"Wicked," Astarion laughs, dragging a hand down Jacob's back, grabbing his
ass and encouraging him to rut against him. "I can scarcely believe I'm
rewarding this kind of behaviour."
His other hand reaches out for the bedside cabinet, rummaging for
lubricant.
"You're right," he mumbles just against the sensitive skin of his neck, rocking against him with soft, breathy moans. "Next time I'll be a good boy and leave you here by yourself."
He feels his arm moving and he sits up, leaning over to peer into the cabinet for the now-familiar bottle, placing it in Astarion's outstretched hand.
He doesn't hesitate for a moment, flipping open the cap and smoothing it over his fingers, sitting up as his free hand slides down Astarion's chest.
"You're getting fucking spoiled, you know that?" he says with very obvious fondness. It's so easy to be with him now. To have him here, telling him what he wants, showing him how he likes it. This is the easiest thing in the world.
He pushes two fingers slowly inside of him, his free hand up underneath his knee, guiding it away so he can lean close, move deeper.
"You're fucking spoiling me," Astarion retorts, archly, but the twinkle in
his eye is unmistakable.
He shivers at the touch of Jacob's fingers, his knees hitching up and apart
to make it easier. There's a fleeting moment of discomfort, and then it
ends and he gasps softly, pressing down against the intrusion.
Astarion moans, gripping the sheets and rocking his hips down greedily onto Jacob's fingers. He's touching him in just the right places to get his toes curling and his cock twitching. He'd barely even gone soft.
"If I'm a brat, what does that make you, mm? A good influence?"
"Just a guy who likes being bitched at," he teases, but his attention isn't focused on the banter. He watches his face, and he sees those small movements of gripping the blankets. It's a beautiful sight and he takes a moment simply to appreciate it.
He's aching to replace his fingers with his own cock, but he's enjoying this moment too much.
"Yes," Astarion hisses, wrapping his legs around Jacob and clinging to
him desperately. It feels intense in a way that he couldn't describe. His
body, certainly, is still sensitive from orgasm; the fresh rush of
stimulation is very nearly too much.
He does feel spoiled. And he's not holding still, not waiting to adjust,
squirming on Jacob's cock no less eagerly than he did on his fingers.
It's almost certainly blasphemy for him to feel this good. Like they match, like they were meant for it, and all the other terrible, purple prose that Jacob never understood. Astarion squirms and Jacob gives his ass a playful pinch, but he rocks hard into him. There's half a breath of time between one move and the next, but he pushes himself deeper, back arched over him so he can kiss him as they move together.
Astarion melts into it, wrapping his arms around him and opening his mouth
against Jacob's. He wants all of this, the taste and scent of him, his
blood still feeling warm in his core, his cock pressing deep into his body.
It's not making love. But it's definitely not just fucking, either, and
he's not going to let himself have any thoughts or feelings about that
whatsoever. He just wants this moment, this pleasure, all of it washing
through him.
For a while, all he can hear is the sound of his gasps, the rush of skin on skin, and the jangle of his dog tags between them. They are the only two creatures two exist in this moment, and he finds there's nothing more that he wants.
He finds his rhythm, enjoying hard and slow so he can enjoy every sensation as it sparks through him. Each kiss, each breath, and he's more and more aware of not himself, not Astarion, but how they are together. It's that thought that males him move harder against him, faster and more desperate.
He pushes himself up so he can take Astarion's cock in his hand, balancing himself on his other arm.
"Jacob," he doesn't think he's ever said someone's name so much in -
Hells, as long as he can remember. But he knows he likes to hear it, that
it has an effect on him, and he can't help but revel in that small measure
of power.
His cock throbs in his hand, the tip already wet, and each jolt of his hips
into Jacob's fist just pushes him down harder into his thrusts.
"Are you close? I want to feel you," he murmurs, low and filthy. "I want to
remember this for days-"
That voice, that voice in his ears and in his head, is enough to drive him crazy. He moves faster, harder, driving himself into him to chase the most pleasure he can get for them.
"Astarion, I- fuck, yes..."
He doesn't even know what he was going to say, or even that he was trying to say anything. He leans down to kiss him, moaning against his lips as he spills himself inside him.
Astarion shivers, toes curling, as he pushes one hand between their bodies
to curl around Jacob's fist, squeezing his cock tighter as he thrusts into
their combined grip. He's so fucking close.
He continues moving his hand, kissing him, not stopping as he nips at the corner of his mouth. "Fuck," he shudders. "You are so good, so fucking good..."
"I did. And now you've fucked me into such debilitating exhaustion that
it'll have to wait until tomorrow," Astarion hums, and huddles in closer,
putting an arm around him in kind.
Astarion doesn't tense up, but for a long moment he's just very still and
quiet. It is nice, but do they have to acknowledge that? Can't it just
be nice in a more abstract way?
(Ah, yes, because refusing to label things went so fucking well with John-)
"...it is," he murmurs. "It's very nice. I - didn't think I'd like it.
Resting with someone else."
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"Wicked," Astarion laughs, dragging a hand down Jacob's back, grabbing his ass and encouraging him to rut against him. "I can scarcely believe I'm rewarding this kind of behaviour."
His other hand reaches out for the bedside cabinet, rummaging for lubricant.
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He feels his arm moving and he sits up, leaning over to peer into the cabinet for the now-familiar bottle, placing it in Astarion's outstretched hand.
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Astarion smiles and bites his lip, pressing it back into Jacob's palm.
"You do it," he orders softly. "I want to feel your fingers inside me."
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"You're getting fucking spoiled, you know that?" he says with very obvious fondness. It's so easy to be with him now. To have him here, telling him what he wants, showing him how he likes it. This is the easiest thing in the world.
He pushes two fingers slowly inside of him, his free hand up underneath his knee, guiding it away so he can lean close, move deeper.
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"You're fucking spoiling me," Astarion retorts, archly, but the twinkle in his eye is unmistakable.
He shivers at the touch of Jacob's fingers, his knees hitching up and apart to make it easier. There's a fleeting moment of discomfort, and then it ends and he gasps softly, pressing down against the intrusion.
"Jacob-"
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"Maybe you deserve to be fucking spoiled sometimes. Fucking brat that you are."
He slides his fingers back out and then inside again, moving with him, leaning down to press a biting kiss to the inside of his thigh.
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Astarion moans, gripping the sheets and rocking his hips down greedily onto Jacob's fingers. He's touching him in just the right places to get his toes curling and his cock twitching. He'd barely even gone soft.
"If I'm a brat, what does that make you, mm? A good influence?"
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He's aching to replace his fingers with his own cock, but he's enjoying this moment too much.
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"Then am I - oh - am I really being a brat, if I'm giving you what you want?"
He's really giving him a show now, writhing on the bed, fucking himself on his fingers like he can't bear to stop moving.
"Please, Jacob-"
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He raises his hips and guides himself slowly inside of him, moaning as his eyes travel up to the ceiling. "Goddamn, Astarion..."
He keeps one hand on his hip, drawing him close, letting them both get used to it. "Fucking hell..."
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"Yes," Astarion hisses, wrapping his legs around Jacob and clinging to him desperately. It feels intense in a way that he couldn't describe. His body, certainly, is still sensitive from orgasm; the fresh rush of stimulation is very nearly too much.
He does feel spoiled. And he's not holding still, not waiting to adjust, squirming on Jacob's cock no less eagerly than he did on his fingers.
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Astarion melts into it, wrapping his arms around him and opening his mouth against Jacob's. He wants all of this, the taste and scent of him, his blood still feeling warm in his core, his cock pressing deep into his body.
It's not making love. But it's definitely not just fucking, either, and he's not going to let himself have any thoughts or feelings about that whatsoever. He just wants this moment, this pleasure, all of it washing through him.
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He finds his rhythm, enjoying hard and slow so he can enjoy every sensation as it sparks through him. Each kiss, each breath, and he's more and more aware of not himself, not Astarion, but how they are together. It's that thought that males him move harder against him, faster and more desperate.
He pushes himself up so he can take Astarion's cock in his hand, balancing himself on his other arm.
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"Jacob," he doesn't think he's ever said someone's name so much in - Hells, as long as he can remember. But he knows he likes to hear it, that it has an effect on him, and he can't help but revel in that small measure of power.
His cock throbs in his hand, the tip already wet, and each jolt of his hips into Jacob's fist just pushes him down harder into his thrusts.
"Are you close? I want to feel you," he murmurs, low and filthy. "I want to remember this for days-"
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That voice, that voice in his ears and in his head, is enough to drive him crazy. He moves faster, harder, driving himself into him to chase the most pleasure he can get for them.
"Astarion, I- fuck, yes..."
He doesn't even know what he was going to say, or even that he was trying to say anything. He leans down to kiss him, moaning against his lips as he spills himself inside him.
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Astarion shivers, toes curling, as he pushes one hand between their bodies to curl around Jacob's fist, squeezing his cock tighter as he thrusts into their combined grip. He's so fucking close.
"Jacob - darling, please-"
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The praise sinks into him like few words do, and he comes with a final convulsion and a helpless, almost humiliating whine.
Yes. He can be good, just for him, just for a moment.
His arms go slack, the tension in his limbs leaching out of him with each little aftershock shiver.
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"Jesus Christ...I don't think I'm moving for a week."
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"Your dog won't like that," Astarion murmurs, smiling against Jacob's shoulder.
"But you should stay the night, since you went to the trouble of deceiving your way in here."
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"Mm, and you said you'd fix my trousers," he mutters, lying down beside him so he can wrap an arm around his middle.
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"I did. And now you've fucked me into such debilitating exhaustion that it'll have to wait until tomorrow," Astarion hums, and huddles in closer, putting an arm around him in kind.
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He holds him close, exhausted but not yet ready for sleep. "This is - real nice, you know."
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Astarion doesn't tense up, but for a long moment he's just very still and quiet. It is nice, but do they have to acknowledge that? Can't it just be nice in a more abstract way?
(Ah, yes, because refusing to label things went so fucking well with John-)
"...it is," he murmurs. "It's very nice. I - didn't think I'd like it. Resting with someone else."
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