[ Another soft breath, though he does very little to break the comfortable tangle they've re-established. If anything, he worms closer (much to the tuxedo cat's displeasure) and loops his good arm around Astarion's waist, wondering if cuddling could actually persuade Astarion to stay here and not get himself thrown into a dungeon in Wyrm's Rock Fortress.
Worth a shot. He noses at Astarion's collar and presses his mouth to an open patch of neck, idly nibbling to watch pale skin bloom pink. ]
There'll be scores of them.
[ Honestly, he's surprised that half of them didn't quit after Gortash gave himself the keys to the city; Iorveth truly cannot imagine degrading himself by serving under that greasy-looking raccoon, and thus, considers anyone under Enver Gortash's employ to be useless rabble.
Anyway. Another light bite, just under Astarion's fangmark scars. ]
I don't envy your stabbing arm. Think of how sore you'll be.
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Worth a shot. He noses at Astarion's collar and presses his mouth to an open patch of neck, idly nibbling to watch pale skin bloom pink. ]
There'll be scores of them.
[ Honestly, he's surprised that half of them didn't quit after Gortash gave himself the keys to the city; Iorveth truly cannot imagine degrading himself by serving under that greasy-looking raccoon, and thus, considers anyone under Enver Gortash's employ to be useless rabble.
Anyway. Another light bite, just under Astarion's fangmark scars. ]
I don't envy your stabbing arm. Think of how sore you'll be.
[ Hard labor! The horror. ]