[ Astarion will doubt it, probably, especially when they return to Iorveth's old stomping grounds, but to be affirmed in such a way quiets his insecurities for the time being. He strokes across the line of Iorveth's strong jaw with his fingers, affectionate. As ugly as Iorveth thinks he is, there is no one in this world more flaw-free to Astarion. ]
My beautiful boy.
[ Hardly a 'boy' at his big age, and maybe not beautiful in the most traditional sense, but perfect in Astarion's eyes. ]
Inside and out, [ he appends, thumb resting on Iorveth's chin. ] Who could have predicted you'd be such a softie?
[ Not him. When they'd first met, he'd thought that Iorveth's scowl was permanently affixed to his face, grimness his perpetual state of being. Even once they'd gotten to know each other better, hells, even after Astarion had started to actually like him, he'd expected Iorveth to remain eternally serious, incessantly unhappy. What a relief to be wrong. ]
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My beautiful boy.
[ Hardly a 'boy' at his big age, and maybe not beautiful in the most traditional sense, but perfect in Astarion's eyes. ]
Inside and out, [ he appends, thumb resting on Iorveth's chin. ] Who could have predicted you'd be such a softie?
[ Not him. When they'd first met, he'd thought that Iorveth's scowl was permanently affixed to his face, grimness his perpetual state of being. Even once they'd gotten to know each other better, hells, even after Astarion had started to actually like him, he'd expected Iorveth to remain eternally serious, incessantly unhappy. What a relief to be wrong. ]