[ There are two centuries' worth of knots in Astarion's back that even the most skilled massage therapist couldn't work out in one day, but the intent behind it is sweet, and he finds himself, as usual, charmed by the softness of someone he'd once thought was made entirely of hard angles.
So charmed, in fact, that he doesn't mention that it's not like Iorveth was celibate before him, and that he did tell Astarion how occasionally I even fuck, so surely Iorveth craved another's touch enough to do that. (He could! But he won't.) ]
I hated it.
[ He shifts a little, trying to find his way onto his back so that he can reach out and touch. His hands are his primary way of navigating the world—deft flourishes with a dagger, careful movements while lockpicking, wild gesticulation—and it's quickly getting frustrating to not be able to use them to their full extent. ]
There were times when I wished everyone who touched me would perish horribly.
[ But that's not much of a sweet nothing, so he adds, ] Not you, of course.
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So charmed, in fact, that he doesn't mention that it's not like Iorveth was celibate before him, and that he did tell Astarion how occasionally I even fuck, so surely Iorveth craved another's touch enough to do that. (He could! But he won't.) ]
I hated it.
[ He shifts a little, trying to find his way onto his back so that he can reach out and touch. His hands are his primary way of navigating the world—deft flourishes with a dagger, careful movements while lockpicking, wild gesticulation—and it's quickly getting frustrating to not be able to use them to their full extent. ]
There were times when I wished everyone who touched me would perish horribly.
[ But that's not much of a sweet nothing, so he adds, ] Not you, of course.