[One hand wrapped steady across the backs of their respective necks in gentle warning.
Not of what is, of course (febrile need arched through Fenris' hunkered shoulders to meet Astarion's splenetic overarousal)— only what could be when even wild wolves have better sense when it comes to not turning their claws on their own littermates. And while there are sparse glimmers of peace at times (most often when they're both exhausted and blood-sated), it never truly lasts: when one begins to rile, the other inevitably follows suit— and he has no doubt that if he were blind, at least one of them would lie slain by now (lost to carelessness or callousness on some minor assignment). Flint to tinder. Burning oil to water.
Panting mouths. Tongues and teeth and fangs. They need to find the soft parts of themselves, rather than the jagged edges, and without him, they will—
Eventually.
But tonight (his prick sagging where it's laid out slick over his thigh, glossy with pearl and lacquered sheen), tonight he'll be selfish. Just this once. Tonight he'll keep the spark of volatile progress scruffed tight inside his grip, measuring how steadily they still. Watching a rehearsal just for him.]
Good boy. [He murmurs lowly, finally offering that sought out praise despite the fact that he charts their course: white hair clutched in either of his hands as if maneuvering tight leads. Tighter reins. Their chins soon lifted in a compliment to the now entangled shivers of their hips— arranged across each other so that Astarion's prick keeps pushing hot against the shadow of spread legs. Their mouths forcibly met (not cruelly: forcibly). Nothing to be said of allowance when he has always been free to use them as he pleases. Pressing them into compliance until bitter-slickened tongues obediantly slide through parted lips while he waits to see which one of his beloved consorts settles into it first.
Ah, but they've already been playing tonight without him, haven't they? It must be overwhelming by now. The urge to cede to this: their tax for misbehavior.
The only glimpse of knowing discipline he'll mete out tonight.]
Ease against him for me. [Which one does he mean? Well, that much is simple: whichever one feels like earning his approval.] There. Keep your ankles drawn out and let him have your mouth to explore as he pleases— do not bite. Relax your spine, turn your knees wider so that you might align.
Go slowly, elsewise I will steer you both like unruly children.
2/2 here is free permission to run with either of them conceding first <3
[One hand wrapped steady across the backs of their respective necks in gentle warning.
Not of what is, of course (febrile need arched through Fenris' hunkered shoulders to meet Astarion's splenetic overarousal)— only what could be when even wild wolves have better sense when it comes to not turning their claws on their own littermates. And while there are sparse glimmers of peace at times (most often when they're both exhausted and blood-sated), it never truly lasts: when one begins to rile, the other inevitably follows suit— and he has no doubt that if he were blind, at least one of them would lie slain by now (lost to carelessness or callousness on some minor assignment). Flint to tinder. Burning oil to water.
Panting mouths. Tongues and teeth and fangs. They need to find the soft parts of themselves, rather than the jagged edges, and without him, they will—
Eventually.
But tonight (his prick sagging where it's laid out slick over his thigh, glossy with pearl and lacquered sheen), tonight he'll be selfish. Just this once. Tonight he'll keep the spark of volatile progress scruffed tight inside his grip, measuring how steadily they still. Watching a rehearsal just for him.]
Good boy. [He murmurs lowly, finally offering that sought out praise despite the fact that he charts their course: white hair clutched in either of his hands as if maneuvering tight leads. Tighter reins. Their chins soon lifted in a compliment to the now entangled shivers of their hips— arranged across each other so that Astarion's prick keeps pushing hot against the shadow of spread legs. Their mouths forcibly met (not cruelly: forcibly). Nothing to be said of allowance when he has always been free to use them as he pleases. Pressing them into compliance until bitter-slickened tongues obediantly slide through parted lips while he waits to see which one of his beloved consorts settles into it first.
Ah, but they've already been playing tonight without him, haven't they? It must be overwhelming by now. The urge to cede to this: their tax for misbehavior.
The only glimpse of knowing discipline he'll mete out tonight.]
Ease against him for me. [Which one does he mean? Well, that much is simple: whichever one feels like earning his approval.] There. Keep your ankles drawn out and let him have your mouth to explore as he pleases— do not bite. Relax your spine, turn your knees wider so that you might align.
Go slowly, elsewise I will steer you both like unruly children.