[ Oof. Losing Astarion's weight on top of him is very unwelcome, but Iorveth is too boneless (properly, this time) to do anything about it but chase him with one relaxed hand, resting it near his hip. His head lists sideways to accept the touch and to listen to what he's being told, and once Iorveth is sure that Astarion has finished, he opens his eye (he hadn't noticed that he'd closed it) and ventures: ]

I love the shape of you. But it's not my place to tell you to love the body you inhabit.

[ It's the same reason why Iorveth won't tell Astarion something stupid and trite like "your scar is beautiful"; it doesn't matter what he thinks it is, if Astarion hates it.

That said, he runs his warm palm up his partner's now slightly-less pale skin, and rests it where his heart is unbeating in his chest. ]

An honor, regardless, to be told that I can make you forget. [ A soft smile, and Iorveth nudges his forehead against Astarion's hand. ] I can only be grateful that you are who you are.