[He scowls as he glances away. Hours later, he's still not sure why he did it, if you want the truth. It'd been an impulse to the extreme, childish and yet not. Emotions he has no real name for churned in the pit of his belly— some mixture of lust and frustration and anger and confusion, all roiling and mixing together into one dizzying brew, and he'd had to get them out somehow.
But that's too hard to say. And he'd rather die than admit he'd gone even stiffer as he'd felt Astarion writhe beneath him, that sharp cry echoing in his ears. In fact, he thinks, his mind skipping ahead to where this conversation might go, he'd rather die than continue it at all.]
It was convenient.
[As excuses go, it's pretty weak, but hopefully the sharp shrug he offers will add some credibility. And just so they can move on:]
Did it interrupt the play?
[It's a real question, for all that he's suddenly trying to dodge the topic of Astarion.]
no subject
But that's too hard to say. And he'd rather die than admit he'd gone even stiffer as he'd felt Astarion writhe beneath him, that sharp cry echoing in his ears. In fact, he thinks, his mind skipping ahead to where this conversation might go, he'd rather die than continue it at all.]
It was convenient.
[As excuses go, it's pretty weak, but hopefully the sharp shrug he offers will add some credibility. And just so they can move on:]
Did it interrupt the play?
[It's a real question, for all that he's suddenly trying to dodge the topic of Astarion.]
Is everything still going okay?