[ Part of him hates that Iorveth pulls away while Astarion is still coiled up tight like a spring, eager to relieve some of the pressure in his heart by pouring it into Iorveth instead. Another part of him is thankful for it, because there's really no way he has enough self-control to stop himself, and Iorveth probably does need to eat. Gods, how long has it been? He really needs to brush up on the care and keeping of wood elf terrorists, if Iorveth isn't going to take care of himself.
He slides himself into a seat beside Iorveth, releasing his hand only to let his own rest on Iorveth's knee instead. With his free hand, he waves over the tavernkeeper, a gnome with greying hair, soft around the middle. He looks tired, like he's been forcing himself to stay awake all night and is now struggling not to nod off. ]
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He slides himself into a seat beside Iorveth, releasing his hand only to let his own rest on Iorveth's knee instead. With his free hand, he waves over the tavernkeeper, a gnome with greying hair, soft around the middle. He looks tired, like he's been forcing himself to stay awake all night and is now struggling not to nod off. ]
A bottle of your most egregiously expensive red for me and my lovely fiancé, [ he says, laying it on thick. ]