[ Past Iorveth would probably be a little mortified by Present Iorveth, who is currently trying really hard not to cross a line into desperate rutting on a patio in broad daylight, in witness of wide-eyed fishermen and children skipping rocks. He's definitely going to have to rub one out later, if he ever finds a fifteen-minute pocket of the day that isn't in Astarion's company (doubtful).

His next exhale is low and heavy, his focus slightly scattered thanks to that touch. He arcs into it, and reciprocates by stroking up and down Astarion's back, massaging gently. ]

One I wish I could have woken you from earlier. [ Pressing his lips against silver curls, then sideways to Astarion's temple. ] But you did a fine job of breaking free from it on your own.

[ Namely: bashing Cazador's miserable fucking head in with a mace. Iorveth is so proud of him for that, honestly. ]

―Still, I love you most. [ Not letting this go!!! ] And I'll spend the next eternity proving it to you, obstinate cat.

[ Punctuating it with a proper kiss, mouth to mouth, as if that's final. ]