[ Discomfort is the farthest thing from Iorveth's mind. It's corralled somewhere that he can't access even despite the fact that resistance should be his body's first instinct, consumed entirely by the love-stupid sentiment of "finally". The impossible feeling of Astarion pushing inside him is slow, agonizing, and everything Iorveth has ever wanted.
Which is why he hooks his legs around Astarion's waist, keeping him close with the sort of stupid vehemence that's characteristic of someone who is stupidly committed to this moment, to feeling the way Astarion pries him open, to molding himself around that shape.
Clinging, arms around Astarion's neck and his entire body vibrating with an energy he can't describe, Iorveth tries to breathe, to speak. He only manages a very eloquent: ] Fuck, [ which comes out as a strained half-laugh, bemused and thrilled at the same time at Astarion's use of 'perfect'.
A lot. He tightens himself around the warm obstruction currently occupying 150% of his brainpower, and closes his eye. ] ―Slowly, love. Make me feel it all.
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Which is why he hooks his legs around Astarion's waist, keeping him close with the sort of stupid vehemence that's characteristic of someone who is stupidly committed to this moment, to feeling the way Astarion pries him open, to molding himself around that shape.
Clinging, arms around Astarion's neck and his entire body vibrating with an energy he can't describe, Iorveth tries to breathe, to speak. He only manages a very eloquent: ] Fuck, [ which comes out as a strained half-laugh, bemused and thrilled at the same time at Astarion's use of 'perfect'.
A lot. He tightens himself around the warm obstruction currently occupying 150% of his brainpower, and closes his eye. ] ―Slowly, love. Make me feel it all.