[ 'I don't know.' Astarion tries to hide the disappointed sag of his shoulders. It's only a frivolous little game meant to entertain and amuse lovebirds, but the answer is disheartening all the same. Iorveth knows him as well as anyone ever has, has seen the prison he called his home and watched him bash in his master's face in an incandescent rage. He's let Astarion curl up in his arms and touched him in ways he thought he'd never want anyone to touch him again. After all that, even he says 'I don't know' to the very first question he's asked about Astarion. As Astarion lifts his chin up to maintain some semblance of dignity, the nasty voice inside his head laughs at his disappointment. Stupid.
Then his shoulders are sagging for an entirely different reason, his face burning with embarrassment so hot that he wouldn't be surprised if his pale skin had gone a bright cherry red. Although Iorveth didn't say it, it seems obvious what he's referring to, and the thought of this stranger carny knowing that he likes to be cuddled is beyond endurance. Despite his humiliation, he feels a tiny flutter of pleasure in his chest at both the answer and the wording. 'Our bed', Iorveth had said. It's funny; Astarion still thinks of it as Iorveth's bed and himself as a temporary visitor who could any day overstay his welcome. The concept of having something that's ours makes his cheeks burn hot for a more pleasurable reason. ]
I— [ He clears his throat, then says, in an attempt to steer the dryad's thoughts toward the salacious instead of the embarrassing, ] Yes, I am a natural in bed.
[ "True honesty can frighten even the most fearless warriors," she says sagely, which Astarion finds very annoying. She nods at Iorveth, as if approving his answer. "But your bond burns all the brighter for it." Who made her the arbiter of truth, he doesn't know. ]
I was going to say yours is up a tree.
[ Or something rustic like that. Somewhere he can sit and observe the whole world from a distance. ]
no subject
Then his shoulders are sagging for an entirely different reason, his face burning with embarrassment so hot that he wouldn't be surprised if his pale skin had gone a bright cherry red. Although Iorveth didn't say it, it seems obvious what he's referring to, and the thought of this stranger carny knowing that he likes to be cuddled is beyond endurance. Despite his humiliation, he feels a tiny flutter of pleasure in his chest at both the answer and the wording. 'Our bed', Iorveth had said. It's funny; Astarion still thinks of it as Iorveth's bed and himself as a temporary visitor who could any day overstay his welcome. The concept of having something that's ours makes his cheeks burn hot for a more pleasurable reason. ]
I— [ He clears his throat, then says, in an attempt to steer the dryad's thoughts toward the salacious instead of the embarrassing, ] Yes, I am a natural in bed.
[ "True honesty can frighten even the most fearless warriors," she says sagely, which Astarion finds very annoying. She nods at Iorveth, as if approving his answer. "But your bond burns all the brighter for it." Who made her the arbiter of truth, he doesn't know. ]
I was going to say yours is up a tree.
[ Or something rustic like that. Somewhere he can sit and observe the whole world from a distance. ]