bakerstreet | shipping picture promts

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shipping picture promts

shipping picture prompts

o1. comment with your character and prefs in a top level.
o2. reply to others, complete with pictures and gifs!
o3. cook up something shippy from those inspirational ingredients.

link 'em:

embed 'em:

shrink 'em:

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That glancing, shadowy touch (not-touch?) is a surprise that prompts a delightful half-shiver from Astarion in turn, one long fang working its way in against the edge of his own lip. His exhale is slow, acclimating.

Lascivious as he might be, he’s no desperate, fawning effete: he can settle the instinctive rise of his own heated blood...when it suits.

“I don’t play nice, as a habit.” He can feel the rumbling purr resonating through his own fingers where they're perched, opting to take it as a sign he's currently on the right path, thumb skirting ever higher until it meets the bow of their lips, resting heavy.

“But...” Astarion starts, stare sinking beneath the hang of his lashes as his other hand falls to settle against the jut of Raine's hip. “For you, I might make an exception. Just this once.”

Okay, if they had any resistance left at this point, it's gone now. The languid nature of Astarion's movements is both thrilling and vexing, and every, little, gesture lingers in Raine's focus. That half-shiver of his body, that whisper of an almost bite of his lip-- but more importantly, the touch of Astarion's thumb to their lips, and the feeling of his hand against one curvy hip.

It feels like they're on fire, in a way.

"Nice doesn't necessarily mean gentle," they purr. Lips parting, they dare to take his thumb into their mouth, licking over it firmly.

"Just don't drug me first." Their words are slightly muffled by Astarion's thumb, and they punctuate them with a sharp nip of feline teeth.

The shadows nudge against Astarion, wanting to prompt him ever closer to Raine's warm body. If only for their taller companion to feel how excited they are.

"My dick doesn't always look humanoid this way. I managed it this time. But next time might not be lucky."

The last thing they want is to present as looking more of an animal than human. They're pretty sure no one likes surprises like that.

“Wouldn’t call it bad luck if you didn’t.” He breathes, letting the suggestion slip sweetly off the tip of his tongue— while sliding the softer pad of his thumb back along the flat of Raine’s, until it it meets the base of their throat.

Adventurous might be the word for his appetite. Insatiable, another. Something new is something exciting to his rapacious mind, and much like the spread of dark fur or the inhuman shape of sharpened fangs hovering near Astarion’s own fingertips, or even the shadows that press him closer (to which he obliges with a single, silent step) it’s thrilling. All of it.

The hand at Raine’s hip edges lower. Touch skirting until he’s resting his fingertips atop Raine’s own, coaxing them along rather than directly taking matters into his own...

...well. Hand, obviously.

Tipping forward, voice husky and barely a whisper of a thing, Astarion adds:

“Let go, if you like.”

Something about the suggestion makes them shiver, as if they were merely waiting for permission to let their instincts devolve. With a ripple, their body changes the rest of the way, face taking on a more wedged, feline shape along with the rest of them. They're still bipedal, still conscious and aware, but their body is covered in soft, supple fur, even down to how their hair has changed in texture, like a lion's mane. With all clothing gone, there is nothing left to imagine. Now only barely obscured by hair, large, feline eyes stare at their fellow of the night.

They're rock hard, even as their body allows the rest of the change to settle in, and Raine immediately feels a mixture of relief with their displeasure. Because they've only been holding back for Astarion's sake. And if they needn't, then, there's no need to use more energy than necessary. Their tail twitches and lashes, excited and indicative of sighted prey.

That said, they don't choke on Astarion's thumb; even when the soft texture of their human tongue gives way to keratin barbs. They don't have much of a sucking reflex like this, but they decide to opt for something as close as possible by carefully closing their teeth around his thumb, and shifting their tongue in a mimicry of the action. They almost manage a small amount of suction, but it's nowhere near on par with the capabilities of a human's mouth.

Not once do they cease purring. The shadows slide under and over Astarion's clothing, attempting to loosen his clothes without tearing them. Raine's claws aren't retractable at their hands, so the last thing they want is for the handsome man before them to complain about torn clothing when they may not be able to s pare the money for new garb.

"Take this off," the shadows speak for Raine, briefly infused with their voice, though the sound is distorted by the non-physical nature of it. "All of it."

Long lashes flutter momentarily, lost to the roaming brush of those shadows, the ripple of a voice that isn’t quite there. It doesn’t spur him to impatience, only sweetens the tension lingering high in the air already.

They’re both monsters, after all, technically speaking. The less dancing done around that matter, the better off they are, as far as Astarion’s concerned.

So he pulls away from that diligent tongue at last, opting to put his grasp to better (obliging) use: a slower, almost teasing show of unfastening fine silk, delicate clasps— time he spends admiring the uniqueness of a face that’s no longer recognizable to him, more bestial than elven or human adjacent.

How exhilarating. How exciting.

And all the while, the grip of his other hand never leaves their own, cinching tight along their knuckles. Drawing their hold down along the rigid underside of Raine's substantial length, coaxing pressure more urging and insistent in its nature than demanding. Feeling out heat, marking every last twitch. Every tangible sign of eagerness that might be within his reach to unearth. Two hundred years of sinking into the arms of strangers on command, and it's all gone dull as dishwater in its tireless routine.

Satisfaction of freedom aside, he'll take this opportunity for all it's worth.

Even with Raine's changed body, their length is nothing to sneeze at. Always quick to hide this part of their anatomy alone, it's definitely a relief to be exposed and - even if silently - accepted. Raine's claw-adorned fingers cannot even hope to wrap around it entirely - and have even less ability to do so in humanoid form.

A familiar, tantalizing heat throbs through their belly, and at last they let the rest of themself sink into it. Even when their joined touch makes them groan, head tipping back with enough force to thump against the wall. Excited, their canines lengthen further, as the dull urge to bite and mark their partner makes their mouth water.

The barbs Raine's length is adorned with drag against their joined hands on every upward stroke, but as firm as they are, they're blunt with some give if squeezed.

"Fuck..." they sigh, voice more rough, growl-laden, than that of a human's. Eager, they rock into their joined grip. It's not enough. Not even with Astarion's gradual state of undress teasing at their imagination, and their senses. Just barely mindful not to dig claws where they're not wanted, Raine tugs Astarion closer by his other arm - and right into an awkward kiss. Their mouth isn't quite the right shape anymore, but that doesn't stop them from giving the closest kind they can: via attempting to gently lick into his mouth with their delicate tongue.

They don't push for it, though - the slightest denial will make them stop. Make them rethink letting their body change this much.

Even so, it's just impossible for them to want to sit still and just accept being touched without giving anything back. Not unless they happen to fight a losing battle against physical bondage, or a very convincing request.

He doesn’t mean to laugh.

But that doesn’t make it a cruel thing, brief-lived and flickering as it is, subsequently lost to a milder groan as his mind races to imagine where this night might lead. How those bizarre barbs might feel if he— well, can he—

He doesn’t know. There’s a question that lives unasked in unfamiliar physiology, and curiosity knifes keenly through him as at last he divorces his grip from Raine’s own without breaking the awkwardness of their kiss. He touches with fascination and eagerness all at once: fixating on contours he’s never known before, thumbing and circling barbs to test their flexibility, the drag and give of them— grip sliding low and long against a cock too broad to overlook, deft fingertips milling along without any set pattern or approach beyond their own baseline expertise.

Two hundred years of hand jobs means that even when thoughtless, his movements remain uniquely effective.

“I’ve oils for this...” he murmurs, attempting to get his head on straight, though much like being tipsy, arousal has its own way of dampening it all. “In the pack.”

Which won’t help unless he opts to fetch them, but at the moment, he’s more than a little preoccupied.

Raine has never let themself be bedded looking like this - all fur, animal-like maw and awkward limbs. Most people prefer those who look more closely like themselves in that regard - no sharp teeth, no barbed tongue. Lips to properly kiss.

Astarion's excitement for this is boggling, but so very welcome. A balm over uncertainties that they've long carried. It doesn't mend them, but it's a single thought to chew on and recall.

And they purr at the suggestion, tongue gently licking at his mouth as they direct their shadow-limbs to rummage about in the pack, and then bring it back. Catnip smell has rubbed off on the vial they pull out, making them shudder and rock a little more roughly into his hand. Even so, the shadowy tendril dangles the vial of oil easily between them.

"How do you want to do this?" They don't want to assume - a cock their size is a hard bargain, and they're equally open to bottoming. "I am alright with it, however we opt to. I know my size is... intimidating for most. Even without... looking like this."

They look to where his hand is on them, shivering as Astarion's touch tugs just right. Too much more of this and their first round will be over. Especially since, as they get closer, the little movements of their hips increase with the desire to seek out completion.

Greedy as Astarion is at heart, there’s nothing intimidating about even the most formidable of challenges, provided the nature of it's as lurid as the man himself— and nightfall won’t be ending any time soon. Meaning that with luck, they'll have plenty of time to test and tease and find some sort of cohesive, messy equilibrium.

In other words, when it comes to one recently freed vampire spawn reveling in the simple glory of newfound agency, regardless of what goes on or what position they settle into, everyone bottoms for him.

“Leave that ponderance to me, darling.” He takes the offered phial with his spare hand, uncorking it by skewering it with one fang and pulling hard enough to pop it loose— his fingertips never stilling in their efforts to draw Raine nearer to the finish: the pad of his thumb working harder to pin that length against the indent between thumb and forefinger, squeezing. Urging them to let go of every last drop of inhibition.

And from the little glass container held in hand, the scent of lilac bleeds rich into the air. Overwhelming. Sweet.

“Just enjoy yourself.”

That’s all they’re here to do, after all.

Lilac is such a soothing scent despite this phial's potency, and they shiver at the added pressure to their cock, the sensation almost painful in its pleasure. Astarion's broader, longer hands reach better than Raine's own ever can, and his sweet words have them shuddering and bucking. They're usually the one in control, leading even when they settle beneath a partner. They're usually the one guiding and teasing, even goading and praising. It's easier to stay in control once it's attained, but...

Astarion's words are honeyed to them.

With a sound that's almost a sob, they let go at last, hips rutting mindlessly into his hand. And they watch that place where they're touching as if in a trance, unable to look away. Seeing him accept how they look so easily makes it ridiculously easy for them to tip over the edge in short order, nearly choking on their next breath in an attempt to warn him. Instead, they hurriedly shove a hand just above the tip of their cock to deflect the sudden spray of semen when it comes not even a second later, thinking only that it would be bad if the mess caught either of them in the eye. The mess itself scatters mostly over their hand and the short fur of their lower body.

Their next draw of breath is raw and ragged, even as their hips give token little jerks into Astarion's grip, should it linger. Pleasure and over-stimulation tug at their nerves, both too tantalizing to resist any longer.

It’s always so lovely, unraveling.

If there’s something to be shamelessly admired at face value in the act itself, Astarion would name himself a perpetual admirer. He sinks his face into the maned fur at Raine’s neck as they come undone, feeling every choking gasp, every hitched breath in intimate, beautiful detail.

The mess made is just a lovely little addition. Slick heat, and warm to the touch where it drips down steadily against his fingers in the aftermath. Flattery in the most physical form.

“How very pretty,” purred just as smoothly as Raine’s own prior effort, low and lulling. “And yet I think I’d appreciate an encore.”

Grip slow as it meanders, slipping high to rest at the edge of Raine’s hip, twisting their posture around. Or— at the very least, suggesting the idea via touch alone.

A low, crackling purr rumbles through them, hearing his voice, only for the sound to cease as Raine gasps slightly, shivering hard when they're called pretty. Every nerve rushes to flood them with barely diluted pleasure, knowing that he finds them appealing even looking so inhuman.

Shivering with aftershocks, they aren't quite done yet - Astarion's touch is a flame, only igniting their wick all the quicker. Though sluggish, they move as gently bid, uncertain exactly where he wants them but happy to comply. Their limbs quiver, heart pounding as they become increasingly aware of their current state. Raine watches him for instruction, quieter and pliant now that the edge of their lust has been sated for now. Their mismatched gaze is hazy at best, but there's still fire simmering close to the surface - a raw want that also sings through every muscle in their body.

"I can... accommodate that desire. Several-fold. Show me what sort of encore you desire, and you will have it."

Raine is confident in their ability to fend him off, if necessary. In truth, they do wonder if he'd ever feel keen on tasting the blood of a dhampir like them. Or if the animal in them might somehow taint the experience. They don't pry deeply into his affairs; they aren't Raine's business so long as Astarion treats them well enough. The lack of commentary speaks volumes in their night-to-night activities.

It's almost a dance, in essence, the way Astarion guides them by the subtleties of touch, the way they respond to it with next to nothing in the way of overt steering. The wall behind Raine is only a few steps away, and it's through strides built on the practiced ease of fluid movement that Astarion fits them to it: chest pressed flat to its cooler span, his own pale hands bracketing slighter hips, profile set and scuffing somewhere high between their shoulderblades in attentive comfort— as though he'd been the one drunk on catnip to begin with.

Or perhaps, knowing vampiric tendencies, blood.

In truth, it's only lurid attention that has him so settled deep within the throes of heady bliss, damp scent of lilac pervasive as his hold shifts, as he brushes aside Rhaine's tail and fits himself— feverishly hot compared to his usual chill— to them with only the faintest pause for prelude. A delicate half-beat where touch, ever so slight, eclipses everything else.

If Rhaine's impatient, of course, they're more than welcome to rush. To settle their weight across that point of contact without bothering to wait—

But it won't be Astarion that breaks that tension. Not yet.

Raine growls at him, soft, and indeed impatient, as Astarion pushes them to the wall, the shorter fur covering their chest unable to protect the delicate skin from the chill. They shiver and growl as he boldly touches their tail, however fleeting, and they're quick to brace their hands to the wall for support, close to their head - in easy reach if Astarion wants to use his hands to pin theirs to its surface. Their back arches slightly for it, sticking their ass out with a small whine, and their tail stiffens as little shocks race up their spine and straight to their cock. Beyond that, they wait for a moment, catnip running them feverish and sensitive still, but, slowly, certainly, towards a similarly drunken state compared to Astarion's reaction to blood.

Their digitigrade legs stretch and shift slightly to get more comfortable, tail giving Astarion's aside a gentle thump, and then another, slightly higher. The appendage is slight, brown fur at the base and mottling towards gray and white stripes.

It's too short - they're too short - to bop him in the face with it. A faint giggle slips out at the thought, and they tilt their head to peer at Astarion. With most of their hair shortened into a slight mop of fur on their head, the rest comprises the mane, long and trailing somewhat down the center of their back. Their pupils are blown wide, their angular look completely consumed by their size.

In short, as the highest points of arousal fade, a more relaxed state of inebriation starts to settle in.

"Enjoying the view, darling?"

Their claws slightly sink into the wall, restless. Giving him time to enjoy the sensation in spite of their own impatience. They will break this moment of stillness if he doesn't, but the edge has been taken off enough that they can think more clearly. They can wait.

"If you pull gently, my tail is yours to play with."

As tempting as it is to give away the more intricate elements of this one pleasure spot along their tail, no, they'll leave it to Astarion to discover on his own.

“Something to be noted for later,” he exhales, the words themselves only falling just short of a sigh. It’s hard for him, wearing the illusion of dignity. Keeping enough control over himself to stave off some wicked, instinctive inclination to let his own inflicted nature take over.

Much as he’d coaxed Raine into letting their self-control lapse, Astarion himself can’t do the same.

But maybe offering one of them the opportunity to let go just this once is the only gift he has it in him to grant.

For now, he stretches forward, folding over the arch of their spine to once again bring his face to the coarser fur at Raine’s neck, fixated on the soft scent, the suppler give of contact as he bears down with his hips, quick to bury himself and let the brighter spark of maddening heat rise high within his belly, spurring him to shift steadily at first with a fluidity of movement that speaks of anything but inexperience.

It's fortunate that Raine's magic is versatile - the moment they have an inkling of Astarion's next move, they're able to prepare properly for it, their shadows taking some of the moisture along their dick and turning it inward to where it can be put to better use.

When Astarion starts to push in, it's not dry, at least. There's some resistance since Raine hasn't been stretched open beforehand. Their orgasm and the catnip only relaxed them so much. But he pushes in and fits and Raine lets out a strained, shaking whine as they're breeched. Their claws carve marks into the wall as they push back against him for more, each wave of pleasure coaxing them to twist between relaxing and tightening up.

"Oh-- fuck-- I---"

Shaking, they further lift their tail and try to match him, body strong enough to not be rocked overmuch unless they let him push them. They're still working to rebuild the muscle they lost, but some has returned and left them more durable for it.

But with Astarion's face buried in their ruff, they tilt their head a bit to allow him better access to where the fur is shorter, higher on their neck. Their pulse pounds hard, and harder still with each wave of pleasure washing over them.

"Bite me-- if you want. Drink, if you want...!"

It would be foolish to make him go without, they think. Raine is no fragile flower to be coddled - especially when it is Astarion himself trusting them to keep him safe. And what better blood to take than that of a dhampir's? Sure, it may have a tang of something animal, but that couldn't be helped. And along with it, Raine's impressive magical stores and longevity certainly could add something pleasant to the taste as well. Besides, it's not the first time they've thought of offering him their neck. Just the first time they've voiced it. Albeit, it's not the best time to do so, but it is a time, and it feels right.

"You won't... mmm, hurt me, unless I let you..."

Even accosted with bliss, Raine knows their own strength. Knows that Astarion can be forced off of them if they want him to be. For now, they don't, loving the feeling of being pushed into. Their smaller body size makes Astarion feel so pleasantly large, with hot and cold shocks zipping up their spine and making their toes try to curl with each inward press, claws digging into the floor.

Between the applied lilac oil and— well, the roaming touch of those shadows where they elude Astarion's conscious thought— it's more pressure than friction between them now. The building catch of his own hips, angled sharp when he catches one of Raine's thighs and lifts it higher by a meager measure; opposite slipping around their front to brush the pads of his fingertips along that tautened length once more, migrating at a matching pace. Slow. Permeating. Fixated on the weighted drag where contact gives way to sensation. Simple and damning.

And beautiful, really, Astarion would argue.

His teeth meet Raine's neck there, scuffing at first, rather than biting. Temptation poised—

Before he sinks them in deep without warning, jaw clamped tight as a wicked vice.

Astarion will find that any movement of Raine's leg is easy, the muscles strong and limber enough. The touch of his fingers to their cock has their breath strangling in their throat, and the brief, teasing sensation of pressure at their neck.

The sensation of being bitten is bliss, a choked, ragged gasp leaving them involuntarily. The tightened feeling of Astarion's jaws doesn't leave Raine thrashing to escape, but groaning and quivering instead, more than one sense inside of them soothed by the newly-felt feeling. Their own fangs extend, as if preparing to strike as well, but there's nowhere to go.

More alive than undead, Raine's blood is hot and self-generated like any other living creature. Regeneration attempts to kick in, to push Astarion's fangs out before long, but it isn't hard to limit that regeneration with their own magic power. There is the danger of death if Astarion takes too much, and Raine has the sense to use a touch of magic to slightly slow how much they're letting him take.

Two firsts is more than enough to give him. There's no need to also give him their first near-death experience at the same time.

Still, this joining is so slow. Deliberate. As if they're something to be savored, and that's about the strangest realization to have in the middle of being fucked. It's almost like lovemaking, and there's something deeply nostalgic in that.

But more than that, the act itself scratches a very deep itch, and Raine shudders and reaches with one pawpad-adorned hand to gently cradle the back of Astarion's head, delicate claws kept well away to avoid pricking him. They ignore the brief gut-feeling that the sensation is too unnerving for Astarion to linger, and focus on the feeling of his teeth in their neck, instead.

A deep, rumbling purr emits from their throat and chest, and they impatiently rock their hips a little to try to add to the lovely sensations. It's difficult to completely let go, to let Astarion not only lead but fully take them at his pace. The dissonance between what they were expecting and what they are getting is too different to fully ignore.

And yet, the novelty of the moment, the pressure, and pleasure, has them careening over the edge a second time before long, insides fluttering around Astarion's cock as they let out a choked cry of bliss.

Their hips still sway into his movements, insistent. Raine's not quite wrung-out yet, and the added sensitivity now makes their muscles twitch toward and away from Astarin's touch in an unintended game of tug-of-war with itself.

But it's enough that every wall they have around their heart crashes down in the next instant, pulling forth what they want the most in this moment.

"Please-- don't stop-- Astarion, fuck, please...!!" Pleasure and need and something else, deeper inside reverberates in their voice. More. They want more and yet nothing more than for Astarion to continue to sweetly drive them insane with this comfortable pace.

They've never had sex while looking like this before - all fur and fangs and claws, with very little that's recognizably human. This is an acceptance that Raine's never tasted before now.

And it's enough to make them nearly cry as they beg for him, as if he might be cruel and pull out and away from them, leaving Raine emptied and hollow, unfulfilled.

He can’t lap at their neck like this— not unless he wants a mouthful of fur, which, while not offensive in any respect, isn’t the grooming-adjacent dream when buried to the hilt with feverish intent. So instead he only drinks from their throat until the rumbling in his fangs from that purr drowns out the rest of his own thoughts. Until the bursting brilliance of unparalleled sweetness— headier than any wine, more intoxicating to his senses than well-aged brandy— settles low within his stomach and high within his own mind, underscoring the vivacity of every thrust. Every gasp and groan and growl.

The way they moan his name as though it were a petition, bearing down as their body shudders.

His face sinks into fur in that definitive moment, hold going taut and harsh as at last he takes to rutting with all the fervor of an animal let free of its leash: the strokes he works in pinch tight, gathering the ebbing pull off myriad barbs along the edge of his hand, his own thrusts clipped and almost bruising for the sake of remaining pressed in deep during those pivotal beats where all the world seems to numb itself into nothingness around them, murmurs sweet as they tumble breathlessly from his open lips.

The harsher pulls on their cock, stimulated all the more by each tug of the individual barbs under that firm grip, each barb pulling on sensitive, overheated flesh, is enough for them to completely forget how to be quiet. Reduced to little more than an animal in heat, with the pleasure of being drank from to top it all off. To say nothing of when Astarion's pace quickens, and even Astarion's name is reduced to aborted attempts and wordless pleas. Each sweet murmur from his lips isn't quite close enough to stimulate their ears, but the sentiments are heard all the same.

They have no more breath with which to purr anymore - each draw focused on trying to gather as much as they can before the next movement has them reeling, nigh screaming in bliss.

Usually, their partners don't work them over so much. Don't take the time to chase more than their own pleasure. Don't take the time to shove them towards the brink over and over again.

The overstimulation is too much - a weaker orgasm shudders through them when Astarion's pace and his grip stimulate them just so, back arching more than a human's spine might find comfortable without extensive training.

They're nearly convulsing with how much their body isn't sure what they want. But Raine makes no effort to pull away from the sweet torment. They're starting to feel dizzy, too, doubtless from blood loss, but they can't summon up the urge to care as their body mindlessly pushes into each thrust in spite of every shiver and shake.

Astarion has them firmly, though - safely. They won't fall, they know.

Their fingers shakily play with Astarion's hair, using the sides of their fingers when the shivering will let them so that they can avoid scratching Astarion's scalp too hard.

He isn't finished, though between the violent cinching of their body— the wracking, writhing, undulating intensity of their chased bliss— and how ruthless Astarion had turned in those last few beats, he is undeniably close. But they've time enough yet, and his own satisfaction is a meandering thing: he pulls it from appreciation as much as touch itself. To have someone beneath him, panting hard and yet aching for more, it's better than so much else he could want.

And besides, if he'd spent himself just as much, there'd be a lull in their engagement, rather than a segue.

Their fingers comb across his scalp, lithe body sagging with exhaustion and easily caught against Astarion's own taut musculature. He draws their back to his chest with one arm (slickness perched across his fingertips), shifting slowly to lift them into something of a princess carry after he's seen to his own delicate withdrawal. The bed isn't far, and ragged a thing as it is, it remains thankfully capable of supporting their weight enough that he doesn't need to feel guilty when he rests Raine across its span before climbing in to perch over them— mouth returning to their neck simply for the luxury of touch and scent.

"Feeling better, darling?"

A narcissistic question; the answer's obvious enough, he simply wishes to hear it.

It isn't until their back touches the bed that they do actually notice how tired they are - their legs tremble from the exertion in ways that simple exercise takes hours to achieve, instead of a heated flurry of moments that feel as quick as they are slow.

With Astarion's fangs out of their neck, the skin ripples as it heals over, and as the taller man joins them on the bed, their soft ears perk forward, and then tilt to the sides as they let their mind drift toward nothingness.

The words bring them back to the ground, and Raine shifts a little to hold him by his waist, desiring nothing more than to mindlessly touch in their post-orgasm haze. Their touch glides upward still, passing by odd scarring that they have no reference for, on the way up to his shoulders. Astarion's build is broader than even Raine's ever was in their prime, and acknowledging that comes with a soft sense of awe to feel him so intimately.

They're usually the one putting on airs this way - asking if it was good, if they feel better now. This reversal has Raine at a loss at the undisturbed ground beneath their feet. It's left them feeling like a boat that's slipped its rope from port, adrift on the whims of the waves alone.

Their answer doesn't feel so simple as yes or no, and they give him a belated purr before they form words at all. There is, at least, merit in acknowledging that they do feel better, in a sense. In the other, there's confusion - how long will this last? Astarion will get the freedom he deserves. And then... what after? There's a non-zero chance of parting ways.

How deep does this connection go, before they plunge too far and deserve to get hurt for the wrong depth? For thinking this relationship is something that it could be, but isn't?

"Yeah. Although... a repeat performance might be in order. I..."

Their voice is still a little rough from all the noises they've made, but even that's healing, too. They'd managed to slow their own bleeding enough to avoid too much of a struggle, regeneration-wise. Better than having let it go too far.

"...Ah, bookmark that thought. It's hard for me to focus. And I want.. to have the right words."

They shake their head a little to dismiss their thoughts. Later. It's the drop of hormones talking right now. They can reevaluate when they're calm again.

"But, hm, what about you? I could ask you the same." Their features pull into something of a smile, which, on an actual cat, would probably be more unnerving than how Raine makes it look. Given that most cats don't have the right muscles to smile in the first place. They hope Astarion can't read their facial expressions as well thanks to the different structures. They aren't as at ease as they're trying to make themself out to be.

And another, different touch of insecurity doesn't help. So wrapped up in their own pleasure, they're not even sure if they felt him finish. Did he? They'd use their leg to check, but... he might not appreciate the shorter, coarser fur on their legs brushing against such a delicate aspect of his anatomy. and they don't want to break eye contact to look, either.

"I can... still keep going a little longer, if you want. My appetite for this isn't small." Their brow furrows. "Just.. no more blood for you tonight. Any more and you might have to hunt for me while I'm a lump on a log and then feed me by hand."

As they are, they're so wrung out that they're not sure if they actually can manage another round. But their spirit is more than willing enough.

Edited 2021-11-26 07:40 (UTC)

“My darling kitten, you’ve nothing to fret about.” He says, lifting his head from the tufted span of their throat, relaxing as his weight settles attentively across their smaller frame. There’s a risk they’ll notice he’s yet run himself to finish like that, pinned as they are against one another, but Astarion hardly seems concerned about the possibility.

And truthfully, if Raine’s entirely too spent to go on, he can always finish himself.

So one hand lifts to fit beneath their narrow jaw, scuffing gently in slighter patterns.

“I’m happy.” Astarion affirms, nearly purring himself (if he could) owing to the lingering heat in his veins. The drunken, intoxicating effects of the blood of an intelligent creature, rather than the ashen taste of lowly vermin.

All he’d been forced to drink under Cazador’s heel.

All he’s quickly working to forget, now.

“That’s all you need to know.”

Something in Raine relaxes to hear that Astarion is happy. The shift in his tone from his usual control is pleasant, too. It would be nice to hear him like this more often. Combined with the gentle affection along their jaw, Raine's eyes lid, third eyelids briefly peeking out, as if they might just fall asleep already. But they wake more, and gently push their face into his hand, ears unconsciously tilting to the sides and lowering.

There's plenty to fret about. They haven't lived nearly a millennia and a half (okay, the millennia part is only chronological, but still!) trying to brush aside any worry like it's unnecessary.

But maybe they do worry too much. Who knows? And Raine isn't sure they should trouble him with things post-sex.

As Astarion settles against them more, however, they do notice that he hasn't finished yet.

"I find, the older I get, the more there is to fret about," they allow themself to say, in a strangely more sober tone than they usually use.

"Primarily, this is just 'drop' speaking on my part, twisting my thoughts with it. I tend to get melancholy, or.. incredibly sad, after being wound up so beautifully. It doesn't last too long, but it does mean I'm a bit.. needier than usual. And... I don't regret this. At all."

They lid their eyes at him, in lieu of an attempted smile. So long as Astarion pets them, the more they start to relax in full, much like they do in full cat form.

"That said... you didn't finish with me, did you? Let me help you along? I would take great pleasure in it."

Their brow quirks up. "Especially since the position we were in deprived me of a good view. Well, not that I saw anything but stars after a bit."

They try to bite their lip a little, but mostly lacking lips, it's just an aimless, tiny click of teeth. Their ears tilt slightly upward again.

"I've never let anyone bite me before, either, so... that was a first. I'd been thinking of offering for awhile now. I just... couldn't find the right time to say so."

The scent of lilac oil lingers, potent and eclipsing.

"Mm, I've never bitten anyone before either, truth be told." But given the subject itself and all the baggage that brings, Astarion's quick to draw attention away from it, grinning so serenely that it seems like he might indeed be attempting to press their troubles aside by force, rather than anything naturally bloomed.

But his fingers keep roaming, keep smoothing out the patterns of their fur.

"Are you certain you're content to keep going?"

it's a shipping meme so I doubt I have to warn for spice but, spice probs beyond this point

spicyyyy :D

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how dare dw not give me a notif for this

Ohhh that's hella rude of dw. D:

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