[Astarion is too familiar with the language of bodies. Not everyone is the same, of course, but overall it was the same. When his touch makes Taryon respond that way, vocally silent but physically loud to the elf, he swiftly takes his hand away. Takes a step back. His insides stir coldly, sickeningly with anxiety. Had he done something wrong? What was it he had done wrong if he had? Maybe Taryon didn't want his touch, was just being kind--
He forces his face to be stoic, fortunately something else he was practiced at, and nods.]
Sure, of course. [He probably wouldn't. He hands the jar over to Taryon.] Here, you should do it this time. I will find some towels.
no subject
He forces his face to be stoic, fortunately something else he was practiced at, and nods.]
Sure, of course. [He probably wouldn't. He hands the jar over to Taryon.] Here, you should do it this time. I will find some towels.