“I didn’t want to be the one to say it, but...” Astarion's voice trails off involuntarily, a byproduct of the shivering exhaustion creeping its way through every inch of him— not a matter of exertion, but ecstasy. The inebriating, dizzied high of an orgasm spent, that makes him feel as though he’s at his own limits well before that notion is actually true.
And so, knowing himself better, Astarion buries that temptation to sink listlessly against Fenris’ body in full (only his mouth submits to it, coasting along planes of divinely crafted muscle with subdued affection— his hips all too languidly working in against blissfully bruised skin), exhaling ever so sweetly, “Somehow I don’t imagine you have a problem with that arrangement.”
Soft, the sound of his chasing sigh, hand slick and warm as he works it lazily one last time across Fenris in parting adoration, giving way to a minor adjustment made in posture: easing the both of them to the floor with fluid care, weight supported with every surrendered inch, until Astarion rests on his knees and Fenris closer to all fours beneath him, a few beading droplets of sweat trickling down Fenris' spine.
Settling in the ridge resting just above Fenris' tailbone.
“Don’t worry, it runs both ways, hm? You fetch us wine, and I’ll make sure you’re well satisfied for it.”
He isn’t done yet.
He isn’t wholly soft yet, either, vampiric thing that he is. And with his cock still fully embedded, he lets his hips begin the work of stoking embers once more, grinding to a tepid little rhythm only he can hear.
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And so, knowing himself better, Astarion buries that temptation to sink listlessly against Fenris’ body in full (only his mouth submits to it, coasting along planes of divinely crafted muscle with subdued affection— his hips all too languidly working in against blissfully bruised skin), exhaling ever so sweetly, “Somehow I don’t imagine you have a problem with that arrangement.”
Soft, the sound of his chasing sigh, hand slick and warm as he works it lazily one last time across Fenris in parting adoration, giving way to a minor adjustment made in posture: easing the both of them to the floor with fluid care, weight supported with every surrendered inch, until Astarion rests on his knees and Fenris closer to all fours beneath him, a few beading droplets of sweat trickling down Fenris' spine.
Settling in the ridge resting just above Fenris' tailbone.
“Don’t worry, it runs both ways, hm? You fetch us wine, and I’ll make sure you’re well satisfied for it.”
He isn’t done yet.
He isn’t wholly soft yet, either, vampiric thing that he is. And with his cock still fully embedded, he lets his hips begin the work of stoking embers once more, grinding to a tepid little rhythm only he can hear.