essea: (49.)
ɪᴏʀᴠᴇᴛʜ. ([personal profile] essea) wrote 2024-12-08 04:03 am (UTC)

[ It's a balm to that blunt ache, to watch Astarion hop from shiny object to shiny object like a silver magpie. It's a testament to how big of a space his stupid vampire occupies in Iorveth's heart, that Iorveth can set aside a potential hour-long denunciation of the human race in favor of listening to Astarion talk about material possessions.

He lets his freshly-wrapped items sit on a tabletop for the time being, and slinks behind Astarion to wrap his arms around his middle. Relishing the solid presence after that unpleasant reminder of his dwindling clan, almost like a stay here in the form of an embrace. Not that Iorveth registers it as such; he only acknowledges it as a kneejerk compulsion, and he uses the closeness as an excuse to nose against the space behind Astarion's ear.
]

Hm. [ A slow inhale. ] What is it made of, gold and night orchid?

[ Iorveth doesn't know anything about expensive scents, but he likes the way Astarion smells already; it's become a comforting routine at the end of the day, pressing his nose to Astarion's hair and breathing him in before falling into his trance. ]

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