Fenris bows his head as an arm slides around him, holding him where he is as Astarion's mouth teases over the back of his neck. White hair hangs in his face as he's torn between the pleasure of feeling Astarion against him and the discomfort of being oversensitive. But that is a feeling he knows well and one he has worked through before. Fenris is too stubborn to wilt, too conditioned to endure to pull away. The circumstance now is so different that it is worth it. All of this is tempered by the important fact that he wants this.

"So I am learning," he answers, a quiet catch in his voice as sharper teeth nip at him. Fenris reaches back to grip Astarion's thigh as if the vampire really needs encouragement to stay close, to keep grinding against him as he works up to another round.

It might be meditative if not for the way that every shift and thrust draws him back into his body. The marked elf stretches his torso, giving Astarion a fine view of the lean lines of him etched with lyrium. For all that it causes him pain, it is artistry and it compliments him. It could be beautiful.