[ 'Astarion' or 'please'? It's unclear. Maybe both. He straightens up, withdrawing his fingers with careful slowness, cognizant of the discomfort Iorveth might feel from the action and wanting to minimize it as much as possible. He never wants Iorveth to feel uncomfortable with him, only pure, mindless pleasure in whatever form that might take. Gentleness, roughness — what his love wants, his love gets. He's never been interested in someone else's pleasure before Iorveth, but being with him is an endless procession of new experiences.
He reaches for the vial of oil again, drizzling it liberally until his erection is adequately slick. Gods bless Gale for his fancy oils, although something tells him that the poor wizard wouldn't be pleased if he knew what an integral part he played in their intimacy. He's hot with anticipation as he lines himself up against Iorveth, not unlike the way he feels when he's particularly hungry, but he's used to denying that feeling to avoid scaring others, too; he pushes inside slowly, eyes cast downward to watch Iorveth stretch to take him in until he bottoms out, hips bumping against the back of Iorveth's thighs.
An unnecessary breath in and out. He doesn't move even though he desperately wants to, body kept still to allow Iorveth the chance to adjust. ]
Oh, [ he sighs. ] You're perfect.
[ Made for him, one would think, if he believed in such things. ]
no subject
[ 'Astarion' or 'please'? It's unclear. Maybe both. He straightens up, withdrawing his fingers with careful slowness, cognizant of the discomfort Iorveth might feel from the action and wanting to minimize it as much as possible. He never wants Iorveth to feel uncomfortable with him, only pure, mindless pleasure in whatever form that might take. Gentleness, roughness — what his love wants, his love gets. He's never been interested in someone else's pleasure before Iorveth, but being with him is an endless procession of new experiences.
He reaches for the vial of oil again, drizzling it liberally until his erection is adequately slick. Gods bless Gale for his fancy oils, although something tells him that the poor wizard wouldn't be pleased if he knew what an integral part he played in their intimacy. He's hot with anticipation as he lines himself up against Iorveth, not unlike the way he feels when he's particularly hungry, but he's used to denying that feeling to avoid scaring others, too; he pushes inside slowly, eyes cast downward to watch Iorveth stretch to take him in until he bottoms out, hips bumping against the back of Iorveth's thighs.
An unnecessary breath in and out. He doesn't move even though he desperately wants to, body kept still to allow Iorveth the chance to adjust. ]
Oh, [ he sighs. ] You're perfect.
[ Made for him, one would think, if he believed in such things. ]