I do like to play, yes... [It's practically purred, even as he pointedly shifts to get more comfortable in the lap he's treating as his throne. Even as his dominant hand slides up the curve of a shoulder, palming over the length of Sebastian's neck before the ends of his fingers stray into the detective's hair, nails scraping lightly against his scalp. His chin tips up and his grin is just as smug as the ruby red irises peeking out from between his lashes.
His other hand slides down from Sebastian's shoulder, cupping his pec and squeezing once before his grip departs.]
You've got good instincts, [he continues, his head tipping to the side, nose nudging against the taller man's jaw as his palm insinuates into the curve of Sebastian's neck, thumb scraping his chin.
His knees cinch tighter as he pushes up on them, trapping the thighs he's perched on, only encouraged by the hands that hold him.]
Hold on tight, [Astarion murmurs into warm skin, bottom lip catching brief and wet and warm as his mouth opens. The hand that had groped Sebastian's chest now finding purchase on a bicep.
And then he latches, and it's twin shards of ice lancing into flesh, the powerful clamp of his jaw and the completely enthralled curl of his nails into skin. The pull of blood isn't elegant or savoring, it's voracious. He doesn't lap or sip or take what wells of it's own accord. He drains with singular intent.
It isn't long at all before something numb and cold begins to trickle into the mix. For Sebastian, at least. The warmth flooding the vampire is quite the opposite. Nor is it long before Astarion pushes even further into the body he's perched over, his legs clamp harder, his fingers fisting in hair and cloth, the moan trapped in his throat, rumbling out of his chest, an unbridled thing, lusty and low.]
no subject
His other hand slides down from Sebastian's shoulder, cupping his pec and squeezing once before his grip departs.]
You've got good instincts, [he continues, his head tipping to the side, nose nudging against the taller man's jaw as his palm insinuates into the curve of Sebastian's neck, thumb scraping his chin.
His knees cinch tighter as he pushes up on them, trapping the thighs he's perched on, only encouraged by the hands that hold him.]
Hold on tight, [Astarion murmurs into warm skin, bottom lip catching brief and wet and warm as his mouth opens. The hand that had groped Sebastian's chest now finding purchase on a bicep.
And then he latches, and it's twin shards of ice lancing into flesh, the powerful clamp of his jaw and the completely enthralled curl of his nails into skin. The pull of blood isn't elegant or savoring, it's voracious. He doesn't lap or sip or take what wells of it's own accord. He drains with singular intent.
It isn't long at all before something numb and cold begins to trickle into the mix. For Sebastian, at least. The warmth flooding the vampire is quite the opposite. Nor is it long before Astarion pushes even further into the body he's perched over, his legs clamp harder, his fingers fisting in hair and cloth, the moan trapped in his throat, rumbling out of his chest, an unbridled thing, lusty and low.]