[He purrs it out as he squirms, trying to glance behind him more fully. Astarion is a sight worth savoring, after all. It doesn't matter how many times he's seen it, for each new glance delights him all the same. It doesn't even matter how many times they've rut, for though that unto itself is a form of appreciation, still: there's something to be said for taking a moment to simply admire him.
A lithe form. Pale skin that all but gleams in the soft light of their room. A tapering waistline that ends in a subtle swell of well-defined hips; strong thighs that straddle him with ease, and between them, the telltale bulge that Leto has long since grow addicted to mouthing at. Strong arms that end in long, tapering fingers; white curls that tumble softly around a face as familiar to him as his own. Scarlet eyes that can go puppyishly soft or sharply predatory depending on Astarion's mood; arched cheekbones and a narrow nose that Leto still can't help but think of as exotic, and that's to say nothing of those sweetly upturned ears . . .
Pretty, Leto thinks, and then amends to: beautiful.
And the truth is, it doesn't matter what Astarion looks like. He could have missing teeth or shave his head bald; he could be as ugly as a bootheel, his facial features all out of proportion and his body nowhere near what some might call ideal. Leto is not so dishonest as to say he would not notice such things; he cannot even say they would not affect him, not at first.
But he loves him. He loves him no matter what he looks like; he loves him as a vampire or an elf or a damned devil. And he does not love him for his looks nor his prowess in bed; those are pleasant bonuses, but they do not form the basis of his love.
He doesn't know how to articulate it. I would love you even if you didn't attract me is a clumsy statement, and it's not what he means anyway. I would love you no matter what you looked like, for it is you I love— and I would learn to love your looks, too, and that's closer, but it still isn't right. Someday, Leto thinks, he'll be able to say it. To assure Astarion that their love is not conditional; that he never needs to look a certain way to keep his Leto near.
And Astarion knows. Surely he knows. But it never hurts to repeat.
But not, Leto thinks drowsily, while they're high. And not when he's meant to be objectifying his lover. Who is very attractive, thank you very much, and deserves to know that too.]
You're beautiful.
[He says it directly, honest in the way he always is.]
I do not think I will ever tire of the sight of you, no matter what you wear . . . though I do admit a certain fondness to you sans shirt and nothing else. You cut a fine figure when you're still half-dressed.
[And then, as he settles back down:]
I ought to demand you dress up for me more.
[It's flirtatious, but he means it.]
For a party, perhaps, or simply bedsport . . . but if we're speaking of fairness, it seems only fair I get to savor the sight of you in stockings. Or a harem outfit. Or the other outfit, [they have a lot of harem outfits, he's realizing. Gods bless a sex shop with variety.]
no subject
[He purrs it out as he squirms, trying to glance behind him more fully. Astarion is a sight worth savoring, after all. It doesn't matter how many times he's seen it, for each new glance delights him all the same. It doesn't even matter how many times they've rut, for though that unto itself is a form of appreciation, still: there's something to be said for taking a moment to simply admire him.
A lithe form. Pale skin that all but gleams in the soft light of their room. A tapering waistline that ends in a subtle swell of well-defined hips; strong thighs that straddle him with ease, and between them, the telltale bulge that Leto has long since grow addicted to mouthing at. Strong arms that end in long, tapering fingers; white curls that tumble softly around a face as familiar to him as his own. Scarlet eyes that can go puppyishly soft or sharply predatory depending on Astarion's mood; arched cheekbones and a narrow nose that Leto still can't help but think of as exotic, and that's to say nothing of those sweetly upturned ears . . .
Pretty, Leto thinks, and then amends to: beautiful.
And the truth is, it doesn't matter what Astarion looks like. He could have missing teeth or shave his head bald; he could be as ugly as a bootheel, his facial features all out of proportion and his body nowhere near what some might call ideal. Leto is not so dishonest as to say he would not notice such things; he cannot even say they would not affect him, not at first.
But he loves him. He loves him no matter what he looks like; he loves him as a vampire or an elf or a damned devil. And he does not love him for his looks nor his prowess in bed; those are pleasant bonuses, but they do not form the basis of his love.
He doesn't know how to articulate it. I would love you even if you didn't attract me is a clumsy statement, and it's not what he means anyway. I would love you no matter what you looked like, for it is you I love— and I would learn to love your looks, too, and that's closer, but it still isn't right. Someday, Leto thinks, he'll be able to say it. To assure Astarion that their love is not conditional; that he never needs to look a certain way to keep his Leto near.
And Astarion knows. Surely he knows. But it never hurts to repeat.
But not, Leto thinks drowsily, while they're high. And not when he's meant to be objectifying his lover. Who is very attractive, thank you very much, and deserves to know that too.]
You're beautiful.
[He says it directly, honest in the way he always is.]
I do not think I will ever tire of the sight of you, no matter what you wear . . . though I do admit a certain fondness to you sans shirt and nothing else. You cut a fine figure when you're still half-dressed.
[And then, as he settles back down:]
I ought to demand you dress up for me more.
[It's flirtatious, but he means it.]
For a party, perhaps, or simply bedsport . . . but if we're speaking of fairness, it seems only fair I get to savor the sight of you in stockings. Or a harem outfit. Or the other outfit, [they have a lot of harem outfits, he's realizing. Gods bless a sex shop with variety.]