[ Astarion had felt absolutely nothing when that young Fist had called him pretty, so it's completely illogical that he melts against the pillows now, a warm flush of pleasure radiating out from his chest. Things like 'pretty' usually ring hollow, like the unimaginative, shallow flattery they so often are, but in Iorveth's voice, it makes him feel special. Something he's good at being, something Iorveth likes. If he really tried, he could probably get off to the sound of Iorveth's sweet words alone.
He doesn't have to, though, and thank the gods for that. Iorveth's mouth is warm and wet and welcoming, and he can feel himself twitch in unreasonable arousal at the sight. It isn't anything like their encounter at Facemaker's; that had felt rushed, like it was barreling to a conclusion on its own without any input from either of them. A pleasant conclusion, but barreling nonetheless. This time, though, there's something careful about it. He feels that fluttering in his chest again.
Astarion stares stupidly, the endless cacophony of his thoughts seeming distant and hard to reach. After a moment, he manages, ] Keep going.
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He doesn't have to, though, and thank the gods for that. Iorveth's mouth is warm and wet and welcoming, and he can feel himself twitch in unreasonable arousal at the sight. It isn't anything like their encounter at Facemaker's; that had felt rushed, like it was barreling to a conclusion on its own without any input from either of them. A pleasant conclusion, but barreling nonetheless. This time, though, there's something careful about it. He feels that fluttering in his chest again.
Astarion stares stupidly, the endless cacophony of his thoughts seeming distant and hard to reach. After a moment, he manages, ] Keep going.