[ Oh, the warlock knows quite well that he’s dangerous, in many senses of the word, but it takes a certain kind of person to get him to drop his guard so thoroughly, to bear his throat and put himself in a perfectly vulnerable position. And one that he’s willing to revel in, no less.
Astarion does it easily. So easily that perhaps he should be more concerned.
He’s not.
That little tug on his tresses pulls a soft gasp from him – after having Astarion’s fangs in his neck, he’ll make no secret of liking his hands in his hair, too – and he tilts his head obligingly. He’s rewarded with the slick heat of the vampire’s tongue on his skin, laving away at the corner of his mouth. A corner that lifts devilishly. ]
no subject
Astarion does it easily. So easily that perhaps he should be more concerned.
He’s not.
That little tug on his tresses pulls a soft gasp from him – after having Astarion’s fangs in his neck, he’ll make no secret of liking his hands in his hair, too – and he tilts his head obligingly. He’s rewarded with the slick heat of the vampire’s tongue on his skin, laving away at the corner of his mouth. A corner that lifts devilishly. ]
Still? Hungry for what, might I ask?