[ Iorveth is insane, but Astarion likes it. A ridiculous amount, in fact. His pale fingers press into the thin, delicate skin of Iorveth's neck, thumb sliding to brush over the notch above his clavicle, feeling it move as Iorveth swallows. He lets his eyes flutter shut, hips jerking up involuntarily as a low sound escapes the back of his throat, and then: ]
Wait—
[ Despite the plea, he can't muster up more than a couple ineffective shoves to urge Iorveth off. His body certainly doesn't want Iorveth to wait, both knees instinctively pressing inward, bracketing his body as if to keep him there. He hadn't been exaggerating; he wouldn't mind Iorveth between his legs for eternity. ]
Don't you want me to fuck you?
[ Something he very much won't be able to do if Iorveth keeps on like this. It isn't poetry, but he doesn't have it in him to be tactful. ]
no subject
Wait—
[ Despite the plea, he can't muster up more than a couple ineffective shoves to urge Iorveth off. His body certainly doesn't want Iorveth to wait, both knees instinctively pressing inward, bracketing his body as if to keep him there. He hadn't been exaggerating; he wouldn't mind Iorveth between his legs for eternity. ]
Don't you want me to fuck you?
[ Something he very much won't be able to do if Iorveth keeps on like this. It isn't poetry, but he doesn't have it in him to be tactful. ]