[Honestly, how does the spa keep getting them to this point. Astarion grins, then lifts up his very tiny glass and downs the remaining blood. Waste not, want not.]
We shall.
[Clack goes the glass back onto the table, and he stands.]
[ To the space floor! We won't deal with the particulars, it's safe to say they get there without issue. Winter beckons the other man into his room, gravity reasserts itself, and he shuts the door behind them.
Little has changed about Winter's room since the last time Astarion was here, though perhaps her might feel a bit more free to look around since he's no longer keeping his lack of reflection a secret. ]
How is it that even when we're trying not to have an adventure, we have one anyway?
[ He's making for the couch. Seems as good a place as any. ]
[Oh, while it's tempting to nose around, it doesn't seem like much has changed, and he can always do that after, can't he? He follows a few steps behind until Winter makes himself comfortable, then leans in with his hands on his hips, looking down at him with red eyes.]
An adventure without mind flayers, cultists, and something trying to kill me around every corner? Say it isn't so.
[That is to say: this is a much preferred kind of "adventure." Astarion takes a seat beside Winter.]
[ Neither of them are the conventional sort though, are they? Winter angles toward Astarion as well, that grin staying right where it is. Thankfully, with his penchant for wearing clothes with very open and plunging necklines, all he has to do is draw his hair back over his shoulder, bearing the pale expanse of his neck to the vampire. The ever-present coil of his tattoo slides elsewhere, gliding across his skin. ]
[There's something about a person bearing their neck so welcomingly for him that would make his pulse tick hard in his throat -- if he had one anymore. As it stands, a little thrill of anticipation jolts through him instead, though it's hard to tell if that's just hungry, predatory instinct, or the simple excitement of indulging in a rarity: getting to feed off of someone who's willing to be bitten.
His smile sharpens and he scoots even closer, one hand moving to brace itself on Winter's shoulder. He inclines in further, so close that his words fan over his exposed neck.]
It'll only sting for a second, darling.
[Given permission, he won't drag it out any longer. He's hungry, and he is dreadfully curious about how Winter tastes when there's more than just a drop of blood teasing his tongue, but instead a whole mouthful.
He opens his mouth, bearing his fangs. And then they sink in, sharp and stinging at two points. Like pinpricks of ice lancing through. And then... just a dull ache, and then a dull nothing, as Winter begins to slowly bleed into the vampire's mouth.]
[ There's something about the edge to Astarion's expression that Winter finds thrilling. A bit of the predator come out to play. Perhaps if they hadn't already established quite a bit of trust between them, that look would set off more alarm bells. As it stands, though, he doesn't think he has anything to fear, here.
He angles his head, humming a little at the warm puff of breath against his skin, and then with no further ado, the sudden, cold sting of being bitten. Winter gasps a little, caught off-guard by the chill, his hand coming up to curl into Astarion's shirt at the small of his back.
The numbness that seeps in next is a bit strange, but there's still something to be said for the body pressed so close to his in, the slow drain of that which keeps him alive. Oh, hells, he could get to like this.
[He feels that pull at the back of his shirt, a bit of tension born of the surprise of being bitten. He expects it, and he hums a little against the warlock's throat as though to say, yes, he knows, but it'll recede soon.
And it does, of course. Winter won't feel much of anything except for maybe the pressure of his lips and tongue as he drinks and drinks deep. His lifeblood filling his mouth, flowing against his palate. He tastes...
(Ah, gods. He tastes divine. This was a very good idea.)
That said, he won't drink too much. Though he's peckish, he's also been fed well during his time in this hotel, and the animalistic urge to take too much has remained more dormant than usual.
...But, also, you know. He's not done yet. His free hand raises and splays against Winter's chest, part reassurance, and part just to feel his heartbeat.]
[ Even with the pain having ebbed, Winter is keenly aware of the vampire's mouth on him. It makes his pulse flutter, something Astarion no doubt feels against his lips and fingers both.
In the history of... ever, has anyone ever thought that offering their neck to a vampire would be a good idea? Surely not, but Winter has, and he can only think that this was a very good idea indeed.
He exhales, a low sigh that somehow takes the shape of the other man's name. ]
Oh, Astarion.
[ Somehow, their encounter beneath the mistletoe feels woefully lacking compared to the strange intimacy of this moment. It's not good for him to want this to continue, and he knows that, but he'll certainly want to do it again. ]
[Often, willingly feeding a vampire’s not a good idea. They might just come back expecting more. But maybe in this case, that’s not necessarily a bad thing for either party.
The way Winter tastes, the way his pulse flitters just beneath his skin. Even the low rumble of his chest as he sighs out his name. It’s really, truly sublime, and his fingers curl a little tighter into his shirt. Oh, he would very much like to extend this encounter longer than what would be wise, but that would eke into dangerous territory for Winter’s health, and Astarion will not risk that, no matter how pleasurable this is. No matter how much it sates his appetite.
So, eventually, but sadly, he does retract himself, slipping his fangs out and lifting his chin. Astarion swallows the remnants of Winter’s blood down, his look hazy. But absolutely satisfied.]
[ Astarion pulls away, and it really does feel like a loss — the edge of which is dulled only because the vampire stays close, Winter's hand still curled into the fabric at his back.
He does feel a little lightheaded, and that might be the blood loss, or it might be... everything else. The soft purr of Astarion's voice, the look in his eyes, and the red painted across his lips. Whatever it is, Winter can't quite help himself but take Astarion's chin in the fingers of his free hand, his touch light. ]
You are a sight. Perhaps I'd like to taste you in return.
[ With his own blood fresh on Astarion's lips and all. ]
[He hasn't the will to resist, much less pull away, when Winter takes his chin. Maybe it's having just fed, or maybe it's... everything else. But this man is quite unfairly handsome, it's hard to do anything else but look away.
Distantly, Astarion remembers this is why he thought doing this in one of their rooms might have been dangerous, but the thought barely scratches the surface of his cognizance. He finds he doesn't care as much as he thought he would.]
Would you?
[His hand's still on his chest, but it raises up instead, fingers carding through long locks of black hair.]
[ And he does, tilting Astarion's head up so that their lips can meet.
Spurred by the slight hint of that coppery tang on the vampire's lips, Winter seeks entrance to his mouth almost instantly, lips parting and tongue gliding over the line of the other's mouth. ]
[His smile curls into the kiss, clearly glad that Winter decided to follow through. He pauses only long enough to let him pick up the taste of his own blood with the tip of his tongue, feeling its brief caress over his lips.
And after that? There's nothing shy about the way he parts his mouth to let him in, and he's sure he doesn't have to remind him to watch the fangs. His own tongue pushes forward to meet his, boldly, something of a challenge.]
[ If it's a challenge, then Winter meets it gladly, tongue swirling with Astarion's to take the taste of his blood into his own mouth. It harkens back to their earlier kiss in some ways, but so much better in many others — not least of which being that they chose this.
He makes a low, breathless sound into the kiss, lets Astarion drink it down while tongues and lips move together. The hand at Astarion's back flattens, pulling him closer. One of them will need to come up for air at some point, but Winter means to make this last as long as possible. It's too delectable to stop now. ]
[Oh, good. Winter doesn't disappoint in his boldness, but Astarion expected nothing else. He allows their tongues to dance, for the other to fully taste every lingering droplet of copper, and tilts his head as though to encourage it even deeper.
Pulled close, it's his turn to make a noise that almost sounds like a titter of a laugh, muffled and lost in the warlock's mouth. His hand moves to settle at the nape of his neck instead, fingers still sliding into his hair. He likes the sensation.
He also doesn't need to pull away to take a breath, so he'll happily go on for as long as Winter allows it.]
[ He also likes the sensation of Astarion's fingers in his hair, and it causes him to melt into the other man all the more. A shame that the pesky need to breathe finally rears its head, and Winter has to breath the kiss.
He stays very close, though, their faces a whisper away. There's a bit of red smeared across the corner of his own mouth now. Perhaps Astarion can do something about that eventually. ]
[He's the dangerous one? He finds that incomprehensibly funny, and he chuckles again, a sound which fans his breath against Winter's all too close lips.]
That's funny, I was just thinking that about you.
[And perhaps he should be thinking about it more. About how he wasn't certain how he would feel, simply (heatedly) kissing someone after all of his past experiences had been tainted by what he had to do for Cazador. Manipulation. Seduction. Luring sometimes perfectly innocent people away to their unlives.
It should taint the whole thing. And maybe if he falls into the rabbit hole of rumination, it will. But it feels nice now. Being held close by someone like this now. Even if Winter is a very dangerous fellow, indeed, making it feel all too easy to do so.
So he pushes all such thoughts aside. He can worry about that later. Instead, he gives a little tug of Winter's hair — not too hard, just enough so that he tilts his chin at a slightly higher angle. All the better for Astarion to dart his tongue out and lick the excess red away in a generous lave.]
[ 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. ]
[It's such easy habit to be attuned to what someone likes, for good or ill -- and Astarion very much can tell that Winter likes fingers in his hair, maybe a little tug here or two.
Those fingertips trail up just to press gently into his scalp, massaging lightly as he considers that question with less weight than he would normally.]
That depends. [His smile watches Winter, his red eyes piercing.] How much are you willing to give?
[Blood? The fact that he’s still willing to let Astarion drain him further is nearly touching, and he laughs a little, fangs gleaming.]
Oh… Well, tempting as it would be to bite you again, drinking until I’m dizzy, that isn’t precisely what I meant.
[Which leaves the other option, clearly. He trails his fingers through Winter’s dark hair, assessing his gaze, and mulling over his own quiet thoughts in his head.
Should he? Shouldn’t he? My, but it’s tempting, and it’s been too long since he’s been tempted. And maybe that’s telling — or maybe it’s a warning sign.
Gods. Or maybe, for once, he decides he just doesn’t want to give a damn.]
…I want your body, love. Let me taste other parts of you.
[ One has to cover their bases in this sort of thing, okay?
It's clear that the vampire has to give it some thought, and Winter is happy to let him have those moments. Eventually, Astarion clarifies in the best way possible, and Winter has no reason to want to tell him no. I want your body, love. What an absolutely lovely set of words. ]
Gladly, darling.
[ He loops his arm more firmly around Astarion's waist, taking him with him as he lays back on the couch. As they settle, Winter with his back on the couch cushions, and Astarion warm on top of him, he finds the vampire's lips again, a bit of heat seeping into the way he kisses him now. ]
[And down he goes with a little noise that could almost be a titter, though the sound is cut off by the way his body presses against the other man. He's so warm, he thinks, pleasantly.
Their lips meet again. There's more heat to it this time, but that's understandable when one is on top of the other. Astarion opens his mouth, letting him in nigh immediately, while his hands meanwhile seek elsewhere... Anywhere, really. One with his fingers still seated in the dark forest of the warlock's hair, the other deciding where to find purchase. It trails down, down, until it finds a place snug against Winter's hipbone, fingers flexing into the material of his trousers.
Hums quite contentedly, but eventually he does figure he might as well ask-]
You can tell me where you like to be touched if you like.
[Or he'll just figure it out himself. He's good at that.]
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We shall.
[Clack goes the glass back onto the table, and he stands.]
Off to your very floaty floor for a bite.
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BATMOBILESPACE FLOOR!!]no subject
Little has changed about Winter's room since the last time Astarion was here, though perhaps her might feel a bit more free to look around since he's no longer keeping his lack of reflection a secret. ]
How is it that even when we're trying not to have an adventure, we have one anyway?
[ He's making for the couch. Seems as good a place as any. ]
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An adventure without mind flayers, cultists, and something trying to kill me around every corner? Say it isn't so.
[That is to say: this is a much preferred kind of "adventure." Astarion takes a seat beside Winter.]
We have fun. That's the important part.
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You lead such a charmed life, my dear Astarion.
[ A grin, gaze tracking the vampire as he sits down well within Winter’s wingspan. ]
We do have fun. It’s my hope that we keep on having fun, however we like.
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Of course, Winter. With any luck, this will be the start.
[“This.” A vampire feeding on him. Not a conventional idea of fun, but certainly a creative one.]
Only one way of finding out.
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Go on, then. I'm all yours.
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His smile sharpens and he scoots even closer, one hand moving to brace itself on Winter's shoulder. He inclines in further, so close that his words fan over his exposed neck.]
It'll only sting for a second, darling.
[Given permission, he won't drag it out any longer. He's hungry, and he is dreadfully curious about how Winter tastes when there's more than just a drop of blood teasing his tongue, but instead a whole mouthful.
He opens his mouth, bearing his fangs. And then they sink in, sharp and stinging at two points. Like pinpricks of ice lancing through. And then... just a dull ache, and then a dull nothing, as Winter begins to slowly bleed into the vampire's mouth.]
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He angles his head, humming a little at the warm puff of breath against his skin, and then with no further ado, the sudden, cold sting of being bitten. Winter gasps a little, caught off-guard by the chill, his hand coming up to curl into Astarion's shirt at the small of his back.
The numbness that seeps in next is a bit strange, but there's still something to be said for the body pressed so close to his in, the slow drain of that which keeps him alive. Oh, hells, he could get to like this.
(He already does.) ]
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And it does, of course. Winter won't feel much of anything except for maybe the pressure of his lips and tongue as he drinks and drinks deep. His lifeblood filling his mouth, flowing against his palate. He tastes...
(Ah, gods. He tastes divine. This was a very good idea.)
That said, he won't drink too much. Though he's peckish, he's also been fed well during his time in this hotel, and the animalistic urge to take too much has remained more dormant than usual.
...But, also, you know. He's not done yet. His free hand raises and splays against Winter's chest, part reassurance, and part just to feel his heartbeat.]
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In the history of... ever, has anyone ever thought that offering their neck to a vampire would be a good idea? Surely not, but Winter has, and he can only think that this was a very good idea indeed.
He exhales, a low sigh that somehow takes the shape of the other man's name. ]
Oh, Astarion.
[ Somehow, their encounter beneath the mistletoe feels woefully lacking compared to the strange intimacy of this moment. It's not good for him to want this to continue, and he knows that, but he'll certainly want to do it again. ]
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The way Winter tastes, the way his pulse flitters just beneath his skin. Even the low rumble of his chest as he sighs out his name. It’s really, truly sublime, and his fingers curl a little tighter into his shirt. Oh, he would very much like to extend this encounter longer than what would be wise, but that would eke into dangerous territory for Winter’s health, and Astarion will not risk that, no matter how pleasurable this is. No matter how much it sates his appetite.
So, eventually, but sadly, he does retract himself, slipping his fangs out and lifting his chin. Astarion swallows the remnants of Winter’s blood down, his look hazy. But absolutely satisfied.]
Mmn. Delectable.
[His lips are stained a bit red.]
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He does feel a little lightheaded, and that might be the blood loss, or it might be... everything else. The soft purr of Astarion's voice, the look in his eyes, and the red painted across his lips. Whatever it is, Winter can't quite help himself but take Astarion's chin in the fingers of his free hand, his touch light. ]
You are a sight. Perhaps I'd like to taste you in return.
[ With his own blood fresh on Astarion's lips and all. ]
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Distantly, Astarion remembers this is why he thought doing this in one of their rooms might have been dangerous, but the thought barely scratches the surface of his cognizance. He finds he doesn't care as much as he thought he would.]
Would you?
[His hand's still on his chest, but it raises up instead, fingers carding through long locks of black hair.]
Perhaps you should.
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[ And he does, tilting Astarion's head up so that their lips can meet.
Spurred by the slight hint of that coppery tang on the vampire's lips, Winter seeks entrance to his mouth almost instantly, lips parting and tongue gliding over the line of the other's mouth. ]
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And after that? There's nothing shy about the way he parts his mouth to let him in, and he's sure he doesn't have to remind him to watch the fangs. His own tongue pushes forward to meet his, boldly, something of a challenge.]
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He makes a low, breathless sound into the kiss, lets Astarion drink it down while tongues and lips move together. The hand at Astarion's back flattens, pulling him closer. One of them will need to come up for air at some point, but Winter means to make this last as long as possible. It's too delectable to stop now. ]
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Pulled close, it's his turn to make a noise that almost sounds like a titter of a laugh, muffled and lost in the warlock's mouth. His hand moves to settle at the nape of his neck instead, fingers still sliding into his hair. He likes the sensation.
He also doesn't need to pull away to take a breath, so he'll happily go on for as long as Winter allows it.]
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He stays very close, though, their faces a whisper away. There's a bit of red smeared across the corner of his own mouth now. Perhaps Astarion can do something about that eventually. ]
You are... a dangerous man. I like it.
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That's funny, I was just thinking that about you.
[And perhaps he should be thinking about it more. About how he wasn't certain how he would feel, simply (heatedly) kissing someone after all of his past experiences had been tainted by what he had to do for Cazador. Manipulation. Seduction. Luring sometimes perfectly innocent people away to their unlives.
It should taint the whole thing. And maybe if he falls into the rabbit hole of rumination, it will. But it feels nice now. Being held close by someone like this now. Even if Winter is a very dangerous fellow, indeed, making it feel all too easy to do so.
So he pushes all such thoughts aside. He can worry about that later. Instead, he gives a little tug of Winter's hair — not too hard, just enough so that he tilts his chin at a slightly higher angle. All the better for Astarion to dart his tongue out and lick the excess red away in a generous lave.]
Me? I'm just hungry.
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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?
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Those fingertips trail up just to press gently into his scalp, massaging lightly as he considers that question with less weight than he would normally.]
That depends. [His smile watches Winter, his red eyes piercing.] How much are you willing to give?
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[ Oh, of course he leans into that touch. Astarion has put himself on the fast track to discovering the things Winter likes. ]
Of my blood? Not so much as to be dangerous to me. Of my body? Well, consider it all yours.
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Oh… Well, tempting as it would be to bite you again, drinking until I’m dizzy, that isn’t precisely what I meant.
[Which leaves the other option, clearly. He trails his fingers through Winter’s dark hair, assessing his gaze, and mulling over his own quiet thoughts in his head.
Should he? Shouldn’t he? My, but it’s tempting, and it’s been too long since he’s been tempted. And maybe that’s telling — or maybe it’s a warning sign.
Gods. Or maybe, for once, he decides he just doesn’t want to give a damn.]
…I want your body, love. Let me taste other parts of you.
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It's clear that the vampire has to give it some thought, and Winter is happy to let him have those moments. Eventually, Astarion clarifies in the best way possible, and Winter has no reason to want to tell him no. I want your body, love. What an absolutely lovely set of words. ]
Gladly, darling.
[ He loops his arm more firmly around Astarion's waist, taking him with him as he lays back on the couch. As they settle, Winter with his back on the couch cushions, and Astarion warm on top of him, he finds the vampire's lips again, a bit of heat seeping into the way he kisses him now. ]
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Their lips meet again. There's more heat to it this time, but that's understandable when one is on top of the other. Astarion opens his mouth, letting him in nigh immediately, while his hands meanwhile seek elsewhere... Anywhere, really. One with his fingers still seated in the dark forest of the warlock's hair, the other deciding where to find purchase. It trails down, down, until it finds a place snug against Winter's hipbone, fingers flexing into the material of his trousers.
Hums quite contentedly, but eventually he does figure he might as well ask-]
You can tell me where you like to be touched if you like.
[Or he'll just figure it out himself. He's good at that.]
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is this where we warn for inevitable nsfw
yeah,
INEVITABLE NSFW THEN
nO ONE LOOK
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love a reason to use this icon
it is nice to look at thank you
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