essea: (42.)
ɪᴏʀᴠᴇᴛʜ. ([personal profile] essea) wrote 2025-07-07 01:54 am (UTC)

[ Gods, it's so phenomenally rude of Astarion to plead his case when Iorveth is half out of his mind with affection and need. Two wolf-foxes fight for dominance in his mindscape: one that says that he can just slide down and blow Astarion and deter him from doing anything strenuous (as if receiving a blowjob isn't also physically taxing to some extent), and another that says that he can blow Astarion some other time, and that it would be nice to just make out and talk while they give each other handjobs.

Iorveth closes his eye. Tries not to acknowledge what he knows is Astarion trying to cajole him into saying yes.
]

You've never run a marathon in your life.

[ The war rages on in his head; it would have raged on a little longer had he had the strength of will to keep his eye closed, but alas. He cracks it open, and the full force of Astarion's insistence smacks him right in the face.

It shouldn't be cute. He knows that Astarion knows that this will make him fold, nine times out of ten. But 'husband-to-be' is a powerful weapon, and, again, it really does something to the state of his dick,

so. A sigh, not as aggravated as he wants it to be.
] Gods, you're impossible. [ Grumbling (affectionately), he uses his free hand to guide Astarion's hand down the front of his pants. ]

Post a comment in response:

If you don't have an account you can create one now.
HTML doesn't work in the subject.
More info about formatting