[ Oh, yes, that's exactly the sort of reassurance that he needs. That he's special, loved, more than just a thing to be used. That Iorveth is his, and that maybe he holds an emotional knife to Astarion's throat, but at least Astarion holds one to his, too. A wave of delight rushes through him, although it's quickly undercut by the tight squeeze of Iorveth around him. It is a little uncomfortable, a little too much, but somehow that makes it all the more exciting.
[ His hand slows as he comes back into his body bit by bit, emotion flooding through him with an alarming intensity. It's overwhelming. A little frightening. He slackens, head falling back against the pillows as he repeats, ] Fuck.
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He strokes Iorveth all through his orgasm, even as his spend coats his hand, even after it's stopped. It isn't intentional to overstimulate him, but Astarion's brain feels fuzzy and sluggish, and his hand moves of its own accord. The sensation doesn't last for long; the hard clench of Iorveth's orgasm rushes him precipitously toward his own, toppling over the edge soon after. He tenses and jerks, coming with a shiver and a rather déclassé ] Fuck.
[ His hand slows as he comes back into his body bit by bit, emotion flooding through him with an alarming intensity. It's overwhelming. A little frightening. He slackens, head falling back against the pillows as he repeats, ] Fuck.