[ Gods, he can hardly believe this is his life. Lying on a nice, soft, warm bed, someone tenderly undressing him for bed. He's been undressed more times than he can remember, clothing ripped off in service of getting to sex faster. Never to make him comfortable, never with clever, callused fingers that have stroked his cheek and sifted through his hair.
Sometimes, Iorveth treats him so gently that he could sob with how much it means to him. That would be humiliating, though, and he fears he'd never live it down, so he doesn't, only helps Iorveth undress him by slipping his arms out of the sleeves. ]
You're too good to me.
[ His voice is filled, somehow, with both warm affection and disapproval. Astarion adores Iorveth, loves him more than anything in this world, but he really is too good to him. No self-respecting person would be this good. ]
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Sometimes, Iorveth treats him so gently that he could sob with how much it means to him. That would be humiliating, though, and he fears he'd never live it down, so he doesn't, only helps Iorveth undress him by slipping his arms out of the sleeves. ]
You're too good to me.
[ His voice is filled, somehow, with both warm affection and disapproval. Astarion adores Iorveth, loves him more than anything in this world, but he really is too good to him. No self-respecting person would be this good. ]