[ Oh, Astarion is going to be the death of him one of these days. The vampire's breath fans across his skin, making his pulse jump all the more in anticipation of the sweet sting of fangs piercing his skin... only for him to change tracks entirely.
Not that Winter is complaining, mind. He makes a low sound into Astarion's mouth, leaning in to return the kiss with just as much eagerness. He slides his fingers into Astarion's hair, where they will probably stay even when Astarion inevitably turns his attention back to his throat. ]
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Not that Winter is complaining, mind. He makes a low sound into Astarion's mouth, leaning in to return the kiss with just as much eagerness. He slides his fingers into Astarion's hair, where they will probably stay even when Astarion inevitably turns his attention back to his throat. ]