[ For as long as he can remember, Astarion has been repulsed by others' touch, even flinched away from Iorveth's innocent brushes. Now, he doesn't mind Iorveth's wandering hands at all. In fact, he likes them, craves Iorveth's attention in all ways. Iorveth makes his body feel like a friend instead of an enemy.
It's tempting to lean in where he is and bite that conveniently-placed neck of his, to indulge lazily in a way only the most privileged can. Astarion is more than peckish, his hunger for blood and hunger for Iorveth mixing into something even stronger, more potent. He can't get his mind off of the events of last night, though, so he runs a hand down Iorveth's arm, possessive. ]
Give me your arm.
[ His soft expression curls into a look of disgust as he says, ] I can't stand the memory of those wretched things pawing at you.
[ So he'd like to erase it and replace it with a new one. Is it wrong that he wants to lay claim to every part of Iorveth, down to the very vein? He doesn't care. ]
no subject
It's tempting to lean in where he is and bite that conveniently-placed neck of his, to indulge lazily in a way only the most privileged can. Astarion is more than peckish, his hunger for blood and hunger for Iorveth mixing into something even stronger, more potent. He can't get his mind off of the events of last night, though, so he runs a hand down Iorveth's arm, possessive. ]
Give me your arm.
[ His soft expression curls into a look of disgust as he says, ] I can't stand the memory of those wretched things pawing at you.
[ So he'd like to erase it and replace it with a new one. Is it wrong that he wants to lay claim to every part of Iorveth, down to the very vein? He doesn't care. ]