[Drawled out, his voice low and richly amused. One hand slips down beneath Astarion's thigh, urging that probing leg upwards and outwards: come close to me, as he guides it around his hip and draws him in. Their hips press together, Fenris' back arching as he indulges in a single, sinful grind— and oh, it's too much. It's ruinous, it's dangerous— and yet right now, tipsy off liquor and drunk off adoration, Fenris doesn't care, not anymore.
In one swift motion he hoists the other elf up in his arms, thighs wrapped around his hips and his weight borne so easily; he then turns on his heel, pinning him up against the faded black wall. There you are, and there's such a satisfied look in Fenris' eye as he stares at him, held upright by the rock of Fenris' hips and one steady hand.]
And still, I will be able to thrill you with a single motion, little magistrate.
[Drawled as he runs one palm down his side, fingers lingering in all the artfully torn gaps ripped into expensive clothing, each touch searing against cold skin. Another little rock of his hips, slow and heavy, before he adds:]
Or do you truly think you'd come out on top? Such a squalling little brat who hasn't learned how to take instead of simply demanding . . . do you truly think my being two centuries instead of three would give you an advantage?
no subject
[Drawled out, his voice low and richly amused. One hand slips down beneath Astarion's thigh, urging that probing leg upwards and outwards: come close to me, as he guides it around his hip and draws him in. Their hips press together, Fenris' back arching as he indulges in a single, sinful grind— and oh, it's too much. It's ruinous, it's dangerous— and yet right now, tipsy off liquor and drunk off adoration, Fenris doesn't care, not anymore.
In one swift motion he hoists the other elf up in his arms, thighs wrapped around his hips and his weight borne so easily; he then turns on his heel, pinning him up against the faded black wall. There you are, and there's such a satisfied look in Fenris' eye as he stares at him, held upright by the rock of Fenris' hips and one steady hand.]
And still, I will be able to thrill you with a single motion, little magistrate.
[Drawled as he runs one palm down his side, fingers lingering in all the artfully torn gaps ripped into expensive clothing, each touch searing against cold skin. Another little rock of his hips, slow and heavy, before he adds:]
Or do you truly think you'd come out on top? Such a squalling little brat who hasn't learned how to take instead of simply demanding . . . do you truly think my being two centuries instead of three would give you an advantage?