[ Effectively manhandled, Iorveth automatically wraps one arm around Astarion's waist once their bodies are pressed flush against each other, sharing warmth. After the events of the night prior and the worry he'd caused, Iorveth intends to spoil Astarion a bit.
Crazy, how that inclination even crosses his mind. He'd never thought himself particularly well-suited to softness, but again: Astarion does something to him. My sweet cat, he murmurs in his native language, low and melodic against the tapered tip of Astarion's ear. ]
At least one of them must have something lurid written in it. [ He's heard Wyll talking to Shadowheart about the garbage they'd read before, and thus knows that the Blade of Frontiers also has horrible taste in reading material. The recollection makes him sigh-laugh, his breath warm where it puffs against Astarion's cheek. ]
I could be persuaded to read some choice passages aloud.
[ A barely-there press of his lips to the slightly darkened skin under one brilliant-red eye; Iorveth has wondered idly before if the dark circles are a uniquely undead feature, or if it's a result of centuries of starvation. ]
no subject
Crazy, how that inclination even crosses his mind. He'd never thought himself particularly well-suited to softness, but again: Astarion does something to him. My sweet cat, he murmurs in his native language, low and melodic against the tapered tip of Astarion's ear. ]
At least one of them must have something lurid written in it. [ He's heard Wyll talking to Shadowheart about the garbage they'd read before, and thus knows that the Blade of Frontiers also has horrible taste in reading material. The recollection makes him sigh-laugh, his breath warm where it puffs against Astarion's cheek. ]
I could be persuaded to read some choice passages aloud.
[ A barely-there press of his lips to the slightly darkened skin under one brilliant-red eye; Iorveth has wondered idly before if the dark circles are a uniquely undead feature, or if it's a result of centuries of starvation. ]