[ Smitten, Iorveth thinks. The only descriptor for how he feels every time Astarion tugs his sleeve, urges him closer, wants him in a way no one else ever has. In terms of distance, it isn't a long way to fall from sitting upright to settling on his side next to the man he loves, but his stomach does a flip from the pleasant vertigo regardless. Thrilled, every time, to be invited so close.

Iorveth obliges, because of course he does. Collar loosened, slightly warmer from the wine, he winds his arms around Astarion for a loose, affectionate embrace. ]

The forest has seen worse. You've not seen Aen Seidhe during Belleteyn.

[ Their version of Fey Day, with a lot more sex. Iorveth laughs, and leans in to litter more kisses against silver curls. ]

...Usually, pairs would vow to live and die together. To be buried as one, when age claims them. [ A soft murmur, pressed against the tip of one ear. ] But I suppose I'd be pledging eternity to you.

[ If he truly can. And, in a way, Iorveth has to; it breaks him to think of Astarion hovering near a grave. ]