[ Iorveth has had rougher trysts: a lot of shoving and pulling and pinning and fighting, all culminating in furious (and very hurried) rutting. Sport, as he'd dubbed it so often in conversation. This, on the other hand, is anything but― it's slow and careful and measured, almost the opposite of instantly gratifying. Too tight, too prolonged, too much.
Perfect. Iorveth doesn't realize that he's been holding his breath until he feels Astarion seat himself, and he releases that pent-up exhale in one long, drawn-out sigh. His vision doubles, triples, and tries to focus on the familiar outline of Astarion's damnably beautiful face. ]
Yes, [ Iorveth agrees. Too sex-stupid, really, to say anything else. The singular sensation of being gripped entirely by Astarion makes his knees rise up from the couch cushions in a reflexive need to vent arousal; he keeps himself still otherwise, hellbent on letting Astarion dictate the pace and eventual rhythm.
An idle, sex-drunk thought about whether or not Iorveth's cock might feel too hot inside his partner later, and he cups Astarion's face in one hand, drawing him close for a long, indulgent kiss as Iorveth (unsuccessfully) acclimates to the tight clutch around him. It's very likely that if the Netherbrain were to reveal itself to them right now, Iorveth would miss it entirely― the only thing that exists in the moment is the impossible and all-encompassing feeling of being connected. ]
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Perfect. Iorveth doesn't realize that he's been holding his breath until he feels Astarion seat himself, and he releases that pent-up exhale in one long, drawn-out sigh. His vision doubles, triples, and tries to focus on the familiar outline of Astarion's damnably beautiful face. ]
Yes, [ Iorveth agrees. Too sex-stupid, really, to say anything else. The singular sensation of being gripped entirely by Astarion makes his knees rise up from the couch cushions in a reflexive need to vent arousal; he keeps himself still otherwise, hellbent on letting Astarion dictate the pace and eventual rhythm.
An idle, sex-drunk thought about whether or not Iorveth's cock might feel too hot inside his partner later, and he cups Astarion's face in one hand, drawing him close for a long, indulgent kiss as Iorveth (unsuccessfully) acclimates to the tight clutch around him. It's very likely that if the Netherbrain were to reveal itself to them right now, Iorveth would miss it entirely― the only thing that exists in the moment is the impossible and all-encompassing feeling of being connected. ]