#forgeryy

Send me ✵ to catch my muse under the mistletoe!

He doesn't like it. Hand moves to shoulder as if to push Malani away, but-- okay, alright, no. Not liking it had been a total lie. Balfour's actually quite enjoying this, even if he does have more important things to be worrying about. Like, well, saving all of Ferelden from the Blight.

He swears to himself that he's going to leave, but Mal's the one the breaks the kiss eventually and Balfour is left to stand there like the fool he ( not so secretly ) is. A shuffle, and he's half-tempted to clarify that he just really likes being kissed by people. But he doesn't.

     ”You know, there’s likely over 900 ways to stimulate a human body, of any gender or phenotype, to generate the proper hormones to cause climax.”

     ”You get sciencey about your job, I’ll get sciencey about mine.”

[ oh damn. night’s watch much? ‘coulda been a noble. nope. lifetime of duty instead.’ ]

              he’s only just gotten the false eyelashes off, fighting off glue               and the urge to gouge his eyes out with these acrylics——-               christ, but they were so pretty. he’d really have to save up               for another trip to that salon. a careful purse of the lips, gaze               cast wide off the shoulder at the unfortunate intrusion into                                                                his post-performance strip. 

                           ❝ ———- your dick, you mean? ❞

              slight slur to the voice, fingers having found their way to wind               over smooth glassware, dragging a sip of liquid tumbling past               pearly rows. the glass remains there, blocking meticulously               rounded lips, the gentle smear of his angled left cheek already               rising in sharp contrast within the mirror. unfortunate, yes——               that he’d have to come home twenty minutes earlier than               expected. now he’d have to wait  to get his hands on dan.               ah, but the travesty! pursing lips, teeth clinching down               upon glass’s edge, speculative look turned predatory beneath 

Send me "&" for my muse's reaction to yours tracing one of their scars.

He sat up in the bed they had shared, swinging his legs over the edge, thinking Malani was still sleeping. That was until he felt fingertips against his back, making him tense up and shiver. Fingers curled into the bed sheets, trying to keep himself calm as one of the long stars was traced. Eyes closing, pressing his lips together, forcing memories back the motion brought.If he’d allow himself to act on instinct, his hands had already grabbed his dagger.. but he did not want to hurt the other. So he instead tried to force himself into a statue.

          ❝Okay, okay.. You got your revenge.. but keep            doing that and you won’t keep those fingers..❞

            there’s a lot about this life he doesn’t understand. it’s not a             bitter sentiment, to think that he could never possibly perceive             it all in a way that would fit into the mind, easy to comprehend,                                             easier still to explain. 

            though he lived in simpler matters, time wheeling away unnoticed,             it’s in the moments that are spent with him that things truly seem to             align themselves. late at night with the ugly orange of the street light             pouring in the window for him, rippling on splayed back, open flesh.             something sits easy in his stomach, a sensation of fullness like little                                                         else in life.

            empty, half full, overflowing—— none of it is easy to comprehend, but             here he was, legs all flung together, blankets a bunch on the hip.             fingers find him, sudden, cold but not unwanted, tracing haphazard             on his back. he doesn’t rightfully understand their purpose there,             what exactly dan’s conveying to him. it’s all just empty motions that                                              feel good, nail biting and body sated. 

            but no, wait ——— suddenly something clicks, head tilting to look             across at him, face carefully kept to neutrality. another twist of the             hand, another circuit across the lines of it. he remembers them             red, raw, welts that bloomed beneath the bite of leather and metal,             angry words lodging themselves in his ears and causing tears to tumble.

            that had never made sense to him, what his father had so easily             perceived as weakness, wrongness, sins that made the whole             of the world collide upon his shoulders. a weak grin, trying, failing,             eyes crinkling at the sides in an unhappy manner. he can’t hold             the silly little mask to his face, crumpling beneath those careful hands. 

                           ❝ ——— dad didn’t like it, y’know? i don’t think                                           many parents do. saw me—— saw, uh,                                           me doing some stuff. that he didn’t like.                                                   so he started—— doing. that. ❞

            another failed attempt, this time at nonchalance. it’s easy enough             to pretend that the very memory of it didn’t hurt, but then, this was             dan they were talking about. he very rarely could lie, to a face like             that. so he lets out a shaky breath, bites down on whatever other             bullshit that tries to stream out his mouth, and shoves himself in,                             closer, buries himself in the sensation of a hug.