[ A little surprised at the curt dropping of a bottle into his lap, Astarion gingerly places the purple bottle into his pack—because it's fragile and precious and should be treated as such—before examining the new, green bottle. He cocks his head as he uncorks it, giving it a sniff. For a moment, the scent confuses him; it isn't bad by any means, but it's nothing like his usual fragrance, and he can't quite figure out why Iorveth would pick something so earthy.
It is pleasant, though, and the scent feels familiar, safe, like home, if he has such a thing. As the soothing sensation of relaxation washes over him, he realizes what this scent is, and the pink at the tips of his ears deepens. ]
This is my favorite one, I think.
[ He's not certain if Iorveth intends for him to wear the scent or simply huff it when he misses him. Maybe he'll do both. ]
I don't mind smelling like you, [ he says, knocking their knees together, ] as long as I can make you smell like me.
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It is pleasant, though, and the scent feels familiar, safe, like home, if he has such a thing. As the soothing sensation of relaxation washes over him, he realizes what this scent is, and the pink at the tips of his ears deepens. ]
This is my favorite one, I think.
[ He's not certain if Iorveth intends for him to wear the scent or simply huff it when he misses him. Maybe he'll do both. ]
I don't mind smelling like you, [ he says, knocking their knees together, ] as long as I can make you smell like me.