[ He doesn't waste time getting to work, sweeping kisses down her neck, her sternum. Her body is flushed with heat, a not unpleasant feeling against his own eternally cool skin. There's something novel — perhaps almost charming — about the living; they're warm, messy. Hard to believe he used to be the same, once. ]
Oh, a few contrite prayers and your lady will forgive your transgressions, [ he says before pressing his mouth to the plane of her stomach.
That's all gods care about, isn't it? Showing proper reverence? In truth, Astarion thinks Selûnite discipline — and any other form of religious self-denial — is a load of crock, but he doesn't dare spoil the moment with that opinion. ]
no subject
Oh, a few contrite prayers and your lady will forgive your transgressions, [ he says before pressing his mouth to the plane of her stomach.
That's all gods care about, isn't it? Showing proper reverence? In truth, Astarion thinks Selûnite discipline — and any other form of religious self-denial — is a load of crock, but he doesn't dare spoil the moment with that opinion. ]