Aymeric's blunt demand goads a chuckle out of Estinien, but he is at least kind enough to not leave him waiting, wanting long. He crashes against him again, electric, and Estinien stumbles them both toward the bed, nearly knocking over a side table along the way in his urgency.
Were he the sort of man to have a mind for anything but exactly the thing he wants in the moment, Estinien might've made note of the trinkets decorating Aymerics room -- beats in the story of his life. He might've observed portraits or book titles or personal effects tucked away around the room, anything that might give better insight into who Ser Aymeric is.
But... he doesn't. All that matters is the warm body in his arms, the smell of his skin, the taste of his mouth. The nearest thing he has to an observation is the moment his knees hit Aymeric's bed. He glances up, making sure he isn't about to dump the both of them on the floor, and notices that Aymeric's bedding is blue. Not the same color as his eyes -- he's not sure any weaver could recreate such a hue -- but, he does wonder, idly, as they collapse into thick, downy blankets, whether Aymeric had glimpsed color already. Whether it matters.
It's probably for the best if he had, Estinien thinks as he begins to fumble with the buttons securing Aymeric's trousers. Better if this is just a distraction... for the both of them.
probably ftb after this lmaooo sob sorry!!!
Were he the sort of man to have a mind for anything but exactly the thing he wants in the moment, Estinien might've made note of the trinkets decorating Aymerics room -- beats in the story of his life. He might've observed portraits or book titles or personal effects tucked away around the room, anything that might give better insight into who Ser Aymeric is.
But... he doesn't. All that matters is the warm body in his arms, the smell of his skin, the taste of his mouth. The nearest thing he has to an observation is the moment his knees hit Aymeric's bed. He glances up, making sure he isn't about to dump the both of them on the floor, and notices that Aymeric's bedding is blue. Not the same color as his eyes -- he's not sure any weaver could recreate such a hue -- but, he does wonder, idly, as they collapse into thick, downy blankets, whether Aymeric had glimpsed color already. Whether it matters.
It's probably for the best if he had, Estinien thinks as he begins to fumble with the buttons securing Aymeric's trousers. Better if this is just a distraction... for the both of them.