[Astarion means it, Leto thinks distantly. It's never just filthy talk, not when it comes to vampiric stamina and desire; no matter how his lover adores exaggerating, Leto would be a fool not to think there's a part of him that means it. Broken in till sunrise, a promise dripping in lust— and as velvet heat pushes coaxingly against his lips, Leto shudders, for all that stubborn pride is suddenly drowning in a crushing wave of intoxicated heat.
Those words evoke so many memories, after all— and now his mind races with filth (for he knows what it is to be impaled and rutted and bred for hours on end, stars dancing in his eyes as his mouth is fucked relentlessly, his tongue suppressed and his throat penetrated to the point of swelling, gagging thrill— used until he's so far past the point of I can't and over the horizon into being little more than wet hole for Astarion to fuck, docile and grateful for the gushes of come dripping down his chin and spilling over his thighs).
How well Astarion knows him, that he knows damn well what memories he triggers with that filthy phrase.
Clever thing.]
Please—
[His voice is slurred, the velvet head of Astarion's cock pushing so insistently against his lips. Hungry as a lover's kiss and welcomed just as eagerly: Leto mouths at every slow push even as his body shakes from the strain of holding this position. Drawn upright and yet still kept pinned thanks to that steady pressure against his cock, and all the while so intent on being good.]
Can I— will you—
[And in the end, his eyes flick away and then back, unable to stay locked with the predatory, patient gaze above him as he speaks.]
Please, will you fuck me?
[Do better, his heart thundering and his normally steady voice now halting.]
I want— [no] will, will you fuck my mouth? Will you please— please use me until you come down my throat— until I am dripping it, drooling it— until I can remember nothing but the taste of you, until I learn to crave n-nothing but the weight of your cock against my tongue and plunging into my throat? Will you, [mmph] will you fuck me from behind against the wall— until I cannot remember what it is to not be impaled on your cock, until I am marked and used and yours— please, will you?
[Oh, it's almost too much. There's a ringing in his ears, a high-pitched whine that echoes as he stumbles through this humiliating request. There's still people near, and suddenly that's as terrifying as it is thrilling: a shock to his system that has him panting as he realizes how many people might overhear.
But that isn't the hardest part, no, and he swallows thickly, trying to summon his courage to continue.]
And . . .
[Deep breath, little pup.]
Will you let me— [ah, another imperceptible twitch of his hips, his cock nudging against Astarion's sole,] let me touch myself throughout all that, u-until I come too?
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Those words evoke so many memories, after all— and now his mind races with filth (for he knows what it is to be impaled and rutted and bred for hours on end, stars dancing in his eyes as his mouth is fucked relentlessly, his tongue suppressed and his throat penetrated to the point of swelling, gagging thrill— used until he's so far past the point of I can't and over the horizon into being little more than wet hole for Astarion to fuck, docile and grateful for the gushes of come dripping down his chin and spilling over his thighs).
How well Astarion knows him, that he knows damn well what memories he triggers with that filthy phrase.
Clever thing.]
Please—
[His voice is slurred, the velvet head of Astarion's cock pushing so insistently against his lips. Hungry as a lover's kiss and welcomed just as eagerly: Leto mouths at every slow push even as his body shakes from the strain of holding this position. Drawn upright and yet still kept pinned thanks to that steady pressure against his cock, and all the while so intent on being good.]
Can I— will you—
[And in the end, his eyes flick away and then back, unable to stay locked with the predatory, patient gaze above him as he speaks.]
Please, will you fuck me?
[Do better, his heart thundering and his normally steady voice now halting.]
I want— [no] will, will you fuck my mouth? Will you please— please use me until you come down my throat— until I am dripping it, drooling it— until I can remember nothing but the taste of you, until I learn to crave n-nothing but the weight of your cock against my tongue and plunging into my throat? Will you, [mmph] will you fuck me from behind against the wall— until I cannot remember what it is to not be impaled on your cock, until I am marked and used and yours— please, will you?
[Oh, it's almost too much. There's a ringing in his ears, a high-pitched whine that echoes as he stumbles through this humiliating request. There's still people near, and suddenly that's as terrifying as it is thrilling: a shock to his system that has him panting as he realizes how many people might overhear.
But that isn't the hardest part, no, and he swallows thickly, trying to summon his courage to continue.]
And . . .
[Deep breath, little pup.]
Will you let me— [ah, another imperceptible twitch of his hips, his cock nudging against Astarion's sole,] let me touch myself throughout all that, u-until I come too?