[ There's something that flits across Astarion's face for a moment, barely perceptible but not wholly invisible that Winter can quite read until he hears the softness that's crept into the vampire's voice.

It makes something warm wind its way around his ribs, squeezing pleasantly. It makes him realize, too, that something incredibly precious could have been right in front of him the whole time, since the moment he got here.

Well, he won't waste the revelation, nor his time in Astarion's company, and leans up to meet the other man's lips. There's still that low heat in the way they kiss, growing hotter by the moment with Astarion's hand working between his legs and the way Winter's lower lip swells from his attentions.

It's all conspiring together to make him want to start stripping Astarion bare, to kiss him until he's breathless and to let them have their way with one another until their both satisfied and spent. But first, he wants to follow that different sort of warmth, that lovely feeling caressing tight around his chest.

He dips his hand between them to catch Astarion's hand, drawing him away from the growing hardness in his pants even if just for a moment. ]

I'm sure you can find them on your own, dear Astarion. You hardly need my guidance.

[ So what is he doing with his hand? Well, he takes it in his own and softly, so softly, presses his lips to the back of the vampire's knuckles. ]

But what of you? What would you like? What do you want?