[ Iorveth, still a weirdo, has no idea why Astarion is bristling when Iorveth is the one that was fishing for the laugh: sometimes you want to show someone your semi-cringe teenage self (you have to laugh or be furious about bygone days if you have no more tears left to shed), just to put that truth in their hands.
He watches Astarion tug his boots on like someone slighted, and wonders if he should laugh or sigh. Both would probably be catastrophic, he thinks, and contents himself with keeping his expression warmly neutral, chin tipped to regard the furrow between Astarion's perfect brows with possibly rude fondness. ]
Yes, yes. [ A wave of his hand. ] Handsome, beautiful, ethereal.
[ Moving behind Astarion to find the bruise sitting above his collar, thumbing against it to make sure that it's properly visible. ]
Sweet. [ Just to let Astarion know that yes, Iorveth knows he's not needlessly cruel. Not to him, anyway. He cranes forward, and kisses that patch of discolored skin as punctuation. ]
no subject
He watches Astarion tug his boots on like someone slighted, and wonders if he should laugh or sigh. Both would probably be catastrophic, he thinks, and contents himself with keeping his expression warmly neutral, chin tipped to regard the furrow between Astarion's perfect brows with possibly rude fondness. ]
Yes, yes. [ A wave of his hand. ] Handsome, beautiful, ethereal.
[ Moving behind Astarion to find the bruise sitting above his collar, thumbing against it to make sure that it's properly visible. ]
Sweet. [ Just to let Astarion know that yes, Iorveth knows he's not needlessly cruel. Not to him, anyway. He cranes forward, and kisses that patch of discolored skin as punctuation. ]