[Breathless. Bewitched. Staring down the barrel of the beauty in his lap, Astarion doesn't shy away from roaming fingers (even if they do tax the very same wounds he's been trying stalwartly to patch). They meet his leg, and he sinks deeper. Into this— this nameless, formless equation stitched between their divided existences— narrowing the seam lines till it's nothing. Nothing at all.
Matching scars on their bodies in different places. Matching lives lived in separate worlds.
(I love you. I have always loved you. I was born and killed and born again to love you.
I will find you.
Always.)
Danarius thought he could bind a living creature to him through the flow of channeled lyrium. Years of torment. Erasure. Agony. Control. Astarion does it with a single kiss, planted just beneath grown-out silver hair along the transition between nape and shoulders, bowed forward through his spine.
no subject
Matching scars on their bodies in different places. Matching lives lived in separate worlds.
(I love you. I have always loved you. I was born and killed and born again to love you.
I will find you.
Always.)
Danarius thought he could bind a living creature to him through the flow of channeled lyrium. Years of torment. Erasure. Agony. Control. Astarion does it with a single kiss, planted just beneath grown-out silver hair along the transition between nape and shoulders, bowed forward through his spine.
(Alchemy defined it first: equivalent exchange.)]
I believe you.