MajorAccent
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Summary
“Marriage,” Astarion repeats acridly, sharp crimson eyes cutting to Wyll across the mahogany after he slams his hands on the tabletop. “I’ve doffed one hellish prison, and they want to confine me to another.”
“Astarion,” Wyll chides gently. “You’re one of the city's heroes, you’ve come into a large fortune, own property, and your charm is considerable.” Astarion’s glare is withering, not the least bit mollified. “When you want it to be,” Wyll adds on, knowing that he’s poking the spawn.
“Why aren’t they hounding and tormenting you, then?” Astarion retorts, crossing his arms with a huff.
(The one where Astarion and Wyll pretend to date to get high society off their backs, OR five times Astarion asks to drink Wyll's blood and the one time he doesn't have to.)
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He chooses an undergrad English course, American Poetry Through the 19th and 21st Centuries. The combined English and History building was a short walk to the library, the class met on Tuesday and Thursday after his regular shifts, reading poetry was a walk in the park compared to the law textbooks he usually skimmed through to study for the bar, and when he plugged “Wyll Ravengard,” into RateMyProfessor he had an overall 4.7 out of 5 rating next to a flaming chili pepper.
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Astarion needs to take a class to keep his enrollment status until next quarter. Wyll happens to teach that class.
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Physically, he looks fine.
But Sander still knows that something’s wrong, everything a touch off-kilter.
Sander leans up, pressing a kiss to Robbe’s forehead, cradling his face in his hands. Robbe hands take his wrists, eyes glassy when Sander pulls away to look down at him.
“Hold on,” Sander says, holding Robbe’s hand as he pulls away to turn the faucet on, letting the shower heat up.
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Robbe hums, turning back to face his boyfriend. “Up all night?” he asks, trying to blink the sleep from his eyes.
Sander shrugs. “Yeah, maybe,” he answers, not trying to be intentionally cryptic. All the hours bleed together when he gets like this; the only way he can keep track is when Robbe is awake or if the sun’s out.
“Come back to bed,” Robbe encourages, wiggling back so there’s enough space for Sander to slip in next to him. “It’s still early.”
Series
- Part 2 of two sides of the same coin
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Summary
Their bedroom door is ajar, darker than the rest of the apartment because its window faces east. “Sander?” Robbe says, poking his head in.
“I’m here,” Sander says from under all the layers of comforter and sheets, shock of platinum blond barely visible on the pillow in the low light.
Series
- Part 1 of two sides of the same coin