[This doesn't normally happen. Well, it has, once, when he was being targeted for a scam by a handsome leader of swindlers. Astarion isn't trying to weasel a thousand gold or butter him up with praise; all he needs is his shirt to be cleaned. Maybe...maybe he's just being a nuisance, like he sometimes does.
Although "nuisance" isn't a word strong enough to discribe the tension rising in Taryon's gut when Astarion's hand slides over his shoulder.]
I think- [He clears his throat.] I think this will be good enough.
[He wrings the shirt one last time, and any remaining red stain is a extremely faded remain that any regular washing machine can handle.]
See? I told you I know some s-stuff. [He does not look anywhere but the shirt.]
no subject
Although "nuisance" isn't a word strong enough to discribe the tension rising in Taryon's gut when Astarion's hand slides over his shoulder.]
I think- [He clears his throat.] I think this will be good enough.
[He wrings the shirt one last time, and any remaining red stain is a extremely faded remain that any regular washing machine can handle.]
See? I told you I know some s-stuff. [He does not look anywhere but the shirt.]