[ It feels so good to have someone to bask in, to explore and trust with or without intent. Iorveth hadn't realized the extent to which his shattered face had eroded away at his inclination to let hands roam over him, how much he'd internalized some of the heinous things his human captors had said to him during his imprisonment; being with Astarion has given Iorveth more perspective that he didn't know he'd been lacking.

Something to linger on later. Don't, Astarion says, and Iorveth's first instinct is to gather Astarion closer against his chest. ]

Then I'll stay near. [ To keep it light: ] You need your so-called 'beauty sleep'.

[ Casual, but protective. Iorveth will kill phantom Cazadors while Astarion trances, if need be. Pressing more kisses to the spot where neck meets shoulder, littering pale skin with small pink patches that fade in a handful of seconds, Iorveth tries to press his affection into the outline of Astarion's body.

(The night hag tracking them from her shop in the Bridge District doesn't love that the two elves aren't sleeping separately, but she'll just have to deal.) ]

We'll have to tell the innkeep that the Masters Blackmane, plural, will stay inside today. We're not to be disturbed. [ Murmuring against the crest of Astarion's shoulder, kissing it over the fabric of his shirt. ] The one-eyed one is feeling particularly covetous of his beloved.