[ He loves when Iorveth is sweet and entirely un-lurid, but he's delighted when Iorveth is crude, too. Iorveth doesn't lie to him, wouldn't ever lie to him, he thinks, and so any vulgarity from his lips is far from the half-hearted dirty talk Astarion used to employ. It's Iorveth, pure and unfiltered, and, well, there's nothing he loves more than Iorveth.
The thought is pleasing because he enjoys the thought of Iorveth bringing himself pleasure while thinking of nothing but him—mine forever, as he'd said—but also because it's stupidly, lizard-brain hot. He does like those fingers, in his hair and tracing his lip. And he'd like them very, very much inside Iorveth. No one said he couldn't objectify.
Astarion licks the blood off of his lip, savoring the taste. ]
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The thought is pleasing because he enjoys the thought of Iorveth bringing himself pleasure while thinking of nothing but him—mine forever, as he'd said—but also because it's stupidly, lizard-brain hot. He does like those fingers, in his hair and tracing his lip. And he'd like them very, very much inside Iorveth. No one said he couldn't objectify.
Astarion licks the blood off of his lip, savoring the taste. ]
I'd rather you did that where I could see.