The arch in his back tightens as Astarion's indulgent purr turns into something more ragged. He can feel the press of sharp teeth against his throat before they drag away. He shudders in Astarion's arms and another low moan escapes him as the pale elf finishes inside him.

Fenris remains somewhat tense in Astarion's arms, purely to keep himself from falling forward the way he wants to. Too soon, his hand slips from pale curls and he drops back to the ground, hands pressed to the ground as he tries to keep his hips back against the cradle of Astarion's. He's panting, ragged and heavy, as he slowly melts lower. It's through sheer will and Astarion's grip that his hips stay up at all. But he doesn't want to lose that feeling yet, the sated fullness.

Pale hair clings to his face and the lyrium marks seem a little more vivid as he tries to catch his breath.

It's been so long since he felt this good, this... in control? All of this happened by his choice, from start to finish his body has been fully his own. And for the first time in just as long, he has been fully present throughout, no attempts to let his mind escape what his body could not.

Fenris rests his head against own arm, trying not to collapse completely.