[Quick as anything Fenris' free hand darts up, fingers wrapping around the back of Astarion's neck and drawing him down for a hungry kiss. Oh no you don't, as playful as it is demanding, and yet every hungry push and pull of his lips against Astarion's isn't about dominance, but need. I missed you, I missed this: the soft plushness of Astarion's mouth and the sweetened taste of him. His shoulder throbs pleasantly, reddened teethmarks already bruising around marks that brighten and dim in time with the rise and fall of his chest.]
You see me lying in wait for you, chained to your bed with my legs spread and my cock hard, and that isn't enough to earn forgiveness? Never mind my crime was holding you accountable for being such a brat . . .
[He breathes the words out against Astarion's mouth, close enough that their lips brush together, his tongue flicking out with every word to trace over swollen flesh. His hand drifts down, releasing his neck in favor of slipping between his legs: roughened knuckles so terribly gentle as he brushes against Astarion's thickened length. There you are, long and broad and so missed that it's all Fenris can do not to whimper and whine for a taste.
He is salivating, though. Enough that he has to swallow thickly before he continues, part of him already imagining what's to come.]
Spoiled thing.
[He nips sharply at his bottom lip as his fingers wrap around his cock, squeezing tight just once before he begins a slow, indulgent stroke. They've built this up, teased one another far past the point of riling, but this is playful, and Fenris means to enjoy it. His thumb smears over the head of his cock, rubbing indulgent circles over his slit, savoring every hitched breath and flutter of his eyes.]
But I cannot help but indulge you, wicked that you are. So . . . [Another deliberate rub of his thumb, teasing against his slit just to watch him melt.] If I am to earn your good favor . . . turn around now, so I can slick you up with my tongue before spreading you open with a toy— or inch upwards, so I can take your cock in my mouth and suck on you until you fall to pieces in front of me.
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You see me lying in wait for you, chained to your bed with my legs spread and my cock hard, and that isn't enough to earn forgiveness? Never mind my crime was holding you accountable for being such a brat . . .
[He breathes the words out against Astarion's mouth, close enough that their lips brush together, his tongue flicking out with every word to trace over swollen flesh. His hand drifts down, releasing his neck in favor of slipping between his legs: roughened knuckles so terribly gentle as he brushes against Astarion's thickened length. There you are, long and broad and so missed that it's all Fenris can do not to whimper and whine for a taste.
He is salivating, though. Enough that he has to swallow thickly before he continues, part of him already imagining what's to come.]
Spoiled thing.
[He nips sharply at his bottom lip as his fingers wrap around his cock, squeezing tight just once before he begins a slow, indulgent stroke. They've built this up, teased one another far past the point of riling, but this is playful, and Fenris means to enjoy it. His thumb smears over the head of his cock, rubbing indulgent circles over his slit, savoring every hitched breath and flutter of his eyes.]
But I cannot help but indulge you, wicked that you are. So . . . [Another deliberate rub of his thumb, teasing against his slit just to watch him melt.] If I am to earn your good favor . . . turn around now, so I can slick you up with my tongue before spreading you open with a toy— or inch upwards, so I can take your cock in my mouth and suck on you until you fall to pieces in front of me.