[ It matters so little to Iorveth how Astarion frames things, as long as Astarion is pleased with the proceedings. A flash of a smile when he's kissed, near-accidental, and Iorveth hikes Astarion just a little higher over his body, chest to chest, with one hand resting on the small of Astarion's back, the other still tucked teasingly between his legs. ]
A "treat". [ Followed by a pseudo-snort, devoid of sharpness. A sound of disbelief, more like. ] An understatement.
[ Astarion should be able to feel the rush of Iorveth's pulse from where he has his mouth pressed near his jugular; the branches tattooed on his neck undulate with his slightly-elevated breathing, the dampness of his skin like dew on inked leaves. All signs of anticipation and arousal, every inch of Iorveth's mortal being responding to an intimacy that he aches for.
His slick fingers quest along Astarion's entrance again. They trace along it once, twice, making wet friction before venturing the initial breach: a thick middle finger presses inwards, testing tension and resistance until it's allowed to properly bury itself inside, knuckle by knuckle.
Tight, Iorveth thinks. The feeling and knowledge of being inside Astarion, even with a digit, renders him dizzy; he places a palm on the small of his partner's back, soothing up and down his spine to dispel potential discomfort. ]
Astarion, [ he sighs, a little breathless. ] ―Gods, you really do something to me.
[ Surreptitiously adjusting his hips so that his obvious erection isn't sandwiched painfully between the press of their bodies (he's going to be so mad at himself if he comes accidentally), Iorveth gently, slowly makes friction with the single finger caught in Astarion's inviting tightness, making sure to stay attuned to any signs that point to no in the process. Soft kisses pepper against silver hair. ]
no subject
A "treat". [ Followed by a pseudo-snort, devoid of sharpness. A sound of disbelief, more like. ] An understatement.
[ Astarion should be able to feel the rush of Iorveth's pulse from where he has his mouth pressed near his jugular; the branches tattooed on his neck undulate with his slightly-elevated breathing, the dampness of his skin like dew on inked leaves. All signs of anticipation and arousal, every inch of Iorveth's mortal being responding to an intimacy that he aches for.
His slick fingers quest along Astarion's entrance again. They trace along it once, twice, making wet friction before venturing the initial breach: a thick middle finger presses inwards, testing tension and resistance until it's allowed to properly bury itself inside, knuckle by knuckle.
Tight, Iorveth thinks. The feeling and knowledge of being inside Astarion, even with a digit, renders him dizzy; he places a palm on the small of his partner's back, soothing up and down his spine to dispel potential discomfort. ]
Astarion, [ he sighs, a little breathless. ] ―Gods, you really do something to me.
[ Surreptitiously adjusting his hips so that his obvious erection isn't sandwiched painfully between the press of their bodies (he's going to be so mad at himself if he comes accidentally), Iorveth gently, slowly makes friction with the single finger caught in Astarion's inviting tightness, making sure to stay attuned to any signs that point to no in the process. Soft kisses pepper against silver hair. ]