[ Astarion is all touched-out, but he leans into the offered palm anyway, because Iorveth's touch is different. Gentle, safe, something he craves rather than dreads. It's been days since he was properly touched by Iorveth—not sexually, but still intimately—and he nearly slides his hand down to hold Iorveth's, stopped only by the acid burns he'd have to contend with. When Iorveth drops his hand, the warmth of his palm lingers on Astarion's face. ]
Need I remind you that I've already died?
[ It was one of the worst experiences of his life. Pure helplessness, desperation. A gateway to more misery to come. Even still, he'd do it again for Iorveth. ]
I'll come with you. We can watch out for each other.
no subject
Need I remind you that I've already died?
[ It was one of the worst experiences of his life. Pure helplessness, desperation. A gateway to more misery to come. Even still, he'd do it again for Iorveth. ]
I'll come with you. We can watch out for each other.