[ There’s a joke to be made about biting the hand that feeds you, here, though Winter’s certainly not going to make it himself. Not now, at least. Despite the danger – or perhaps because of it – there’s something intoxicating about having Astarion this close, body arced over his own, hands on his shoulders.
Probably because he usually knows what happens after Astarion has his fill, even if this time the two of them are probably not in much shape for it. The spirit is willing and all that.
He doesn’t quite mean for his hand in Astarion’s hair to become an affectionate gesture, but it just sort of happens anyway. The vampire pulls away, and it seems a natural thing, to finish the brush of those fingers through snow colored locks. ]
Aren’t you just the sweetest?
[ He pulls his hand away to point at the corner of his own mouth, lips curving into a smirk of quiet amusement. ]
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Probably because he usually knows what happens after Astarion has his fill, even if this time the two of them are probably not in much shape for it. The spirit is willing and all that.
He doesn’t quite mean for his hand in Astarion’s hair to become an affectionate gesture, but it just sort of happens anyway. The vampire pulls away, and it seems a natural thing, to finish the brush of those fingers through snow colored locks. ]
Aren’t you just the sweetest?
[ He pulls his hand away to point at the corner of his own mouth, lips curving into a smirk of quiet amusement. ]
You have something just there.
[ Just a little blood. No biggie. ]