[As long as he wants. He doesn’t know how long that is, how long it should be, to allow this feeling of simply being close to wash over him. Would that he could stretch it out into infinity and let it fill that cavernous void hollowed out in him over the wretched centuries of his life. Maybe he could forget. Winter is good at making him do that — forget.
When the warmth of his kiss is pressed against his forehead, Astarion gutters out a breath, a wan little smile hidden away on his expression.]
no subject
When the warmth of his kiss is pressed against his forehead, Astarion gutters out a breath, a wan little smile hidden away on his expression.]
Hardly. I wouldn’t keep you here all night.