Aching is the right word.... [Astarion wryly manages to puff out somewhere in the midst of his own unraveling, caught squarely in the crosshairs of a young thing with no scrap of inhibition left to his own name. Nothing so chaste as Leto imagines involved in the friction of this trade, where even idle heat strikes hard as flint for the view that it affords: a pornographic show sloped downwards in dark shadows, and tucked hungrily between his legs— his own hard avarice run thick before a pair of gold-green eyes that glitter in their focus. Their dazzling demand for his approval too mesmerizing to look away from.
Doubly so during that first maddening lick.]
—Hells—
[He grits again as if caught beneath the weight of some great hardship; shoulders knocking back against that shelf for one more beat before his fingers twist in silver hair. Nothing tempered so much as tamped down on by force. Counterbalance and anchor to how he can't resist canting into contact, albeit slow. Steady.
A searching hunt for the deep flat of Leto's scalding tongue.]
no subject
Doubly so during that first maddening lick.]
—Hells—
[He grits again as if caught beneath the weight of some great hardship; shoulders knocking back against that shelf for one more beat before his fingers twist in silver hair. Nothing tempered so much as tamped down on by force. Counterbalance and anchor to how he can't resist canting into contact, albeit slow. Steady.
A searching hunt for the deep flat of Leto's scalding tongue.]