[ He loves to hear 'beloved', and he surprisingly adores to hear 'Masters Blackmane, plural', too. It's only a false identity, but he finds that the idea of them sharing a name sends a possessive little thrill through him all the same. Even he knows, though, that that's a conversation for another day. There's an order in which things are supposed to be done, and while they certainly aren't conventional by any means, it seems important to try to do something so monumental right.

Instead, he rolls over, shifting them both so that Iorveth is the one on his back and Astarion is sprawled out on top of him. ]

The 'one-eyed one'? [ he asks, disapprovingly. Iorveth's lack of an eye is hardly his defining trait, at least not in Astarion's eyes. ] Mm, the handsome one, perhaps. [ Punctuated by a kiss underneath Iorveth's jaw, before— ] Well. The other handsome one.

[ Because, let's be real, there's no universe in which Astarion isn't also handsome. ]

You are my greatest treasure, you know.

[ Out of all the shiny trinkets he's collected, Iorveth is still his favorite thing. ]