[His chin lifts with Winter’s urging, and it’ll become easier to see the red on his lips, and how it smears with the warlock’s touch. Like pigment, dashed so delicately against his skin. A mess to most eyes, or even the dangerous visage of a predator, but between the two of them? It’s an otherworldly kind of intimacy, one that Astarion’s not entirely sure he’s experienced before he met this man.
I need you. How many times will he say things that make his heart dash against his ribcage? Astarion’s throat bobs as he sets his jaw, swallowing, feeling a different kind of want rise in him — not hunger, nor lust (though the undercurrent of that exists, too), but a different desire that gnaws at him, in need of filling. The kind that’s left a yawning void in him for centuries.
In the wake of this realization, he wonders what to do, just for a moment. If this will be another night of heated, physical intimacy between them, tangled up in each other until they’re little more than useless, sweaty messes before the night is through. And he’d like that, of course he would, but—
For a moment, he just wants something quiet, something to still this essence in time, belonging to no one else but them.]
I—
[But oh, he can’t articulate that. All he does is shift until their bodies press close against each other, looking down at Winter, propped up with his elbows bracketing him on each side. Red eyes inscrutable.]
Just like this. [“Like this”, as he eases himself down and places rest his head somewhere in the crook of Winter’s neck, eyes closing and taking in his scent. Hardly matters to him if it’s the same side that’s still eking a trail of blood.] Just for a moment.
no subject
I need you. How many times will he say things that make his heart dash against his ribcage? Astarion’s throat bobs as he sets his jaw, swallowing, feeling a different kind of want rise in him — not hunger, nor lust (though the undercurrent of that exists, too), but a different desire that gnaws at him, in need of filling. The kind that’s left a yawning void in him for centuries.
In the wake of this realization, he wonders what to do, just for a moment. If this will be another night of heated, physical intimacy between them, tangled up in each other until they’re little more than useless, sweaty messes before the night is through. And he’d like that, of course he would, but—
For a moment, he just wants something quiet, something to still this essence in time, belonging to no one else but them.]
I—
[But oh, he can’t articulate that. All he does is shift until their bodies press close against each other, looking down at Winter, propped up with his elbows bracketing him on each side. Red eyes inscrutable.]
Just like this. [“Like this”, as he eases himself down and places rest his head somewhere in the crook of Winter’s neck, eyes closing and taking in his scent. Hardly matters to him if it’s the same side that’s still eking a trail of blood.] Just for a moment.