[What was that stupid poem he'd heard the other day? Something about 'eternity in an hour?' It's not quite that. For Astarion, at least, the head rush is so immediate, the delicious tinge of copper, the hint of whiskey, the satiation of a pit that's tunneled itself through to the core of him, that he can't help but be carried off in the moment. Warmth tingles through his limbs and life slides down his throat, and strong, articulate fingers shiver as they climb his hips.
Ultimately, there's nothing more enticing in that moment.
Dully, however, he detects that loosening grip, he hears that racing heart. Distnantly, Astarion registers the life he's drawing from.
It snaps into focus with a strangled note of disappointment. Astarion stills, before carefully prying open his jaw to release his fangs, though both lips purse against the wounds for a moment. He's no fledgling, didn't make the mistake of piercing the carotid or the jugular, but that doesn't mean he's cavalier about the blood loss. He draws back only when he's sure it won't gush free on it's own.
And then his eyes, lidded as they are, seek details, pouring over Sebastian's face for signs he's gone too far, for shock or loss of consciousness. He's dealt with both. But there is a certainly dreamy quality to that look that lingers, a palpable temptation to resume, to drain every last drop, despite everything.]
That was... [His voice is still too low. The implication too obvious.] Amazing.
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Ultimately, there's nothing more enticing in that moment.
Dully, however, he detects that loosening grip, he hears that racing heart. Distnantly, Astarion registers the life he's drawing from.
It snaps into focus with a strangled note of disappointment. Astarion stills, before carefully prying open his jaw to release his fangs, though both lips purse against the wounds for a moment. He's no fledgling, didn't make the mistake of piercing the carotid or the jugular, but that doesn't mean he's cavalier about the blood loss. He draws back only when he's sure it won't gush free on it's own.
And then his eyes, lidded as they are, seek details, pouring over Sebastian's face for signs he's gone too far, for shock or loss of consciousness. He's dealt with both. But there is a certainly dreamy quality to that look that lingers, a palpable temptation to resume, to drain every last drop, despite everything.]
That was... [His voice is still too low. The implication too obvious.] Amazing.