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Summary
The pale elf stood stock-still. His eyes betrayed no alarm.
“Astarion,” Halsin huffed. “My apologies. I thought myself alone, and must not have been aware of my surroundings. I hope I didn’t startle you.”
Astarion smirked, his frame breaking into the languid, theatrical stance Halsin found familiar. “My dear druid, I live for surprises. And you,” he purred, his eyes sweeping over Halsin’s expansive torso, “are a pleasant surprise indeed.”
Halsin felt his face grow hot. He disregarded the reaction. Astarion wore his flirtation like a cloak; to be donned when useful, and otherwise set aside. He chuckled, “Well, then, I bid you goodnight. If we’re to tackle the Gauntlet of Shar tomorrow, we’ll sorely need our rest. Walk safely.” He sidestepped the smaller elf and made to continue his walk back to camp.
“Wait.”