INBOX II

[illithidnapped]

VOICE | ACTION | TEXT

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[doggish]

[It would be the easiest thing in the world to get lost in that litany of filth— and for a long few moments, Leto is. How can he not be? When Astarion's voice sounds so deliciously sinful as he wraps his lips around words like your cunt and your student, your whore, and each and every proposal flashes through his mind in pornographic detail. It's a breathtaking snapshot of what could be— what will be, if he so desires it . . . for that's the other half of it, isn't it? The control. The ability to taunt and tease and torment in the sweetest way, watching Astarion shatter into a million pieces beneath his guiding hand, and knowing all the while that there's nothing he can do to reverse that course . . .

(The implications could be disturbing if he let himself linger on them, so he doesn't— at least, not right now. They have all the time in the world to discuss such things, and his own nauseating unease isn't what it once was. This is a game, nothing more— just as it was when Astarion was hypnotizing him).

But his own distraction can't last, for they both of them are more than just petty instinct. And he would be a fool to ignore the significance of what Astarion asks. ]

My Astarion.

[He shifts to sit more thoroughly atop the other man, his knees braced around his hips and his mouth hot against his throat. He mouths the words against the jagged scars there, his tongue flicking with every word and his voice a low rumble.]

I will do all of that and more, I promise you. I'll blindfold you and lay you out, watching you writhe as I fuck your throat and take advantage of your lack of need for air . . . or perhaps tie you down and watch you whine to be so helpless, so overwrought with need I artificially imbue in you that you all but come from the barest touch of my fingertips. I'll make you feel as though you are in heat, that you cannot stand another second without suckling at my cock— whining and whimpering as I worship every inch of you with my mouth, so desperate to taste me that you'll outright thank me when I finally deign to give it to you.

[He tips his head back just far enough to catch Astarion's eye. He's flushed, he knows, but there's more love than lust in his eyes.]

But the one thing I will not do is watch you from across the room. I have spent too long chasing after you to want to play at vouyerism . . . even if you make a mouthwatering sight.

I want to touch you. Taste you. Feel you shivering beneath me as I slowly ride you into your third orgasm and feel you fighting not to fuck up into me— knowing all the while that you can't, for I have you bound. I want to watch you suckle at my prick until you're drooling my come. I want to watch you strip for me, dance for me— put on the most alluring show before you climb into my lap and bounce on my prick without ever once touching yourself. I want to watch you melt as I keep you still with nothing more than my, than my magic, fingering you until you finally spill over yourself like a needy little slut, whimpering my name and whining for my touch. I want to fit you with bit and bridle, keeping those fangs sated with something to chew on as you fuck me open . . .

And all the while, Astarion, you'll be mine.

Not my vampire. Not my master. Not anything save mine . . .

[He threads their left hands together, letting the cool metal of their rings clink softly in the darkness.]

. . . just as you always have been, and always will be.

Simply tell me when, and we will do it.