[ 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. ]
[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.]
[ 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. ]
[Now there's a sight. Winter's might share a measly 8 strength with him, but he has a sturdy frame, complimentary of his height. He's quite nice to look at without the shirt on, and the way those void-black tendrils quiver across his skin only draws the vampire's attention with keen intrigue.
He gets to see them even more up close when Winter closes the distance between them, his hands positioned at his hips, only to drag upwards and feel the planes of muscles around his torso, then the ridges of his ribs. The very idea of being touched like this, with actual intent to explore, no facade of manipulation being worn by Astarion, threatens to drag a shiver up his spine. Oh yes, it's pleasant. Though all of it is right now.
Instead, he returns the favor, alighting his palms on the other's broad chest.]
Very leveled, thank you.
[He says, dumbly, simply enjoying the feeling. The sight. His fingers trail toward a dark, sinuous tattoo barely moving against Winter's skin.]
Your markings are fascinating.
[Unlike his scars, which are indeed fascinating, but in a dreadfully morbid way.]
[ Winter isn’t strong so much as he’s dextrous, and the planes of his bare torso reflect that. He gets the same sense from exploring Astarion with his hands, fingers tracing lithe muscle, passing over his chest before he loops his arms loosely over the vampire’s shoulders. He’s content to revel in being touched just as much as touching. ]
Mm. A gift from my patron, when they saved my life.
[ The tendril under Astarion’s touch quivers, then moves more deliberately as it lifts itself from Winter’s skin to coil gently around the tip of his finger. It’s cool to the touch, and a bit slick.
Well, Winter won’t bring his tentacles to bear much more than this, in this encounter. But he could hardly resist the chance to touch. ]
[A gift? And quite a gift, at that. Astarion gently inhales in dim surprise as the cool sensation of the tendril twines around his fingertip.]
Oh.
[He pulls his finger back, not out of disgust, but merely curious to feel the odd texture drag against his skin. He's no stranger to... ah, tentacles, of course, but those had been mostly associated with mind flayers, so it's probably a good thing Winter doesn't do much more than this for now.]
[ Astarion has seen him cast Evard's Black Tentacles before, and the look here is very much the same. Where night black ink lifts off his skin it becomes more night, a piece of the star-laden sky come to life and coiling lazily around Astarion's finger. ]
I do. Like it's my own fingers wrapped around yours.
[ He angles his head, watching Astarion's face with another burst of warm fondness. Whatever it is about this moment they've decided to share, he wouldn't change it for the world. ]
[It is similar to that spell, though there's something different about it being an actual extension of Winter himself -- and given the circumstances, far more intimate. Astarion twirls his finger with the tendril wrapped around it, a little playful in action and the tone of his reply.]
Compared to the inky black of the night, even a vampire feels like he runs warm.
[But he says it fondly, a little delighted. There really is something elevating about this singular moment, and though he cannot pinpoint exactly what, he wouldn't trade it for anything, either.]
Well. I take it you'll be putting it away, though, for the rest of this. [The little tendril he means. Without giving the warlock time to retort, he splays his free palm against his chest and gives him a little push towards the bed.
If that takes him down, too, given he still has Winter's arms looped around him, then so be it.]
[ Winter has his mouth open to respond, but enamored as he is at watching Astarion, at feeling his touch, he can't guess at the vampire's intentions until it's too late. Back he goes onto the bed, dragging Astarion with him.
His back hits the mattress, pushing a laugh out of him that somehow makes him feel like a giddy teen, light and bright and simply enamored with the man currently settling on top of him. ]
Yes, I will.
[ A little belatedly. The tendril gives Astarion's finger a little squeeze and then slides away to take its place on Winter's skin as naught more than ink. ]
Perhaps some other time, but for now, I much prefer using my own hands.
[ So saying, he takes Astarion's chin in his hand, guiding him down for a kiss. Since that moment under the mistletoe, he's coming to realize that he quite likes kissing Astarion. He'd make quite the habit of it if the vampire would let him. Wouldn't that be nice? ]
[It absolutely would, and proof of that exists in this moment. In how easily he accepts yet one more kiss, and will accept even more as this encounter goes on.
He's found that they're in a similar position as they were on the couch, with Astarion atop Winter, his legs bracketing either side of the man's hips. Dipping down low to meet his lips, he hums a little note of appreciation, and the same feeling winds through him: that giddiness that makes him feel utterly adolescent in the best way possible. As though he really can forget everything else that might plague him -- thoughts of mind flayer tadpoles, of his vampirism, of his awful past, all of it pushed aside to simply indulge in Winter's touch.
And also... Perhaps some other time. The promise of more, someday. Maybe. Hopefully.
He nudges his tongue past his lips, and though the point was to let the warlock explore his body to figure out what he likes, he can't help but rock his hips a little into him. Just to tease, but also because it very much qualifies as something he likes, too.]
[ He's coming to realize he likes this, too. Astarion warm on top of him, their breaths mingling in an open-mouthed kiss, the way the vampire licks into his mouth to taste him.
Winter begins to breathe out his own sound of contentment, but that sweet friction of their hips turns the sound into something low and thunderous instead, a moan rolling through him for Astarion to drink from his lips. ]
Hells, Astarion.
[ They part for only a second, but it's enough to get those words out, and then he's diving back into the welcome heat of the other's mouth. His hands find purchase on Astarion's shoulders, and out of sheer habit he moves to pass his palms down his back, with the intention of tracing shoulder blades and muscles, to memorize and map, like he promised.
But, he halts himself just in time, movements stalling before he can get to the raised skin that mars Astarion's back. Now he breaks the kiss in earnest, pale eyes searching Astarion's face. ]
[A tingle of heat swarming every nerve-ending, from the friction of that slightest grind, to the reasserted kiss, to the flat of Winter's palms pressing into his shoulders and sliding downwards-
And then pausing, for a reason that Astarion, for a moment, doesn't quite understand, not while he's caught up in their closeness. But it appears that Winter has a bit more cognizance than him, his comfortability always seated there in his mind, a concept which has him buzzing with appreciation once the realization kicks in.
When the kiss breaks his expression is warmly grateful, but oddly apologetic. As though he knows what Winter will not exactly feel anything pleasant if he runs his hands down his back.]
Of course. If you like. Just... it won't be anything pleasant.
[The warlock had caught a glimpse of the scarring at his back, yes, but to truly rove over it will reveal just how deep the wounds had been cut, how slow and precise and measured every line was made. How much of it there is, the whole thing practically an emblem etched permanently into his back. It's long-healed, of course, but still ridged and rough with scar tissue, should Winter decide to explore there.]
[ The wounds that left those marks on his back had been deep, Winter could guess at that much just by looking, but he asks for more reasons than the physical. If Astarion doesn't want his scars touched because it bothers or upsets him, then Winter will absolutely keep his hands away.
He's given permission, but it comes couched in something almost like an apology. Winter only shakes his head a little, expression soft. ]
Sweet Astarion... I want to touch all of you. Even your scars.
[How can he say such a thing so easily? Like the ugliness on his back wouldn't make him so much as cringe? Astarion's never felt this degree of kindness from someone before. He's always been too hesitant to bear his vulnerabilities, because what kind of fool would just leave themselves open and raw like that for someone to take advantage of?
But this? This is different. Winter has only ever treated him with care and consideration, and even now, or especially now, to experience it again is so poignant that it's utterly arresting. He breathes out a guttering breath, and nods.]
Then, in that case... I want to feel your hands all over me.
[ Winter acts in his own best interests more often than not, but he's not a heartless man. The people who gain his trust and affection will have it for life. Astarion has earned both in spades, but more than that, Winter finds himself wanting to make him happy. He finds himself being happy by just his mere presence.
He knows better than to let that go. He will treat Astarion with all the care in the world and more, because it's only what he deserves. ]
Gladly, darling.
[ His hands resume their movements, passing over the ridges of the sigil carved into Astarion's skin with the utmost gentleness, his touch warm and exploratory and still eager. ]
Gods, you are gorgeous.
[ Even the things that are ugly and painful. Especially those. ]
[The ugly and painful things run deep, deeper than even what's been carved into his skin. And yet Winter still calls him gorgeous, and it's such a dizzying kindness that he nearly doesn't know what to do with.
Thankfully, he needn't do anything right now. He almost needn't say anything, either. Astarion simply closes his eyes for a moment, feeling how Winter's touch wanders around the shape of his scars, exploring every curve and every line. There's plenty to touch, three whole rings of Infernal script emblazoned there.
And... he finds he doesn't dislike it at all, actually. Maybe it's the level of pure intimacy, or maybe it's the contrast of how gentle Winter's being with something that had been so raw and painful for him, but it actually sends a full-bodied shiver running down his spine. The pleasurable sort; apparently he's a bit more sensitive, more hyperaware, along his scars than he thought.]
Aha... [He chuckles at his own bodily reaction, pale skin flushing slighty.] Gods. That's not quite what I expected.
[ As he explores, Winter also watches. His gaze roams over Astarion's body as surely as his hands, looking for signs to stop or keep going. This is about discovery, after all, and there's something about knowing that he gets to figure out what Astarion likes with Astarion that makes these moments all the more intimate. All the more precious.
So he sees it as much as feels it when Astarion shudders, watches as color rises to pale skin. ]
You like that?
[ Said as he draws a finger deliberately along the line of one scar. Idly, he wonders how Astarion might react if it were his mouth at work instead of his hands. ]
[Oh, yes, he thinks he does like it. And maybe large part of that is attributed to the fact that it's Winter doing the touching, the exploring, and the thus undercurrent of intimacy and openness between them during this moment. But in the end, the why doesn't really matter in the face of the truth: it feels good, tingly and exciting, across every swath of skin he touches. The scar he currently traces his finger around feels alive and alight with warmth -- in a good way, fully in reaction to his attentions.
His lips part, and though his mouth is still curved into a pleasant grin, he just lets out a relatively useless, but pleasurable noise. Yes, he likes that. His brain catches up a few moments later.]
[ The noise that passes Astarion's lips isn't useless, not when it serves as a guideline, another mark on the map. Not when it makes Winter want to learn just how to touch these scars, to draw his fingers across them with the skill of a musician, coaxing such lovely sounds from the man above him. ]
We were bound to find some surprises along the way.
[ And this is a good one, he thinks. Turning something terrible and painful into something warm and pleasurable instead. And not for the first time, he's glad that he's the one here to help Astarion discover it. He wants to be here for many more such moments.
He continues to let his hands rove over the marks carved into Astarion's back, letting him bask in the sensation a while, with Winter more than happy to drink up his reactions from below. ]
[-is really his only reply, his eyes fluttering closed again to just feel the way Winter touches him. Goosebumps have begun to dapple his arms, and the vampire doesn't bother to fight another shiver that runs through him as his fingers glide over the curve of the inner circle of his scars.
The sensitivity there is electrifying and warming. And though he focuses on the sensation, his mind does being to wander in the same direction Winter's had, unknowingly.]
[ Gods, Astarion really is beautiful, he thinks as the vampire slips into a reverie above him. Every angle, every laugh line, every slight shift of his expression is art, plain and simple. Winter could never tire looking at it. ]
Of course.
[ Easily. So easily. His tone is so soft, like he might break the spell of this moment if he were any louder. ]
[Quite a gentle, delicate air to this moment. Something to cherish in his memory, one that'll linger even as years and decades and centuries drift by, he's sure of it. A stray strand of white hair falls across Atarion's forehead as he tilts his head slightly to look at him again.
Anything you want. Now there's a dangerous admission. But his desire right now is simple enough.]
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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?
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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.]
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[ 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. ]
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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!]
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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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He gets to see them even more up close when Winter closes the distance between them, his hands positioned at his hips, only to drag upwards and feel the planes of muscles around his torso, then the ridges of his ribs. The very idea of being touched like this, with actual intent to explore, no facade of manipulation being worn by Astarion, threatens to drag a shiver up his spine. Oh yes, it's pleasant. Though all of it is right now.
Instead, he returns the favor, alighting his palms on the other's broad chest.]
Very leveled, thank you.
[He says, dumbly, simply enjoying the feeling. The sight. His fingers trail toward a dark, sinuous tattoo barely moving against Winter's skin.]
Your markings are fascinating.
[Unlike his scars, which are indeed fascinating, but in a dreadfully morbid way.]
love a reason to use this icon
Mm. A gift from my patron, when they saved my life.
[ The tendril under Astarion’s touch quivers, then moves more deliberately as it lifts itself from Winter’s skin to coil gently around the tip of his finger. It’s cool to the touch, and a bit slick.
Well, Winter won’t bring his tentacles to bear much more than this, in this encounter. But he could hardly resist the chance to touch. ]
That’s all me, in case you were wondering.
it is nice to look at thank you
Oh.
[He pulls his finger back, not out of disgust, but merely curious to feel the odd texture drag against his skin. He's no stranger to... ah, tentacles, of course, but those had been mostly associated with mind flayers, so it's probably a good thing Winter doesn't do much more than this for now.]
All you? Do you feel this, too, then?
[His own touch, he means.]
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I do. Like it's my own fingers wrapped around yours.
[ He angles his head, watching Astarion's face with another burst of warm fondness. Whatever it is about this moment they've decided to share, he wouldn't change it for the world. ]
You're warm.
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Compared to the inky black of the night, even a vampire feels like he runs warm.
[But he says it fondly, a little delighted. There really is something elevating about this singular moment, and though he cannot pinpoint exactly what, he wouldn't trade it for anything, either.]
Well. I take it you'll be putting it away, though, for the rest of this. [The little tendril he means. Without giving the warlock time to retort, he splays his free palm against his chest and gives him a little push towards the bed.
If that takes him down, too, given he still has Winter's arms looped around him, then so be it.]
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His back hits the mattress, pushing a laugh out of him that somehow makes him feel like a giddy teen, light and bright and simply enamored with the man currently settling on top of him. ]
Yes, I will.
[ A little belatedly. The tendril gives Astarion's finger a little squeeze and then slides away to take its place on Winter's skin as naught more than ink. ]
Perhaps some other time, but for now, I much prefer using my own hands.
[ So saying, he takes Astarion's chin in his hand, guiding him down for a kiss. Since that moment under the mistletoe, he's coming to realize that he quite likes kissing Astarion. He'd make quite the habit of it if the vampire would let him. Wouldn't that be nice? ]
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He's found that they're in a similar position as they were on the couch, with Astarion atop Winter, his legs bracketing either side of the man's hips. Dipping down low to meet his lips, he hums a little note of appreciation, and the same feeling winds through him: that giddiness that makes him feel utterly adolescent in the best way possible. As though he really can forget everything else that might plague him -- thoughts of mind flayer tadpoles, of his vampirism, of his awful past, all of it pushed aside to simply indulge in Winter's touch.
And also... Perhaps some other time. The promise of more, someday. Maybe. Hopefully.
He nudges his tongue past his lips, and though the point was to let the warlock explore his body to figure out what he likes, he can't help but rock his hips a little into him. Just to tease, but also because it very much qualifies as something he likes, too.]
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Winter begins to breathe out his own sound of contentment, but that sweet friction of their hips turns the sound into something low and thunderous instead, a moan rolling through him for Astarion to drink from his lips. ]
Hells, Astarion.
[ They part for only a second, but it's enough to get those words out, and then he's diving back into the welcome heat of the other's mouth. His hands find purchase on Astarion's shoulders, and out of sheer habit he moves to pass his palms down his back, with the intention of tracing shoulder blades and muscles, to memorize and map, like he promised.
But, he halts himself just in time, movements stalling before he can get to the raised skin that mars Astarion's back. Now he breaks the kiss in earnest, pale eyes searching Astarion's face. ]
Your back... can I touch it?
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And then pausing, for a reason that Astarion, for a moment, doesn't quite understand, not while he's caught up in their closeness. But it appears that Winter has a bit more cognizance than him, his comfortability always seated there in his mind, a concept which has him buzzing with appreciation once the realization kicks in.
When the kiss breaks his expression is warmly grateful, but oddly apologetic. As though he knows what Winter will not exactly feel anything pleasant if he runs his hands down his back.]
Of course. If you like. Just... it won't be anything pleasant.
[The warlock had caught a glimpse of the scarring at his back, yes, but to truly rove over it will reveal just how deep the wounds had been cut, how slow and precise and measured every line was made. How much of it there is, the whole thing practically an emblem etched permanently into his back. It's long-healed, of course, but still ridged and rough with scar tissue, should Winter decide to explore there.]
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He's given permission, but it comes couched in something almost like an apology. Winter only shakes his head a little, expression soft. ]
Sweet Astarion... I want to touch all of you. Even your scars.
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But this? This is different. Winter has only ever treated him with care and consideration, and even now, or especially now, to experience it again is so poignant that it's utterly arresting. He breathes out a guttering breath, and nods.]
Then, in that case... I want to feel your hands all over me.
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He knows better than to let that go. He will treat Astarion with all the care in the world and more, because it's only what he deserves. ]
Gladly, darling.
[ His hands resume their movements, passing over the ridges of the sigil carved into Astarion's skin with the utmost gentleness, his touch warm and exploratory and still eager. ]
Gods, you are gorgeous.
[ Even the things that are ugly and painful. Especially those. ]
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Thankfully, he needn't do anything right now. He almost needn't say anything, either. Astarion simply closes his eyes for a moment, feeling how Winter's touch wanders around the shape of his scars, exploring every curve and every line. There's plenty to touch, three whole rings of Infernal script emblazoned there.
And... he finds he doesn't dislike it at all, actually. Maybe it's the level of pure intimacy, or maybe it's the contrast of how gentle Winter's being with something that had been so raw and painful for him, but it actually sends a full-bodied shiver running down his spine. The pleasurable sort; apparently he's a bit more sensitive, more hyperaware, along his scars than he thought.]
Aha... [He chuckles at his own bodily reaction, pale skin flushing slighty.] Gods. That's not quite what I expected.
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So he sees it as much as feels it when Astarion shudders, watches as color rises to pale skin. ]
You like that?
[ Said as he draws a finger deliberately along the line of one scar. Idly, he wonders how Astarion might react if it were his mouth at work instead of his hands. ]
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His lips part, and though his mouth is still curved into a pleasant grin, he just lets out a relatively useless, but pleasurable noise. Yes, he likes that. His brain catches up a few moments later.]
I do, yes. Who might have thought?
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We were bound to find some surprises along the way.
[ And this is a good one, he thinks. Turning something terrible and painful into something warm and pleasurable instead. And not for the first time, he's glad that he's the one here to help Astarion discover it. He wants to be here for many more such moments.
He continues to let his hands rove over the marks carved into Astarion's back, letting him bask in the sensation a while, with Winter more than happy to drink up his reactions from below. ]
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[-is really his only reply, his eyes fluttering closed again to just feel the way Winter touches him. Goosebumps have begun to dapple his arms, and the vampire doesn't bother to fight another shiver that runs through him as his fingers glide over the curve of the inner circle of his scars.
The sensitivity there is electrifying and warming. And though he focuses on the sensation, his mind does being to wander in the same direction Winter's had, unknowingly.]
Mmn. Might I make a request, darling?
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Of course.
[ Easily. So easily. His tone is so soft, like he might break the spell of this moment if he were any louder. ]
Anything you want.
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Anything you want. Now there's a dangerous admission. But his desire right now is simple enough.]
I'd like to feel your mouth on them.
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Oh? [ His eyebrows go up. ] Are you a mind-reader, perchance? I was just thinking about how I’d like to put my mouth on them.
[ Said as he braces an arm across Astarion’s back and rolls them both over, putting the vampire beneath him. ]
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