[ Perhaps it's all of the adoration clouding his judgment, but Iorveth has never looked quite so lovely as he does smiling like that. Uninhibited in his happiness, the hard lines of his face softened. It makes Astarion's dead heart flutter in his chest, so much that someone might actually mistake him for someone alive. The things he'd do to keep seeing that look on Iorveth's face are dangerous.

Losing the heat from Iorveth's body feels somehow intolerable, so he's quick to start pulling this stupid, baggy shirt off. In his haste, the fabric catches on a pointy ear, giving him a terrible case of bedhead by the time he manages to get it off. He slicks his hair back down in the most casual way possible, aiming for alluring. ]

Lucky for you, he finds desperation charming.

[ Much like Iorveth. ]

If you're very good, perhaps he'll even see fit to make you his consort.