[ Oh, Iorveth really has his number. 'Milord' is almost as good as 'beloved'. He crawls atop Iorveth, who's somehow even warmer from the water than he normally is, a fact that makes him press their bodies closer together in an attempt to soak it in for himself.
That little smile of his is so sweet, so genuine, that Astarion can't stop himself from pressing his lips to it, quick and firm. Iorveth tastes a little like that mulled wine still, and he finds it tastes far better on Iorveth's lips than it did in a glass. Some might say it's bias, but he chooses to believe it's Iorveth's natural sweetness improving the flavor. If Iorveth can be terminally delusional, so can he. ]
Since you asked so nicely, [ he says, cupping Iorveth's sharp, angular chin, ] like such a good boy, I'll allow it.
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That little smile of his is so sweet, so genuine, that Astarion can't stop himself from pressing his lips to it, quick and firm. Iorveth tastes a little like that mulled wine still, and he finds it tastes far better on Iorveth's lips than it did in a glass. Some might say it's bias, but he chooses to believe it's Iorveth's natural sweetness improving the flavor. If Iorveth can be terminally delusional, so can he. ]
Since you asked so nicely, [ he says, cupping Iorveth's sharp, angular chin, ] like such a good boy, I'll allow it.