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[illithidnapped]

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[doggish]

[Thank the gods his transformation in this world didn't include a tail, for he'd be wagging up a storm right now if he had. Bad enough there's a purr rumbling persistently in the base of his throat, and has from the moment Astarion began doting upon him (my darling, darling boy, and he's still melting from that alone). There's a part of him that wants to fluster over it, but it's only an instinctive part, old and barely used, and thus easily dismissed. They're far past the point of false dignity. Besides, Astarion ought to know just how happy he makes his chosen mate, whether it be from his purring or the way Leto squirms as he wends in close, eager to be pressed up against Astarion.

The story washes over him, and with a little sigh Leto melts beneath it. There's something so wonderful about moments like these, he thinks vaguely. Times when it's quiet and still and they can pretend they've no other fears beyond how they might spend their time tomorrow. Times like these, he tries to soak up every detail he can— not because they happen so rarely, but because even after all the years together, he still tries to never take it for granted. So: he watches the line of Astarion's throat as he speaks and savors the cadence of his voice (he always takes on a particular tone when he's telling tales, his voice low and dramatic in parts, rising high when he's particularly amused or delighted). He snuggles in close just to feel Astarion's arm tighten incrementally around him, equal parts possessive and adoring, and smiles up at him when scarlet eyes flick down towards his.

Make no mistake: the story itself is intriguing. He's fascinated by this new page in his amatus' history, never mind the frequent mentions of his old companion. Even the comparisons to himself are met with joy, albeit a baffled kind. But it's when the story turns from focusing less on Sebastian (and Astarion's many inventive efforts at avoiding him) and more on the elves that he encountered that Leto interrupts.]