"Onwards, then," she declares with a sweeping gesture, one to match his exhuberant sass.
Good humour might be like appetite. Sometimes you need to eat to realise you've been hungry. Sometimes you need to laugh to realise you're in sore need of laughter.
The road to the wine cellar is dark, so Hermione sends dancing motes of light ahead of them, because she is still very much prone to jabbing her shins into corners in the dark. The humanity.
The blessing from the pixie that they freed from moon lantern lingers on then, making the curse not cling to them as they step outside the protective circle of the Last Light Inn.
She'll let Astarion sneak them in, of course. Just so he feels smug about it.
There's a surprising lack of smugness coming off of him as they make their way. Instead he has that slightly distant look about him that says he's thinking, that his mind is a million miles away. Still, he smirks and twirls the lockpick in his fingers with a flourish before unlatching the door, letting them into the dusty-but-dry underbelly of the tavern.
A few candles and lanterns remain, easily lit with a flourish of his fingertips. She's not the only one capable of a bit of magic, after all, and his knowing look over his shoulder says as much.
A less timid smile crosses her lips when he lights up lanterns with his own arcane magic, her gaze meeting his.
"Nicely done," she says softly, and steps into the dusty space, taking care to close the door behind them. There, now - privacy.
"You can almost forget the state of the world outside down here." She rolls her shoulders, the little pinpricks from the previous night all but gone, her knots mostly formed from tension. Nerves. She is...nervous to be here alone, with Astarion. Her heartbeat races and the swarm of butterflies in her stomach flutters incessantly. The door to the this dingy place closes, and it is as if there's a mental barrier between whatever is happening outside and what is happening here.
She does allow herself so little time to enjoy the simple human pleasures in life. A crush, or desires, or any stronger emotions than that feel so out of place from her dusty spell scrolls and tomes to study, and yet - Hermione did initiate herself in the arts of bards, after all, for a very good reason. Inside that chest beats not just a feral sort of temper, but a passionate heart.
She just needs to take the first step, really, to let it shine.
"You'd think I would be used by now to how beautiful you look in candlelight," she says, taking a step into the room and closer to him.
His lips curve higher, as she steps closer, and the scent of her washes over him. The drumming of her heart in his ears, quickening, a familiar stiffness in her frame betraying not reluctance but an anxious energy. Here they stand, on the precipice of...well. Something.
"Breathe, darling."
Astarion chuckles, reaching out to trace his fingers against the edge of her cheek. "It's just us, now. I'm all yours. That's what you want, isn't it?"
Indeed, here they are. There is a blissful sort of silence that settles in her mind as soon as he brushes his fingers against her cheek, her breath coming out calmly on the next exhale, the awkward tension ebbing away.
"Yes," she answers, reaching up to circle his wrist with her hand, to lean her cheek into his palm, her gaze open and interested and fixed on his face now.
"You're who I want," she murmurs, just to specify. She presses a kiss to the inside of his palm and tips her head up. "Kiss me?"
That comes as easy as anything. His lips tug a little higher, as he gently tips her head to meet him as he leans in. He can feel the faint tremble of her warm lips against his, the sweetness of her skin slowly flooding his senses. The thrum of her pulse close at hand, reassuring rather than distracting.
He's mindful, still, when his free hand cups her hip and draws her in closer against him. Though there's little warmth to him, his hold is firm, and soon? She'll be warm enough for the both of them.
Oh, yes, she thinks, this. This exactly. Her careful exhale against his lips as the distance is closed, her eyes closing as well, the noise finally settling to a dull thing. Yes, this is good.
She takes a microstep closer to him, curling one hand over the back of his neck and pushing herself to her toes to kiss him again, more firm. More bold, too, kissing his bottom lip and the bow of his upper lip and smiling against his mouth ever so slightly.
Quite warm, yes, and the boldness pleases him. Surprised? No, she's always been bold where it matters. Clearly, she's been waiting...
It'd be cruel to deny her, then, wouldn't it?
With a spark of mischief in his eyes, he shifts his grip lower, hoisting her up off of her feet and bracing her thighs to either side of his hips. The solid part of the wall isn't far off at all, and in the next moment he's got her pinned against the brickwork, grinning sharply into the kiss to follow.
If not surprised, colour her delighted. But also surprised. The thought that he's so bloody tall crosses her mind just as she's getting on her tiptoes, and a mere second later she is off her feet and taller, with the price of being pressed against the wall.
The pressure, and the proximity, and the way he is now pressed against her, her thighs bracketing his hips, steals a little breathy moan from her, against his lips.
The surprise turns into a more urgent need; she melts at the sensation and parts her lips, tasting the seam of his boldly again and hooking her ankles behind his back.
No need to be concerned about the mood, clearly. Everything he can read from her speaks to a quiet hunger, a desperation that is familiar by now, far more familiar than the earlier awkward attempt at a hug had been. No, this dance he knows by heart.
Her pulse thrums under her skin, warmer and warmer to the touch. Instinct leads his hands to the edges of her robes, baring her to the still air by inches. His tongue darts out to taste her again, the sweetness of her, his fingers cupping her breast, thumb rolling across a nipple peaking upwards in the soft chill.
When she gasps, he'll steal it from her lips, deepen that kiss for all he's worth.
Oh, he is wonderful at this. Kissing - everything else, too. She feels like she did when they ventured down into the Underdark but a few weeks ago, and she cast Feather Fall on everyone so they would land safely. Kissing Astarion, held in place between the solid wall and his solid body, feels a lot like falling did with that spell, a sort of continuous floating.
Pleasure floods every sense, everywhere he touches. Her hands roam up his chest and stay on his shoulders for balance, but Astarion is bolder with his touches and she loves it. It feels like an eternity since she last had any sort of pleasure of this persuasion, and not for lack of interest in the physical.
It's easy to forget about the tadpoles, the guardian in her dreams, the shadows creeping in - it's easy to forget about a lot, as he works her robes open, as he touches her with no barrier left at all. She gasps, because of course she does, her little surprised moan silenced by a deepened kiss. Her back arches, as she attempts to press herself against his touch, and to encourage him more she brings one hand down from his shoulder at a time to push her robes off her shoulders, and slip her arms out, not breaking the kiss while she does.
In similar fashion he reaches down, hooking his fingers into the falling fabric and tossing it behind them, and it almost seems a careless movement. But he bears its presence in the back of his mind, the same as he minds her bare skin against the stone, careful when he rocks up against her.
Pressure riding up between her thighs, proof she's wanted as much as she wants. A taste, the pinch of fingers a tease, as he nips the edge of her lower lip.
Not drawing back because he needs the breath himself, but she certainly might.
She does need that breath - albeit her inhale feels both greedy and shaky.
She still has her trousers on, and as thin as the fabric may be, as little barrier as they offer against feeling him hard and rubbing against her, it's still a barrier. Unless he decides to rip her pants off with his bare hands, he'll have to set her down soon. And when he does, she's going for his clothes.
But until that moment comes, she is a mess. Letting out a quiet moan as he rocks against her, pressing her nails against his shoulder. She pushes her back against the wall - cold though it is, she's burning up - and rolls her hips against his, meeting him in one of those movements.
She pulls back from his lips, breaks the kiss to let out a heady pant, and lets her head fall back against the wall.
"I like that," she manages, after catching her breath, sliding her hand over to cover his and guiding them both to fully cup her left breast. "I like this, too - and to be fair everything that's happening right now."
Rakish grin in place, he tips his head to nuzzle the underside of her jaw, to nip playfully at her throat, although with no real force behind it. There are boundaries to be minded, and he is ever mindful of them.
"But, I feel as though we're missing something...or rather. We aren't missing what we should be." Smirk drawing further upwards, he shifts to balance her against him once more, drawing away from the wall and easing her back onto her fallen robe.
It only takes a breath of a moment for him to sweep his shirt up and over his head, before gazing down at her, flush with expectation and desire. Something hooks in the pit of his stomach as he gazes at her, but it's gone from his gaze in the blink of an eye, hands already drifting to the waist of her trousers.
A light laugh bursts out of her as he picks her up again, her lips pulled into a wide grin for a second. "It's funny, it's as if you've read mind," she says with an equally light, and unintentionally smug, tone.
Then he lays her down on her robe - "Clever," she murmurs, mostly at how deftly he tossed it onto the ground for it to be used as a blanket at all - and she lets him go to lean back on her elbows.
She's staring. There's open heat in her gaze, when she looks at his expressio, when she watches him pull his shirt off with those clever hands of his, when all that skin is bare. It's almost too much - he's almost painfully beautiful, the sort that means she should make them pause and compose him a sonnet - but she doesn't pause for too long.
With his shirt off, she pushes herself up to sit and to drop a kiss to his collarbone just as he reaches for her trousers.
"I'm going to give it to you," she murmurs against his skin, reaching for his trousers too. "You have good ideas."
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no subject
Good humour might be like appetite. Sometimes you need to eat to realise you've been hungry. Sometimes you need to laugh to realise you're in sore need of laughter.
The road to the wine cellar is dark, so Hermione sends dancing motes of light ahead of them, because she is still very much prone to jabbing her shins into corners in the dark. The humanity.
The blessing from the pixie that they freed from moon lantern lingers on then, making the curse not cling to them as they step outside the protective circle of the Last Light Inn.
She'll let Astarion sneak them in, of course. Just so he feels smug about it.
no subject
A few candles and lanterns remain, easily lit with a flourish of his fingertips. She's not the only one capable of a bit of magic, after all, and his knowing look over his shoulder says as much.
no subject
"Nicely done," she says softly, and steps into the dusty space, taking care to close the door behind them. There, now - privacy.
"You can almost forget the state of the world outside down here." She rolls her shoulders, the little pinpricks from the previous night all but gone, her knots mostly formed from tension. Nerves. She is...nervous to be here alone, with Astarion. Her heartbeat races and the swarm of butterflies in her stomach flutters incessantly. The door to the this dingy place closes, and it is as if there's a mental barrier between whatever is happening outside and what is happening here.
She does allow herself so little time to enjoy the simple human pleasures in life. A crush, or desires, or any stronger emotions than that feel so out of place from her dusty spell scrolls and tomes to study, and yet - Hermione did initiate herself in the arts of bards, after all, for a very good reason. Inside that chest beats not just a feral sort of temper, but a passionate heart.
She just needs to take the first step, really, to let it shine.
"You'd think I would be used by now to how beautiful you look in candlelight," she says, taking a step into the room and closer to him.
no subject
His lips curve higher, as she steps closer, and the scent of her washes over him. The drumming of her heart in his ears, quickening, a familiar stiffness in her frame betraying not reluctance but an anxious energy. Here they stand, on the precipice of...well. Something.
"Breathe, darling."
Astarion chuckles, reaching out to trace his fingers against the edge of her cheek. "It's just us, now. I'm all yours. That's what you want, isn't it?"
no subject
"Yes," she answers, reaching up to circle his wrist with her hand, to lean her cheek into his palm, her gaze open and interested and fixed on his face now.
"You're who I want," she murmurs, just to specify. She presses a kiss to the inside of his palm and tips her head up. "Kiss me?"
no subject
That comes as easy as anything. His lips tug a little higher, as he gently tips her head to meet him as he leans in. He can feel the faint tremble of her warm lips against his, the sweetness of her skin slowly flooding his senses. The thrum of her pulse close at hand, reassuring rather than distracting.
He's mindful, still, when his free hand cups her hip and draws her in closer against him. Though there's little warmth to him, his hold is firm, and soon? She'll be warm enough for the both of them.
no subject
She takes a microstep closer to him, curling one hand over the back of his neck and pushing herself to her toes to kiss him again, more firm. More bold, too, kissing his bottom lip and the bow of his upper lip and smiling against his mouth ever so slightly.
She's warm enough for both of them already.
no subject
It'd be cruel to deny her, then, wouldn't it?
With a spark of mischief in his eyes, he shifts his grip lower, hoisting her up off of her feet and bracing her thighs to either side of his hips. The solid part of the wall isn't far off at all, and in the next moment he's got her pinned against the brickwork, grinning sharply into the kiss to follow.
no subject
The pressure, and the proximity, and the way he is now pressed against her, her thighs bracketing his hips, steals a little breathy moan from her, against his lips.
The surprise turns into a more urgent need; she melts at the sensation and parts her lips, tasting the seam of his boldly again and hooking her ankles behind his back.
no subject
Her pulse thrums under her skin, warmer and warmer to the touch. Instinct leads his hands to the edges of her robes, baring her to the still air by inches. His tongue darts out to taste her again, the sweetness of her, his fingers cupping her breast, thumb rolling across a nipple peaking upwards in the soft chill.
When she gasps, he'll steal it from her lips, deepen that kiss for all he's worth.
no subject
Pleasure floods every sense, everywhere he touches. Her hands roam up his chest and stay on his shoulders for balance, but Astarion is bolder with his touches and she loves it. It feels like an eternity since she last had any sort of pleasure of this persuasion, and not for lack of interest in the physical.
It's easy to forget about the tadpoles, the guardian in her dreams, the shadows creeping in - it's easy to forget about a lot, as he works her robes open, as he touches her with no barrier left at all. She gasps, because of course she does, her little surprised moan silenced by a deepened kiss. Her back arches, as she attempts to press herself against his touch, and to encourage him more she brings one hand down from his shoulder at a time to push her robes off her shoulders, and slip her arms out, not breaking the kiss while she does.
no subject
Pressure riding up between her thighs, proof she's wanted as much as she wants. A taste, the pinch of fingers a tease, as he nips the edge of her lower lip.
Not drawing back because he needs the breath himself, but she certainly might.
no subject
She still has her trousers on, and as thin as the fabric may be, as little barrier as they offer against feeling him hard and rubbing against her, it's still a barrier. Unless he decides to rip her pants off with his bare hands, he'll have to set her down soon. And when he does, she's going for his clothes.
But until that moment comes, she is a mess. Letting out a quiet moan as he rocks against her, pressing her nails against his shoulder. She pushes her back against the wall - cold though it is, she's burning up - and rolls her hips against his, meeting him in one of those movements.
She pulls back from his lips, breaks the kiss to let out a heady pant, and lets her head fall back against the wall.
"I like that," she manages, after catching her breath, sliding her hand over to cover his and guiding them both to fully cup her left breast. "I like this, too - and to be fair everything that's happening right now."
no subject
Rakish grin in place, he tips his head to nuzzle the underside of her jaw, to nip playfully at her throat, although with no real force behind it. There are boundaries to be minded, and he is ever mindful of them.
"But, I feel as though we're missing something...or rather. We aren't missing what we should be." Smirk drawing further upwards, he shifts to balance her against him once more, drawing away from the wall and easing her back onto her fallen robe.
It only takes a breath of a moment for him to sweep his shirt up and over his head, before gazing down at her, flush with expectation and desire. Something hooks in the pit of his stomach as he gazes at her, but it's gone from his gaze in the blink of an eye, hands already drifting to the waist of her trousers.
no subject
Then he lays her down on her robe - "Clever," she murmurs, mostly at how deftly he tossed it onto the ground for it to be used as a blanket at all - and she lets him go to lean back on her elbows.
She's staring. There's open heat in her gaze, when she looks at his expressio, when she watches him pull his shirt off with those clever hands of his, when all that skin is bare. It's almost too much - he's almost painfully beautiful, the sort that means she should make them pause and compose him a sonnet - but she doesn't pause for too long.
With his shirt off, she pushes herself up to sit and to drop a kiss to his collarbone just as he reaches for her trousers.
"I'm going to give it to you," she murmurs against his skin, reaching for his trousers too. "You have good ideas."