One short, swift inhale that he won't ever admit to anyone, Astarion least of all. It's there and gone, evidence for it only living on in the way he's breathless as he's bent backwards: held by hands that don't waver and whispered to with a voice that overwhelms in the most alluring way. His heart thunders as heat floods his cheeks, and he doesn't know why, save perhaps that no one has ever done this before.
But there's no time for reflection. In the next instant they rise up out of the dip and move: Astarion driving them forward and Fenris walking back, his eyes gleaming as he remembers how this goes. It's all about letting go, in fighting or fucking or dancing: how to stop worrying about how you don't know what to do and simply let yourself do it, trusting in your own instincts to be your guide. Don't glance down at your feet, for they don't know any better than you what's happening next; instead, watch his eyes. He grips Astarion's hand and feels the tension there, guiding him into turning left or right; he surrenders the urge to lead and instead focuses on following, grinning all the while.]
I see that.
[Muttered wryly as they twist, turn— dip again, Fenris parting his thighs as Astarion leans in deep, their breath hot against one another's mouths. Like this, like this, and without realizing it he's shifted his own body, arching his back as his hips remember what it is to act separately from his torso.
They drift apart deliberately, hands still connected, and Fenris uses the momentum to add a twist, his feet moving in a complex pattern before he's drawn back close once more. Astarion's hand is warmer now, soft and yet with enough power in those wiry fingers to guide Fenris along as they draw back together.]
Is that the best you can do?
[More, show me more, as if they aren't electrified already— but now he feels as though he's in sync with Astarion. He knows the press of his body and the tension in his muscles; he knows how to anticipate, angle, move with him instead of against him, reading his body and relying on him to know just how to catch him when Fenris falls. Even their breathing feels as though it's in sync, ragged exhales and sharp inhales as they move together.]
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One short, swift inhale that he won't ever admit to anyone, Astarion least of all. It's there and gone, evidence for it only living on in the way he's breathless as he's bent backwards: held by hands that don't waver and whispered to with a voice that overwhelms in the most alluring way. His heart thunders as heat floods his cheeks, and he doesn't know why, save perhaps that no one has ever done this before.
But there's no time for reflection. In the next instant they rise up out of the dip and move: Astarion driving them forward and Fenris walking back, his eyes gleaming as he remembers how this goes. It's all about letting go, in fighting or fucking or dancing: how to stop worrying about how you don't know what to do and simply let yourself do it, trusting in your own instincts to be your guide. Don't glance down at your feet, for they don't know any better than you what's happening next; instead, watch his eyes. He grips Astarion's hand and feels the tension there, guiding him into turning left or right; he surrenders the urge to lead and instead focuses on following, grinning all the while.]
I see that.
[Muttered wryly as they twist, turn— dip again, Fenris parting his thighs as Astarion leans in deep, their breath hot against one another's mouths. Like this, like this, and without realizing it he's shifted his own body, arching his back as his hips remember what it is to act separately from his torso.
They drift apart deliberately, hands still connected, and Fenris uses the momentum to add a twist, his feet moving in a complex pattern before he's drawn back close once more. Astarion's hand is warmer now, soft and yet with enough power in those wiry fingers to guide Fenris along as they draw back together.]
Is that the best you can do?
[More, show me more, as if they aren't electrified already— but now he feels as though he's in sync with Astarion. He knows the press of his body and the tension in his muscles; he knows how to anticipate, angle, move with him instead of against him, reading his body and relying on him to know just how to catch him when Fenris falls. Even their breathing feels as though it's in sync, ragged exhales and sharp inhales as they move together.]
Don't hold back.