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[ With access so freely given, Winter's tongue curls past those wicked fangs to drink deep of the taste of the vampire's mouth. It's a taste he's rapidly coming to enjoy, with or without the coppery tang of blood on his tongue. His own fingers slide into snow-colored tresses as they kiss, fingertips pressing against Astarion's scalp. His other arm stays looped around his middle for now.

He shifts under the other man, encouraging that touch at his hip, that touch that makes a little wave of anticipation roll through him. When they break for Astarion to speak, the warlock's lips find the corner of his mouth, the line of his jaw. He chuckles softly, breath huffing against the vampire's skin. ]

And deny you the chance to find them for yourself? Perish the thought.

[ Another small laugh, this one accompanied by the soft scrape of teeth. ]

You found one already, anyway.

[He loves how neither really wants to pull away, even after the kiss breaks; how Winter's lips still rove down the line of his jaw, or the way his teeth scrape across his skin in a teasing fashion.]

Oh, have I?

[As though he hasn't already figured it out. The hand in his hair drifts back up to the warlock's scalp, massaging gently for a moment, before his fingers curl and catches on dark strands, tugging a little.]

You mean this?

[ The sound that Winter makes in response to the light tug on his hair is felt more than heard. A low, pleased rumble rolling through his chest, up his throat, where it leaves his mouth in a breathless whisper against Astarion's ear. ]

Oh, yes. I do mean that.

[Oh, yes. He likes that reaction, too; never mind his complicated feelings about being physical with someone, but Astarion is always going to be a little proud about how easily he finds what others like. How he can root them out with just a little bit of exploration on his end.]

Mm, good to know. I'll be sure to keep it in mind.

[His turn to trail his lips against Winter's jaw. He can still scent the little puncture wounds he's left behind in his neck, smelling of copper.]

Now, where else... [The hand at his hip kneads there momentarily as the vampire considers. Higher or lower? Well... How about higher. Into the openness of his shirt, gliding along his chest, sliding in between where their bodies press against each other.] Somewhere here?

[ Oh, Winter enjoys this game very much, letting Astarion's hands and mouth rove all over him in search of the places that are sure to drive him wild. Though Astarion has yet to stumble across another one so soon, the pass of his hand over bare skin makes Winter arch into him. ]

Mm, no. Not there.

[ Keep looking. ]

[Astarion grins even wider when Winter flexes into him, splaying his hand further and drifting up higher along his chest. No, it might not be here, but he can still enjoy the feeling of skin on skin.]

What a shame. You're so warm. I can feel your heartbeat.

[And how exciting it is, and always will be, to have someone under him who thrums with the vitality of life. As though he might sample it himself, simply by being near.

Well. He supposes he can rove his hands up and down his chest anytime he likes, so for now, Astarion directs his touch back down low, past Winter's hipbone, and snakes towards his inner thigh, flexing his fingers there.]

Closer?

[ Wherever the vampire’s touch goes, it leaves a trail of fire in its wake, even through Winter’s clothes – clothes that he is becoming all the more eager to be rid of.

He hums a little, the sound heated, when Astarion’s hand dips southward. Though he’s still off the mark, his touch is enticing. Electric. No matter where it roams. ]

Oh, that’s very good, but no. You’ve gotten colder.

[ He lifts his head to nip at Astarion’s earlobe. ]

Do you want a hint?

[ (Where his mouth is at right now is a hint.) ]

[What a tease. That little nip of warmth at his own earlobe sparks a thrill in him, running down the length of his spine. Perhaps it makes Astarion bolder—or perhaps he’s always this bold, possibly getting a very good idea of where this is going—but the vampire drifts his hand up, up, up, pressing his palm against the vee of Winter’s trousers.]

Am I? Getting colder?

[He can tease in turn, too. That said, the “hint” is perhaps all too obvious for someone as experienced as Astarion, and he turns his head, leaning in to breathe his words into the man’s ear.]

What about here?

[Does he mean his hand? His mouth, so close to the contours of Winter’s ear? Both.]

[ Oh, he was so right when he called Astarion dangerous. Those hands, that mouth, they're all conspiring to slowly drive him mad. Astarion palms at his groin, and he'll already find a hint of a bulge there, the motion driving a shuddering exhale out of the warlock.

To say nothing of what those breathless words in his ear do for him, sending a shiver down his spine. ]

I should've known you wouldn't play fair.

[ That's not a "no". ]

[These things combined—from the promising bulge in Winter’s pants, to the shiver he can feel running through him, to the words themselves—earn just another breathless laugh from Astarion.]

Darling. Surely you know me well enough by now to know…

[Drags the length of his tongue slowly, very slowly, along the curve of his ear. And then a little nibble on the earlobe, for good measure.

His hands, both of them, give a squeeze.]

…I never play fair.

[ Not Astarion with the three-pronged attack… there’s really nothing Winter can do to resist, but then, he doesn’t really want to resist. He’s not the sort of person who puts his pride on the line in matters of the bedroom, and instead is more than happy to let his partner know when he’s having a great time.

And this is certainly a great start. The warlock’s eyes fall closed, head angling back into the couch cushions, the warm slide of Astarion’s tongue along his ear making warmth and the staticky buzz of anticipation roll through him. ]

I– ah-! Mmn…

[ He’d forgotten about those hands for a second. Astarion is quick to remind him, and the low buzz in his veins becomes a full-on electric bolt. He arches into Astarion again, hips rocking. ]

I expected no less.

[Definitely Astarion with the three-pronged attack. But if they're both spoiled by it, then what's the harm? He likes how reactive Winter is; how he's not shy at all to show how much he's enjoying his touches, though the vampire didn't expect anything less.

That nibble becomes a little nip before he relents, and he eases himself up to look down at Winter as the warlock arches into his touch. As much as he's cited he doesn't play fair, Astarion doesn't wish to be too much of a tease, either. He wants to encourage and reward every little attempt to feel more anticipatory pleasure, more friction. Wants to see the look on Winter's face as everything builds to a boil. Idly, he drags his fingers through the other's hair again, simply because he can.]

Mmn.

[He continues to palm him through his pants, steady and rhythmically applied pressure.]

Gods... [Despite himself, the vampire huffs out a disbelieving little exhale.] I'm sure you hear it all the time, but you're beautiful like this.

[ For as heated as this started, for as heated as it is, there's not much of a sense of urgency about it. Astarion isn't keen to draw this out, but there's no real hurry here, is there? He can work Winter up all he likes, slowly stoking the fire in him with fingers in his hair and the rhythmic press of his palm.

Winter loves it, basks in that heat that rises to his face, color seeping into pale cheeks, lips slightly parted and eyes half-lidded as he glances at the man on top of him. ]

Perhaps once or twice.

[ He makes a little noise, low and breathless, hips continuing to rock into Astarion's touch. Oh, yes. Just like that. ]

I have to say, I quite like the view from here, too.

[And perhaps once or twice, he’s heard that compliment thrown his way, too. And though it’s always nice to hear—Astarion hinges so much of his worth upon his appearance, after all—it’s more than just self-satisfaction wending through him when he hears it from his mouth. He’s… well, he’s not sure what to call it. Touched? Fond?

Something not wholly related to what they’re intend to do to each other physically, and that’s—

Well. Best not to overthink it for now.]

Do you? [Even so, his voice comes out a little softer than he intended.] That means plenty, coming from you.

[Astarion feels compelled to lean in and kiss Winter again, catching his lips against his, sucking at a bottom lip — and he does, his hand working him between his legs the entire time. His own trousers are beginning to feel a strain, but he ignores that for now. Breathes out, low-]

Any place else I can touch? Any hidden, titillating spots that I might stumble across? Or are you fine with my hand precisely where it is? Working you so slowly.

[ 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?

[He's sat up a little more once they break their kiss, the vampire enjoying how the warlock's bottom lip shines. Though in the next moment, he blinks, a little flicker of confusion as Winter takes his hand and guides it away from that all-too-tempting spot between his legs.]

I...

[And then those lips brush across his knuckles, such a sweet, sweet gesture amid the growing heat, and he asks that. What does he want?]

I... [He echoes again, nigh dumbly. How is it such a simple question throws him off-kilter, not knowing how to reply? He has his freedom now, he knows that he should be able to answer such a thing without any issue at all, fully embracing the potential of be able to do whatever he wants. Inside the bedroom, and out.

And yet.

And yet he doesn't know. What would he like? What does he want? How does he like to be touched, when he's been touched in so many ways under the guise of affection, when it was all just calculated seduction for the sake of drawing others to a fate worse than death? Can he peel one concept away from the other?

His undead heart feels as though it twists in his chest. The sentiment feels poignant, and precious, and very much welcome -- but also unwieldy.]

I don't know.

[ For most other people, this would be a simple question, but for Astarion, it's anything but. That much is plain on his face, as he tries to work through centuries of imprisonment and neglect and cruelty to find what, of anything, is left of himself. The smallest of seeds, and Winter suddenly wants nothing more than to help it grow.

He reaches up with his free hand, resting his palm against the side of the vampire's face, thumb coasting over his cheek. ]

Has anyone ever asked you that before?

[He doesn't know how to reply, either. He doesn't want this subject—still twisted up like thorny bramble inside of him, not yet sorted out in his heart or his head—to bring down the mood. Gods knows he only wants to enjoy himself, and to have Winter enjoy himself, too, without the other thinking he's stumbled into... a tangled knot of issues, insecurities, a mess of the person he'd become in two long centuries. (Even if that's exactly what he is.)

Yet somehow, Winter's touch manages to pull words out of him. He unknowingly tilts his head into it even as he frowns, his red eyes have darkened with remembrance.]

Oh, the kinder ones did, certainly.

[The ones who thought they really, truly loved him. The ones who cared and were sweet and gentle, and those were the ones that hurt the most.]

But even then, what I wanted didn't matter. Whatever I said in return was lip service, because it all amounted to the same: seduce some poor fool so my master could benefit from it. This is the first time I've...

[Even come close to being truly intimate with anyone since his freedom. Or even before that; since he started carrying around this dreadful tadpole.]

Been this close to someone since then.

[ After so long of not being able to do anything for himself, of course Astarion would have a hard time untangling this. It is twisted and jagged and more likely to draw blood than not, but it should be very obvious by now that Winter does not mind bleeding for him. For this. The mood isn't brought down, it's simply changed, and perhaps for the better.

Astarion isn't someone he's going to drag to his bed to fuck and forget. And neither is Winter someone Astarion is seducing under orders, as a matter of survival. This is something they both want — isn't it? ]

Astarion...

[ There's something terribly sweet about the way the vampire has tilted his head into his touch. Winter draws his thumb along his cheekbone again, following the crest in small and soothing motions. ]

Will you let me explore you? I would be honored to discover the things you enjoy together, to make a map for us both.

[Terribly sweet, terribly vulnerable. The two don't often twine together, but something about Winter's offer makes it feel like... it might be all right, it might be safe, to be more exposed around this man than he would with just about anyone else.

Astarion's eyes close briefly, just feeling his touch, and the corner of his hips finally hitch upwards -- a little rueful, a little grateful both.]

Yes, I think...

[He exhales gently, then opens his eyes to look down at Winter again.]

I think I wouldn't mind that. With you.

[ There's something about the simple addition of "with you" that makes that pleasant, constricting warmth hug all the tighter. He'd spoken true, of course, that he would be honored, and he is, but more than that, this feels special. Cherished. Because it's him, and because it's Astarion.

Those two words bring something soft and fond to the warlock's expression, and he gives a small nod. Shifting on the couch, he hauls himself up to a sit, one arm still looped around the vampire to keep him steady. ]

Then we're not doing this on the couch.

[ He can't quite help but lean in to kiss Astarion, a brief detour he indulges in for a languid moment. ]

Will you join me in my bed?

[The interruption from couch to bed will be no interruption at all — he’s still being held, and he’s still being granted a kiss. Astarion returns it, of course, taking in the taste and scent of Winter again, before he responds with a nod.]

Of course I will. More room for the both of us.

[To explore, as it were. Astarion shuffles off the couch, letting Winter rise with him.]

Excellent.

[ He gets to his feet once the vampire's weight is no longer on him, though he finds himself hesitant to let him go completely, so he reaches over to take Astarion's hand in his own.

One more kiss to the back of his knuckles for good measure, Winter's hair cascading over his shoulders as he bends to plant his lips there, and then it's off to the bed, Winter guiding Astarion along with him. ]

[Oh, if he had a perfectly working heart, he's sure it'd flutter a bit with that "parting" kiss whispering along his knuckles -- though they hardly part at all, Astarion happily led to Winter's bedside. Only then does he choose to retract his hand, just so he's free to tug away at the bottom hem of his shirt, untucking the material so that he can-]

Let's do away with this first, what do you say?

[Might as well, after all. Astarion pulls the loose-fitting garment over his head, exposing his upper half. Though it's nothing Winter hasn't already see before. And today, at that!]

[ Might as well. And yes, though Winter has seen Astarion without his shirt not even an hour ago, the situation has much changed. This is not a quirk of the hotel leaving his friend naked. This is something far better, far more intimate. ]

I say that’s a wonderful idea. What say we level the field?

[ Which means he tugs his own shirt off, casting it aside to be forgotten. The tattoos painted across his skin catch the light of the room and swallow it, a void of inky black against that pale expanse. The tendrils move a little, ever slight, with their own sort of anticipation. Though, he won’t bring them out to play for this endeavor. Perhaps one day.

With both of them bare from the waist up, Winter’s hands come to rest on Astarion’s hips, though they don’t stay there for long. His palms glide over his torso, through the hills and dales of his abdominal muscles, along the ridges of his ribcage, counting them with a tender touch. It is slow and searching and soft, Winter’s gaze flicking to Astarion’s face to watch him. ]

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is this where we warn for inevitable nsfw

yeah,

INEVITABLE NSFW THEN

nO ONE LOOK

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