He reaches out for Iorveth's hands, an instinctive comfort-seeking, but it ends in less comfort and more squeezing his fingers so hard that it's a wonder they don't shatter, too. Iorveth's only saving grace is Astarion's utter lack of strength, because he's gripping as hard as he can, seeking some sort of outlet for the pain. He'll feel bad about it afterwards, surely, but at the moment, there isn't a coherent thought in his head.
His teeth gnash with such intensity that he's surprised he doesn't bite off his own tongue. It's not just the physical discomfort, although there's certainly a lot of that. It's the feeling of having someone inflict pain on him—no matter how good their intentions—and having to sit here and take it. It lights up something terribly unpleasant in his brain, and after what must be a fraction of a second but feels like forever: ]
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He reaches out for Iorveth's hands, an instinctive comfort-seeking, but it ends in less comfort and more squeezing his fingers so hard that it's a wonder they don't shatter, too. Iorveth's only saving grace is Astarion's utter lack of strength, because he's gripping as hard as he can, seeking some sort of outlet for the pain. He'll feel bad about it afterwards, surely, but at the moment, there isn't a coherent thought in his head.
His teeth gnash with such intensity that he's surprised he doesn't bite off his own tongue. It's not just the physical discomfort, although there's certainly a lot of that. It's the feeling of having someone inflict pain on him—no matter how good their intentions—and having to sit here and take it. It lights up something terribly unpleasant in his brain, and after what must be a fraction of a second but feels like forever: ]
I can't do it, stop.