And you have always been so deft at drawing me out . . .
[And it suits that they should speak of the past like this, doesn't it? Astarion mouthing them slickly against Vakares' cock, his lips slick with saliva and every word coated in lust and love both . . . how many times have they done this? How many times has Astarion fallen to his knees like this, so hungry to worship his sire that he wouldn't take no for an answer. Deft fingers tugging at laces and crimson eyes glimmering with mischief, you can spare half an hour, can't you? For me?
It isn't that he longs for those times. The past hundred years have been far more good than bad, after all, and he does love both his consorts so very much. But tonight of all nights . . . tonight, Vakares decides, they can allow themselves a bit of nostalgia. They deserve to indulge (even if some small part of him twinges in guilt, there and gone). In wake of so much grief and hurt, misunderstandings and aching hearts that will take so long to repair . . .
Just for now, Vakares thinks, they can pretend it's just the two of them once more. Not a trio, but a duo: a sire and his darling spawn, bound together forever in love and lust both.
He tugs those hands away from his thighs and urges Astarion back up, his hands firm but not cruel. Come here, murmured softly as he draws him into his lap again. There's a faint shiver for how plush curves still clothed press against his cock, but ah, he has far more important things to focus on. His hands slide slowly over the swell of his hips, urging him in close. And heat smolders in his dark gaze as he stares so intently up at his little siren. There you are, his attention suddenly focused and fixated on the only thing that matters. On his first love, so very different than any other. On the very first thing that had ever piercing through the protective cocoon he had built around himself, deadly as a blade and yet soft as starlight.]
And am I still so bewitching, little gem?
[Softer, his tone. Indulgent in a particularly besotted way, even as his hips rock up to grind and rub against him.]
Take off that shirt, now.
[His own hands are already moving: one prying swiftly at the laces on Astarion's trousers; the other lapped at with practical swiftness before it slips down the back, two fingers massaging indulgently at the tight little cinch always so eager to greet him— and ah, how swiftly he opens. How quickly Vakares can pump two fingers into him, middle and ring fingers hooking indulgently as he drinks in every moan and twitch and whine that might occur.]
I told you that you would come only on my cock, and that is true. But I intend to come in you. And now that you've gotten me so slick . . . I want to watch you bounce. I want to see you take all that you are owed, and all that you desire . . . and I want to see you enjoy it.
[His hand tugs those trousers down hard, forcing them just beneath the curve of those supple cheeks: baring him without going to all the trouble of stripping him fully.]
Go on, my darling. My love. My Astarion . . . I am yours.
no subject
[And it suits that they should speak of the past like this, doesn't it? Astarion mouthing them slickly against Vakares' cock, his lips slick with saliva and every word coated in lust and love both . . . how many times have they done this? How many times has Astarion fallen to his knees like this, so hungry to worship his sire that he wouldn't take no for an answer. Deft fingers tugging at laces and crimson eyes glimmering with mischief, you can spare half an hour, can't you? For me?
It isn't that he longs for those times. The past hundred years have been far more good than bad, after all, and he does love both his consorts so very much. But tonight of all nights . . . tonight, Vakares decides, they can allow themselves a bit of nostalgia. They deserve to indulge (even if some small part of him twinges in guilt, there and gone). In wake of so much grief and hurt, misunderstandings and aching hearts that will take so long to repair . . .
Just for now, Vakares thinks, they can pretend it's just the two of them once more. Not a trio, but a duo: a sire and his darling spawn, bound together forever in love and lust both.
He tugs those hands away from his thighs and urges Astarion back up, his hands firm but not cruel. Come here, murmured softly as he draws him into his lap again. There's a faint shiver for how plush curves still clothed press against his cock, but ah, he has far more important things to focus on. His hands slide slowly over the swell of his hips, urging him in close. And heat smolders in his dark gaze as he stares so intently up at his little siren. There you are, his attention suddenly focused and fixated on the only thing that matters. On his first love, so very different than any other. On the very first thing that had ever piercing through the protective cocoon he had built around himself, deadly as a blade and yet soft as starlight.]
And am I still so bewitching, little gem?
[Softer, his tone. Indulgent in a particularly besotted way, even as his hips rock up to grind and rub against him.]
Take off that shirt, now.
[His own hands are already moving: one prying swiftly at the laces on Astarion's trousers; the other lapped at with practical swiftness before it slips down the back, two fingers massaging indulgently at the tight little cinch always so eager to greet him— and ah, how swiftly he opens. How quickly Vakares can pump two fingers into him, middle and ring fingers hooking indulgently as he drinks in every moan and twitch and whine that might occur.]
I told you that you would come only on my cock, and that is true. But I intend to come in you. And now that you've gotten me so slick . . . I want to watch you bounce. I want to see you take all that you are owed, and all that you desire . . . and I want to see you enjoy it.
[His hand tugs those trousers down hard, forcing them just beneath the curve of those supple cheeks: baring him without going to all the trouble of stripping him fully.]
Go on, my darling. My love. My Astarion . . . I am yours.