[ "Boy" is funny, so he laughs about that bit first. Sure, he's lagging a few decades behind Astarion (who is... actually, Iorveth has no idea, two centuries and a half years young?), but he's certainly no boy. It's as preposterous as "softie", but this one is at least partially true, as loath as Iorveth is to admit it. ]
Only to you.
[ The rest of the world doesn't require him to be soft, or gentle, or kind. He's a sword in the right hands, or a thorn in others; people either hold him by the hilt, or cut themselves on his edges. Only Astarion gets to have the bits of him that aren't blunt or serrated, which still feels novel and new.
Case in point: Iorveth lifts his head for a quick kiss, then follows it up for a few more for good measure. ]
You give me reason to be.
[ A low murmur against Astarion's lips later, he settles back again. ] I wasn't so soft back at Flotsam.
no subject
Only to you.
[ The rest of the world doesn't require him to be soft, or gentle, or kind. He's a sword in the right hands, or a thorn in others; people either hold him by the hilt, or cut themselves on his edges. Only Astarion gets to have the bits of him that aren't blunt or serrated, which still feels novel and new.
Case in point: Iorveth lifts his head for a quick kiss, then follows it up for a few more for good measure. ]
You give me reason to be.
[ A low murmur against Astarion's lips later, he settles back again. ] I wasn't so soft back at Flotsam.