[ Iorveth watches Astarion's kaleidoscope of expressions in silence, holding his hands out with the sort of obedience he's never once shown outside of these private moments. Poor Shadowheart certainly never got a taste of it, what with Iorveth heckling her the entire time while she patched him up.
The light friction against inflamed and broken skin hurts, but not nearly enough to inspire Iorveth to flinch. A part of him is aware that Astarion never had the opportunity to use his hands for healing, so he savors the clumsy but good-intentioned ministrations while he can. ]
It was my idea, [ he reminds, about the acid. ] ...We survived, thanks to you.
[ Because Iorveth knows that there wasn't a single chance that those soldiers would have done anything for Astarion once the sun came up; they would have put two and two together, and relished watching Astarion burn.
His expression twists, but only briefly. A moment later, he opens his mouth again. ] Still. I'm sorry that I made you do it.
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The light friction against inflamed and broken skin hurts, but not nearly enough to inspire Iorveth to flinch. A part of him is aware that Astarion never had the opportunity to use his hands for healing, so he savors the clumsy but good-intentioned ministrations while he can. ]
It was my idea, [ he reminds, about the acid. ] ...We survived, thanks to you.
[ Because Iorveth knows that there wasn't a single chance that those soldiers would have done anything for Astarion once the sun came up; they would have put two and two together, and relished watching Astarion burn.
His expression twists, but only briefly. A moment later, he opens his mouth again. ] Still. I'm sorry that I made you do it.