[Oh, there's no pause on Leto's end: begins writing the moment those flirtatious words appear. Perhaps he'd otherwise be content to merely shiver in private and bring up the scenario later so they could indulge it properly— but one with a new god to serve, I think, is simply too hot to ignore.]
God you might be, Astarion, but you know how stubborn I am. I suspect you'd have to mount me again and again, splayed on that altar or pinned over it, until I began to contemplate worshiping you.
Or seduce me. Me me ravenous for your touch, your voice, your tongue, your cock— until I forgot anything save you. Devout and addled enough to sit in your lap and impale myself atop your cock for hours on end just for the chance that you might deign to lay a hand on
no subject
God you might be, Astarion, but you know how stubborn I am. I suspect you'd have to mount me again and again, splayed on that altar or pinned over it, until I began to contemplate worshiping you.
Or seduce me. Me me ravenous for your touch, your voice, your tongue, your cock— until I forgot anything save you. Devout and addled enough to sit in your lap and impale myself atop your cock for hours on end just for the chance that you might deign to lay a hand on