[ Astarion fucking glowers. With jealousy, yes, but much more than that, a pure rage unaffected by how much he covets Iorveth, unrelated to Iorveth at all. Some people just can't keep their fucking hands to themselves. He can practically feel those sweaty hands on his own body, pawing like he has any right to it. He's felt them before, in a way. All of these people are the same.
The human laughs as Iorveth leads him along, drunk and giddy, his irritation at being supposedly overcharged forgotten in the face of getting laid. "You're so forward," he coos with amazement, like he's commenting on some strange but fascinating object in a museum. "I've always heard your kind were savage in the bedroom."
Astarion's chair squeaks as he gets up, a shadow ten paces behind Iorveth and the human he mentally refers to as Breakfast. ]
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The human laughs as Iorveth leads him along, drunk and giddy, his irritation at being supposedly overcharged forgotten in the face of getting laid. "You're so forward," he coos with amazement, like he's commenting on some strange but fascinating object in a museum. "I've always heard your kind were savage in the bedroom."
Astarion's chair squeaks as he gets up, a shadow ten paces behind Iorveth and the human he mentally refers to as Breakfast. ]