It's your body, [ Iorveth shoots back, near-immediately. ] Not "his work".
[ Iorveth hates the thought of Astarion giving himself away, of drifting from his body and killing parts of himself that others should have held sacrosanct. Never again. From here on out, everyone who ever hurts Astarion deserves to fucking rot.
Turning his head to press his mouth against Astarion's cheek, Iorveth hums and nuzzles against soft hair. ]
Would you ever allow it? [ Thumbing along one of the bigger symbols, not out of any morbid curiosity, but because― ] ―I'd like to kiss every inch of you.
[ Not a line, not a idle flirt. Matter-of-fact as always, a straight-shooting admission of truth. Iorveth adores Astarion, and he's loath to make any part of his beloved feel neglected or unaddressed. ]
no subject
[ Iorveth hates the thought of Astarion giving himself away, of drifting from his body and killing parts of himself that others should have held sacrosanct. Never again. From here on out, everyone who ever hurts Astarion deserves to fucking rot.
Turning his head to press his mouth against Astarion's cheek, Iorveth hums and nuzzles against soft hair. ]
Would you ever allow it? [ Thumbing along one of the bigger symbols, not out of any morbid curiosity, but because― ] ―I'd like to kiss every inch of you.
[ Not a line, not a idle flirt. Matter-of-fact as always, a straight-shooting admission of truth. Iorveth adores Astarion, and he's loath to make any part of his beloved feel neglected or unaddressed. ]