[ Astarion pouts, because he could have had Iorveth on top of him—or under him, or beside him, or in some Quarta Sune-like amalgamation of limbs—for a little longer, but his mood improves when he sits up and gets to watch Iorveth take his shirt off. If only Iorveth would strip slower and more sensually. ]
Trust me, my sweet. No changeling could ever emulate your scowl.
[ Said with the utmost affection. He'd found that scowl incredibly annoying for at least the first half of their acquaintance, but somewhere along the line he became endeared to it. Perhaps it's the fact that now he knows what Iorveth looks like smiling, or perhaps his heart has just grown softer. Ugh, how embarrassing. ]
And I do like to think of myself as inimitable as well.
[ Like Orin could ever copy his charm. Please! He's delightful, and she's a blabbering nutjob. Still, he dangles his legs off of the bed, peering at Iorveth curiously. ]
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Trust me, my sweet. No changeling could ever emulate your scowl.
[ Said with the utmost affection. He'd found that scowl incredibly annoying for at least the first half of their acquaintance, but somewhere along the line he became endeared to it. Perhaps it's the fact that now he knows what Iorveth looks like smiling, or perhaps his heart has just grown softer. Ugh, how embarrassing. ]
And I do like to think of myself as inimitable as well.
[ Like Orin could ever copy his charm. Please! He's delightful, and she's a blabbering nutjob. Still, he dangles his legs off of the bed, peering at Iorveth curiously. ]
What did you have in mind?