[ A small age, since they've shared a bed like this. Iorveth doesn't let the twinge of guilt touch him beyond the suggestion that it might be there; he focuses, instead, on giving Astarion the attention he hadn't been giving him during this entire breakneck journey up from Baldur's Gate. One hand still held in Astarion's, the other moving up to gently trace the outline of a pointed ear. ]
They'd tell you anything. [ His voice lilts, and his next breath is a near-chuckle. ] You've a talent for gossiping.
[ It's a compliment. Iorveth draws a gentle line from the curve of Astarion's earlobe down to his jaw, savoring the feel of him. ]
Though I'd likely have to be out of the picture. I imagine that they'd be less willing to speak with me hovering nearby.
[ What with him being a one-eyed wood elf that may or may not be the one-eyed wood elf that the racist Commandant's been looking for for the past however many months. Sigh. ]
no subject
They'd tell you anything. [ His voice lilts, and his next breath is a near-chuckle. ] You've a talent for gossiping.
[ It's a compliment. Iorveth draws a gentle line from the curve of Astarion's earlobe down to his jaw, savoring the feel of him. ]
Though I'd likely have to be out of the picture. I imagine that they'd be less willing to speak with me hovering nearby.
[ What with him being a one-eyed wood elf that may or may not be the one-eyed wood elf that the racist Commandant's been looking for for the past however many months. Sigh. ]