[ Astarion says that he loves Iorveth more, but Iorveth has his doubts. He knows himself, and knows the vehemence with which he holds certain things dear: he has been accused of loving too much, and too insistently. He knows that, eventually, someone will say something to the extent of "I think you care about Astarion a little too much", and Iorveth will reply with a tilt of his head and a raise of his brow, his shoulders squared and his expression annoyed. "Yes, and?"

But he won't tell Astarion that, because that's utterly deranged. Instead, he smiles at the pinch to his sensitive ear, a quick little curl of his lips that lingers longer than necessary. ]

I require little. [ Is his reply to Astarion not knowing what to do with him, instead of its meaner cousin, "do I look like someone who needs a lot???" (A more uncharitable answer for people who aren't Astarion.) Being Astarion's first for anything is a bit of a thrill, and also a bit of a tragedy; life really did give him nothing, for decades. A horrifying thought. ] I've no desire for anything but you, as you are.

[ He loops an arm around Astarion's shoulder, kisses the crown of his head. Being patient despite a part of him thinking that none of this needs saying, because he's been showing it through his actions; it's fine, though. Spoiling Astarion feels far better than it has any right to feel. ]

And if you require something from me, you need only speak plainly. I said so before: you wear greed prettily, and I've found, to my horror, that I'm not immune.