Reiteration is the name of the game. Of course, physical works just as well as verbal— he doesn’t much care as long as something is giving him guidance.

And fickle creature that Fenris is, Astarion knows this attention isn’t forced: he pants aloud, moans to repay the favor of feedback, craning his neck to one side in an offer for more, always more— and then, knowing he’s won a smaller victory by drawing Fenris back down to him, springs his own trap of sorts. Legs hooking around Fenris’ middle, or near his hips, whichever is within enough reach to be fully snared. It doesn’t matter that he’s pinned and blinded, he has a habit of staking his claim through friction.

And he’ll beg if he needs to, but he suspects it won’t come to that.