[ He can't tell Iorveth he's wrong, because he isn't. Astarion would find having his clothes neatly folded and set aside far more titillating than having them torn to shreds.
Astarion scoffs, not at the idea of Wyll's fantasies being made of devilishly attractive would-be-assassins, but the idea that Iorveth's aren't. Sure, he's full of repression, but surely even he must indulge in fantasy sometime. Hells, even Astarion did back in the early days in the palace, when he'd imagine some heroic type who'd fall for his charms so heavily that they'd slay his captor and he'd never have to worry about anything ever again. ]
Don't act so above it. Surely even you must be stirred by—
[ His index finger drifts across the page before stopping on a particularly evocative paragraph. ]
Edgar's 'glistening chest' and 'rippling muscles'.
[ Although if rippling muscles excite him, he's saddled himself to the wrong, malnourished horse. ]
no subject
Astarion scoffs, not at the idea of Wyll's fantasies being made of devilishly attractive would-be-assassins, but the idea that Iorveth's aren't. Sure, he's full of repression, but surely even he must indulge in fantasy sometime. Hells, even Astarion did back in the early days in the palace, when he'd imagine some heroic type who'd fall for his charms so heavily that they'd slay his captor and he'd never have to worry about anything ever again. ]
Don't act so above it. Surely even you must be stirred by—
[ His index finger drifts across the page before stopping on a particularly evocative paragraph. ]
Edgar's 'glistening chest' and 'rippling muscles'.
[ Although if rippling muscles excite him, he's saddled himself to the wrong, malnourished horse. ]