[ Ugh. Yet another thing Cazador took from Astarion: the ability to be day drunk. It really is a shame that you only get to kill certain individuals once. Now that Iorveth can paint a picture of the now-deceased vampire in his mind, he can at least fantasize in greater detail about stabbing the smug-faced creature again, even if the threat of him is gone.
He sways closer to Astarion, instinctively protective. That spike of anger is taken over quickly, though― Astarion feels so nice against his alcohol-flushed skin. Pivoting on his feet, Iorveth presses his face to Astarion's neck. Like a dog in summer pressing its face to cool glass. ]
If you drink my blood right now, [ like 12 am shower thoughts, this is a drunk guy question, ] would you taste the wine?
[ Definitely not how bodies work. Or is it? Whatever. He kind of wants to curl up with his face pressed to Astarion's chest for the next thirty minutes, actually, but he did promise Lae'zel. ]
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He sways closer to Astarion, instinctively protective. That spike of anger is taken over quickly, though― Astarion feels so nice against his alcohol-flushed skin. Pivoting on his feet, Iorveth presses his face to Astarion's neck. Like a dog in summer pressing its face to cool glass. ]
If you drink my blood right now, [ like 12 am shower thoughts, this is a drunk guy question, ] would you taste the wine?
[ Definitely not how bodies work. Or is it? Whatever. He kind of wants to curl up with his face pressed to Astarion's chest for the next thirty minutes, actually, but he did promise Lae'zel. ]