"So damn bossy," he mutters, but he takes one last look at him, drinks him in, and turns around to move closer to the pillows and settle on his stomach.
"Guess I gotta figure out what I've been missing out on."
He doesn't quite know what to do with his hands, so he simply crosses them and rests his cheek on his arm, shivering a little at the touch. It's odd this way, but he's enjoying himself.
"This ain't bad," he murmurs. "Could do this for a while."
"Well, I should hope that Rosita and I have been communicating it in other
ways," he purrs. His hands slide over Jacob's hips and ass, thumbs pressing
in slow circles. "But I should make sure you know, mm?"
"Jesus..." he swears, but it's more of a sigh, a moan, than anything. He digs his fingers into the bed. It's so odd to be exposed like this, to let himself be vulnerable, but he doesn't hate it. Not at all.
This is not something he'd allow with just anyone, but he trusts Astarion. He...is fond of him.
Astarion lets out a low chuckle, just the softest sound, and doesn't stop.
On the contrary, he dips lower, dragging his tongue flat from Jacob's sac
up to his hole, lapping at the tight ring of muscle there.
It's not something he does for many of his partners - he rarely tops and
they rarely ask - but he appreciates the trust it involves. He enjoys it
for that, with him. The raw intimacy of it.
Astarion peeks up at him, his eyes dark and focused on Jacob's backward
glance, and he doesn't stop for a moment. His tongue strokes and flicks,
circles and pushes, experimenting to learn what he responds to most
acutely. His own body feels feverish with arousal.
Astarion hums in vicarious pleasure, enjoying the way he shifts and
squirms. His thumbs stroke at his rim slowly, tugging him open just a
little so he can press with his tongue like he's trying to fuck right into
him.
Jacob's skin flushes, little beads of sweat appearing on his shoulders. He bites a moan into his arm, squirming almost unconsciously in an effort to seek some relief, all parts of him aching.
"This is torture," he breathes, but he doesn't tell him to stop. He doesn't want him to.
Astarion kisses his tailbone and presses a slick index finger inside him,
in by a fraction and then out by a fraction less, gradually stroking it in
deeper. He dips back down to keep licking him.
He doesn't really know what he's getting into until it happens, automatically tensing up. Thinking about this, fantasizing about it, none of it really compares to it actually happening. He lets out a breath, making a deliberate effort to relax under the attentions of that tongue.
"It's alright," he says in anticipation of a question, shifting a bit.
"Good." It's barely more than a murmur. "You feel perfect, Jacob."
After sinking his finger in to the knuckle, he pulls out slowly and presses
back, fucking him for a few strokes, feeling his body gradually adjust to
that new sensation.
"I'm going to put in another," he warns softly, and gives him time to
object before starting to tease in a second fingertip alongside the first.
It's certainly new, something different and strange and there's a part of him, raised in the South, with a strict religious father, that balks at this. There's a part of him that knows all the names he'd be called for this, all the ways he'd get his ass kicked.
But it feels too good and he wants this so badly - with Astarion, who takes such good care of him.
He moans his agreement, surprised at how quickly he starts to want the pressure and the friction.
Astarion, for his part, had been braced for this to go badly. Faerûn isn't
devoid of homophobia, and he's read things about American culture. He
remembers certain elements of his identity during certain breaches. It
wouldn't have surprised him at all if Jacob had frozen up, panicked, even
gotten angry.
Who knows? He still might. He's not doing anything a woman couldn't do for
him, in theory. Not yet.
He twists his fingers slowly, dragging them in and out in a corkscrew
motion, then curls them deliberately into his prostate.
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"Don't worry. I won't be tying you into knots any time soon," he promises. "Can I put my mouth on you?"
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He's sufficiently distracted by the question, at least. "Yeah. Yeah you sure fucking can."
He leans back on his elbows, fingers gripping the sheets.
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Astarion smiles and pecks him on the lips, then urges him to slide back further onto the bed.
"Roll onto your stomach for me," he murmurs. "So that I don't have to bend you in half, mm?"
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"Guess I gotta figure out what I've been missing out on."
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"Oh, you needn't figure out anything," Astarion chuckles, kissing the nape of his neck as his hands run up and down his sides. "Just let me show you."
He keeps working his way slowly down his spine, hands lightly circling over his ribs and massaging his hips.
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"This ain't bad," he murmurs. "Could do this for a while."
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"Good. I like touching you," Astarion says, hands gliding over his body. He kisses the small of his back.
"The texture of your skin, your scars. Your muscle and hair."
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"Been a while since I've heard something like that."
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"Well, I should hope that Rosita and I have been communicating it in other ways," he purrs. His hands slide over Jacob's hips and ass, thumbs pressing in slow circles. "But I should make sure you know, mm?"
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He raises his foot enough to get his toes underneath, pressing into the bed as Astarion continues.
"Fuck, that feels good." Might as well articulate it.
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"Good. Just tell me if you want me to stop, won't you?"
He spreads him open with both hands, kissing the exposed skin an inch above his hole, tongue running over the same spot.
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This is not something he'd allow with just anyone, but he trusts Astarion. He...is fond of him.
"You better not fucking stop."
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Astarion lets out a low chuckle, just the softest sound, and doesn't stop. On the contrary, he dips lower, dragging his tongue flat from Jacob's sac up to his hole, lapping at the tight ring of muscle there.
It's not something he does for many of his partners - he rarely tops and they rarely ask - but he appreciates the trust it involves. He enjoys it for that, with him. The raw intimacy of it.
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"Fuck..."
He settles immediately, looking over her shoulder, catching a glimpse of him.
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Astarion peeks up at him, his eyes dark and focused on Jacob's backward glance, and he doesn't stop for a moment. His tongue strokes and flicks, circles and pushes, experimenting to learn what he responds to most acutely. His own body feels feverish with arousal.
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In between the touch of his tongue, Jacob raises his hips enough to seek out some relief on his hardened cock.
He says nothing, beyond words at the moment.
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Astarion hums in vicarious pleasure, enjoying the way he shifts and squirms. His thumbs stroke at his rim slowly, tugging him open just a little so he can press with his tongue like he's trying to fuck right into him.
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"This is torture," he breathes, but he doesn't tell him to stop. He doesn't want him to.
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"Oh?"
His fingertip rocks against Jacob's hole, as if he might breach his body with a fraction more pressure.
"May I open you up, Jacob? Give you more?"
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"Perfect."
Astarion kisses his tailbone and presses a slick index finger inside him, in by a fraction and then out by a fraction less, gradually stroking it in deeper. He dips back down to keep licking him.
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"It's alright," he says in anticipation of a question, shifting a bit.
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"Good." It's barely more than a murmur. "You feel perfect, Jacob."
After sinking his finger in to the knuckle, he pulls out slowly and presses back, fucking him for a few strokes, feeling his body gradually adjust to that new sensation.
"I'm going to put in another," he warns softly, and gives him time to object before starting to tease in a second fingertip alongside the first.
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But it feels too good and he wants this so badly - with Astarion, who takes such good care of him.
He moans his agreement, surprised at how quickly he starts to want the pressure and the friction.
"Fuck, this is good."
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"Mmm."
Astarion, for his part, had been braced for this to go badly. Faerûn isn't devoid of homophobia, and he's read things about American culture. He remembers certain elements of his identity during certain breaches. It wouldn't have surprised him at all if Jacob had frozen up, panicked, even gotten angry.
Who knows? He still might. He's not doing anything a woman couldn't do for him, in theory. Not yet.
He twists his fingers slowly, dragging them in and out in a corkscrew motion, then curls them deliberately into his prostate.
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