They stare intently at Miraak, mind racing with thoughts and memories of the past week. A killing competition was normal for the two of them, really, considering the amount of crypts and bandits they encountered in their travels. And even now, Ásgeirr couldn't put his finger on what was different about this one. Maybe it was how confidently @bendwill strung up a line of draugr with magic, or how he looked ( or rather, came off, since his face was hidden most of the time ) when the Last proved that they were able to kill each draugr in a different way with the same blade. It felt different, and he didn't know why.
Or maybe he did. It was the feeling coming from his targets whenever he'd seduce them. The feeling he knew they felt before he took them to bed and sliced their throats. It wasn't very often he was on the other side of it, and in fact, it had been years since he had. Brynjolf of the Thieves Guild, and they both had been so very young. Despite his experience with the rest of it, the feelings part was something Ásgeirr was quite inexperienced with. The rest of it? He was good at. So that's what makes him move — maybe with the rest, the part he lacked would come. Miraak is talking, but he stopped paying attention long ago. He makes one fluid motion as he leans forward, moves his mask just enough from his face, and without any hesitation, kisses him.












