She greeted him with a soft smile and his eyes traced it. So strange when someone smiled at him that way. She must not have known him, and his appearance must not be too revolting to her. The blood and bone jutting viciously out of his body was often warning enough to stay the hell away.
The soft and brave interested him, too foolish and trusting to heed intuition.
There was a time when he would continue touching her, when he'd call her body to answer him, her master. He loved to make them quiver with hot pleasure and need, then shock them with a dunk into his icy hostility. Back and forth, bring them back up again and tear them down until the pain was just as begged for, just as desired. He was the master of both.
He caught his name on her lips, and his eyes flicked back to hers, black and glinting. Right. His angel of death. His mouth twisted up in one corner, held a moment, then fell into a frown. Had he gotten her sick? Ugh, likely yes. He scanned her body again, this time searching for further injuries.
She wanted to make sure he was okay, she rasped, and his dark gaze flew to hers again.
"You're barely alive," he pointed out sharply as if she were a complete idiot. He tempered his hostility slightly as he continued. "I'm always fine. Even when I die, I'll be fine." His stare faltered, almost slid in the direction he knew Leliana was. But no. He was fine. He'd pay this price and get the hell home.
"Who are you?"
we're slaves to any semblance of touch
Lord, we should quit but we love it too much
