[ Astarion grins, pleased that Iorveth didn't rail too hard against the compliment. In time, he hopes Iorveth will let such words sink into his skin until he really believes them. For now, he can only shower him with praise until it does.
He removes his shirt—Gale's shirt—with more grace than Iorveth, but tosses it on the floor with far less elegance. Neat with his own belongings, messy with others'. Who cares if Gale's shirt gets a little wrinkled? It's already forgotten as he pushes Iorveth's back down onto mattress so that he can crawl back atop him, pressing their bare chests together. It's probably cold for Iorveth, honestly, but it's heaven for him, the warmth of Iorveth's body radiating down his torso. ]
Oh, gods forbid.
[ A kiss to his chin, his cheek, the tip of his ear. ]
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He removes his shirt—Gale's shirt—with more grace than Iorveth, but tosses it on the floor with far less elegance. Neat with his own belongings, messy with others'. Who cares if Gale's shirt gets a little wrinkled? It's already forgotten as he pushes Iorveth's back down onto mattress so that he can crawl back atop him, pressing their bare chests together. It's probably cold for Iorveth, honestly, but it's heaven for him, the warmth of Iorveth's body radiating down his torso. ]
Oh, gods forbid.
[ A kiss to his chin, his cheek, the tip of his ear. ]
Don't worry — I'll keep you warm.
[ Ha, times two. ]