[ "I suppose," he says, like Winter can't see how badly he's still wanting with his own two eyes. Winter gives a small, but strangely fond, roll of his eyes, before dipping down to claim Astarion's lips in yet another kiss, bodies pressed together atop the sheets.
While he indulges in the vampire's mouth for a spell, basking in the heat of bare skin on bare skin, one of his tendril tattoos unwinds itself from his arm, reaching for the drawer of the bedside table. After a bit of rummaging, during which Winter is only definitely only slightly distracted, the tentacle comes up with a bottle of lube in its grip, ushering it to the warlock's hand.
At that point, Winter finally breaks the kiss, settling back again to kneel between Astarion's legs, tipping the contents of the bottle onto waiting fingers. ]
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While he indulges in the vampire's mouth for a spell, basking in the heat of bare skin on bare skin, one of his tendril tattoos unwinds itself from his arm, reaching for the drawer of the bedside table. After a bit of rummaging, during which Winter is only definitely only slightly distracted, the tentacle comes up with a bottle of lube in its grip, ushering it to the warlock's hand.
At that point, Winter finally breaks the kiss, settling back again to kneel between Astarion's legs, tipping the contents of the bottle onto waiting fingers. ]
Gods, you're beautiful.