[ A lot of limbs to negotiate, but they get there. Iorveth hums at the feeling of soft lips against his, infatuated with Astarion's mouth as ever; Astarion doesn't have to breathe, so the intimacy of sharing exhales and inhales is slightly undercut, but it matters very little in the grand scheme of things. It feels good, and lets him acclimate to the third finger pressing inside him, the stretch momentarily verging on the edge of uncomfortable but never quite getting there. Subsumed by trust and the eventual spine-shaking feeling of clever digits rubbing just right. ]
Good, [ he murmurs against lips warmed by his breath. ] Good all over, hells.
[ An elf puddle on the sheets, boneless (minus the part that counts) but vibrating all over. The press of their bodies and the slide of their cocks against each other makes Iorveth see stars momentarily― like the first sparks of an orgasm, but not quite. He knows Astarion can feel that tremble from where Iorveth squeezes around his fingers, not from tension but involuntary pleasure.
A whisper of a moan, and Iorveth closes his eye. He feels like his brain is leaking out of his ears. ] Can't think, [ he corroborates. ]
no subject
Good, [ he murmurs against lips warmed by his breath. ] Good all over, hells.
[ An elf puddle on the sheets, boneless (minus the part that counts) but vibrating all over. The press of their bodies and the slide of their cocks against each other makes Iorveth see stars momentarily― like the first sparks of an orgasm, but not quite. He knows Astarion can feel that tremble from where Iorveth squeezes around his fingers, not from tension but involuntary pleasure.
A whisper of a moan, and Iorveth closes his eye. He feels like his brain is leaking out of his ears. ] Can't think, [ he corroborates. ]