[ Very, very overwhelming. A lot going on at once. He feels a bit dazed by it all, like it's hard to keep up, but it all seems to be bypassing his brain and going straight to his groin, anyway. It's instinct to lap at the blood in his mouth, less a kiss than a feeding, and when it's gone he feels that maw inside him grow a little hungrier. He has the sudden animal desire to push Iorveth over, pin him down, and drink from him until he's limp, but—
That would be a bit of a mood killer, he thinks. 'Limp' is sort of the last thing Iorveth should be right now. Astarion grips Iorveth's torso, fingernails digging in just a little too forcefully, in an attempt to control the hunger. The heat of him against his leg is a welcome distraction and, again by instinct, he presses his thigh up between Iorveth's legs. ]
You're so hot, [ he says stupidly. A beat, then: ] Warm.
[ It's ridiculously appealing. Iorveth is so unmistakably alive that it's practically obscene. ]
...And hot, obviously, [ he adds, with a self-amused little giggle. Just in case there's any doubt in Iorveth's mind that Astarion thinks he's a grade-A ultra-desirable hottie. ]
no subject
That would be a bit of a mood killer, he thinks. 'Limp' is sort of the last thing Iorveth should be right now. Astarion grips Iorveth's torso, fingernails digging in just a little too forcefully, in an attempt to control the hunger. The heat of him against his leg is a welcome distraction and, again by instinct, he presses his thigh up between Iorveth's legs. ]
You're so hot, [ he says stupidly. A beat, then: ] Warm.
[ It's ridiculously appealing. Iorveth is so unmistakably alive that it's practically obscene. ]
...And hot, obviously, [ he adds, with a self-amused little giggle. Just in case there's any doubt in Iorveth's mind that Astarion thinks he's a grade-A ultra-desirable hottie. ]