[ How many other vampires are there, Iorveth wonders. (Besides the hundreds of starved spawn of Cazador's making, that is. Still a massive problem that's yet to be resolved.) Vampiric nature doesn't seem to lend itself to propagationー are they, too, a dying race? A funny thing to think about, considering that they're already undead.
It's fine. Astarion won't have to feel jealous, because Iorveth simply wouldn't allow anyone to come near his neck with their teeth. He barely allows Halsin to clap him on the back; he's less a porcupine and more a drawn sword, all edge and hard surfaces. Too prideful to ever let anyone but Astarion handle him, let alone handle him gently.
"You're mine" would've made past Iorveth bristle as much as "blood bag". Now, he only laughs. Says something in his language, my sun, as ironic as it is affectionate. ]
Others may spill my blood, but only you have my heart.
[ A bit much, maybe. Iorveth isn't built for poetry, but he knows how to say what he means. ]
Now rest, before I embarrass myself further.
[ A light pinch to Astarion's earlobe, and he relents. ]
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It's fine. Astarion won't have to feel jealous, because Iorveth simply wouldn't allow anyone to come near his neck with their teeth. He barely allows Halsin to clap him on the back; he's less a porcupine and more a drawn sword, all edge and hard surfaces. Too prideful to ever let anyone but Astarion handle him, let alone handle him gently.
"You're mine" would've made past Iorveth bristle as much as "blood bag". Now, he only laughs. Says something in his language, my sun, as ironic as it is affectionate. ]
Others may spill my blood, but only you have my heart.
[ A bit much, maybe. Iorveth isn't built for poetry, but he knows how to say what he means. ]
Now rest, before I embarrass myself further.
[ A light pinch to Astarion's earlobe, and he relents. ]