sixfeetofdirt | TLV: IC Contact

"No, you do a pretty good job of getting the blood pumping."

He snickers. "Besides, Rosita will be there. She's pretty warm."

"You're right. And I can just go hunting, should your blood be moved in her direction," he says lightly.

"You could."

He has fantasies of his own, of course, but those aren't to share. Instead, now that he's sitting up, he draws him into a deep kiss.

Astarion has his own, but he and Rosita's relationship isn't in that kind of place (yet?). Here and now, it's more than enough to wind his arms around Jacob's neck and kiss him in return, all but climbing into his lap in the effort to get closer.

He smiles into the kiss, nudging poor Aylin away from him now. "Been a hell of a month," he mutters against his lips. "No time to breathe between disasters and no fucking privacy when there was."

"We've got time now," Astarion breathes. His cool fingertips stroke the nape of his neck. "Whatever shall we do with it, mm? I'm wide open to suggestions."

The touch to his neck elicits an involuntary shiver. "Are you?" He bites gently on Astarion's lip. "Guess we should fill the time."

He gently tugs him close, wanting him in his lap, against him.

Astarion straddles him easily, his knees bracketing Jacob's thighs.

"Fill the time, he says. Is that all I am, to you?" he sniffs, unable to fight down the smirk to look or sound genuinely wounded. "A hobby?"

For a half second, he panics, then sees that look on his face.

"Yeah. Ain't that what this started as?"

He pushes fingers underneath Astarion's shirt, readjusting once he's in his lap.

Astarion chuckles, all indulgent warmth, and leans in to scrape his fangs against his throat.

"It is. But I don't mind at all that it's become something a little...different."

A little more. Maybe even a lot more. But that's much harder to say out loud.

"Quite the opposite."

He doesn't stop the very quick moan at the teeth along his neck. It's been far, far too long.

"Me, either," he manages to stutter out. "You can actually bite, you know."

Astarion doesn't ask if he's sure. Instead, he just hums his assent, then tilts his head a little further and sinks his teeth in. The rush of blood makes him moan in answer and hitch his hips in closer, all but writhing on top of him.

His breath leaves him all in a rush and his nails catch on his back, digging in out of shock and pleasure. The initial pain, so sweet on its own, fades and he looks up to the ceiling with another moan, this one deeper and so needy.

"God...yes."

Somewhere in the back of his mind, Astarion wonders if he could ever really be with someone who didn't enjoy this. Who didn't welcome this part of him. There's the occasional night, a bit of fun, but for more than that - it seems impossible to imagine a lover who doesn't make these sweet sounds under the press of his fangs.

Of course, it would be something else if Jacob was more interested in his vampirism than in him. He's been fetishised and he did not care for it.

But this is just...a perfect balance.

He pulls back silently, kissing at the little wounds he's made, lapping over them.

In all the fantasies he's ever had, vampirism wasn't ever one he contemplated. He'd never really thought in that way. But the desire to give, to protect, to help, threw him face first into moments like this where a quick flash of pain, followed by the dizzying knowledge of something so intimate, is exactly what he likes.

And when Astarion pulls away, Jacob's quick to kiss him with bruising intensity.

Astarion moans for him, returning the kiss with no less fervour, plunging his tongue hungrily into Jacob's mouth and sharing the copper taste of his own blood.

"I very nearly forgot how good you taste, Jacob," he murmurs, their mouths still barely touching.

He breathes him in, barely keeping up, luxuriating in the taste of the blood on his tongue. It isn't as shocking as it was before; it doesn't come with the reminder of the heat of the desert. It's something for them, something they share.

And, as always, his name sounds delightful on Astarion's tongue.

"Can't let that fucking happen," he mutters, intent now on getting the shirt from him.

"Never," Astarion breathes, shucking off his shirt easily and then reaching for Jacob's. He wants bare skin against bare skin and the intimacy that privacy offers.

"I'll remember in a hundred years how your blood feels in my throat."

It's a nice thought, to know that someone will still think about him in the future. That he won't fade into obscurity.

He tosses his fatigues and shirt to the side, then immediately pulls him close again, his shoulder aching in the best way.

"Good," he moans. "Cuz I won't forget any of this." He catches his mouth in a kiss again, spreading his fingers down his chest.

Astarion shivers and arches into the touch, seeking friction now, wanting to stoke the warm burn of arousal in his gut.

"Jacob, I - won't take the slightest bit of offence if you say you're not interested, but..."

He sits up, hands stopping on Astarion's hips. "What is it?"

"Have you ever thought about doing this the other way around?" he asks, looking to meet Jacob's eye.

At first, he's not sure what he means, but his eyebrows raise slightly when it dawns on him.

Has he thought about it?

"Yeah," he says, looking away from his face for a moment. "Actually yeah. Remember that - uh - that day I- "

Fuck.

"Got all on my knees for you? Thought about it then. And - uh - after. So. Yeah."

He clears his throat, fingers tight against Astarion's hips still.

Astarion nuzzles into him, kissing his jaw, his lips. He can feel himself getting harder.

"Would you like me to fuck you?" he asks, much more plainly this time.

This time, when he talks, it's a lot less hesitant. Just-

"Yeah. Yeah, I fucking would. You gotta walk me the fuck through it, though."

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