[ Iorveth's general exasperation towards people who are Not Astarion dissipates the moment he feels himself being dragged back onto the mattress, shoved into position and pinned like a cat's favorite toy. If anyone else tried to do this to him, instinct would have Iorveth shove a fist in their face, breaking their nose immediately, but the fight or flight instinct is dead in Astarion's proximity; his only reaction is to laugh, though he remembers the fact that Astarion should probably mind his injury. ]
Astarion, [ he chides, with no teeth. ] Your leg, you ridiculous creature.
[ Gods, Astarion really might lack object permanence. Iorveth loves him. He tries to shift and maneuver so that Astarion isn't leaning quite so heavily on that very-recently broken limb, but does not actually do anything to discourage incoming affection－ one way in which Astarion has affected him, perhaps for the better. Iorveth, so hesitant to accept that he can be loved, finally finding it in himself to be selfish about being on the receiving end of Astarion's doting.
He slots their lips together, a little miffed that Reginald ruined the post-trance haziness but ultimately being too enamored by the feeling of Astarion's mouth to care. Under the sharp scent of the embalming fluid that Astarion was doused in, he smells just a faint trace of sandalwood; he sighs, warm, and rubs their noses together. ]
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Astarion, [ he chides, with no teeth. ] Your leg, you ridiculous creature.
[ Gods, Astarion really might lack object permanence. Iorveth loves him. He tries to shift and maneuver so that Astarion isn't leaning quite so heavily on that very-recently broken limb, but does not actually do anything to discourage incoming affection－ one way in which Astarion has affected him, perhaps for the better. Iorveth, so hesitant to accept that he can be loved, finally finding it in himself to be selfish about being on the receiving end of Astarion's doting.
He slots their lips together, a little miffed that Reginald ruined the post-trance haziness but ultimately being too enamored by the feeling of Astarion's mouth to care. Under the sharp scent of the embalming fluid that Astarion was doused in, he smells just a faint trace of sandalwood; he sighs, warm, and rubs their noses together. ]