"Way to make me feel special," he says with a little curl at the corner of his lips. He breathes out nice and slow before he shrugs. "Anything you've been holding back?"
"...I told your younger self that I didn't want you to see me as someone
who'd take advantage, given the opportunity. He told me I should ask you
why."
Astarion's first instinct is to ask what exactly he means by this, but his second is to realise how stupid that is. He doesn't want them to have a this, a thing with a name that might come with rules and expectations and might even identify the odd tangle of emotions he feels in his company.
And yet he quite likes the idea that John values whatever nameless thing they've stumbled into, as well.
"I'll be honest," he says. "I don't think you could. Or at least, you'd have to try much harder than you think."
It's all he wants to say on the matter, and kissing him feels as good a way as any to underline that.
John would answer that Astarion has no idea the level of fuck up he can manage without effort, almost effortlessly, but then Astarion is kissing him and he's weak. He's a weak weak man and he wants to kiss him so much it burns in his gut so he's going to do that instead of talking.
A man capable of immeasurable fucking up, and a man who hates himself so
much he'd accept almost any degree of mistreatment because it'd still be
an improvement on what he's used to. Ideal. Excellent.
Astarion draws away by just a hair's breadth.
"'Making out' and biting, you said? An excellent agenda."
"Making out and biting," he repeats with a nod as he looks towards the bed. Then he's turning to kiss him again. The biting is Astarion's department, after all.
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"Mmm. Not....consciously," he murmurs, and kisses John's temple. "Do I seem like I've been...concealing something?"
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"Not like that."
A pause.
"Things you want to know."
He's feeling...
Maybe he's stupid, but he feels hopeful. He feels like he can answer those questions.
He feels like he might not lose everything if he does.
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He pauses.
"...I told your younger self that I didn't want you to see me as someone who'd take advantage, given the opportunity. He told me I should ask you why."
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"Probably because I'm a vindictive son of a bitch," he admits, "and he knows... I don't want to fuck this up."
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I don't want to fuck this up.
This.
Astarion's first instinct is to ask what exactly he means by this, but his second is to realise how stupid that is. He doesn't want them to have a this, a thing with a name that might come with rules and expectations and might even identify the odd tangle of emotions he feels in his company.
And yet he quite likes the idea that John values whatever nameless thing they've stumbled into, as well.
"I'll be honest," he says. "I don't think you could. Or at least, you'd have to try much harder than you think."
It's all he wants to say on the matter, and kissing him feels as good a way as any to underline that.
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A man capable of immeasurable fucking up, and a man who hates himself so much he'd accept almost any degree of mistreatment because it'd still be an improvement on what he's used to. Ideal. Excellent.
Astarion draws away by just a hair's breadth.
"'Making out' and biting, you said? An excellent agenda."
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