[A flinch. A near whimper mapped out by the edges of a grimace that doesn't abate for all the distance he shoves between them, palms first: Leto flat against the wall again, the vampiric thing that covers him a single stride away, locked by its own overpowering grip. Head dropped towards the floor, hung between raised shoulders— Astarion's fineboned features fully hidden behind a curtain of garnet-drenched curls (white at their roots, dark and dripping at their tips: only spawn blood, and there is so much safety in that fact).]
Don't, don't don't. [He mutters, hoarse and rabidly aflame. Voice like a trembling knife pushed up against vulnerable skin. Sharpened by the smell of living tissue. Extant copper. Savory, salivating depth that promises to quench his every pain, like cool water on a hot day, and even his tongue curls itself to try and lap within his shut mouth at what isn't anywhere near its reach.]
—don't.
[One hand lifts on its own. Fisted one moment— flexed the next. Claws gleaming red-slick before curling hard enough to cut against the underside of his palm. Far from immune to the agonizing pain it causes— but then again, that's the point:]
You've no idea how alluring you are right now.
[Bitter humor on his tongue; it falls to the floor the second that it leaves his lips.
2/3
[A flinch. A near whimper mapped out by the edges of a grimace that doesn't abate for all the distance he shoves between them, palms first: Leto flat against the wall again, the vampiric thing that covers him a single stride away, locked by its own overpowering grip. Head dropped towards the floor, hung between raised shoulders— Astarion's fineboned features fully hidden behind a curtain of garnet-drenched curls (white at their roots, dark and dripping at their tips: only spawn blood, and there is so much safety in that fact).]
Don't, don't don't. [He mutters, hoarse and rabidly aflame. Voice like a trembling knife pushed up against vulnerable skin. Sharpened by the smell of living tissue. Extant copper. Savory, salivating depth that promises to quench his every pain, like cool water on a hot day, and even his tongue curls itself to try and lap within his shut mouth at what isn't anywhere near its reach.]
—don't.
[One hand lifts on its own. Fisted one moment— flexed the next. Claws gleaming red-slick before curling hard enough to cut against the underside of his palm. Far from immune to the agonizing pain it causes— but then again, that's the point:]
You've no idea how alluring you are right now.
[Bitter humor on his tongue; it falls to the floor the second that it leaves his lips.
And precedes the rising of a hollow stare.]