[ The sound Iorveth makes when Astarion finally deigns to touch him is a not-quiet, strangled groan that catches in the back of his throat. A full-bodied finally accompanied by a buck and roll of his hips into Astarion's lukewarm palm, graceless in his hurried enthusiasm. Heat twists in his stomach and spreads; he was already embarrassingly close before, but something about the way those clever fingers waste no time in trying to take him apart really drives Iorveth closer to the edge.
Trying to last is a losing battle. He manages to endure the sweet words by half-accepting them with sex-bleary disbelief, but it's the kiss that makes him shatter; it's an extra layer of perfect on top of everything else that feels numbingly good, compounded by the vision that Astarion'd shared earlier of bitemarks all over Iorveth's skin. Meeting Astarion's mouth and feeling the sharp edge of his fangs on his tongue unravels Iorveth completely, wracked by an orgasm that takes complete control over the entirety of him: he comes with their lips still pressed together, trying to form a broken facsimile of Astarion's name that hitches and turns into a shuddering sigh, a low moan.
Shirt clinging to his sweat-soaked skin, chest heaving and hips still grinding against the mess he's made on Astarion's hand, Iorveth chases his high for a few more moments before slumping, boneless, onto the mattress.
It shouldn't be possible for one person (vampire) to make him feel like this. Iorveth feels obliterated, but he still wants Astarion so achingly that he thinks he might vibrate out of his skin if he doesn't kiss Astarion again.
So he does. Craning to brush their mouths together, his breath hot and ragged. When he finally collects enough of himself to speak, he manages: ] We need another room.
[ Horny freak jail. Give him a moment to unfry his brain, please. ]
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Trying to last is a losing battle. He manages to endure the sweet words by half-accepting them with sex-bleary disbelief, but it's the kiss that makes him shatter; it's an extra layer of perfect on top of everything else that feels numbingly good, compounded by the vision that Astarion'd shared earlier of bitemarks all over Iorveth's skin. Meeting Astarion's mouth and feeling the sharp edge of his fangs on his tongue unravels Iorveth completely, wracked by an orgasm that takes complete control over the entirety of him: he comes with their lips still pressed together, trying to form a broken facsimile of Astarion's name that hitches and turns into a shuddering sigh, a low moan.
Shirt clinging to his sweat-soaked skin, chest heaving and hips still grinding against the mess he's made on Astarion's hand, Iorveth chases his high for a few more moments before slumping, boneless, onto the mattress.
It shouldn't be possible for one person (vampire) to make him feel like this. Iorveth feels obliterated, but he still wants Astarion so achingly that he thinks he might vibrate out of his skin if he doesn't kiss Astarion again.
So he does. Craning to brush their mouths together, his breath hot and ragged. When he finally collects enough of himself to speak, he manages: ] We need another room.
[ Horny freak jail. Give him a moment to unfry his brain, please. ]