[ No gods here. (Unless Mystra is still snooping around Gale's periphery, in which case, go away.) Iorveth is reeling, desperate to be as close to Astarion as he possibly can with the limitation of their bodies being built to be separate entities; still, as sex-stupid as he is in the moment, his mind processes Astarion and his request (demand) with uncompromising acuity.
Iorveth obliges. It manifests as an inelegant shuffling of limbs and balance, the rhythm of his hips broken by the negotiating, but he gets there. One hand wraps around Astarion's cock to stroke him through the frenetic rutting, while the other tangles in silver hair to pet and frame Astarion's face as Iorveth litters kisses wherever he can manage. ]
Fuck, I don't have enough hands.
[ A low growl-laugh fractures towards the end, the vicelike grip of Astarion's body easily making stars flicker behind his remaining eye. He shudders and slides forward even more, almost lifting the small of Astarion's back from the mattress as he drives into him. ]
Astarion― [ he forgets Common for a delirious second, whispering sweet nothings in his own language before he thinks to switch back, syllables slurred and jumbled. ] ―Like this, close to you always, closer than anything.
[ Incoherent, probably. It's fine. He wants Astarion to come, wants to come inside Astarion, wants Astarion to smell like jasmine and sandalwood for the next few days. Feral and possessive, utterly devoted. ]
no subject
Iorveth obliges. It manifests as an inelegant shuffling of limbs and balance, the rhythm of his hips broken by the negotiating, but he gets there. One hand wraps around Astarion's cock to stroke him through the frenetic rutting, while the other tangles in silver hair to pet and frame Astarion's face as Iorveth litters kisses wherever he can manage. ]
Fuck, I don't have enough hands.
[ A low growl-laugh fractures towards the end, the vicelike grip of Astarion's body easily making stars flicker behind his remaining eye. He shudders and slides forward even more, almost lifting the small of Astarion's back from the mattress as he drives into him. ]
Astarion― [ he forgets Common for a delirious second, whispering sweet nothings in his own language before he thinks to switch back, syllables slurred and jumbled. ] ―Like this, close to you always, closer than anything.
[ Incoherent, probably. It's fine. He wants Astarion to come, wants to come inside Astarion, wants Astarion to smell like jasmine and sandalwood for the next few days. Feral and possessive, utterly devoted. ]