[How easily the mood shifts from playful to a simmering heat. A hunger, and in more ways than just a desire for blood. He hears it in Winter's tone, and Astarion does not hesitate to let it show in every little detail of his own frame. His expression, his smile, the way he moves. A guileful predator on the prowl.
And like so many nights, his prize simply awaits him, that pale tract of Winter's neck ever so inviting. He draws in closer; he's sure he can hear his pulse ticking beneath his skin with equal anticipation.]
I love to hear it.
[The idea of Winter belonging to him and only him is a wonderful thought. Paired with those words, his breath is warm on the warlock's skin, and he might can anticipate a bite at any moment now--
Except, Astarion rises up just enough to kiss him ardently on the lips first, indelicate and eager, pressing in with want. Consider it a compliment that he'll set aside his gnawing hunger for a few heated moments of this first.]
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And like so many nights, his prize simply awaits him, that pale tract of Winter's neck ever so inviting. He draws in closer; he's sure he can hear his pulse ticking beneath his skin with equal anticipation.]
I love to hear it.
[The idea of Winter belonging to him and only him is a wonderful thought. Paired with those words, his breath is warm on the warlock's skin, and he might can anticipate a bite at any moment now--
Except, Astarion rises up just enough to kiss him ardently on the lips first, indelicate and eager, pressing in with want. Consider it a compliment that he'll set aside his gnawing hunger for a few heated moments of this first.]