[Little minx, little brat— oh, fierce little cub who thinks himself a dominant lion who found a kill. He climbs atop Fenris and thinks him a conqueror; he pins him down with slender fingers more suited to holding a wine glass than they are brute strength and thinks himself so terribly fierce. And what's worse: Fenris lets him.
He shouldn't. All it would take would be a single set of eyes— some overeager maid or errant bootboy who can't help but wag their tongues in amusement the moment they realize what's happening. Lord Astarion's bedding another tutor, at least this one lasted a full month, and he'd be out on his ass before dusk. He'd be thrown to the wolves, and no matter that Astarion promised to protect him, for it wouldn't matter, not when it was his word against his lord father's. The safest thing right now would be to throw him off and back away, and yet—]
Fasta vass . . .
[He breathes it out hotly, his eyes fluttering closed as his fingers curl in their nominal bindings. Fucking hell, for Astarion isn't wrong: whatever began last night isn't over. He'd fooled himself into thinking that it was, assuming today would be full of redrawn boundary lines and earnest discussions, but more fool him, for his charge is a wild thing. Stubborn and competitive, petulant and selfish, and he wants what he wants when he wants it. His fierce pride stung thanks to all that happened last night, and of course he wants to set the score straight—
And Fenris wants him to.
Not like this. Oh, he can do better, Fenris is sure; this is a mere warm-up. If they are to fight, let his charge show his claws: not these feeble nibbles against Fenris' throat (ones that leave his breath hitching, his Adam's apple bobbing heavily as he swallows), but something truly fierce.]
Dominance is earned, little patriar.
[His voice has dropped low into his throat, more a warning rumble than the sweetly sarcastic tones of before. He's straining at his trousers already, stars bursting behind his eyes each time that plush ass rocks and grinds against his cock; it isn't long before his hips rock up in answering echo. Like that, just like that, heat suffusing through him as he stares at nothing.
It had been so hard last night. He'd been every inch the diligent bodyguard, careful in how he cleaned claiming pearl off the span of those pretty thighs and dutifully tugging his trousers up— but gods, his desires had run dark. Vicious and mean and petty, born of all his simmering resentment and heady dominance not yet sated— for just a bit of rutting wasn't nearly enough. Not for this brat. Again and again Fenris' gaze had gone to the slackened span of those pretty lips, dreaming of what it would be to straddle Astarion's shoulders and viciously fuck that mouth the way it deserves. Unresisting wet heat suddenly become resistant the moment Astarion woke, choking on the intimidating swollen span of him, his eyes wet with unshed tears and the most undignified noises vibrating low in his throat as he swallowed again and again—
Only to melt into it. To realize that what he wants, truly wants, is to be put in his place at last: his eyes rolling back in pleasure as his head bobs feebly, lips tightening in dogged effort to contribute. Whining and whimpering and mewling until at last he'd fed the way he deserves, left to pant and gasp around a tongue coated in pearl.
And that's to say nothing of how badly Fenris wants to claim him from the other end. Spreading plush cheeks and sinking his cock deep into that tempting little cinch . . .
Gods, and his next exhale is a harsh thing. His pulse thrums beneath Astarion's fingers, and yet he doesn't move to throw him off just yet. Let the lesson play out. After all, he is meant to be his tutor.]
You imagine I'm afraid . . .? Of what?
[Another lazy grin, this one meaner than the last.]
The nipping of your teeth? Your insistence on grinding atop my cock? I will admit, I would have let you take the lead before if I'd known your flavor of dominance was so dedicated to servicing another . . .
[Do better.]
Go on: slide down and take my prick in your mouth. Suck me off and really put me in my place.
no subject
He shouldn't. All it would take would be a single set of eyes— some overeager maid or errant bootboy who can't help but wag their tongues in amusement the moment they realize what's happening. Lord Astarion's bedding another tutor, at least this one lasted a full month, and he'd be out on his ass before dusk. He'd be thrown to the wolves, and no matter that Astarion promised to protect him, for it wouldn't matter, not when it was his word against his lord father's. The safest thing right now would be to throw him off and back away, and yet—]
Fasta vass . . .
[He breathes it out hotly, his eyes fluttering closed as his fingers curl in their nominal bindings. Fucking hell, for Astarion isn't wrong: whatever began last night isn't over. He'd fooled himself into thinking that it was, assuming today would be full of redrawn boundary lines and earnest discussions, but more fool him, for his charge is a wild thing. Stubborn and competitive, petulant and selfish, and he wants what he wants when he wants it. His fierce pride stung thanks to all that happened last night, and of course he wants to set the score straight—
And Fenris wants him to.
Not like this. Oh, he can do better, Fenris is sure; this is a mere warm-up. If they are to fight, let his charge show his claws: not these feeble nibbles against Fenris' throat (ones that leave his breath hitching, his Adam's apple bobbing heavily as he swallows), but something truly fierce.]
Dominance is earned, little patriar.
[His voice has dropped low into his throat, more a warning rumble than the sweetly sarcastic tones of before. He's straining at his trousers already, stars bursting behind his eyes each time that plush ass rocks and grinds against his cock; it isn't long before his hips rock up in answering echo. Like that, just like that, heat suffusing through him as he stares at nothing.
It had been so hard last night. He'd been every inch the diligent bodyguard, careful in how he cleaned claiming pearl off the span of those pretty thighs and dutifully tugging his trousers up— but gods, his desires had run dark. Vicious and mean and petty, born of all his simmering resentment and heady dominance not yet sated— for just a bit of rutting wasn't nearly enough. Not for this brat. Again and again Fenris' gaze had gone to the slackened span of those pretty lips, dreaming of what it would be to straddle Astarion's shoulders and viciously fuck that mouth the way it deserves. Unresisting wet heat suddenly become resistant the moment Astarion woke, choking on the intimidating swollen span of him, his eyes wet with unshed tears and the most undignified noises vibrating low in his throat as he swallowed again and again—
Only to melt into it. To realize that what he wants, truly wants, is to be put in his place at last: his eyes rolling back in pleasure as his head bobs feebly, lips tightening in dogged effort to contribute. Whining and whimpering and mewling until at last he'd fed the way he deserves, left to pant and gasp around a tongue coated in pearl.
And that's to say nothing of how badly Fenris wants to claim him from the other end. Spreading plush cheeks and sinking his cock deep into that tempting little cinch . . .
Gods, and his next exhale is a harsh thing. His pulse thrums beneath Astarion's fingers, and yet he doesn't move to throw him off just yet. Let the lesson play out. After all, he is meant to be his tutor.]
You imagine I'm afraid . . .? Of what?
[Another lazy grin, this one meaner than the last.]
The nipping of your teeth? Your insistence on grinding atop my cock? I will admit, I would have let you take the lead before if I'd known your flavor of dominance was so dedicated to servicing another . . .
[Do better.]
Go on: slide down and take my prick in your mouth. Suck me off and really put me in my place.