That first, initial brush of tentative hands. The puff of air before a kiss. The penetrating slide of one lone digit nestling deep, and curling deeper— promising more still.
The testing slip of Fenris’ tongue, prompting the faintest shiver. A twitch. Tension spiking unimaginably high and settling low between his legs as he groans against supple skin.
Don’t stop, Fenris urges, and this time the building rhythm of Astarion’s slender finger is met by another at its side. He keeps his wrapping hold around Fenris’ leg, spurred on by a lack of wincing pain or the sound of discomfort, opposite hand fitted to the base of Fenris’ cock, shuttling smoothly while he takes to drawing the tip just past the heated barrier of his mouth, teasing. Tempting. Flirting with sensation and all the ways it might spark feverishly across the map of Fenris’ body.
His fingertips turn where they’ve buried themselves. He drags them high as they withdraw slowly, pads of his fingers upturned— before snapping them deep to the knuckle inside once more. Raw force, rather than finesse.
Measuring the call-and-response of Fenris’ own body. What tempts. What doesn’t.
no subject
That first, initial brush of tentative hands. The puff of air before a kiss. The penetrating slide of one lone digit nestling deep, and curling deeper— promising more still.
The testing slip of Fenris’ tongue, prompting the faintest shiver. A twitch. Tension spiking unimaginably high and settling low between his legs as he groans against supple skin.
Don’t stop, Fenris urges, and this time the building rhythm of Astarion’s slender finger is met by another at its side. He keeps his wrapping hold around Fenris’ leg, spurred on by a lack of wincing pain or the sound of discomfort, opposite hand fitted to the base of Fenris’ cock, shuttling smoothly while he takes to drawing the tip just past the heated barrier of his mouth, teasing. Tempting. Flirting with sensation and all the ways it might spark feverishly across the map of Fenris’ body.
His fingertips turn where they’ve buried themselves. He drags them high as they withdraw slowly, pads of his fingers upturned— before snapping them deep to the knuckle inside once more. Raw force, rather than finesse.
Measuring the call-and-response of Fenris’ own body. What tempts. What doesn’t.