[ All the arguments they've had, and what gets Iorveth finally broken up with will be a badly timed joke with worse delivery. RIP. He lets the chiding roll off his broad shoulders, though, and obliges the implied suggestion to move onto the bed the way he'd wordlessly conceded to holding Astarion's books: a quick turn in the loop of Astarion's arms, bringing them face-to-face, and he falls backwards with Astarion on top of him on the mattress. ]
Whether or not I agree to imprisonment depends entirely on if you'll be sharing said bed.
[ He roots around, blindly sliding one warm palm under Astarion's shirt to smooth up his spine, not minding the pattern of scars that Cazador has left on otherwise unblemished skin. Astarion is Astarion: there's not an inch of him that Iorveth doesn't hold sacred.
Iorveth's turn to bury his face in Astarion's neck. He breathes him in, and kisses his jaw. ]
no subject
Whether or not I agree to imprisonment depends entirely on if you'll be sharing said bed.
[ He roots around, blindly sliding one warm palm under Astarion's shirt to smooth up his spine, not minding the pattern of scars that Cazador has left on otherwise unblemished skin. Astarion is Astarion: there's not an inch of him that Iorveth doesn't hold sacred.
Iorveth's turn to bury his face in Astarion's neck. He breathes him in, and kisses his jaw. ]
Gods, you're perfect.