when it comes to Cazador, he does not add. Trust he wants to pursue it for other reasons (he will never forget those first few weeks, hounded by feral spawn and running up against creatures he had no name for nor defenses against). But it's Cazador that's the eternal threat lurking in the back of his mind. If he can hone his magic to the point where this blade can ripple with fire or sunlight . . .
But one thing at a time. His fingers drift, caressing the long line of Astarion's ear. More teasing, then:]
But she did not elaborate much, merely mentioned it in passing. And I thought: who better to learn it from than my favorite teacher?
no subject
Novel, too, to have a partner that combines intimacy and adoration and sensuality all at once. One arm stays stretched out, the sword kept in his open palm as he keeps it firmly away from their bodies; his other hand cups Astarion's cheek fondly, his thumb brushing over the curve. Hello, sweetheart, and he will gift him a heart soon, even if it must be carved out instead of torn.]
They combine magic and swordplay, she said. And I remembered . . .
[Mph, and let him pretend his own hesitation is due solely to the rumble of Astarion's voice so close to his ear and the way his legs are kept parted. It's not a lie, not completely, and he can live with that. His head turns, his nose bumping up against a cold cheek as he nuzzles at him.]
You mentioned something similar. Long, long ago, when we first met . . . when you told me stories of this world, and the wonders therein.
[Eladrin was the word that stuck out most in Leto's mind, his own subsequent fluster and confusion making the memory linger.]
If I am a, a sorcerer, [and he uses the term deliberately, replacing mage just as Gods had replaced Maker,] then it would be foolish not to learn how to combine it with my fighting. I no longer have my lyrium, but with this sword . . . I might amplify my own magic, and become all the more deadly in the process.
[And I will need every advantage when it comes to Cazador, he does not add. Trust he wants to pursue it for other reasons (he will never forget those first few weeks, hounded by feral spawn and running up against creatures he had no name for nor defenses against). But it's Cazador that's the eternal threat lurking in the back of his mind. If he can hone his magic to the point where this blade can ripple with fire or sunlight . . .
But one thing at a time. His fingers drift, caressing the long line of Astarion's ear. More teasing, then:]
But she did not elaborate much, merely mentioned it in passing. And I thought: who better to learn it from than my favorite teacher?