A thousand times over, overlapping in a flooding affirmation pressed across tanned skin by frigid lips: he has that. And it bears no repeating all the ways Leto— Fenris has had that from the very beginning to start with, given the way his steps were always shadowed by shadow itself, so when Astarion tucks his nose against his lover's sweat-steeped cheek to inhale, it's only the culmination of it. The punctuation, of it. Third act. No— encore. Inevitable, and waiting in the wings for its demanded rise.]
I will.
[I will— no quips. No deflection. No games or trembling shows of shirking from the light; the thing he wants is the thing he's always wanted. An alembic stretch of time boiling raw affection down into its distillate marrow, yes, more concentrated, but not greater. Definition swearing as a rule that even compressed across worlds like a binding anchor, Astarion could never love him more.
Because he never loved him less.]
As many times as you want, my Leto.
[The broad splay of his fingers wrapped from the outer edge of Leto's jaw (damp and clammy and hotter than a forge underneath a set of unliving prints) all the way back around the nape of his neck and the tangle of pale hair laid there.] In this world, and every other— any other— there's no taking it back, now.
sneaks this into your arms
A thousand times over, overlapping in a flooding affirmation pressed across tanned skin by frigid lips: he has that. And it bears no repeating all the ways Leto— Fenris has had that from the very beginning to start with, given the way his steps were always shadowed by shadow itself, so when Astarion tucks his nose against his lover's sweat-steeped cheek to inhale, it's only the culmination of it. The punctuation, of it. Third act. No— encore. Inevitable, and waiting in the wings for its demanded rise.]
I will.
[I will— no quips. No deflection. No games or trembling shows of shirking from the light; the thing he wants is the thing he's always wanted. An alembic stretch of time boiling raw affection down into its distillate marrow, yes, more concentrated, but not greater. Definition swearing as a rule that even compressed across worlds like a binding anchor, Astarion could never love him more.
Because he never loved him less.]
As many times as you want, my Leto.
[The broad splay of his fingers wrapped from the outer edge of Leto's jaw (damp and clammy and hotter than a forge underneath a set of unliving prints) all the way back around the nape of his neck and the tangle of pale hair laid there.] In this world, and every other— any other— there's no taking it back, now.
I will.