He hadn't expected the night to go like this, if he's entirely honest in looking back. The taste of his companion spilled so sweetly across his tongue that for a moment Astarion loses himself entirely to it, sinks himself down tight around those beautifully defined contours as his fingers stay buried to the hilt— the whole of Fenris' body constricting fiercely enough Around Astarion to ache. Pressing back against every pulse with splayed fingertips, working against them with a practiced, greedy touch. He drinks like a thing starved, sucking without a thought given to exhalation until the last twitching little buck of Fenris' hips drops away— his own still flirting with the supple heat of Fenris' mouth. His tongue. An alternating pattern of testing thrusts and controlled plunges doing so damned little to alleviate the overwhelming pangs of his own arousal.

Much as he'd like to simply settle into a rhythm that'd be nothing short of relentless, fucking down into those parted lips, he tames that hungering instinct with decisive care.

Not until he's certain Fenris won't choke on it.

Or...perhaps not until he's certain Fenris is willing to.