[ It's almost inconceivable how satisfying it is to be groomed by Iorveth. It's nothing yet everything, a tiny gesture that makes him feel a gigantic surge of affection. Iorveth didn't fuss with himself, but he took the time to make Astarion's appearance tidy—as tidy as it can be, when he has little bruises all over from being dragged through the tavern and tossed into a cellar—because he knows that Astarion cares about it. For a moment, he can think of nothing but kissing Iorveth's wonderful face, but he tempers the urge, uncertain if his affections would be welcomed by a dirty, disheveled, feverish Iorveth.
He falls into step with Iorveth, following blindly. A testament to the trust Iorveth has earned. Like a lost puppy, Astarion would trail behind him into the hells (with some reluctance). ]
And here I thought you already knew. How else would I have a little fox curled up at my feet every night?
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He falls into step with Iorveth, following blindly. A testament to the trust Iorveth has earned. Like a lost puppy, Astarion would trail behind him into the hells (with some reluctance). ]
And here I thought you already knew. How else would I have a little fox curled up at my feet every night?