[ The bias filter slides back on: weak to the feeling of Astarion relaxing, weaker still to the idea of Astarion being content. Not a great thing to reinforce the idea that tantrums will be rewarded with doting, but whatever. Iorveth will find a different day to actually fight with Astarion, if the need presents itself.

Cuddled close, Iorveth moves Astarion's injured hand so that he doesn't accidentally roll on top of it or brush against it unnecessarily. He lets it rest at his hip, and puts his palm over the wrist, keeping it in place. ]

It'd be the first time you ever paid attention to details. [ Fucking rude!!!! A mean statement punctuated with a kiss to the crown of Astarion's head. ] And you'd look fetching doing so.

[ Little lenses perched on that perfect nose, chin hiked imperiously to deliver a verdict. Iorveth hums again. ]

You are striking when you're confident.