[ Iorveth's brow arches as he notes that Astarion is settling in for the show, but he doesn't protest. Fine. His own fault for trying to drive home a point that Astarion already knew to be true, that Iorveth isn't interested in him just because he inspires Iorveth's dick to misbehave at inopportune times.
A low breath through his nose, and he slides one hand down the front of his trousers. With the first hurdle of admitting to his arousal out of the way, he can be unshy about everything else: the slow mapping of his own now-full erection, the instinct to crane forward and press his face into the space where Astarion's neck meets his shoulder.
Crazy. Every day he spends in Astarion's company, Iorveth thinks he goes a little more insane. ]
Mm. [ Not actually a response, as he lets the tight control he keeps over himself slack just enough to let his mind wander to thoughts of pale skin and shapely limbs. Probably rude to be fantasizing about someone when they're Right There, but that seems to be the point of this exercise. ] ―Words. They wouldn't suffice.
[ He'd want to actually do the unmentionable things that have happened in his head, and there's still the chance that Gale is frozen on his bed with his half-read book, trying to become invisible as two elves start getting up to no good across the room. Iorveth laughs to himself at the thought of it, even as he starts touching himself with clearer intent. Fabric rustles, and his skin heats; his next exhale is shaky, and his eye shutters. Imagining, clearly. ]
no subject
A low breath through his nose, and he slides one hand down the front of his trousers. With the first hurdle of admitting to his arousal out of the way, he can be unshy about everything else: the slow mapping of his own now-full erection, the instinct to crane forward and press his face into the space where Astarion's neck meets his shoulder.
Crazy. Every day he spends in Astarion's company, Iorveth thinks he goes a little more insane. ]
Mm. [ Not actually a response, as he lets the tight control he keeps over himself slack just enough to let his mind wander to thoughts of pale skin and shapely limbs. Probably rude to be fantasizing about someone when they're Right There, but that seems to be the point of this exercise. ] ―Words. They wouldn't suffice.
[ He'd want to actually do the unmentionable things that have happened in his head, and there's still the chance that Gale is frozen on his bed with his half-read book, trying to become invisible as two elves start getting up to no good across the room. Iorveth laughs to himself at the thought of it, even as he starts touching himself with clearer intent. Fabric rustles, and his skin heats; his next exhale is shaky, and his eye shutters. Imagining, clearly. ]