[ If something or someone is valuable to him, there's no shame in treating it with care. Iorveth has kept his heirloom bow and maintained it with aching dedication for the past few decades, and no one gives him shit about that－ why should it be any different for Astarion, Iorveth's most important person?

The difference between a bow and a vampire, however, is how a vampire can insist on seeing his face. The bath is fine－ Astarion looks very lovely when he's tousled and messy, but he probably wants to feel cleaner－ but Iorveth can't help the kneejerk pushback against "handsome", especially when he's presently not wearing anything to obstruct the worst of his facial scarring.

He hesitates for a beat, the consideration apparent on his face, but ultimately acquiesces without discomfort clouding his expression. ]

Mm. I think Shadowheart had a pair of scissors.

[ The makeover queen. Iorveth tries to sit up from where he's been lounging lazily with Astarion by his side, and finds that, yes, it still feels like he has something inside him; it makes his balance a little shaky, but he manages. ]

You bathe first, while I find the necessary tools. I'll ruin the water.

[ And, well. Like a freak, he reaches to trace a thin trail of spend left on his inner thighs from when Astarion'd come inside of him; he licks his finger, and hums. ]