[And he loves it. He's already heading into Astarion's bathroom, opening cabinets and trying (somewhat blearily) to figure out what oil goes with what. It's just that there's so many steps to his beloved's routine— but no, no, he knows what to do. And (though he won't admit this to anyone but himself), there's something quite nice about indulging like this every so often. It's silly, but it's silliness that makes him smell of lilac and have soft skin.
There's a gap between one text and the next: just long enough for Fenris to have indulged— and, perhaps, for Astarion to actually get some work done. And hopefully he's behind a desk of some sort, even if he is sitting trial right now, for Fenris soon sends:]
And when I have you pried open and spread out before me, writhing and pulsing around the base of a toy meant to make you scream, and all the while muffled by my cock— am I allowed to use my tongue, too?
Only the sight of you melting around my tongue is almost as enticing as the sight of you desperately trying to squeeze and take even more of whatever I fuck you with, toy or finger or cock . . . you always seem as though you can't ever get enough.
What did you call that boy once? "Cock-hungry slut"?
Were you speaking from experience?
[And then: a single picture of a series of taut chain-links, and only Astarion will know what set of handcuffs that belongs to.]
no subject
[And he loves it. He's already heading into Astarion's bathroom, opening cabinets and trying (somewhat blearily) to figure out what oil goes with what. It's just that there's so many steps to his beloved's routine— but no, no, he knows what to do. And (though he won't admit this to anyone but himself), there's something quite nice about indulging like this every so often. It's silly, but it's silliness that makes him smell of lilac and have soft skin.
There's a gap between one text and the next: just long enough for Fenris to have indulged— and, perhaps, for Astarion to actually get some work done. And hopefully he's behind a desk of some sort, even if he is sitting trial right now, for Fenris soon sends:]
And when I have you pried open and spread out before me, writhing and pulsing around the base of a toy meant to make you scream, and all the while muffled by my cock— am I allowed to use my tongue, too?
Only the sight of you melting around my tongue is almost as enticing as the sight of you desperately trying to squeeze and take even more of whatever I fuck you with, toy or finger or cock . . . you always seem as though you can't ever get enough.
What did you call that boy once? "Cock-hungry slut"?
Were you speaking from experience?
[And then: a single picture of a series of taut chain-links, and only Astarion will know what set of handcuffs that belongs to.]
I'm waiting.