[ Implore you for your permission. Iorveth couldn't possibly understand the thrill that question sends through him. This whole farce may seem ridiculous to Iorveth, but Astarion isn't laughing. No one's ever asked his permission before. Always at someone else's whim, helpless, powerless; what he wanted never came into the picture. ]
Yes.
[ There's still a playful impishness to it, but there's an edge to his voice, too, a seriousness to his request. He bends his knee, foot coming to rest on Iorveth's shoulder, gently pushing him off. It's odd, really; he wants Iorveth even closer, but the satisfaction in pushing him away is indescribable. Saying 'no' is the one thing in bed that's still novel. ]
Go on. Beg me.
[ There's an imperious lilt to his voice, like he was born to give orders, like he has no idea that he's just adding one more red flag to the pile. ]
no subject
Yes.
[ There's still a playful impishness to it, but there's an edge to his voice, too, a seriousness to his request. He bends his knee, foot coming to rest on Iorveth's shoulder, gently pushing him off. It's odd, really; he wants Iorveth even closer, but the satisfaction in pushing him away is indescribable. Saying 'no' is the one thing in bed that's still novel. ]
Go on. Beg me.
[ There's an imperious lilt to his voice, like he was born to give orders, like he has no idea that he's just adding one more red flag to the pile. ]