[ Gods, he loves the sound of that laugh. Loves the feeling of Astarion listing against him, too, even if he knows when Astarion does something just to make Iorveth say yes. It doesn't take much, anymore― big eyes glancing up through lashes, imploringly, is basically enough for Iorveth to bend to petty whims― but since Astarion is pretty banged up at the moment, he should probably care more about that than the state of his boner. Because, unfortunately for him, it's definitely a boner at this point. ]

One good hand and one good leg. You're losing limbs, fast.

[ Tipping his head, kissing Astarion's cheek. The hand snaked up the pajama shirt trails down, slipping under the loose waistband of his matching pants to slide along a thigh. ]

I'm offering to wait on you, beloved. Hand and foot, literally. [ A huff-laugh, accompanied by an ear-nibble. ] Much as I want you, you're still injured.

[ Trying to be mindful, but also liable to fold like paper. ]