[ This one comes quickly and decisively; ] I am in my tent.
[ Walls of cream-coloured canvas, tassled and trimmed and painted in golden holy symbols. Books, scripture, pillows. A child's drawing pinned to one post and a heavy stone-cutter's axe leaning against the other. The privacy seems sensible at first; he doesn't spare a thought to the implication of it.
Instead, he waits in tense silence, and tries to force his nerves to quiet. ]
[Well, that makes it easy. It's not long at all before Astarion's pushing the entrance to Godfrey'sv tent open, stepping inside and tying it closed behind him. He turns to face Godfrey then with an easy smile, spreading both hands out before him in offering.]
[ Godfrey is already climbing to his feet once he sees the shadow of him approach the flap.
Here he is. With hardly any time to array his words, to cage his thoughts, to petition his Lord for guidance - here he is, easy as ever. Speaking in the same low and breathy murmur.
Godfrey feels his breath catch in his throat. Cerulean eyes flicker up to touch Astarion's, then away, as he gingerly takes one of his hands in his own, drapes his cool fingers over the edge of his palm.
The pad of his thumb grazes his pale fingers, and he glances back up to him, smiling wanly. He takes a tight breath, and he speaks gently. ]
Come-- please, Astarion. Make yourself comfortable. [ He turns his body to the side to avail Astarion the cluster of pillows slumped in his small tent - blues, lavenders, and pinks in a soft pile.
He leads him those few short steps by his hand, speaking slowly and deliberately as he does so, choosing his words with care-- ] I... well. I have some things I would say, before we allow this to... proceed, I suppose, any farther.
[Oh, but Astarion wasn't expecting the tenderness of Godfrey's touch. It only startles him for a moment, and thankfully Godfrey himself seems quite distracted with his own thoughts. He plasters it over with a soft smile quickly enough, curling his fingers around Godfrey's with a soft squeeze.
He lets himself be led, settling down into the cushions while keeping Godfrey's hand held in his.]
[ That startled moment is lucky enough to escape Sir Godfrey's notice - but he might as well have his hand around his heart for how that light squeeze tightens in his chest.
Godfrey settles down deliberately; near to him, near enough to still be joined by the gentle clasp of their hands, but only so near. Open, but not imposing. Godfrey knew well enough that it was Astarion who ought to have control over how close they would come. So it is that Godfrey settles back and stretches his legs before him, propped up at his elbow to rest facing Astarion, still cradling his hand in his in the short space between them.
He studies their hands together, the stark paleness of his skin against Godfrey's own rosy tone. Astarion will see his downcast eyes cringe as his smile touches them, breaking his solemn and thoughtful silence - the humour still flashing in them when he does look up and let his gaze linger on him, his face softening after a thin moment too long.
Then, he looks back down, lets himself indulge in Astarion's delicate wristbone, his pale fingers. He touches gently the fingers of his other hand against the peaks of his thin knuckles. ]
I know that I am not as... available, in this regard, as some others.
[ This is spoken softly, and with apology. He swallows. ]
It has not been solely that I thought you spoke in jest. I have not courted, or been courted, since-- my husband. I have thought it impossible that I would ever be again, for so long. I do not tell you this to make my burden yours, I wish for nothing less than to burden you. But I want to speak plainly of this, that you know and may decide yourself if I can give you what you seek from us, because--
[ He brushes the warmth of his hand over Astarion's, then, and sighs briskly, brow knotting. For as much as he wished it, he couldn't spend the rest of this conversation avoiding his eyes. He gives himself a moment, then, lifts his eyes to Astarion's, in gentle and quiet resolve. ]
I do care for you, Astarion. Whatever is decided here, if you take only one sentiment to your heart, let it be this - for you will not change it. I have come to care for you, very much.
[Godfrey's quiet deliberation in this moment feels worshipful, sacred. Astarion can't stop his heart from fluttering uncomfortably in his throat, as much as he wishes he was in control of the moment. But he has enough control at least to keep it from showing in his expression when Godfrey looks to him.
He reaches up, cupping Godfrey's cheek in his hand, his thumb brushing softly over his skin.]
My dear, I would never doubt you. I could never doubt the depths of your heart, your devotion.
[ There's more Godfrey would have said, of course. Not all conversations needed to happen tonight - he saw no reason yet to mention his daughter to Astarion, for instance, for he knew that no relationship which did not prioritize her could last. But all the same, Godfrey had more to excavate; he had planned to unearth more grief, more hardship. Perhaps even reassure him, gingerly, that he held no expectation that he might try to place him in the hole Vladimir had left in him, Godfrey's sadnesses felt paltry when put next to Astarion's, yes, but sadnesses still they were, and he had no desire to oblige Astarion to them.
This is before he feels the touch of Astarion's hand, cool and soft, on his cheek.
Godfrey stops. His thoughts, chest, mouth - all, for a moment, stop. He can't remember when last he felt another's touch like this, only who it came from. He regards Astarion with a gentle trepidation and, slowly, exhales. Releases. The grave and serious resolve on his face gives way to what waited underneath. Soft, warm yearning.
And so far, the moment lives long enough for Godfrey to begin to think that all of his concerns, perhaps, mattered less than he thought they did.
The tent is quiet, but for his own soft breathing. Godfrey presses Astarion's hand gently with his own, leaning just slightly into this tiny piece of affection. His eyes slip closed.
He turns his face into his palm, grazing the edge of his pale hand with warm, living, even breaths. He kisses its heel. Then, the still inner of his wrist.
He says nothing. ]
Edited (i need to be clear that hes kissing him twice here its Imperative) 2023-10-22 04:04 (UTC)
[Oh, Astarion can see that yearning. And he doesn't want to acknowledge how it stirs something in his chest. But more to the point, that look, the touch of Godfrey's lips to his hand means everything. He wanted to worm his way into this man's heart for his own protection, and surely this sort of pure and unadulterated adoration means he's well on his way.
Astarion lets his fingers trace against Godfrey's skin as his hand is held still, softening his own gaze with a warm smile of his own.]
You are a lovely man. I'm sure you know that. I can't imagine how anyone could look at you and not be enraptured.
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Just tell me where to find you, my dear.
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[ Walls of cream-coloured canvas, tassled and trimmed and painted in golden holy symbols. Books, scripture, pillows. A child's drawing pinned to one post and a heavy stone-cutter's axe leaning against the other. The privacy seems sensible at first; he doesn't spare a thought to the implication of it.
Instead, he waits in tense silence, and tries to force his nerves to quiet. ]
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Here I am, darling.
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Here he is. With hardly any time to array his words, to cage his thoughts, to petition his Lord for guidance - here he is, easy as ever. Speaking in the same low and breathy murmur.
Godfrey feels his breath catch in his throat. Cerulean eyes flicker up to touch Astarion's, then away, as he gingerly takes one of his hands in his own, drapes his cool fingers over the edge of his palm.
The pad of his thumb grazes his pale fingers, and he glances back up to him, smiling wanly. He takes a tight breath, and he speaks gently. ]
Come-- please, Astarion. Make yourself comfortable. [ He turns his body to the side to avail Astarion the cluster of pillows slumped in his small tent - blues, lavenders, and pinks in a soft pile.
He leads him those few short steps by his hand, speaking slowly and deliberately as he does so, choosing his words with care-- ] I... well. I have some things I would say, before we allow this to... proceed, I suppose, any farther.
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He lets himself be led, settling down into the cushions while keeping Godfrey's hand held in his.]
Go on, dear. I'm all pointy ears.
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Godfrey settles down deliberately; near to him, near enough to still be joined by the gentle clasp of their hands, but only so near. Open, but not imposing. Godfrey knew well enough that it was Astarion who ought to have control over how close they would come. So it is that Godfrey settles back and stretches his legs before him, propped up at his elbow to rest facing Astarion, still cradling his hand in his in the short space between them.
He studies their hands together, the stark paleness of his skin against Godfrey's own rosy tone. Astarion will see his downcast eyes cringe as his smile touches them, breaking his solemn and thoughtful silence - the humour still flashing in them when he does look up and let his gaze linger on him, his face softening after a thin moment too long.
Then, he looks back down, lets himself indulge in Astarion's delicate wristbone, his pale fingers. He touches gently the fingers of his other hand against the peaks of his thin knuckles. ]
I know that I am not as... available, in this regard, as some others.
[ This is spoken softly, and with apology. He swallows. ]
It has not been solely that I thought you spoke in jest. I have not courted, or been courted, since-- my husband. I have thought it impossible that I would ever be again, for so long. I do not tell you this to make my burden yours, I wish for nothing less than to burden you. But I want to speak plainly of this, that you know and may decide yourself if I can give you what you seek from us, because--
[ He brushes the warmth of his hand over Astarion's, then, and sighs briskly, brow knotting. For as much as he wished it, he couldn't spend the rest of this conversation avoiding his eyes. He gives himself a moment, then, lifts his eyes to Astarion's, in gentle and quiet resolve. ]
I do care for you, Astarion. Whatever is decided here, if you take only one sentiment to your heart, let it be this - for you will not change it. I have come to care for you, very much.
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He reaches up, cupping Godfrey's cheek in his hand, his thumb brushing softly over his skin.]
My dear, I would never doubt you. I could never doubt the depths of your heart, your devotion.
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This is before he feels the touch of Astarion's hand, cool and soft, on his cheek.
Godfrey stops. His thoughts, chest, mouth - all, for a moment, stop. He can't remember when last he felt another's touch like this, only who it came from. He regards Astarion with a gentle trepidation and, slowly, exhales. Releases. The grave and serious resolve on his face gives way to what waited underneath. Soft, warm yearning.
And so far, the moment lives long enough for Godfrey to begin to think that all of his concerns, perhaps, mattered less than he thought they did.
The tent is quiet, but for his own soft breathing. Godfrey presses Astarion's hand gently with his own, leaning just slightly into this tiny piece of affection. His eyes slip closed.
He turns his face into his palm, grazing the edge of his pale hand with warm, living, even breaths. He kisses its heel. Then, the still inner of his wrist.
He says nothing. ]
hello hi sorry life ate me
Astarion lets his fingers trace against Godfrey's skin as his hand is held still, softening his own gaze with a warm smile of his own.]
You are a lovely man. I'm sure you know that. I can't imagine how anyone could look at you and not be enraptured.