[His lips part, intending to say something, but for the life of him Fenris can't remember how to speak. A compliment? But he barely knows what a compliment is right now, for all the blood has rushed between his legs and his mind is little more than a whirlwind of sparks and dazed adoration. His lips throb from phantom pressure, the taste of Astarion still lingering on his tongue; absently he licks his lips just once, trying to remember what words are.]
So—
[Focus. The scent of lilac fills the air, tangling sweetly with Astarion's own. It's as much a new addition as the heels, but he likes it. He likes the way Astarion smells normally, sweet and a little powdery, and this only adds. Absently, his thumb slides against one soft cheek, a little fascinated by the pattern of faint freckles there.]
So compliment me.
[This close together, there's nowhere to look but at one another, and that helps. It helps not to have an escape route— for even if every part of him is howling yes, there's still a tiny part that wants to run.]
It has to be something that sounds like you mean it.
[He isn't a diamond in training, but it's impossible not to pick up some tips when you've grown up here.]
no subject
So—
[Focus. The scent of lilac fills the air, tangling sweetly with Astarion's own. It's as much a new addition as the heels, but he likes it. He likes the way Astarion smells normally, sweet and a little powdery, and this only adds. Absently, his thumb slides against one soft cheek, a little fascinated by the pattern of faint freckles there.]
So compliment me.
[This close together, there's nowhere to look but at one another, and that helps. It helps not to have an escape route— for even if every part of him is howling yes, there's still a tiny part that wants to run.]
It has to be something that sounds like you mean it.
[He isn't a diamond in training, but it's impossible not to pick up some tips when you've grown up here.]