Fenris can't do anything but breathe hard, panting for air as Astarion slumps over him. His eyes close and he isn't actually sure how much time passes between feeling the other man finish and hearing him speak again. The quality of the pale elf's voice makes him shiver with unexpected pleasure.

There's a quiet catch in his breathing, a momentary pause as he stops altogether, as if listening for something. Then he sighs and runs his hand over his face.

"Well, now we have to find somewhere else to stay," he mutters. "They'll think someone's been murdered."

A joke? Maybe? The delivery is utterly dry, but Fenris makes no move to shove Astarion away or escape from beneath him. No, he stays as he is, more or less relaxed beneath the weight of the other man's body. His attention turns fully back to Astarion as more gentle fingers brush back his hair.

"Pleased with yourself, are you?"

How easily he blends something that sounds like affection with annoyance.