[His tongue clicks against the back of his teeth as he breathes the word out, a disappointed little tsk even as he watches her writhe for him. She's so hot wedged against him, her feet dangling in the air and gravity doing half the work as she grinds and ruts and rocks against the hard line of his thigh. Again and again his hips roll forward, his leg pressing up steadily with every pass, a tempered reaction to her wriggling: up and down, up and down,, every pass maddeningly steady. Positioned like this he can even feel the shape of her through thin fabric inclined to cling, soft and plush and growing wetter by the second, eager thing that she is.
(A window slams open above them, and though some part of Leto instinctively recoils, oh, what does he care for who might overhear right now? When he has Astarion squirming and eager beneath him, her crimson eyes bright with excitement and a new game to rile them both up, oh, the whole world could watch for all he cares. She imagines him a hound on a leash, and he will not deny the comparison, not when he heels for her so easily— but he's a hound starved. And right now, Astarion thinks it fine sport to play keep-away with an entire feast).]
My apologies.
[His tone mockingly sincere if not drifting absently towards the end, for now his eyes have slid inexorably downwards. Leto stares with salivating starvation at the soft curves pushed up just for him, overspilling their laces so much they’re merely suggestions of fabric, there to preserve a semblance of modesty and not much more.
What he wouldn't give to duck his head down right now. One swift flick of his teeth and that shirt would fly free; one lap of his tongue and he’d show her just how sensitive she’s become. Lapping and licking and nipping eagerly at her until she begs him for more, for mercy, for his cock, for anything oh gods Leto please—
Tomorrow, Leto thinks, and finally flicks his eyes back up to hers.]
If you aren't capable of it, that's another thing entirely. I would not dare ask you to embarrass yourself.
[He tips his head down, his teeth nibbling gently at the line of Astarion's ear.]
Put on a pair of black panties, then, if that's all you're capable of . . . you'll still out-scandalize every person there.
[But oh, there, and he bites down sharp before he adds in a throaty murmur:]
Just remember I wore a plug for a week for you once. But perhaps I simply have better control . . .
no subject
[His tongue clicks against the back of his teeth as he breathes the word out, a disappointed little tsk even as he watches her writhe for him. She's so hot wedged against him, her feet dangling in the air and gravity doing half the work as she grinds and ruts and rocks against the hard line of his thigh. Again and again his hips roll forward, his leg pressing up steadily with every pass, a tempered reaction to her wriggling: up and down, up and down,, every pass maddeningly steady. Positioned like this he can even feel the shape of her through thin fabric inclined to cling, soft and plush and growing wetter by the second, eager thing that she is.
(A window slams open above them, and though some part of Leto instinctively recoils, oh, what does he care for who might overhear right now? When he has Astarion squirming and eager beneath him, her crimson eyes bright with excitement and a new game to rile them both up, oh, the whole world could watch for all he cares. She imagines him a hound on a leash, and he will not deny the comparison, not when he heels for her so easily— but he's a hound starved. And right now, Astarion thinks it fine sport to play keep-away with an entire feast).]
My apologies.
[His tone mockingly sincere if not drifting absently towards the end, for now his eyes have slid inexorably downwards. Leto stares with salivating starvation at the soft curves pushed up just for him, overspilling their laces so much they’re merely suggestions of fabric, there to preserve a semblance of modesty and not much more.
What he wouldn't give to duck his head down right now. One swift flick of his teeth and that shirt would fly free; one lap of his tongue and he’d show her just how sensitive she’s become. Lapping and licking and nipping eagerly at her until she begs him for more, for mercy, for his cock, for anything oh gods Leto please—
Tomorrow, Leto thinks, and finally flicks his eyes back up to hers.]
If you aren't capable of it, that's another thing entirely. I would not dare ask you to embarrass yourself.
[He tips his head down, his teeth nibbling gently at the line of Astarion's ear.]
Put on a pair of black panties, then, if that's all you're capable of . . . you'll still out-scandalize every person there.
[But oh, there, and he bites down sharp before he adds in a throaty murmur:]
Just remember I wore a plug for a week for you once. But perhaps I simply have better control . . .