Fenris growls in answer, but the edge is taken off by a groan building beneath it. Before he can snap at Astarion again - verbally or with teeth - he's dragged and pushed into a new position. It'd be easier to get out of this particular position if he didn't find himself with a knife to his throat. He tips his head to avoid the edge and his eyes nearly close as an impatient hand drags his pants down. He tries to tip his hips toward the wicked hand brushing beneath his cock and teasing his thighs. His fingers dig into the grass in an attempt to show some restraint as he reminds himself he does want this. The throb between his thighs is clear enough evidence, as is the fact that he hasn't done more damage in trying to get loose.

Still, his heart is pounding with more than just desire. He catches the scent of lilacs and breathes a shivering exhale. He bares his teeth as fingers tease without following through. He resists the urge to bow his head, not wanting to risk the edge of the blade so soon.

His jaw tightens and he mutters another string of curses - Astarion's name featuring in there at least once - as the pale elf over him tries to coax more than mere consent from him.

"I want this," he bites out.