[ He hardly needs to be coaxed into shoving his face against Iorveth's neck. It's his second favorite thing to do, only eclipsed by actually shoving his fangs into it. The sweet smell of Iorveth's skin, the sound of his steady pulse. Astarion presses a light hand against one of Iorveth's carotids, feeling the blood rush through it. If he loved Iorveth any less, he fears that he might be a danger to him the way that his blood inspires fantasizing. ]
And what of your wishes?
[ Iorveth is very self-denying, which is wonderful at times—a good fit for Astarion, who's so terribly selfish—but other times, he wishes Iorveth had a little less abnegation and a little more indulgence. Hedonism, even. ]
no subject
And what of your wishes?
[ Iorveth is very self-denying, which is wonderful at times—a good fit for Astarion, who's so terribly selfish—but other times, he wishes Iorveth had a little less abnegation and a little more indulgence. Hedonism, even. ]