[ Every nerve in Iorveth's body lights up when Astarion crawls on top of him, and his fingers instinctively curl towards the hand holding his wrists in place like flowers bending towards the sun. Agonizing over even that small point of contact, alternating between finally and more.
That agony crescendos at the featherlight flutter of Astarion's lips against his own, at being called "perfect". He bucks against the hand still wound torturously around his oversensitive erection, its steady, languid strokes pushing him closer and closer to an edge that he can't quite seem to tip over.
He huffs, shivers. "Good" and "perfect" are sweet, but not a "you can kiss me"; iron discipline and obstinate love keep him from surging up and claiming Astarion's mouth. Right now, his partner holds all his cards. ]
Beloved, [ he groans, lips parted like an offering. ] Please, fuck.
[ Affection aggression. He wants Astarion so much, he thinks he'll vibrate out of his skin. ]
Please. I want you, only you, you. [ Half-snarled, desperate. ]
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That agony crescendos at the featherlight flutter of Astarion's lips against his own, at being called "perfect". He bucks against the hand still wound torturously around his oversensitive erection, its steady, languid strokes pushing him closer and closer to an edge that he can't quite seem to tip over.
He huffs, shivers. "Good" and "perfect" are sweet, but not a "you can kiss me"; iron discipline and obstinate love keep him from surging up and claiming Astarion's mouth. Right now, his partner holds all his cards. ]
Beloved, [ he groans, lips parted like an offering. ] Please, fuck.
[ Affection aggression. He wants Astarion so much, he thinks he'll vibrate out of his skin. ]
Please. I want you, only you, you. [ Half-snarled, desperate. ]