[ Astarion makes a noise of protest, scoffing and rolling his eyes and acting not unlike a child being assaulted with kisses from his grandmother — like this is all very embarrassing and ruining his image.
Still, he curls his fingers in the fabric of Iorveth's shirt so that he can't go anywhere, entirely contradictory to the idea that he doesn't like it. Being embraced still feels strange, and yes, a little embarrassing, but it feels good, too, albeit in a way he feels compelled to keep private. Like some dark, twisted fantasy that he's a complete degenerate for enjoying. ]
This isn't wicked at all, [ he chides. ] Honestly, I told you that you're going soft.
no subject
Still, he curls his fingers in the fabric of Iorveth's shirt so that he can't go anywhere, entirely contradictory to the idea that he doesn't like it. Being embraced still feels strange, and yes, a little embarrassing, but it feels good, too, albeit in a way he feels compelled to keep private. Like some dark, twisted fantasy that he's a complete degenerate for enjoying. ]
This isn't wicked at all, [ he chides. ] Honestly, I told you that you're going soft.