The sigh that escapes Fenris almost sounds like relief when Astarion slows his pace. But after a few slow, grinding thrusts, Fenris isn't sure if this is better or worse: it keeps him aware of every inch of the man inside him with every lazy drag. He closes his eyes and bows his head as Astarion's mouth maps his torso with tongue and teeth. Every sharp threat sends a jolt through him, a rush of excitement at the possibility of pain and the absence of it.

"Kaffas," he hisses in answer to that question. Fenris indulges in rocking back to meet the next push of Astarion's hips, hard enough that it gets a grunt from the lyrium-marked elf.

"Are you curious if you wander my dreams like some desire demon?" he manages after taking another second to collect himself. Such a demon would look like Astarion, he thinks. Sharp and tempting and full of sweet nothings and lusty promises.