Oh? But I'm not the one who needs to worry about making noise . . .
[He purrs it out as he leans forward, nuzzling eagerly against the line of Astarion's still-clothed prick. He's so intimately aware of just how close others are, and every reminder (a sharp bark of laughter, a loud cry for another round) only makes his pulse leap more. Stay quiet, and he will, he will (he'll do anything Astarion tells him to), but oh, gods, if there isn't some part of him aching to be caught. Thrilling in the thought of that door bursting open and gods-only-know how many sets of eyes drinking in the sight of him on his knees, his tongue pressed down flat beneath the weight of a heavy cock and his throat bulging with the effort, his own prick drizzling down vulgar droplets of precome that go neglected but not unnoticed . . .
And none of them allowed to do anything but long to touch.
But he'll be good. He'll be anything Astarion wants so long as he gets what he's aching for. His eyes stay locked upright as he catches thin leather ties between his teeth, tugging and pulling until fabric parts with obedient grace. From there he leans in, nosing and mouthing eagerly at bare skin, idle kisses a chaste preview as his hands blindly taking over the work of tugging those slacks down low on Astarion's hips and prying his cock free.]
You cannot tell me some part of you isn't aching for us to be caught.
[He murmurs it with a little grin before he leans in and exhales hotly against the jutting hang of Astarion's prick. And from there, one long, lurid lick, his tongue sliding from crown to root in blatant tease.]
no subject
[He purrs it out as he leans forward, nuzzling eagerly against the line of Astarion's still-clothed prick. He's so intimately aware of just how close others are, and every reminder (a sharp bark of laughter, a loud cry for another round) only makes his pulse leap more. Stay quiet, and he will, he will (he'll do anything Astarion tells him to), but oh, gods, if there isn't some part of him aching to be caught. Thrilling in the thought of that door bursting open and gods-only-know how many sets of eyes drinking in the sight of him on his knees, his tongue pressed down flat beneath the weight of a heavy cock and his throat bulging with the effort, his own prick drizzling down vulgar droplets of precome that go neglected but not unnoticed . . .
And none of them allowed to do anything but long to touch.
But he'll be good. He'll be anything Astarion wants so long as he gets what he's aching for. His eyes stay locked upright as he catches thin leather ties between his teeth, tugging and pulling until fabric parts with obedient grace. From there he leans in, nosing and mouthing eagerly at bare skin, idle kisses a chaste preview as his hands blindly taking over the work of tugging those slacks down low on Astarion's hips and prying his cock free.]
You cannot tell me some part of you isn't aching for us to be caught.
[He murmurs it with a little grin before he leans in and exhales hotly against the jutting hang of Astarion's prick. And from there, one long, lurid lick, his tongue sliding from crown to root in blatant tease.]