[ It wouldn't be the first time that food metaphors crossed his mind: good enough to eat, a devouring kiss, hunger, thirst... but it's the first time it's quite this literal. He's not afraid, though he probably should be, but that doesn't stop his heart from beating just a little harder from the instinctive knowledge this isn't strictly natural for him to be willing prey. It's certainly not from the way Astarion's looking at him or touching him or damn near purring against his neck.
He lets Astarion talk because there's very little stopping him, he's suspecting, and he's not exactly keen to delay the experience. Still not in a hurry, but the longer he has to think about this the harder it is to quell the warning bells threatening to become shrill sirens. And still he grunts what's almost a laugh at being told to hold on tight, so he does, all the moreso, even though his grip was already rather unyielding.
Sebastian has...a few too many memories of being bitten, of being bled, in ways that were clearly intended to kill him painfully and effectively...
This is not one of those.
This is sharp, crisp, shockingly cold as a knife's edge until the blood begins to attempt to pool only to pass between teeth and lips and it's a head rush, of a kind. He knows the signs of blood loss all too intimately, can feel his head spinning, the strange, warning coldness beginning in his extremities. The air in his lungs escapes him as the man in his lap apparently abandons any remaining pretense.
His grip loosens, though whether it's from the the need to release the tension in his fingers alone or some other loss of strength, he's not sure. He's not really thinking that hard about it. Or about anything.
Astarion moans and Sebastian sighs and shivers and slides his hands up the other man's thighs to his hips and tries to hold on.
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He lets Astarion talk because there's very little stopping him, he's suspecting, and he's not exactly keen to delay the experience. Still not in a hurry, but the longer he has to think about this the harder it is to quell the warning bells threatening to become shrill sirens. And still he grunts what's almost a laugh at being told to hold on tight, so he does, all the moreso, even though his grip was already rather unyielding.
Sebastian has...a few too many memories of being bitten, of being bled, in ways that were clearly intended to kill him painfully and effectively...
This is not one of those.
This is sharp, crisp, shockingly cold as a knife's edge until the blood begins to attempt to pool only to pass between teeth and lips and it's a head rush, of a kind. He knows the signs of blood loss all too intimately, can feel his head spinning, the strange, warning coldness beginning in his extremities. The air in his lungs escapes him as the man in his lap apparently abandons any remaining pretense.
His grip loosens, though whether it's from the the need to release the tension in his fingers alone or some other loss of strength, he's not sure. He's not really thinking that hard about it. Or about anything.
Astarion moans and Sebastian sighs and shivers and slides his hands up the other man's thighs to his hips and tries to hold on.
God, he's going to have a hell of a hangover. ]