[ Speaking of miracles, here are a few more to add to the list: a soft bed, a steady supply of food, and a companion to hold while trancing. He comes to, not to the clamor of disaster or warnings that humans are approaching their camp, but to the feeling of fingers in the back of his shirt and the pleasant hum of Astarion's voice near his skin.
Funny, he thinks. He'd never have been caught dead sleeping in before he started consorting with this rabble. He didn't even like being seen trancing by his comrades－ "Iorveth, do you even rest?", used to be a compliment, not an accusation.
Sleep-warm and pleasantly hazy, he murmurs: ] Must be all the blood in me. [ Thoughtless, he slides his palm under Astarion's shirt to massage up his back, fingers splayed for maximum coverage. Touching him just for the sake of touching him, making a low noise in the back of his throat to express his contentment. ]
Peckish? [ Giving up on forming complex sentences for now. He runs his hand down the length of Astarion's spine, then plays with the jut of his tailbone, tracing slow circles around it. ]
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Funny, he thinks. He'd never have been caught dead sleeping in before he started consorting with this rabble. He didn't even like being seen trancing by his comrades－ "Iorveth, do you even rest?", used to be a compliment, not an accusation.
Sleep-warm and pleasantly hazy, he murmurs: ] Must be all the blood in me. [ Thoughtless, he slides his palm under Astarion's shirt to massage up his back, fingers splayed for maximum coverage. Touching him just for the sake of touching him, making a low noise in the back of his throat to express his contentment. ]
Peckish? [ Giving up on forming complex sentences for now. He runs his hand down the length of Astarion's spine, then plays with the jut of his tailbone, tracing slow circles around it. ]