Moonspear tell me again how rome burned

drogon draws in a soft, uneven breath around the hare clasped betwixt his jaws as his glacial gaze finds vela. though the ansbjørn might never admit it: she leaves him breathless. she's radiant and defiant like the moon on a cloudless, dark night. he plays it cool by smirking around the corpse as she greets him excitedly and closes the distance between them. he lays the hare at his paws, salmon pink tongue draws across his lips to collect any blood that might've smeared there. "maybe," he responds with a coy elusiveness and a casual roll of his shoulders. of course, it's drogon teasing her. they both know that he hunted it for her as it's fresh which lets on that he brought it directly to her. "of course it's for you, ruhtinatar." he noses it towards her with a wily smirk tugging at the edges of his lips. as if he would bring anyone else breakfast in bed, ha! teasing ( and flirting?! ) aside he takes her in more seriously now, a soft furrow to his brow. "are you ok? is your wound healing?" he asks her, not entirely able to help his fretting. he worries because he ...because he cares. a great deal more than he initially thought and not at all in a platonic way.