Fenris moans as Astarion's hips press up against him, making clear he's taken him as far as he can. He muffles the sound with his mouth pressed against his arm. It also keeps him from trying to snap something in answer to the murmuring taunts. He thinks he might have still allowed this if he won. Perhaps it would look different, but the thought has been on his mind, embers kept burning with regular but more restrained attention.

Now, Astarion's fingers are tight on his hips, holding him where he is. Whatever he might think to say is utterly wiped from his mind as the man behind him gives a hard thrust that forces Fenris forward, makes him brace more against the grass to keep from sliding. The sound of skin against skin is obscene and satisfying and there is no quieting the sound he makes this time. He won't beg. He can't yet. But gods, he wants more.

"Yes--"

He can take that as he likes. A confession that Fenris would have allowed this regardless of the outcome, or another rush of enthusiastic consent for what that hard push promises. He isn't delicate. And while care must be taken, there is certainly a difference between care and coddling. He is hungry. He's starving, and he didn't fully realize it until having what he wants and needs held in front of him.

And just so he isn't misunderstood, Fenris pushes himself back against the cradle of Astarion's hips, ensuring that he is buried again. Not passively receptive, but actively encouraging.