[The scuffing helps. That scenting claim that he suspects is as much about possessive, protective marker as it is affectionate doting, assuring him and settling him with each pass. I'm here and so are you, and this is not the worst sin in the world, and he'd known, of course. Even as he'd thought about it over the past few nights, his fingers fit in the space between Astarion's ribs and guilt churning in the pit of his stomach, he'd known the blame was not fully on him.

But it helps to reconnect. And so he returns each one eagerly, and takes those words to heart.

Though his eyes open once more as Astarion continues. And that . . . oh, he thinks, and in lieu of catching Astarion's gaze, he scuffs against him once more, for there's no such thing as too much affection when it comes to them.

And what can he say? You would have come to your morality eventually, but maybe he would have and maybe he wouldn't, for a person can justify almost anything in their terror. You are better than that, I know you are, and that Leto believes wholeheartedly— but that trait still needs coaxing after two hundred years. There's no shame in that.]

Perhaps, then, I showed you the path— albeit not in the best way.

[Another nuzzle. Another heavy push, as Fenris (and it is Fenris sometimes, especially when he is at his most mature and Theodosian) underscores his own forthcoming point:]

But it was you who walked it.

[There's a little smile in his voice as he adds:]

I will still take some credit, for I am not so selfless as all that. But it was you who abided by it, amatus.

[Agreement, not insistence— and a good reminder, should that guilt rise within him once more. Another nuzzle, but before Astarion can pull back, he adds softly:]

Were you worried? You looked so stricken when I began speaking . . .