[ it's a mirror image, a reflection in still waters. an ache blooms in his chest, the same feeling he'd get every time he looked at the slaves he could do nothing for, every time nicaise would talk to him with foul-mouthed condescension to mask his youth. it's been apparent to him for some time that he and aspen shared too many similarities, but this — ]
No. [ they hadn't touched him, aside from branding him, the wound starkly red on his arm. he feels dizzy with the thought that they could have, that no one would have come to his rescue because in the whole of his life, no one ever has. he cuts the thought from his mind and forcibly flings it aside before it can overcome him. ] You have permission to leave their tongues intact.
[ he needs to pull himself together, acutely aware of his disheveled appearance, his wide-eyed edge of panic, the jagged pace of his breath. he clings to one of the few things he can immediately control, fisting the tattered rags he wears and delicately sliding them off his body. to be naked in vere is commonplace; laurent has no qualms about his body, all pale skin and slender lines of lean muscle, but after his confession, he feels too exposed. if only damen was here to attend to his damnable veretian attire.
he pulls on his trousers first and leaves them unlaced, hanging low on his hips, then slips on the white linen shirt, sleeves and collar loose as the laces trail over his body. his eyes flicker to aspen, unable to outright ask for assistance but clearly in need of it. ]
no subject
No. [ they hadn't touched him, aside from branding him, the wound starkly red on his arm. he feels dizzy with the thought that they could have, that no one would have come to his rescue because in the whole of his life, no one ever has. he cuts the thought from his mind and forcibly flings it aside before it can overcome him. ] You have permission to leave their tongues intact.
[ he needs to pull himself together, acutely aware of his disheveled appearance, his wide-eyed edge of panic, the jagged pace of his breath. he clings to one of the few things he can immediately control, fisting the tattered rags he wears and delicately sliding them off his body. to be naked in vere is commonplace; laurent has no qualms about his body, all pale skin and slender lines of lean muscle, but after his confession, he feels too exposed. if only damen was here to attend to his damnable veretian attire.
he pulls on his trousers first and leaves them unlaced, hanging low on his hips, then slips on the white linen shirt, sleeves and collar loose as the laces trail over his body. his eyes flicker to aspen, unable to outright ask for assistance but clearly in need of it. ]