"Smaller too," he laughs, but this at least he's learned to navigate. Demons might come in all shapes and sizes, but outside the of his co-workers and Val, there aren't a whole lot that are taller. Luckily most of his height his in his legs, and so he scans the room and guides them to somewhere he can gently push Astarion to sit and climbs into his lap. The distance not so strained, Angel happily resumes where they left off, fingers sliding blindly, over and under linen, and a whole other set smoothing back through those curls.
Astarion doesn't have an abundance of seating in the room, so right now
they're at the edge of his bed, arms loosely around Angel's body. The
sensation of having more than two hands on him when he knows he's only in
one other person's company is...odd, but it keeps him focused. Keeps his
mind in the moment. He's a good kisser, they both are, and it makes it
feel pleasantly straightforward. Nothing he needs to tolerate or indulge.
Under his clothes, his skin is cool and smooth, completely hairless and
almost unmarked. The only place where that'll change is the pattern of
raised scars covering his back in circles of carved runes.
Cool- oddly enough isn't entirely strange, common enough at least that it's no shocking. But scars...those are rare- for sinners at least, and it gives Angel pause. He draws back, lips parting to question before he shuts them again. If he could still scar he'd have plenty of them, and he's not sure he'd want to share the story behind any of them just now. His fingers pet briefly at Astarion's throat and over his chest in silent apology, warm and soft even where his fur is least dense.
[Ducked eyes lift with grateful smile, and he tries his best to truly let that concern melt away for the moment. Pity isn't something any seasoned whore wants or is in short supply of.
"Mm-" he nods breathlessly, shifting to free the dress enough that it can be pulled off and over his arms. More of the pink fur and large heart shaped patterning on his chest is revealed, and the thick fluff gives the illusion of breasts, but there's a flat chest below.
Apart from his boot there's nothing else to strip off, but he'd be forgiven for being mistaken, as for the moment at least there's no obvious genitalia of any kind. Shifting it out much in the same way he can his final set of arms, the cock shares the pink and white stripping and heart motif that the rest of his body sports. It's little wonder he's such a success at his job. It's like he was tailor made for it.
"That's quite the trick," Astarion murmurs, and briefly wonders if there's
anything else he might be keeping hidden - but it doesn't matter,
ultimately.
He pulls his own shirt off overhead in one smooth motion and then draws
Angel back in to kiss him, slowly and thoroughly.
Astarion doesn't remark, but he casts him a fleeting smile between kisses that says: I know exactly what you're doing, but it's okay. His lips trail down Angel's narrow throat, hands running lightly up and down his sides.
"Don' gotta ask," he reassures easily, but after a beat he gives a nod of proper consent. "...yeah, 'course." It feels obvious enough that Angel flushes, and pushes ahead to avoid any looks of pity. "How'd'ya want me?"
Even after almost a damned year here, sleeping around with people who often give half a fuck about him, he would have laughed too if their positions were reversed. Being asked for explicit consent seems absurd. Old habits die hard.
"Stay just as you are," he asks, and starts working his way down his body. "I don't mind you pulling my hair, but if any comes out, I won't be happy."
Angel laughs, giving those curls a playful tug and then smoothing them back down again, "Same, preferably," he agrees with a contented sigh, "I'll be good."
"No need to be that good," he teases. "I don't need to breathe."
And he doesn't doubt that Angel has just about forgotten what his gag reflex ever was, too. Astarion runs his tongue flat up the underside of Angel's cock, then takes him in his mouth, familiarising himself with the shape and weight of him on his tongue.
There's an impressed hum, and Angel smirks, "That right?" Wouldn't that have been fucking handy. His own breath shudders at that first taste of heat, and as this is a treat he doesn't get nearly as often as the rest, the sounds he makes are less calculatedly for Astarion's or some some unseen audience's pleasure, grip in that pretty white hair starting loose while they get a feel for each other.
Astarion's mouth and tongue are - not cold, but he's definitely cooler
than the average humanoid; still, the warmth of Angel's skin warms him up
quickly. He quickly finds a rhythm, the slick seal of his lips stroking
his shaft as he bobs his head. Listening to him moan, hearing something
there more genuine and less performative, makes him shiver in vicarious
arousal.
He hums deliberately, pulling up so he can lavish attention on the tip of
his erection.
lol, i'm dumb, idk why my brain forgot the cold part
He wants to say something, offer some kind of praise, but even the most complimentary lines his costars hit him with are laced with degradation. So instead Angel hisses out a curse, grip holding fast to encourage that attention.
"Fuck, you're a Good-" Good Boy doesn't feel right, Good Slut doesn't feel right, " Y-you're good," he amends.
Astarion's eyes flicker open, red gaze sliding up to Angel's face. The corners of his mouth curl up in a hint of a smile. Whatever words he censored himself of, he appreciates the effort.
He toys with him a little longer, tongue flicking and circling at the head of his cock, and then he takes him deep into his throat with the smooth ease borne of practice. His hands settle on his thighs, squeezing gently.
Angel gives a flustered smile right back, rolling his eyes at himself. "Ain't as good at improv as I thought," he jokes, but he doesn't have long to dwell on that, the thought left miles away he finds himself abruptly deep inside that throat, breath catching inside his own.
"Shit, I hope you really don't need to breathe, cause I dunno that I ever wanna left you off," he groans.
Astarion pulls up and off for a moment just to smile and remark -
"If I'm here all night, I'm really not doing that good a job, am I?"
- and then goes back down. He strokes his shaft with one hand in firm pumps as he concentrates his lips and tongue around the tip. Deepthroating is all well and good for a brief party trick, but it's not as useful in getting a man off, in his experience.
"Depends how many times I've come by then," he volleys back with a breathless laugh. And it's true, particularly when neither party is getting off strictly on the power struggle. Plenty a demon get their rocks off fucking his throat, but that's less skill on his part and more about them taking what they want.
"Y-fuck -you want me ta come like this or on your cock, 'cause I ain't gonna last much longer if ya keep it up," he cautions.
Astarion just flicks his red gaze up at him for a moment, then hums and
keeps going. He's very satisfied for Angel to come right here and right
now, his own erection aching with sympathetic arousal. Honestly, he'd be
happy not to get off at all, though he wouldn't do that to Angel. Hee knows
he himself would find that kind of behaviour disconcerting in a partner.
>_> dw ate my tag, let's see if i can rewrite it as well
It's all the permission Angel needs to stop holding himself back. There's no cameras here, no client to flatter, no restrictions against seeking his own pleasure. His hips rut up with an increasingly broken rhythm, free to enjoy himself like he used to with Val. Before Val became essential another client, one he couldn't say no to.
He pants murmured praises before he falls over the edge, body trembling with the relief of that climax.
"Heh, wouldn't complain at all if we were back home and had ta go into reshoots, fuck~"
Astarion makes a quietly amused sound around his mouthful, carefully and expertly working Angel through his orgasm until there's nothing left to give. It's pleasing to find him squirming, losing control, not thinking about whatever professional affect he has to assume for the cameras.
He swallows - nothing except blood really tastes like anything to him, and this is no exception - and then shifts up onto his knees. He's still dressed from the waist down but his own hardness is very clear, even under loose trousers.
Angel steals a moment or just to bask, before shifting to kiss Astarion in thanks, tasting himself on his tongue. Delicate fingers ghost over that hardness with a teasing and breathless smirk. "Let's care of you now, mm?" he says, adding some pressure with the heel of his palm while another hand works out how the trousers are fastened.
"I can open myself up?" he offers, eyes skirting around for any obvious sort of lube, but it wouldn't be the first time he's made do with spit.
There's a reflexive look of rejection, and then a flush of embarrassment for having such a stupid reaction. It passes over his features for only a moment and then there's an easy smile, one of his lower hands slides to free that poor cock, savoring the weight of it and giving a few idle strokes.
The fur on his hands is less thick than in other places, but just as soft and he wonders if this might be a novel sensation for him, and how long it took before it began common place for Angel? "Tell me about next time," he encourages, licking a stripe delicately along his jaw and whispers in his ear, "Tell me all the thing you want to do to me?"
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Astarion doesn't have an abundance of seating in the room, so right now they're at the edge of his bed, arms loosely around Angel's body. The sensation of having more than two hands on him when he knows he's only in one other person's company is...odd, but it keeps him focused. Keeps his mind in the moment. He's a good kisser, they both are, and it makes it feel pleasantly straightforward. Nothing he needs to tolerate or indulge.
Under his clothes, his skin is cool and smooth, completely hairless and almost unmarked. The only place where that'll change is the pattern of raised scars covering his back in circles of carved runes.
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Astarion draws away just enough to catch his eye.
"It's all right," he murmurs. "They don't hurt. May I...?"
He reaches for Angel's clothes, more than ready to have a little less between them
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"Mm-" he nods breathlessly, shifting to free the dress enough that it can be pulled off and over his arms. More of the pink fur and large heart shaped patterning on his chest is revealed, and the thick fluff gives the illusion of breasts, but there's a flat chest below.
Apart from his boot there's nothing else to strip off, but he'd be forgiven for being mistaken, as for the moment at least there's no obvious genitalia of any kind. Shifting it out much in the same way he can his final set of arms, the cock shares the pink and white stripping and heart motif that the rest of his body sports. It's little wonder he's such a success at his job. It's like he was tailor made for it.
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"That's quite the trick," Astarion murmurs, and briefly wonders if there's anything else he might be keeping hidden - but it doesn't matter, ultimately.
He pulls his own shirt off overhead in one smooth motion and then draws Angel back in to kiss him, slowly and thoroughly.
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He laughs softly and his shoulders shrug. "Good for business. Can let them pretend they ain't fuckin' a guy if that's what gets their rocks off."
Angel doesn't need to fake his enjoyment, though habit it makes it hard, biting off a few exaggerated sighs as he loses himself the kiss.
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Astarion doesn't remark, but he casts him a fleeting smile between kisses that says: I know exactly what you're doing, but it's okay. His lips trail down Angel's narrow throat, hands running lightly up and down his sides.
"May I use my mouth on you?"
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"Don' gotta ask," he reassures easily, but after a beat he gives a nod of proper consent. "...yeah, 'course." It feels obvious enough that Angel flushes, and pushes ahead to avoid any looks of pity. "How'd'ya want me?"
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Even after almost a damned year here, sleeping around with people who often give half a fuck about him, he would have laughed too if their positions were reversed. Being asked for explicit consent seems absurd. Old habits die hard.
"Stay just as you are," he asks, and starts working his way down his body. "I don't mind you pulling my hair, but if any comes out, I won't be happy."
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"No need to be that good," he teases. "I don't need to breathe."
And he doesn't doubt that Angel has just about forgotten what his gag reflex ever was, too. Astarion runs his tongue flat up the underside of Angel's cock, then takes him in his mouth, familiarising himself with the shape and weight of him on his tongue.
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Astarion's mouth and tongue are - not cold, but he's definitely cooler than the average humanoid; still, the warmth of Angel's skin warms him up quickly. He quickly finds a rhythm, the slick seal of his lips stroking his shaft as he bobs his head. Listening to him moan, hearing something there more genuine and less performative, makes him shiver in vicarious arousal.
He hums deliberately, pulling up so he can lavish attention on the tip of his erection.
lol, i'm dumb, idk why my brain forgot the cold part
"Fuck, you're a Good-" Good Boy doesn't feel right, Good Slut doesn't feel right, " Y-you're good," he amends.
I imagine he's like. room temperature
Astarion's eyes flicker open, red gaze sliding up to Angel's face. The corners of his mouth curl up in a hint of a smile. Whatever words he censored himself of, he appreciates the effort.
He toys with him a little longer, tongue flicking and circling at the head of his cock, and then he takes him deep into his throat with the smooth ease borne of practice. His hands settle on his thighs, squeezing gently.
that makes sese
"Shit, I hope you really don't need to breathe, cause I dunno that I ever wanna left you off," he groans.
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"If I'm here all night, I'm really not doing that good a job, am I?"
- and then goes back down. He strokes his shaft with one hand in firm pumps as he concentrates his lips and tongue around the tip. Deepthroating is all well and good for a brief party trick, but it's not as useful in getting a man off, in his experience.
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"Y-fuck -you want me ta come like this or on your cock, 'cause I ain't gonna last much longer if ya keep it up," he cautions.
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Astarion just flicks his red gaze up at him for a moment, then hums and keeps going. He's very satisfied for Angel to come right here and right now, his own erection aching with sympathetic arousal. Honestly, he'd be happy not to get off at all, though he wouldn't do that to Angel. Hee knows he himself would find that kind of behaviour disconcerting in a partner.
>_> dw ate my tag, let's see if i can rewrite it as well
He pants murmured praises before he falls over the edge, body trembling with the relief of that climax.
"Heh, wouldn't complain at all if we were back home and had ta go into reshoots, fuck~"
Ahh dw why
Astarion makes a quietly amused sound around his mouthful, carefully and expertly working Angel through his orgasm until there's nothing left to give. It's pleasing to find him squirming, losing control, not thinking about whatever professional affect he has to assume for the cameras.
He swallows - nothing except blood really tastes like anything to him, and this is no exception - and then shifts up onto his knees. He's still dressed from the waist down but his own hardness is very clear, even under loose trousers.
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"I can open myself up?" he offers, eyes skirting around for any obvious sort of lube, but it wouldn't be the first time he's made do with spit.
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It's a lace fastening at the side, which Astarion reaches to tug open. The touch between his thighs is undeniably quite distracting.
"Let's save that for next time," he murmurs. "I'd be more than happy with one of your many capable hands."
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The fur on his hands is less thick than in other places, but just as soft and he wonders if this might be a novel sensation for him, and how long it took before it began common place for Angel? "Tell me about next time," he encourages, licking a stripe delicately along his jaw and whispers in his ear, "Tell me all the thing you want to do to me?"
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<3