[Single-minded little wolf, he whines as he's pushed back. It's an instinctive cry, a split-second protest as his growing fantasy is abruptly interrupted. He doesn't want to linger on the thought of that brat; he wants to sink to his knees. He wants to pry open those trouser laces with his teeth and drag her panties down to her knees just to reveal her cunt: flushed with heat and slick with arousal, swollen and eager and in desperate need of a clever tongue. And he'll give her that, oh, yes: he'll wedge himself between her thighs and eat her out until she's begging him to stop— her fingers fit between fierce fangs and her thighs shaking as she tries to keep some semblance of propriety, that cloak the only thing that keeps her from total debauchery— panting, mewling for him as she drips onto his waiting tongue, alternating between frantic pleas to stop and begging him for two thick fingers to spear her and spread her open as he suckles on her needy little clit—
He's salivating.
And so it takes him a moment to reorient. One bewildering blink down at her before he manages to understand what she's asking— and what that gleam in her eye means.]
Ah—
[Gods, give him a few seconds . . . it isn't just that he has to pull himself out of his fantasies, but actually remember all the inane chatter of today. His hands fall down to grip her hips, his thumbs playing unsubtely at their hem as he thinks.]
It's a birthday party.
[Oh, that's right . . .]
For one of the Gist daughters. A masquerade. It doesn't begin until that night, but she and her friends want to spend all day getting ready. Or paying other people to get them ready, more likely. I believe she's going as some kind of gilded cat.
[But oh, he knows what Astarion is getting at . . . and gods, but he wants to see it. He wants to watch her at work, swanning around and viciously undercutting every coy remark, stealing Arylnn's friends and making her miserable. It's petty and mean and he doesn't care, not right now. A sharp grin flashes over his face, his back arching as he pushes tentatively against Astarion's hands, feeling the pinprick bites of his own talons against his chest.]
no subject
He's salivating.
And so it takes him a moment to reorient. One bewildering blink down at her before he manages to understand what she's asking— and what that gleam in her eye means.]
Ah—
[Gods, give him a few seconds . . . it isn't just that he has to pull himself out of his fantasies, but actually remember all the inane chatter of today. His hands fall down to grip her hips, his thumbs playing unsubtely at their hem as he thinks.]
It's a birthday party.
[Oh, that's right . . .]
For one of the Gist daughters. A masquerade. It doesn't begin until that night, but she and her friends want to spend all day getting ready. Or paying other people to get them ready, more likely. I believe she's going as some kind of gilded cat.
[But oh, he knows what Astarion is getting at . . . and gods, but he wants to see it. He wants to watch her at work, swanning around and viciously undercutting every coy remark, stealing Arylnn's friends and making her miserable. It's petty and mean and he doesn't care, not right now. A sharp grin flashes over his face, his back arching as he pushes tentatively against Astarion's hands, feeling the pinprick bites of his own talons against his chest.]
Will I see you there, vicious thing?