I am not leaving you. I am resting. You know where to find me if you truly need me.
[It's a smooth correction, not a protest. They've had this debate before; it doesn't shock him they're having it one last time. And you know, he won't deny some part of his heart doesn't want to leave. It's the part of him that forgets how long the nights have grown; how the years have begun to blur together, indistinguishable and dull. It's the part of him that leaps when he hears two familiar voices coming his way— and here and now, it's the part of him that smooths his fingers so sweetly through Astarion's hair. I know, my love, and he does. He does.
And maybe he'll just put it off for another week. Another month. Another—
Click.
Loud in the relative silence of their rooms; it almost muffles the slick noise Fenris' lips make as he's forced up tight against his cock. They part in an instant, wrapping sweetly around the width of him— and yet even Vakares can hear the rumbling growl low in Fenris' throat.
Ah . . .
His fingers release.]
Tsk—
[One little disappointed click of his tongue, that's all it takes. One scolding, disappointed little look, and just like that, they're being pushed off his prick. And oh, make no mistake: it's a hardship. His cock hangs heavy in the cool air, thickened and flushed with desire, slick from their duel attentions. And it would take nothing to have them right now. They're always so eager— he could have them sprawled on the bed in an instant. A slick hole, a tight little cinch, his cock sinking into one while he fingers the other, oh, it's so tempting.
But they have hours and hours to go.
And tonight of all nights, Vakares thinks, leaning back heavily as his hand wraps around his neglected prick . . . tonight, he deserves a show.]
Behave. Give me hope for my rest . . . show me that you two can play nicely together.
no subject
[It's a smooth correction, not a protest. They've had this debate before; it doesn't shock him they're having it one last time. And you know, he won't deny some part of his heart doesn't want to leave. It's the part of him that forgets how long the nights have grown; how the years have begun to blur together, indistinguishable and dull. It's the part of him that leaps when he hears two familiar voices coming his way— and here and now, it's the part of him that smooths his fingers so sweetly through Astarion's hair. I know, my love, and he does. He does.
And maybe he'll just put it off for another week. Another month. Another—
Click.
Loud in the relative silence of their rooms; it almost muffles the slick noise Fenris' lips make as he's forced up tight against his cock. They part in an instant, wrapping sweetly around the width of him— and yet even Vakares can hear the rumbling growl low in Fenris' throat.
Ah . . .
His fingers release.]
Tsk—
[One little disappointed click of his tongue, that's all it takes. One scolding, disappointed little look, and just like that, they're being pushed off his prick. And oh, make no mistake: it's a hardship. His cock hangs heavy in the cool air, thickened and flushed with desire, slick from their duel attentions. And it would take nothing to have them right now. They're always so eager— he could have them sprawled on the bed in an instant. A slick hole, a tight little cinch, his cock sinking into one while he fingers the other, oh, it's so tempting.
But they have hours and hours to go.
And tonight of all nights, Vakares thinks, leaning back heavily as his hand wraps around his neglected prick . . . tonight, he deserves a show.]
Behave. Give me hope for my rest . . . show me that you two can play nicely together.