Thrawn's eyes closed and he moaned softly as he filled Astarion again, hips bucking up into the other man, slicked by oil and his semen. He truly knew how to please a man. So talented, Thrawn was like clay in his hands. Astarion could ask for the world and Thrawn would give it to him.

His fingers dug into Astarion's thigh, dull nails leaving red marks on the pale skin. Thrawn kept his nails neatly trimmed, so they didn't break the skin. Such an interesting contrast, with his blue fingers against that alabaster skin.

Turning his head and letting out a louder moan, Thrawn's eyes cracked open. He hadn't noticed before that there was a mirror behind a screen. Perhaps he'd been just that eager that he hadn't taken an inventory of the room. He paused for a split second.

He saw himself, of course. But Astarion wasn't reflected. Thus, it looked like Thrawn was thrusting his hips up into thin air, and an invisible force was rocking the bed in time with him. So, whatever hid Astarion from cameras also did so for mirrors. But why?

Not wanting to make Astarion suspicious, he faced upward again, reaching up to run his hands along the other man's chest.