[ Correction: he can't think about anything except how much he wants Astarion, in him and on him and against him. Iorveth feels opened all over, like Astarion has found the right string keeping him together and tugged it just enough to unfurl him; he huffs and nods against Astarion's mouth, one limp arm draping around his partner's shoulder for something to hold.
He should say something poignant, probably. Something about how he was made ready, or about how he's never been so eager to have someone pry him open. Instead: ]
Yes. [ A single syllable, yet he manages to slur it. ] Astarion, please.
[ Not even begging as a treat. Reduced down to base desires, all he can articulate is the only thing on his pleasantly slow-moving mind, which happens to be the man currently holding the proverbial keys to his kingdom. Iorveth bucks up, grinding his slick cock against Astarion's, his next breath almost as close to a whine as someone like Iorveth can allow of himself. ]
Astarion, [ he slurs again. The most important thing he can think to say. ]
no subject
He should say something poignant, probably. Something about how he was made ready, or about how he's never been so eager to have someone pry him open. Instead: ]
Yes. [ A single syllable, yet he manages to slur it. ] Astarion, please.
[ Not even begging as a treat. Reduced down to base desires, all he can articulate is the only thing on his pleasantly slow-moving mind, which happens to be the man currently holding the proverbial keys to his kingdom. Iorveth bucks up, grinding his slick cock against Astarion's, his next breath almost as close to a whine as someone like Iorveth can allow of himself. ]
Astarion, [ he slurs again. The most important thing he can think to say. ]