[ "I suppose," he says, like Winter can't see how badly he's still wanting with his own two eyes. Winter gives a small, but strangely fond, roll of his eyes, before dipping down to claim Astarion's lips in yet another kiss, bodies pressed together atop the sheets.
While he indulges in the vampire's mouth for a spell, basking in the heat of bare skin on bare skin, one of his tendril tattoos unwinds itself from his arm, reaching for the drawer of the bedside table. After a bit of rummaging, during which Winter is only definitely only slightly distracted, the tentacle comes up with a bottle of lube in its grip, ushering it to the warlock's hand.
At that point, Winter finally breaks the kiss, settling back again to kneel between Astarion's legs, tipping the contents of the bottle onto waiting fingers. ]
[Eased back down, bodies pressed together in that rapturous warmth again, and spoiled with another kiss. Astarion feels so pampered right now, which perhaps only adds to the growing sense of need burgeoning inside of him. Yet at the same time, he could remain like this for hours, just close and kissing, and feel contended. Feel oddly... safe.
How long since he's felt safe, anyway? Secure? Gods, this man is a blessing.
When Winter retrieves the lube--in a very fascinating way, at that--Astarion just hikes himself up on an elbow to watch.]
Mm, I know. [this man, please] But... not quite as captivating as you, my dear. And that is a very high bar to clear. I don't give such compliments out thoughtlessly.
[Even he's already called Winter beautiful a handful of times now, but that's neither here nor there.]
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While he indulges in the vampire's mouth for a spell, basking in the heat of bare skin on bare skin, one of his tendril tattoos unwinds itself from his arm, reaching for the drawer of the bedside table. After a bit of rummaging, during which Winter is only definitely only slightly distracted, the tentacle comes up with a bottle of lube in its grip, ushering it to the warlock's hand.
At that point, Winter finally breaks the kiss, settling back again to kneel between Astarion's legs, tipping the contents of the bottle onto waiting fingers. ]
Gods, you're beautiful.
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How long since he's felt safe, anyway? Secure? Gods, this man is a blessing.
When Winter retrieves the lube--in a very fascinating way, at that--Astarion just hikes himself up on an elbow to watch.]
Mm, I know. [this man, please] But... not quite as captivating as you, my dear. And that is a very high bar to clear. I don't give such compliments out thoughtlessly.
[Even he's already called Winter beautiful a handful of times now, but that's neither here nor there.]