[ Astarion's brow raises, too, first at how low Iorveth's eyes wander and then at the very presumptuous finger under his chin. Yes, he was right — he should have known that Iorveth likes pretty things. A little competitive streak flares up inside him, and he watches the swish of Hyacinth's hips as she sashays away before kicking Iorveth underneath the table. (Gently. But with feeling.)
Their glasses clink together as his booted foot nudges against Iorveth's leg, the dark liquid sloshing inside its ornate container. ]
no subject
Their glasses clink together as his booted foot nudges against Iorveth's leg, the dark liquid sloshing inside its ornate container. ]
Cheers, you lech.
[ It's 75% teasing, 25% genuine petulant possessiveness. ]