[ "You're not just grandiose, you're utterly mad" is what most people say to Iorveth when they find out what he's willing to put himself through, and it's what he recalls now, in different voices, as he approaches Sebastian and his hunched-forward posture.
It's not that Iorveth wants to cause Astarion grief. This is, in fact, the one thing he finds particularly problematic about how much he likes Astarion: that he'll find himself averse to doing something that Astarion would find particularly upsetting, perhaps to the detriment of what needs to be done.
Something to think about later. For now, it's a quick and careful nudge of forehead to forehead before he situates himself directly in front of the starving spawn. He snakes his arm through the thin bars of the cage, and watches as Sebastian's entire body spasms forward for a fraction of a second, lured by what Iorveth assumes is the scent of warm blood, of something living that he could sink his teeth into if he wanted.
"I'm so hungry," he whispers, and Iorveth feels the slide of cold fingers play over his wrist. Goosebumps crawl onto his skin, almost close to revulsion－ almost shocking, how different it feels from the welcome feeling of Astarion's hands on him.
Sebastian presses his thumb against the thin skin of Iorveth's inner wrist, untrimmed nails threatening to break the surface; the other spawn close in, inching closer, eyes like knives. ]
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It's not that Iorveth wants to cause Astarion grief. This is, in fact, the one thing he finds particularly problematic about how much he likes Astarion: that he'll find himself averse to doing something that Astarion would find particularly upsetting, perhaps to the detriment of what needs to be done.
Something to think about later. For now, it's a quick and careful nudge of forehead to forehead before he situates himself directly in front of the starving spawn. He snakes his arm through the thin bars of the cage, and watches as Sebastian's entire body spasms forward for a fraction of a second, lured by what Iorveth assumes is the scent of warm blood, of something living that he could sink his teeth into if he wanted.
"I'm so hungry," he whispers, and Iorveth feels the slide of cold fingers play over his wrist. Goosebumps crawl onto his skin, almost close to revulsion－ almost shocking, how different it feels from the welcome feeling of Astarion's hands on him.
Sebastian presses his thumb against the thin skin of Iorveth's inner wrist, untrimmed nails threatening to break the surface; the other spawn close in, inching closer, eyes like knives. ]