[ However much of Iorveth's mind he occupies, he'll always selfishly want to occupy more. The curse of a vampire: no matter how much he gets, he'll still be hungry. Astarion leans over Iorveth's body to place his dagger on the nightstand, because even freaks would be justified to feel hesitant at the idea of a blade anywhere near them when their pants are off. The tip is stained red from Iorveth's blood, and he'll need to clean it eventually, but for now it sends a quiver of excitement through him to look at.
He has two hands free now, all the better to undress Iorveth with. His fingers find their way underneath his waistband again, cold against the warmth of his skin, and tug insistently.
Sweetly: ] How would you like to be ruined, my love?
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He has two hands free now, all the better to undress Iorveth with. His fingers find their way underneath his waistband again, cold against the warmth of his skin, and tug insistently.
Sweetly: ] How would you like to be ruined, my love?