[ Iorveth withdraws, and Astarion is hit with a cloudy-minded panic that shows on his face. He thinks maybe he's done something wrong, been too selfish, made Iorveth feel the horrible way he used to feel, like an object being used for somebody else's pleasure. Then Iorveth pours some lavender-scented oil into his palm, and— ]
Oh.
[ He laughs in relief, flopping back against the pillow. Gods, if Iorveth only knew the emotional journey he just put Astarion on. ]
I thought perhaps you'd—
[ He's not sure. Hated this. Been disgusted by Astarion's shameful desires. It's him who really feels like the deranged and perverted one, if only because wanting at all still feels somehow profane. He supposes it doesn't matter what he thought; neuroses are a bit of a mood-killer, and he'd rather not spoil this with them.
He kicks off Gale's fancy underwear the rest of the way. Gods, at least this pair isn't bright purple. ]
no subject
Oh.
[ He laughs in relief, flopping back against the pillow. Gods, if Iorveth only knew the emotional journey he just put Astarion on. ]
I thought perhaps you'd—
[ He's not sure. Hated this. Been disgusted by Astarion's shameful desires. It's him who really feels like the deranged and perverted one, if only because wanting at all still feels somehow profane. He supposes it doesn't matter what he thought; neuroses are a bit of a mood-killer, and he'd rather not spoil this with them.
He kicks off Gale's fancy underwear the rest of the way. Gods, at least this pair isn't bright purple. ]
Is this all right?