[Oh, there's not a chance of him darting away, not when she's so unashamedly naked and eager to tease— Leto laughs as he willingly surrenders both the camera and his autonomy, trading both for the chance to sling his arms around her waist and drag her in close. Before she can protest, one strong thigh fits between her own, lean muscle pressing up just as insistently as it had in the alleyway. Crass, perhaps, to use the same move twice— but judging by the heated slick that gathers against his leg, Leto suspects Astarion won't mind.
Fingers splay against her lower back as his eyes flit down, fixating unashamedly on the sudden pillowing swell of her breasts against his chest. He's salivating, he realizes without an iota of surprise, and tips his head, his tongue flicking out to lick at his lips just once.]
I'm the tease?
[Gods, he can feel every place their bodies connect: stiff peaks straining against his shirt (his fingers ache to touch, to grope and fondle and pinch until she cries out in needy desire) and her lithe form aligned with his own. He pulls gently at her hips, guiding her into grinding against his thigh; his own hips roll at the same time, his cock straining and stiff as he ruts against her hip, every slow rock ravenous punctuation to what he's saying.]
Little vampire, remind me: who among us demanded we wait until tomorrow to rut, hm?
[He ducks his head, fledgling teeth sharp as he nips just beneath her jawline and noses at cool skin.]
You hold my leash between your fingers and collar me, put a muzzle on me, tell me to stay and be good— and now you claim I'm the one who withholds? Posturing as if I would not get to my knees in an instant and worship you if only you were to give me permission . . . my hypocritical amatus, you cannot have it both ways.
[And oh, he can't resist: his hands slide back, fingers smoothing over the swell of her ass in open appreciation— and then dig in eagerly, squeezing and groping soft, supple muscle, eager to take as much as he can before he's inevitably scolded away. He spreads her open, his cock twitching as he imagines the vulgar sight he cannot appreciate: Astarion with her back arched and all of her perfectly on display, spread open and slick and vulgar in all the ways he can't fully savor just yet.]
So pick, pretty thing.
[His voice low and rumbling, his breath so hot as he murmurs in her ear.]
Do you want me panting at your heels or on my knees? For I am at your command.
no subject
Fingers splay against her lower back as his eyes flit down, fixating unashamedly on the sudden pillowing swell of her breasts against his chest. He's salivating, he realizes without an iota of surprise, and tips his head, his tongue flicking out to lick at his lips just once.]
I'm the tease?
[Gods, he can feel every place their bodies connect: stiff peaks straining against his shirt (his fingers ache to touch, to grope and fondle and pinch until she cries out in needy desire) and her lithe form aligned with his own. He pulls gently at her hips, guiding her into grinding against his thigh; his own hips roll at the same time, his cock straining and stiff as he ruts against her hip, every slow rock ravenous punctuation to what he's saying.]
Little vampire, remind me: who among us demanded we wait until tomorrow to rut, hm?
[He ducks his head, fledgling teeth sharp as he nips just beneath her jawline and noses at cool skin.]
You hold my leash between your fingers and collar me, put a muzzle on me, tell me to stay and be good— and now you claim I'm the one who withholds? Posturing as if I would not get to my knees in an instant and worship you if only you were to give me permission . . . my hypocritical amatus, you cannot have it both ways.
[And oh, he can't resist: his hands slide back, fingers smoothing over the swell of her ass in open appreciation— and then dig in eagerly, squeezing and groping soft, supple muscle, eager to take as much as he can before he's inevitably scolded away. He spreads her open, his cock twitching as he imagines the vulgar sight he cannot appreciate: Astarion with her back arched and all of her perfectly on display, spread open and slick and vulgar in all the ways he can't fully savor just yet.]
So pick, pretty thing.
[His voice low and rumbling, his breath so hot as he murmurs in her ear.]
Do you want me panting at your heels or on my knees? For I am at your command.