[ 'Your body', Iorveth says, as if Astarion could expect to feel any sort of ownership over it. It's more Cazador's than it ever was his. He had more control over it, got to choose what happened to it. It's difficult to feel like it really belongs to him, even now.
He traces his thumb across Iorveth's chin up to his lower lip, considering. His instinct is to ask why in the gods' name Iorveth would ever want to get up close and personal with something so ugly, but— well. It probably wouldn't help Iorveth's self-esteem if he started describing scars in such a way, even if the way he views Iorveth's and the way he views his own are antithetical. ]
If that's what you want.
[ His voice is colored with just a little bit of skepticism, like he can't imagine that even a freak like Iorveth would want that. ]
no subject
He traces his thumb across Iorveth's chin up to his lower lip, considering. His instinct is to ask why in the gods' name Iorveth would ever want to get up close and personal with something so ugly, but— well. It probably wouldn't help Iorveth's self-esteem if he started describing scars in such a way, even if the way he views Iorveth's and the way he views his own are antithetical. ]
If that's what you want.
[ His voice is colored with just a little bit of skepticism, like he can't imagine that even a freak like Iorveth would want that. ]