[ 'What of yours', Iorveth asks, and Astarion laughs a little. It's a fair question. He's used giving pleasure without reciprocation as an excuse not to be touched more times than he can count. It isn't the same now; he adores Iorveth's touch, but just not as much as he's adoring the sight of him relaxed and limp right now. ]
This is mine.
[ Another thin finger pressing in, curling, seeking out the spot that makes Iorveth react and brushing against it, light enough to be pleasurable but not overwhelming. He does have the thought of being almost punishing with it, at pressing against that spot over and over until Iorveth trembles from it, but, well. Another time. Tonight is for being kind, and for making Iorveth feel loved. ]
no subject
This is mine.
[ Another thin finger pressing in, curling, seeking out the spot that makes Iorveth react and brushing against it, light enough to be pleasurable but not overwhelming. He does have the thought of being almost punishing with it, at pressing against that spot over and over until Iorveth trembles from it, but, well. Another time. Tonight is for being kind, and for making Iorveth feel loved. ]
Do you think that I don't enjoy touching you?