[ Iorveth can easily imagine how this might go: he'll be a little rough, say a few slightly mean things, and say one very mean thing that makes Astarion puff up and hiss at him. It's always a push and pull with them, one way or the other.

Enjoyable, though. As pleasant as the itch-pain of fangs grazing against thin skin. Craning his neck, Iorveth makes more room for Astarion to sink into what is quickly becoming a spot constantly marked by two little inflamed dots: the only reason it hasn't scarred yet is because Iorveth has been discreet enough, at least, to half-heartedly Cure Wounds himself the following day. (Only to close up the punctures, and not to make them go away entirely.) ]

Smart of you. [ A laugh, and Iorveth kisses the crown of Astarion's head. ] Usually, the first thing my captors or rivals do is try to make me shut up.

[ It is, in fact, the only way to stay sane around an unhinged terrorist with a sharp tongue. ]

But you'd only be doing me a favor if you try to shut me up with your cock.

[ Just so Astarion knows. This freak has an oral fixation, if Astarion hasn't noticed. ]