[ Sentimental. The worst—and best—part is that Astarion truly believes that Iorveth believes every bit of affectionate shmoop he says. His neck flushes dusty pink with pleasure at hearing it, and he opens his mouth to tease Iorveth for being so sappy, but the only sound that comes out is an embarrassing whimper, so he decides he'd better keep it closed.
He presses their bodies closer together, clutching Iorveth's head to his chest, fingers curled tightly in his hair. In this position, Astarion's erection is trapped uncomfortably between them, but the pleasant friction their bodies create when he rocks against Iorveth all but obliterates any discomfort. A few more rough rolls of his hips and his rhythm stutters, muscles clenching as lightning shoots up his spine. An undignified noise escapes the back of his throat, and he comes hard, spend painting Iorveth's lovely, tanned stomach. ]
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He presses their bodies closer together, clutching Iorveth's head to his chest, fingers curled tightly in his hair. In this position, Astarion's erection is trapped uncomfortably between them, but the pleasant friction their bodies create when he rocks against Iorveth all but obliterates any discomfort. A few more rough rolls of his hips and his rhythm stutters, muscles clenching as lightning shoots up his spine. An undignified noise escapes the back of his throat, and he comes hard, spend painting Iorveth's lovely, tanned stomach. ]
Hells.