[He puffs out a laugh, the noise far more about pure joy than anything approach mirth. What indeed, and he nips at his bottom lip, nuzzling insistently against his mate, each motion and movement only leaving him giddier still. Their lips brush together in something that isn't quite a kiss and it leaves him soaring all the higher, thrilled beyond thrill and yet so sedate in Astarion's arms. This is where he belongs. This is where he feels safe. Forget the mansion. Forget the apartment in Baldur's Gate; forget anywhere and everywhere, for the only thing that has ever truly felt like home is right here in front of him.
Astarion. My Astarion, and foolishly, Leto hopes that his mate never lets him go.]
You suit me, [he says gently: not a correction, but an addition. His fingers slide against marble skin, tracing down the line of his neck and carding through his hair, content to relearn every inch of him in this new light.]
Your name. Your home. Your life, shared and tangled eternally with mine.
[Leto Ancunín, he thinks again. The name does not quite sound real, not yet, but it will. Just as he slowly went from Fenris to Leto, so too will this new addition become part of himself, until one day he'll no longer have to think about it before it slides naturally off his tongue.
A few moments pass . . . and then, so softly, he murmurs:]
And one day: my death. And my resurrection at your hands.
[Oh, yes. Oh, yes, he has not forgotten what led them here. He says the words so carefully, his eyes soft and upturned as he whispers that vow against cold lips. I am yours, and they will prove it with every show of devotion they can come up with. Life and death and back again, their love destined to last for centuries beyond comprehension.]
You will teach me all there is to know about being a vampire, husband of mine. And we will stalk the nights together, and know contentment for centuries to come. This I promise you.
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Astarion. My Astarion, and foolishly, Leto hopes that his mate never lets him go.]
You suit me, [he says gently: not a correction, but an addition. His fingers slide against marble skin, tracing down the line of his neck and carding through his hair, content to relearn every inch of him in this new light.]
Your name. Your home. Your life, shared and tangled eternally with mine.
[Leto Ancunín, he thinks again. The name does not quite sound real, not yet, but it will. Just as he slowly went from Fenris to Leto, so too will this new addition become part of himself, until one day he'll no longer have to think about it before it slides naturally off his tongue.
A few moments pass . . . and then, so softly, he murmurs:]
And one day: my death. And my resurrection at your hands.
[Oh, yes. Oh, yes, he has not forgotten what led them here. He says the words so carefully, his eyes soft and upturned as he whispers that vow against cold lips. I am yours, and they will prove it with every show of devotion they can come up with. Life and death and back again, their love destined to last for centuries beyond comprehension.]
You will teach me all there is to know about being a vampire, husband of mine. And we will stalk the nights together, and know contentment for centuries to come. This I promise you.