[The response is the least anxiety-inducing command Taryon could have received.] Like this is fine. [He strokes Astarion's cheek, sometimes dipping past his jawline, but standing on the shoreline of a deep ocean is no less uplifting that diving into dark, dangerous waters. Their appearances aren't tousled from a romp, and Taryon can feel himself strain against the fabric of his trousers just from eyeing Astarion's top half.
A simple touch - between legs, a soft kiss - already heats him, and he hopes it's warming Astarion just as much.
And he can only nod in response when a hand passes over his waist and ghosts away from his hip. If this is a game to see who can make the first squirm, Astarion has already won.
He initiates a new kiss, this time stroking Astarion's arm to get a good feel of the muscles there. A lean, but firm figure he finds. Not a warrior's strength that can hold him in a storm, but something with a hidden ability. He ends with a single finger brushing the back of Astarion's hand, then returns it to his chest.
Though they are pressed closer together, he managed to rub it down the midline of his torso, over his stomach, the stops just below the belly button.]
no subject
A simple touch - between legs, a soft kiss - already heats him, and he hopes it's warming Astarion just as much.
And he can only nod in response when a hand passes over his waist and ghosts away from his hip. If this is a game to see who can make the first squirm, Astarion has already won.
He initiates a new kiss, this time stroking Astarion's arm to get a good feel of the muscles there. A lean, but firm figure he finds. Not a warrior's strength that can hold him in a storm, but something with a hidden ability. He ends with a single finger brushing the back of Astarion's hand, then returns it to his chest.
Though they are pressed closer together, he managed to rub it down the midline of his torso, over his stomach, the stops just below the belly button.]