illithidnapped: (habits)

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[personal profile] illithidnapped 2025-02-07 01:23 am (UTC)(link)
IF YOU TAKE AWAY MY PHONE YOU REALIZE YOU CANNOT FLUSTER ME LIKE THIS
illithidnapped: (my bad)

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[personal profile] illithidnapped 2025-02-11 05:17 am (UTC)(link)
[You know, he really won't miss his phone if that's what this boils down to, he's starting to suspect.

Will that make this a punishment still?

....EH.

He won't bring that up if Fenris certainly isn't. Punishment is such a subjective concept, anyway. Swooning eye of the beholder and all that.
]

WHY YES. I AM.

howthoughtfulofyoutoask
illithidnapped: (I let you)

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[personal profile] illithidnapped 2025-02-11 05:18 am (UTC)(link)
and whilst there is a great deal the unwashed masses will endure for the sake of hierarchical piety, waltzing in on my next case with a stiff cock and a hunger for your parted legs held front and center might

but do you really think I'll ever let my guard down enough to let you? You've been training me to always be prepared for danger, after all.
illithidnapped: (61)

[personal profile] illithidnapped 2025-02-11 05:32 am (UTC)(link)
I'm not so pitifully endowed as that.

[Isn't actually enough of a truth to ruin Fenris' suggestion, but like hells is he admitting that.]

Tell you, and give away my grand plan, thus rendering me helpless against your assault? I don't bloody think so sweetheart. No no no, you're going to have to wait and find out and hope that I don't turn the tables on you just to leave you panting with a watering mouth and an aching jaw the way you damned well deserve.
illithidnapped: (124)

[personal profile] illithidnapped 2025-02-11 12:11 pm (UTC)(link)
[It takes so long for him to respond. Hells' Teeth, there isn't any doubt as to why, either. Not after a message like that. Not when he's been flush to the core for more than fifteen minutes in a row, stiff through his joints right to the tips of his thumbs.

Thumbs that— after having retreated into his own private office— set to typing yet again.
]

In a straight fight against you?

Not yet.
[Possibly not ever.] But under less formal circumstances....? Like all those times I corner you in a smoky little backroom after one too many shots just to set my tongue along your neck and hear you groan, or let you watch as I let some buckish noble sate himself across my lap with your own table scraps, thinking they've made a feast of my skin, my mouth, my roaming, listless touch- not knowing how much more I give you at a glance, unpromted....

well

I'd argue there, we're even.
illithidnapped: (54)

[personal profile] illithidnapped 2025-02-25 05:42 am (UTC)(link)
[He's sweating.

Middle of the day, artificially cooled environment, scant more than a middling layer of clothing on (perhaps less by the time this conversation is over), and he's sweating. Light dusting of condensation prickling up the back of his neck under tied-up silver curls, indicative of what he's thinking of— where he's thinking of being, and it's the farthest thing away from here, completing the accusations his father and attached stewards always scoffed his way. And you know, he doesn't mind it. Doesn't feel like considering anything but the smooth, hot memory of a wanton throat and a hungry tongue unfurled along the underside of him, curling and lathing and gagging while green eyes run dark, glazing over in thick shadow. All barely hidden behind some half-wall in the servant's quarters: a fearsome guardian on his knees, savoring scent and sight and suckled sweetness and the brush of pale, fine fingers just around his chin—

Astarion swallows hard as his fingertips push against plastic keys.
]

You really think you could last that long, old man?
illithidnapped: (it started out in neon lights)

[personal profile] illithidnapped 2025-02-28 05:13 am (UTC)(link)
I've grown since we first met. [Tries to bypass the unclaimed truth in that exchange that they both know he can't argue against without lying— and pitifully at that. 'I was only flattering you' 'I was faking to entice you more'— please. Leave that peddled nonsense where it belongs with Petras and Violet: Astarion knows better.

And really, there's no shame in it. The reminder of being rut nine ways to the Hells themselves is something that most people would quite literally die for. And whilst the memory no doubt ringing hot and mouth-wateringly heavy in the back of Fenris' mind right now is of some whimpering, velveteen princeling shaking with sweat beneath his shadow, barely able to swallow around the sound of his groaned out name in vulgar repetition, Astarion knows what it is about him that appeals to Fenris' nature. Not the image of obedient docility, or good temperament, or fine breeding. (It's not even the little curl before his right ear that won't sit straight like the other one.) It's that he approaches this like he approaches anything in life that happens to fall into his lap:

He owns it.
]

Was it you or I that didn't complain to stay hidden on his knees at Duchess Marizana's forty fifth birthday when the room we were enjoying was suddenly co-opted as a smoking den?

Who didn't mind having his ears toyed with or his mouth full whilst I had to nod along to some old cock's idea of a good story and pretend I wasn't half a step from spilling down your throat.


[His fingertips alight across his collar, scuffing loosely over nothing, only entertaining second after second of roaming friction as if it weren't his own.]

Or was I simply dreaming?

I've had you so many times in public that it's hard to remember.
illithidnapped: (61)

[personal profile] illithidnapped 2025-02-28 08:29 am (UTC)(link)
Why should I ever have to choose? They're my chambers— my word is practically law to anyone that hears it. [How badly does he wish Fenris was here? Bad enough to order it— send a runner home and fetch the only thing he can't stop thinking of right now (can't stop picturing on loop as his eyes retrace each concupiscent word, saturated with their impress; a shiver up his spine, an ache along his hips pantomiming sensation that he wishes he was feeling, stretched to the limits of his senses if not his own damned body)— stayed by the fact that he's grown too close to ever bandy about orders when it comes to Danarius' former charge.

But he would, if circumstances were different. If he didn't have restraint, no matter how thin the percentiles.
]

I should strip you bare and see how flexible you are, if we're going to be shameless in this. Let you ride what you can't get enough of while you try to prise me open for you, as if you'll know what to do with a full belly and strained arms and fingers that can only beckon for their supper.

[An eyelet snakes around his finger, tugging back.]

How naked are you right now?
illithidnapped: (AC6)

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[personal profile] illithidnapped 2025-03-30 04:47 am (UTC)(link)
You interrupt my workday, threaten to take away my phone, worked my prick up to a frenzy and still expect me to limit myself to choosing according to your rules?

You've such cheek to you, you dogged thing.

I'll test that flexibility myself.

Tie yourself to the bed for me. One wrist. Naked or clothed I don't care so long as you're readied to be taken, and I do mean ready: wash yourself properly, use my oils. I already know you won't show proof, but when I call in ill and return home to shut myself away in my room before midday, I expect to be able to tell how thorough you've been.
illithidnapped: (124)

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[personal profile] illithidnapped 2025-03-30 04:52 am (UTC)(link)
But if you have done well, then cross my wicked little heart I give you my word I'll turn over my phone and take up sucking you off for as long as you can take it whilst letting you use any toy you please on me— provided you think you're skilled enough to do it one-handed.

You know, if that flexibility of yours is worth entertaining.
illithidnapped: (but it probably won't)

[personal profile] illithidnapped 2025-03-31 05:56 am (UTC)(link)
[Oof, that shudder. The one that rockets through him like a feverflare, smouldering in rings around his throat beneath the layers of dressed finery still on him, chest heavy when he breathes out hard.

Not in a courtroom yet, thank the gods and Maker, all, but already on his way: and if nothing else it'll sell the idea of illness when he at last strides in (and out) to take his leave. (For now, they've time for one last bout of foreplay— he's already late, anyway. Three more minutes won't kill anyone.

....well.

Aside from the man on trial, slated for the noose.)
]

You can use anything on me you please, provided you can actually reach.

But personal experience is right, you know. I just had someone else on my mind at the time. A handsome, difficult old cur who couldn't help but rile every time I prowled near. Couldn't bury the way he went hard with my breath on his neck, or my palm sunk hot between his hips, oil slick and ready to work him open if he'd only ask.

Or in this case, ready to cuff himself to my bed.

Wait for me.

I won't be long.
illithidnapped: (AC7)

[personal profile] illithidnapped 2025-04-01 03:28 am (UTC)(link)
[If it's the last photo he saves to this phone, then he'll call himself content across his deathbed. There's no funerary march towards surrendering his prized possession (aside from the way he limps out of the courthouse gates like a wounded animal up until he reaches his chauffeur), only the rush home to strip down into shirt and slacks by the time he's at his bedroom door— waving away servants with one hand and telling them to fuck off with the other.

Only Talindra gets a beseeching (albeit also impatient) glance without any accompanying fanfare attached: silently conveying to the woman that practically raised him that it isn't for distress that he wants to be left alone for the rest of the night.

The door opens with a click, locks with a louder one, and leaves Astarion grinning in unabashedly pleasant surprise once he glances sidelong at his bed— twice. His silver eyes (undecorated this time as he's not out at some fête or club where modifications speak to adrenal thrills) wider than his own slanted smirk as he takes in the sight of long, lean lines laid out fully on display. The familiar scent of perfumed oil and fine soap already seeping into his passive senses to tell him everything he needs to know, when he could be smelling the sharper catch of spent sweat and magic and old, spent gunpowder from the range (those assassins and hired bodyguards always reek of it— and when he visits with Fenris from time to time to brush up on his tactile skills, he does too— enough that he has to shower the second he gets home, because the locker rooms there are even worse for branding him with the pungent aroma of utility), something he should arguably never know.

But it excites him that he does.

Just as the opposite exhilarates the other way around, even if he were to find there's nothing else done to his exacting expectations....though he still lifts his focus to the headboard, hunting for any attached accoutrements or limbs, already prowling close enough to let warm fingers skirt along tanned skin (he starts at the knee first— featherlight contact only deepening as they slide higher.

And deeper.)
]

My my, what a sight you've left out for me.
illithidnapped: (59)

[personal profile] illithidnapped 2025-04-03 02:55 am (UTC)(link)
[Oh, that's it. All it takes is the focused, knife-sharp tail end of that question and Astarion's paler cast runs red from the basin of his chest to the high points of his ears— even his fingers (where they've sunken into shadow) feel slaggishly molten where they hitch. Tighten. Dig into uncharacteristically soft skin for just a beat.

And pull.

Inches make the difference— and it takes effort, to be sure— dragging Fenris closer just a few degrees more by that hard grip on his thigh, silk sheets rucking underneath, but Astarion's been training. Hard. Every other weekend at the range....and every night and morning in his bed. It shows across his shoulders through his shirt, houndishly narrow frame sporting little flares of muscle tensing here and there. Moreso when he lifts his opposite hand to loosen his shirt from the top down, redoubling his poise.

Smirking just to play a hand he hasn't dealt yet: eyelids lowering. Posture following.
] Tied down and yet stubbornly making it worse for yourself?

[He leans down over his own touch— exhale thick and feverish when it blooms along tanned contours, slipped along the underside of an anxious, swollen cock.]

....We're more alike than i thought.

[Taking his time to tease in close. To let his lips fall into palpable near-contact, letting the electric feel of skin-to-skin transference take hold without ever taking hold

—and then stepping back.

The soft heel click that comes before he paces closer to his full length mirror, plucking loose the rest of his own buttons in the full blaze of a half-blocked midday sun: silver hair catching the brunt of its glare first, then the starker ripples of his back— lower, and lower to his hips, shifting just to catch green eyes with his reflection, fingers loose around the slacking of his open waistband.
]

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