[ That first attempt is an utter failure, as evidenced by the chiding tilt of his head, the offended quirk of his brow. How rude, the expression says. The next is a vast improvement, his eye lust-hazy and skin shiny with sweat, face full of wanting in a way not even the most stone-hearted person could deny. Astarion may not want to feel objectified, but he does want to feel desired. No, that's not it, not exactly — he wants to feel important. Needed. Like his presence here matters. ]
That wasn't so hard, [ he croons, pleased, before batting Iorveth's hand away from his erection. If it's Astarion's hands he wants, it's Astarion's hands he'll get, and he certainly isn't going to get himself off like he doesn't have a perfectly good vampire right here. He lets out a relieved sigh as his fingers wrap around Iorveth's cock, having suffered from his own game. Iorveth is slick with arousal, and Astarion wastes no time starting up a steady rhythm, the smoothness of his palm contrasted by the roughness of his strokes. ]
I've been dying to get my hands on you.
[ Pretty much since the last time he had his hands on Iorveth. He's had passing fancies, strangers on the street who were good-looking and safe to want because he'd never have them, but he's never desired someone this much. The depth of it is alarming. He could fall in, he thinks, if he's not careful. (He's never been careful.) ]
You really have no idea how badly I want you.
[ He leans forward, trapping his pumping hand between their bodies, and presses a kiss to Iorveth's neglected mouth. It's soft in comparison to his stroking, almost sweet. ]
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That wasn't so hard, [ he croons, pleased, before batting Iorveth's hand away from his erection. If it's Astarion's hands he wants, it's Astarion's hands he'll get, and he certainly isn't going to get himself off like he doesn't have a perfectly good vampire right here. He lets out a relieved sigh as his fingers wrap around Iorveth's cock, having suffered from his own game. Iorveth is slick with arousal, and Astarion wastes no time starting up a steady rhythm, the smoothness of his palm contrasted by the roughness of his strokes. ]
I've been dying to get my hands on you.
[ Pretty much since the last time he had his hands on Iorveth. He's had passing fancies, strangers on the street who were good-looking and safe to want because he'd never have them, but he's never desired someone this much. The depth of it is alarming. He could fall in, he thinks, if he's not careful. (He's never been careful.) ]
You really have no idea how badly I want you.
[ He leans forward, trapping his pumping hand between their bodies, and presses a kiss to Iorveth's neglected mouth. It's soft in comparison to his stroking, almost sweet. ]