[There is no bed, only Astarion. No blanket other than Astarion, no other body than whatever is touching Astarion. The scent of sex doesn't sicken Tary; it's strong and fills everything and tells him that this is perfect. He made love to someone who loves him, someone who wanted this and finished first. His mind has been clear of any doubt that he can ruin any of this. That no one can split them apart.
And he's kissed. He's being kissed and oh, he's so lucky to have someone like this. Someone who has every reason not to try love again but still chose him.
How lucky he is.
Taryon weakly raises his hand to drap his arm across Astarion's come-spattered torso.]
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And he's kissed. He's being kissed and oh, he's so lucky to have someone like this. Someone who has every reason not to try love again but still chose him.
How lucky he is.
Taryon weakly raises his hand to drap his arm across Astarion's come-spattered torso.]