[ There he is, the man of the hour (of the tenday, of eternity). Astarion is beautiful even when he looks like he'd love nothing more than to tear the world apart, and Iorveth takes a quick moment to take Astarion in before he shifts, braces, and clamps one palm over the man's mouth as he knees him viciously between the legs. ]
Watch how you speak to my betrothed, [ Iorveth hums, airy and light, in sharp contrast to the man's muffled howling. ] He's already unhappy with you.
[ Negotiating struggling limbs and panicked flailing, Iorveth wrestles his victim into a more suitable position, his front to the man's back, legs twined. A mockery of spooning, meant more to restrain than to show any sort of affection. He has to let go of the man's mouth to manage it, which unfortunately encourages him to start babbling about some nonsense or other. Iorveth is tuning him out, honestly.
More importantly: ] Hurry, love. [ To Astarion, obviously. ]
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Watch how you speak to my betrothed, [ Iorveth hums, airy and light, in sharp contrast to the man's muffled howling. ] He's already unhappy with you.
[ Negotiating struggling limbs and panicked flailing, Iorveth wrestles his victim into a more suitable position, his front to the man's back, legs twined. A mockery of spooning, meant more to restrain than to show any sort of affection. He has to let go of the man's mouth to manage it, which unfortunately encourages him to start babbling about some nonsense or other. Iorveth is tuning him out, honestly.
More importantly: ] Hurry, love. [ To Astarion, obviously. ]