And it's a kiss Leto will remember for the rest of his life.
(For the rest of every life, living and undead both).
He forgets how to breathe. He forgets that he's sick. He forgets everything right now, all his worried thoughts knocked to pieces and sweetly washed away by the wave of love that overtakes him. I love you, and he echoes it silently in the way his trembling fingers knot in Astarion's wrinkled coat, desperate for him to stay close; in the way he surges up, returning that kiss with every ounce of devotion and adoration he can pour into it. Yes, yes, I love you, yes, a thousand words whispered between them with every push and pull of their lips. It's you, it's you, it's always been you, there is no world in which I would not follow you, there is no state of existence I would not share with you, let me only be at your side, let me only be near you, my love, my friend, my heart—]
Marry me.
[Rasped out against Astarion's lips the moment they part for air, for if he doesn't say it now he never will. And it's the worst time to propose (his skin is clammy and he reeks of sweat and sickness; Ataashi and the pups won't shut up, barking wildly in their glee at seeing their father). And it's the best time to propose, when his heart feels so full that it might well burst from his chest, singing out so happily that it's a wonder the whole world doesn't hear it. And only later will Leto chuckle at his own joy— for it says something about them (about Astarion, and how much he has grown to trust him, seven-year mark or no) that there is no doubt in his mind. There is no whispering shadow in his heart, hissing that he needs to be careful, no.
He'd known it in Rialto. And here, now, a world and a lifetime away, he affirms it to himself once more.
no subject
And it's a kiss Leto will remember for the rest of his life.
(For the rest of every life, living and undead both).
He forgets how to breathe. He forgets that he's sick. He forgets everything right now, all his worried thoughts knocked to pieces and sweetly washed away by the wave of love that overtakes him. I love you, and he echoes it silently in the way his trembling fingers knot in Astarion's wrinkled coat, desperate for him to stay close; in the way he surges up, returning that kiss with every ounce of devotion and adoration he can pour into it. Yes, yes, I love you, yes, a thousand words whispered between them with every push and pull of their lips. It's you, it's you, it's always been you, there is no world in which I would not follow you, there is no state of existence I would not share with you, let me only be at your side, let me only be near you, my love, my friend, my heart—]
Marry me.
[Rasped out against Astarion's lips the moment they part for air, for if he doesn't say it now he never will. And it's the worst time to propose (his skin is clammy and he reeks of sweat and sickness; Ataashi and the pups won't shut up, barking wildly in their glee at seeing their father). And it's the best time to propose, when his heart feels so full that it might well burst from his chest, singing out so happily that it's a wonder the whole world doesn't hear it. And only later will Leto chuckle at his own joy— for it says something about them (about Astarion, and how much he has grown to trust him, seven-year mark or no) that there is no doubt in his mind. There is no whispering shadow in his heart, hissing that he needs to be careful, no.
He'd known it in Rialto. And here, now, a world and a lifetime away, he affirms it to himself once more.
It's you. It's always been you.
Kadan.
Amatus.]