[ Iorveht half-expects Astarion to spritz the contents of the last gift onto a pillow so he can pummel it whenever he gets mad, but that aside－ giving something and having it be accepted tickles something soft and previously untouched between Iorveth's ribs. Figures, really. Astarion is the only thing that can make him feel optimistic about the state of things, and that's no small feat.
Finally, with all of his gifts given, Iorveth leans in to press his lips to Astarion's temple. The touch lingers, then slides towards the tip of one pink-flushed ear.
(The bards across the courtyard shift their playlist from ballads about a hero to elven love songs. Iorveth wants to throttle them.) ]
A fair bargain.
[ Regarding trading colognes. Incredibly twee, some would say, and though they'd be right, Iorveth would put a knife in their skull for saying it. ]
no subject
Finally, with all of his gifts given, Iorveth leans in to press his lips to Astarion's temple. The touch lingers, then slides towards the tip of one pink-flushed ear.
(The bards across the courtyard shift their playlist from ballads about a hero to elven love songs. Iorveth wants to throttle them.) ]
A fair bargain.
[ Regarding trading colognes. Incredibly twee, some would say, and though they'd be right, Iorveth would put a knife in their skull for saying it. ]
Equal in all things. Ideal.