[ 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.]
Ha, only if you have a tadpole in your head, which-
[Oh, whoop. There they go. Winter turns him over with ease, and he finds himself turning his head so that his cheek presses gently into the mattress, finishing his sentence with a bubbling kind of amusement.]
...Which I dearly hope that isn't the case.
[A joking manner which hides how much more heated he feels with his change of position. Winter's weight pressing atop him, his warmth, the anticipation of his mouth... Gods, it could drive someone mad.]
[ Gods help him, but Astarion's reaction to being flipped, his body language, his tone, is just as adorable as it is unfairly attractive. Winter's heart does a little flip in his chest just watching him. No one has ever made him feel like this before, it's new and exciting and unfathomably precious.
This man is going to spoil him for anyone else, isn't he? Gods, but what if there wasn't anyone else? Not after this.
But that's getting far, far ahead of himself. He clears his throat, dipping in for a gentle kiss on the corner of Astarion's mouth. ]
I assure you, the only thing squirming around in my head is the octopus who's been there for the last decade.
[ Reassuring? Anyway, he shuffles around and straightens to give Astarion a little space to maneuver, his legs framing Astarion's hips. ]
[His heart would absolutely burst if he was an actual mind reader and knew what Winter was thinking. Probably for the best, then, that he’s free to focus on this exact moment in time and the anticipation of what’s to come.]
Oh, well, if it’s just that.
[He jokes, but a wiggly space octopus beats out a tadpole any day of the week.
At any rate, once given the space, he wastes no time in rolling onto his stomach, where Winter would now see his scars in full. Normally, he’d make some remark about how terrible it looks, but the warlock’s made him comfortable enough to where he doesn’t feel the need to use humorous self-deprecation as a shield.]
Better?
Edited (ON HIS STOMACH!!!!) 2024-01-19 15:32 (UTC)
[ He does half expat something of that nature, another apology or joke made at Astarion’s own expense, but none comes. That feels… significant, like a barrier has been broken down and he’s seeing the vampire more vulnerable than he’s ever been.
What a gift he’s been given. ]
Perfect.
[ He draws his hands over Astarion’s back first, a simple pass from hips to shoulders, and then he’s bracing his palms on the mattress to dip down. He starts with the unmarred skin at the slope of his shoulder first, a sprinkle of soft kisses that trail ever closer to those scars, hair spilling over his shoulders to trail, silky soft, along that same path as he moves.
And at last, his mouth finds the first ridge carved into Astarion’s back, and he kisses it reverently. ]
[It's hard not to shiver as Winter makes his way down to the scars of his back. The anticipation does feel as though it's crawling skywards at this point, and the vampire's shoulders rise in tandem with a breath. And then-
Ooh, gods. The way his lips feel on his back is utterly divine. Astarion doesn't know if that's because of the build-up to this point or if this really is just a sensitive place by way of its history, or physiology, or both, but warm press of his lip do make him shiver beneath the other man. He actually lets out a moan to let him know it; a low, yet almost-whining noise that would be embarrassing were this with literally anyone else.
Muffled a little into the pillow, fingers curling into the sheets slightly:]
[ The privilege of getting to explore Astarion's body like something new is already quite the reward, but that moan is the sweetest thing he's ever heard. It delights him, knowing he's pulled it out of him, knowing that it's born of showing affection to something carved into him out of cruelty. His head feels fully with it, his pulse racing with delight. ]
Mm. I'm glad to hear it.
[ Words breathed out against sensitive skin. He draws his tongue along a raised line connecting one set of infernal sigils to the next. ]
[If he likes the noises he makes, he'll make yet one more when Winter's tongue runs along the raised skin of a line that connects one rune to another. Goosebumps had already been running along the tract of his arms, but they erupt anew at the wet, warm sensation of his tongue exploring the expanse of his back.
...Astarion buries his face in the the pillow. Between this, and the growing heat coiling at his groin, making his trousers even tighter than usual, and words like that, it's nigh overwhelming. Which is saying a lot for a man as experienced as Astarion, though perhaps he's the one used to overwhelming his partner in bed.]
Mmpphhff.
[Very eloquent.
Then he lifts his head, hair a bit mussed, cheeks flushed, to say-]
At this rate, you had best keep that promise, darling.
[Because he's thinking of his mouth in far more obscene places now.]
[ Very eloquent. Winter has to pause his explorations to smile, lips curving against pale skin. His eyes flick up to catch Astarion raising his head, color all-too evident on the tips of his ears. Gods, he must look a sight already. Just thinking about it makes desire flare hot in his gut, and he groans as he leaves a series of open-mouthed kisses along Astarion’s scars, warm and wet. ]
Is that so?
[ Words uttered between kisses. His voice is little more than a rumble at this point, all breath and heat. ]
[And that flush along his cheekbones, creeping all the way up to the tips of his ears, isn't going away anytime soon. He feels so exceedingly warm.]
Ah... ha-
[He arches his back slightly, an instinctive reaction to Winter's constant attention to his back. Every word fans against his skin, makes his nerves feel alight with an eager buzz.]
Would you like the delicate answer or the indelicate one?
[ Oh, this is so good. He's loving the opportunity to work Astarion up with little more than his mouth, relishing in every twitch and exhale and arch of his body. ]
I want the answer you most want to give.
[ Does he look like the kind of man who can't handle an "indelicate" answer? Please. What matters is he wants to hear it from Astarion's mouth, in whatever form it might take.
And while the vampire turns that over in his head, Winter lavishes another series of kisses along those scars, punctuating them with the soft scrape of his teeth. ]
[No, he's confident this man could handle just about whatever he threw at him and more. Though a part of Astarion doesn't want to upend this moment of pure sentimental intimacy with a blatantly crass statement—this is something to cherish, after all—and yet...
There is also the part that wants to indulge in all that Winter will give him, and is getting rather impatient about the whole thing with how keyed up his mouth is making him feel. Each kiss highlighted with the press of teeth, another layer of sensation.
So, indelicate, indeed.]
I want to feel your lips wrapped around my cock. I want to feel the heat of your mouth and tongue bringing me closer to the edge.
[ He was hoping that might be it, because he, too, couldn't help but wonder what it might be like to truly taste all of Astarion, every hot, salacious inch. And to hear it like that? Well... indelicate hits so much better, strikes so much hotter.
He breathes out another low moan against the marks that mar Astarion's back, one hand drifting to rest on the vampire's hip, just above his waistband. Gods he doesn't want to, but he straightens again, giving Astarion room to maneuver once more. He feels bereft without the heat and proximity, but the view will be absolutely worth it. ]
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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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Ha, only if you have a tadpole in your head, which-
[Oh, whoop. There they go. Winter turns him over with ease, and he finds himself turning his head so that his cheek presses gently into the mattress, finishing his sentence with a bubbling kind of amusement.]
...Which I dearly hope that isn't the case.
[A joking manner which hides how much more heated he feels with his change of position. Winter's weight pressing atop him, his warmth, the anticipation of his mouth... Gods, it could drive someone mad.]
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This man is going to spoil him for anyone else, isn't he? Gods, but what if there wasn't anyone else? Not after this.
But that's getting far, far ahead of himself. He clears his throat, dipping in for a gentle kiss on the corner of Astarion's mouth. ]
I assure you, the only thing squirming around in my head is the octopus who's been there for the last decade.
[ Reassuring? Anyway, he shuffles around and straightens to give Astarion a little space to maneuver, his legs framing Astarion's hips. ]
Roll over for me, darling.
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Oh, well, if it’s just that.
[He jokes, but a wiggly space octopus beats out a tadpole any day of the week.
At any rate, once given the space, he wastes no time in rolling onto his stomach, where Winter would now see his scars in full. Normally, he’d make some remark about how terrible it looks, but the warlock’s made him comfortable enough to where he doesn’t feel the need to use humorous self-deprecation as a shield.]
Better?
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What a gift he’s been given. ]
Perfect.
[ He draws his hands over Astarion’s back first, a simple pass from hips to shoulders, and then he’s bracing his palms on the mattress to dip down. He starts with the unmarred skin at the slope of his shoulder first, a sprinkle of soft kisses that trail ever closer to those scars, hair spilling over his shoulders to trail, silky soft, along that same path as he moves.
And at last, his mouth finds the first ridge carved into Astarion’s back, and he kisses it reverently. ]
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Ooh, gods. The way his lips feel on his back is utterly divine. Astarion doesn't know if that's because of the build-up to this point or if this really is just a sensitive place by way of its history, or physiology, or both, but warm press of his lip do make him shiver beneath the other man. He actually lets out a moan to let him know it; a low, yet almost-whining noise that would be embarrassing were this with literally anyone else.
Muffled a little into the pillow, fingers curling into the sheets slightly:]
Your mouth's even better, love.
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Mm. I'm glad to hear it.
[ Words breathed out against sensitive skin. He draws his tongue along a raised line connecting one set of infernal sigils to the next. ]
I want to taste all of you. Every inch.
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...Astarion buries his face in the the pillow. Between this, and the growing heat coiling at his groin, making his trousers even tighter than usual, and words like that, it's nigh overwhelming. Which is saying a lot for a man as experienced as Astarion, though perhaps he's the one used to overwhelming his partner in bed.]
Mmpphhff.
[Very eloquent.
Then he lifts his head, hair a bit mussed, cheeks flushed, to say-]
At this rate, you had best keep that promise, darling.
[Because he's thinking of his mouth in far more obscene places now.]
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Is that so?
[ Words uttered between kisses. His voice is little more than a rumble at this point, all breath and heat. ]
Where else would you like my mouth, dear one?
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Ah... ha-
[He arches his back slightly, an instinctive reaction to Winter's constant attention to his back. Every word fans against his skin, makes his nerves feel alight with an eager buzz.]
Would you like the delicate answer or the indelicate one?
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I want the answer you most want to give.
[ Does he look like the kind of man who can't handle an "indelicate" answer? Please. What matters is he wants to hear it from Astarion's mouth, in whatever form it might take.
And while the vampire turns that over in his head, Winter lavishes another series of kisses along those scars, punctuating them with the soft scrape of his teeth. ]
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There is also the part that wants to indulge in all that Winter will give him, and is getting rather impatient about the whole thing with how keyed up his mouth is making him feel. Each kiss highlighted with the press of teeth, another layer of sensation.
So, indelicate, indeed.]
I want to feel your lips wrapped around my cock. I want to feel the heat of your mouth and tongue bringing me closer to the edge.
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[ He was hoping that might be it, because he, too, couldn't help but wonder what it might be like to truly taste all of Astarion, every hot, salacious inch. And to hear it like that? Well... indelicate hits so much better, strikes so much hotter.
He breathes out another low moan against the marks that mar Astarion's back, one hand drifting to rest on the vampire's hip, just above his waistband. Gods he doesn't want to, but he straightens again, giving Astarion room to maneuver once more. He feels bereft without the heat and proximity, but the view will be absolutely worth it. ]
Mm. Undress for me, darling. Let me taste you.
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