What a pair indeed. The first slide and stroke of Astarion's hand earns a heavy exhale and the reward of Fenris's cock hardening slowly against his palm. Should he have expected this? Perhaps. But he is not of a mind to put up much of a fight as the warmth pleasure coils in him and arousal spikes. Astarion is taking his time and it gives Fenris a chance to savor the lingering touch, even as that mouth returns to his neck. He tips his head, allows the pale elf that space to do what he will.

He does not miss that he is being angled to the wall, but somehow he still does not expect to find himself pressed against it until he is. Fenris braces his free hand against the wall to avoid being pinned so completely, and indeed, to make sure there is room for Astarion's hand to continue it's coaxing, teasing stroke. He takes a long, pointed drink from the bottle in hand.

After he swallows, he takes a breath and turns his head to try to get a look at the man pressed up behind him.

"Free for what?" he asks mildly, as if there is not heavy intention in his position and the hands on him. He takes another pull from the bottle - drinking faster is not exactly a challenge.