Astarion sat between your legs, facing away from you while you traced the scarring on his back. He seemed slightly tense at the fact they were being so closely inspected, touched, even. “So? You think you can read what they say?”

He suddenly prickled a little, arching away from the touch to the archaic pattern of scars along his back. “Stop that, it’s hopeless. What makes you think you can read an ancient vampiric language?” He suddenly withdrew, reaching for his shirt.

He was just hurting.