#chocking tw

So, whose PoV?

𝙽𝙾 𝚂𝙾𝚄𝙽𝙳 𝙲𝙾𝙼𝙴𝚂 𝙾𝚄𝚃 𝙾𝙵 𝙿𝙰𝚁𝚃𝙴𝙳 𝙻𝙸𝙿𝚂,  only a hoarse wheeze,  whatever words he might attempt to spill out stuck in his throat,  trapped.  there is a weight pressing his back against the ground,  keeping him pinned there with no chance of escape,  but the worst thing out of this made up horror are the digits firmly wrapped around his neck.  they feel far too real,  all of this does,  spitefully vivid,  like his own mind has acquired a taste for sick japes.  Thoros knows those hands,  recognizes the feel and shape of them as much as he would if they were his own,  knows they would never hurt him,  holds this certainty tight in his heart and closes his eyes,  avoiding the vacant stare in Beric’s own.  he doesn’t fight him,  just holds on to his wrists like they might anchor him even now.  you want to die for love,  you always have.

coming out of it is not nearly as void of sound or motion,  however.  he thinks he might have screamed,  his throat certainly feels rough enough for it,  but now he is left only with his ragged breathing and the pounding heartbeat in his chest and ears.  for a moment he considers blatantly lying through his teeth,  digging up a reassurance so watered down not even most laughable inn’s ale could be a match for it,  but he is too obviously not fine to fool Beric,  of all people.  maybe he’ll feel like cracking a joke about it later  (   dream you is a real prick,  y’know that  ?   ),  but right now all the priest has the energy to do is curl up again,  only much closer to the other man,  forehead pressed to his shoulder.

░▒▌╳▐ ᴅ ʀ ᴀ ɢ ᴏ ɴ ʟ ᴏ ʀ ᴅ

      THE ROOM WAS SO DIMLY lit that surely, had it not been his own, they would've clumsily stumbled into every column and bench that stood in the way towards the bed. The fact that illumination is poor however, does not hinder the two lovers in the least. So many times now, more than either would dare try to estimate, they've claimed each other's bodies; that they had every dimple, rise, swell and curve upon muscle and skin completely memorized. Vaedar could tell just by the way her breath caught, the shuddering touch of her nails gripping his shoulder blades, that Ashara was seeking something more than just the feeling of him buried inside her. And of course, as it always so went, the man was more than eager to comply.

Pulling away from her neck, one of his hands reached to grasp her wrist and firmly move her hand away from his back, over her head on the pillow. Shifting, he straightened, silver-gold locks of tussled hair framing the shadows of his features, highlighted only by the warm orange glow of the one candle nearby—And there was a sly curve plastered on his lips. ❝ What is it that you want, hm? ❞ He asked whilst suddenly thrusting into her, roughly, only to pull back again halfway as the hand that held her wrist began to lower over her arm. Long fingers ghosted above her forehead, nose, parted lips ( one of them slipping in between for a moment ) and then they so seemingly tenderly settle over her neck. Ashara releases a sound that is curiously too similar to a mewl, making the mischievous smile on the man's features widen.

         ❝ Ah, is that it? ❞ Vaedar's voice is husk and low, silk-like in its smoothness but it's not enough to disguise his own headiness. Again, without warning, his narrow hips are abruptly thrusting forth and a gasp has the Dayne's full lips part, her chin tilting back and exposing more of her long neck. Adjusting his position, he adds a little more of his weight onto the grip as his arm stretches more. His free hand is holding one of her thighs to lift it, and when he rolls his hips back once more, there is no instant wasted in pushing forward again—and again, hard and deep, and grinding himself further still just to make certain he's completely sheathed within his woman. The hold of his fingers around her neck grows just a little firmer ( because even in these thralls of heat and arousal, the man is always thoughtful of her before himself ); but so do the breathless sounds of pleasure that escapes her parted lips. Swifter, the pace grows, and the haste of reaching that edge, to fall over into its euphoric abyss; suddenly seems to overwhelm them both. There are barely any moans for they are left breathless.

Lowering, they share a kiss that is both sensual and affectionate in nature before they tangle together in one other's arms. Their chests are rising and falling in attempts of gathering their breaths but there is a so satiated smile on Vaedar's face, one that lingers even when he tilts his head to the side to press a kiss to her forehead. ❝ Happy Valentine's, my star. ❞ And then, because it's just impossible for him to resist, the silver-gold haired man adds, ❝ Should I add chocking to our list of favorites? ❞ A remark that earns him a playful, soft bump to his side. But the gesture is followed by the sweet sound of Ashara's laughter, joined in by his own.