It’s charming. It’s...oh, the groan he makes this time is real, no drama, no acting up the glory of it, shuddering violently at the slow pass of breath beneath his ear, burrowing in silver curls.
His hips arch high into that shared grip— and then he sinks down, low enough to withdraw himself from that entanglement (with effort, mind, it’s hard to let go) turning with serpentine grace to keep from brushing too harshly against pale markings.
It’ll be easier for Fenris like this: avoiding the bulk of his tattoos, seeking out relief as wanted. Astarion’s stomach to the mattress, broad shoulders angled high, baring the full span of knotted scars— glancing back to punctuate the look of intent he aims with a pleased curl to his lips. An offer. An invitation.
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It’s charming. It’s...oh, the groan he makes this time is real, no drama, no acting up the glory of it, shuddering violently at the slow pass of breath beneath his ear, burrowing in silver curls.
His hips arch high into that shared grip— and then he sinks down, low enough to withdraw himself from that entanglement (with effort, mind, it’s hard to let go) turning with serpentine grace to keep from brushing too harshly against pale markings.
It’ll be easier for Fenris like this: avoiding the bulk of his tattoos, seeking out relief as wanted. Astarion’s stomach to the mattress, broad shoulders angled high, baring the full span of knotted scars— glancing back to punctuate the look of intent he aims with a pleased curl to his lips. An offer. An invitation.