He rests his head against Astarion's shoulder, the hand not in Rosita's hair gripping the elf's thigh with tight fingers. "This is how I always dreamed I'd die," he tells them both, voice low and husky with desperation.

Feeling so much the object of his own lust, he rocks back against Astarion's fingers, desperate for the same thing. Fingers are fine, but he wants to be opened up by him. He wants to fuck more than the space between Rosita's thighs. It feels good to want.