He sighs as the blade leaves, replaced by strong fingers holding his jaw. Fenris nearly closes his eyes as lips press against his back, the fabric too thin to dull any of the sensation.

Fenris swallows thickly, trying to hold back another moan as Astarion's fingers work him open, coaxing his body to accept, to yield. He braces himself against the ground, panting from the exertion of the fight and now the rush of adrenaline plunging into need to get closer. His thighs slide further apart, far more welcoming than the last time they tried this.

He curses again when Astarion murmurs so sweetly the truth: he could have won if he wasn't so eager for this. This is, in fact, surrender no matter how much he bites or growls. His shoulders sink lower and his cock is aching, but he makes no attempt yet to touch himself.