[ Agony, when Astarion leans over him: Iorveth's arms shift, instinctively wanting to wrap around that eminently-holdable waist. Frustration flits across his expression, obvious and sharp for a razor's-edge moment.
A deep breath, in and out, and Iorveth tries to settle himself. His hips lift an inch from the mattress, helping Astarion shimmy him out of his layers; Iorveth is wearing Gale's underwear, which is, you guessed it, deep violet. Not really Iorveth's color. ]
You've no preferences? [ Another huff, this time through his nose. ] How would you want to ruin me?
[ Tossing the question back at Astarion, who Iorveth knows has more revulsion than preference for intimacy. Still, he wants to pass the ball to Astarion for a moment, even if he throws it right back at Iorveth for him to decide; another implication here, that even stupid kink negotiation can be reciprocal. ]
I suppose it depends on how much you want to watch me squirm.
no subject
A deep breath, in and out, and Iorveth tries to settle himself. His hips lift an inch from the mattress, helping Astarion shimmy him out of his layers; Iorveth is wearing Gale's underwear, which is, you guessed it, deep violet. Not really Iorveth's color. ]
You've no preferences? [ Another huff, this time through his nose. ] How would you want to ruin me?
[ Tossing the question back at Astarion, who Iorveth knows has more revulsion than preference for intimacy. Still, he wants to pass the ball to Astarion for a moment, even if he throws it right back at Iorveth for him to decide; another implication here, that even stupid kink negotiation can be reciprocal. ]
I suppose it depends on how much you want to watch me squirm.