[Running his touch through Winter's hair has turned into his fingers idly massaging at his scalp, probably mussing those long black locks without meaning to. The heat and want coils inside of him, burgeoning more and more until it threatens to become a swelter. His whole body's aflush, and he still squirms pleasurably, slightly, under him.
And it would be so easy to let himself go, to cant his head back and close his eyes again (he does this, anyway), and to try to arch himself more into Winter's mouth (he nearly does this), to let the man bring him to the very brink, and possibly go tumbling right over it. He's always been a self-indulgent sort.
But maybe that's exactly why, when the heat inside of him stokes all the more heated, and another vibration runs along the length of him, Astarion's fingers grip into Winter's hair a little tighter, and in that same, ragged breath-]
no subject
And it would be so easy to let himself go, to cant his head back and close his eyes again (he does this, anyway), and to try to arch himself more into Winter's mouth (he nearly does this), to let the man bring him to the very brink, and possibly go tumbling right over it. He's always been a self-indulgent sort.
But maybe that's exactly why, when the heat inside of him stokes all the more heated, and another vibration runs along the length of him, Astarion's fingers grip into Winter's hair a little tighter, and in that same, ragged breath-]
Not yet. Don't make me come just yet-