Fenris breathes in sharply as the pale elf drags his hips back, fingers digging against overheated skin as he drives deep. He shudders, back arching to keep his position just so as they grind together. His voice escapes in a moan on a heavy exhale and he can hear the tension in the other man's breath in the same moment.

"Yes," he growls on the edge of another moan and for a few heartbeats his body goes tight around the cock filling him. Soon follows a series of breathless curses - at this rate, Astarion will have a filthy understanding of Tevene. Possibly the most practical kind given where he might use it.

That is better, but it only sparks the need for more. The things Astarion lights in him are, on reflection, terrifying - perhaps he was safer not knowing that his body could feel like this, but for years he has wanted to feel like more than a ghost. He isn't one now: living, blood thrumming with building arousal and nerves alight with every sensation. Now that he's had it, now that he's been given something other than pain or nothing, he craves it. Like any addiction, feeding only makes him want more.

Never mind the sweetness mingled with every wicked purr. He wants that, too.