[It's sterner now. Older, strange as that sounds. Perhaps it's a response to that familiar lilt: an echo of who they used to be. Stop fussing so much, stop lingering in the past, that pretty voice urging him gently and genuinely, spoken as they'd huddled together in the middle of the night or lingered in the sun in his study. Come now, it isn't so bad, not dismissing his hurt so much as gently nudging at his tendency to linger in bitterness.
And this is not then, but now. He is no longer middle-aged, and Astarion no longer an elf. But he hears it, and something in him responds.
So: no more fussing. No more petulantly stomping his foot and flashing his fangs, seething rage so easily rising up within him— an overreaction for what ought to be mere irritation. And really: he is picking a fight. He knows he is. He doesn't like the patronization when it comes like this, doting and saccharinely sweet, but this began with his snapping randomly at his amatus.]
Enough.
[Not a dismissal so much as a firm line in the sand: enough with this petty squabble that isn't a squabble at all.]
I am aware it was an unfair outburst, my own dislike of our sex life being overheard notwithstanding— but do not make it worse like this. Answer me as an adult or wait until I return home.
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[It's sterner now. Older, strange as that sounds. Perhaps it's a response to that familiar lilt: an echo of who they used to be. Stop fussing so much, stop lingering in the past, that pretty voice urging him gently and genuinely, spoken as they'd huddled together in the middle of the night or lingered in the sun in his study. Come now, it isn't so bad, not dismissing his hurt so much as gently nudging at his tendency to linger in bitterness.
And this is not then, but now. He is no longer middle-aged, and Astarion no longer an elf. But he hears it, and something in him responds.
So: no more fussing. No more petulantly stomping his foot and flashing his fangs, seething rage so easily rising up within him— an overreaction for what ought to be mere irritation. And really: he is picking a fight. He knows he is. He doesn't like the patronization when it comes like this, doting and saccharinely sweet, but this began with his snapping randomly at his amatus.]
Enough.
[Not a dismissal so much as a firm line in the sand: enough with this petty squabble that isn't a squabble at all.]
I am aware it was an unfair outburst, my own dislike of our sex life being overheard notwithstanding— but do not make it worse like this. Answer me as an adult or wait until I return home.