[ Ugh. Stupid, endearing cat. Iorveth, weighed down by the lukewarm body next to him and his own too-full heart, abandons the embroidery to comb his fingers through silver hair, memorizing Astarion's resting expression, the way his long lashes cast shadows over his pale skin.
Bitterness and anger slough off of Iorveth for the first time in decades; for a perfect moment, the world feels still. At peace.
Terrifying. Iorveth has shattered over the depths of his losses before, but he can't anticipate how painful it will be if or when Astarion ever leaves; it'd break him, but that's the only way Iorveth knows how to love anything-- with blood under his nails, his throat hoarse from screaming.
He turns, curls, and follows Astarion into his own trance, which is how their companions will find them later, limbs pretzeled and torsos pressed close. It's how their companions will find them every subsequent night afterwards, a day turning into a tenday, Gondians found and saved, a Foundry infiltrated and blown to smithereens. A shared bed for every shared disaster, chaos in the daytime blending into soothing, uncomplicated tangling at night--
--until they find themselves back at Dolores' place, handed a fresh new predicament to contend with. Or, well. A predicament for Iorveth exclusively, given the fact that Astarion is the one that set this particular predicament up for him in the first place. ]
No frills.
[ This should be the thing that makes him reconsider being in love with Astarion, and yet. Iorveth still wants to continue sharing a bed with his stupid, endearing cat, and has thus resigned himself to this fitting session, and the auction ball that's to follow in the evening. Somewhere in the near distance, a clown horn honks. ]
no subject
Bitterness and anger slough off of Iorveth for the first time in decades; for a perfect moment, the world feels still. At peace.
Terrifying. Iorveth has shattered over the depths of his losses before, but he can't anticipate how painful it will be if or when Astarion ever leaves; it'd break him, but that's the only way Iorveth knows how to love anything-- with blood under his nails, his throat hoarse from screaming.
He turns, curls, and follows Astarion into his own trance, which is how their companions will find them later, limbs pretzeled and torsos pressed close. It's how their companions will find them every subsequent night afterwards, a day turning into a tenday, Gondians found and saved, a Foundry infiltrated and blown to smithereens. A shared bed for every shared disaster, chaos in the daytime blending into soothing, uncomplicated tangling at night--
--until they find themselves back at Dolores' place, handed a fresh new predicament to contend with. Or, well. A predicament for Iorveth exclusively, given the fact that Astarion is the one that set this particular predicament up for him in the first place. ]
No frills.
[ This should be the thing that makes him reconsider being in love with Astarion, and yet. Iorveth still wants to continue sharing a bed with his stupid, endearing cat, and has thus resigned himself to this fitting session, and the auction ball that's to follow in the evening. Somewhere in the near distance, a clown horn honks. ]