[ Good. And yet-- everyone should worship the ground Iorveth walks on. Stuck between these two ideas, Astarion hums thoughtfully, pressing his mouth to the underside of Iorveth's jaw, his throat, his collarbone. ]

Mmm, do you like the way I speak to you?

[ Better to just focus it on Astarion. Other people don't matter, anyway. They're the only two people in existence, as far he's concerned. Everyone else is just set dressing.

He places a hand on Iorveth's chest, letting it wander downward, down the flat plane of Iorveth's abdomen where his fingers splay out, savoring the feeling of something precious beneath them. ]

Do you enjoy hearing how beautiful you are? How much I adore you?

[ Honestly, he's not sure if Iorveth finds such comments uncomfortable or not. He's only just begun to accept the compliments as they are without argument, after all. Of course, he's still going to say such things. One day, he thinks, his comments will make it through Iorveth's ridiculously thick skull. ]

Sometimes I think of tying you up and praising you for hours.

[ The only way Iorveth would let him get away with it, probably. ]