[ His body can't help but tense up at the feeling of something inside of it, an involuntary reaction conditioned into him by centuries of this exact act leading only to unpleasantness. It's such a foregone conclusion that he barely even notices he's doing it at first, more used to the feeling of rigid muscles and apprehension than he is to the feeling of relaxation or pleasure. He presses his face against the crook of Iorveth's neck and inhales the soothing scent of his damp skin, body relaxing in increments as he reminds himself that that was then and this is now. ]
—It's all right, [ he's quick to say, lest his reaction make Iorveth think he doesn't want this and ruin everything.
It hasn't really reached the point of pleasure yet, admittedly, but now that he's slackened it doesn't hurt. Iorveth's fingers aren't as slender as his own, but he's gentler and more patient than anything Astarion has ever done to himself or had done to him. Of course he is; Iorveth is too sweet, too wonderful, too good to be true. ]
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—It's all right, [ he's quick to say, lest his reaction make Iorveth think he doesn't want this and ruin everything.
It hasn't really reached the point of pleasure yet, admittedly, but now that he's slackened it doesn't hurt. Iorveth's fingers aren't as slender as his own, but he's gentler and more patient than anything Astarion has ever done to himself or had done to him. Of course he is; Iorveth is too sweet, too wonderful, too good to be true. ]
You can keep going.