[ Gods, Astarion looks so unsure. Iorveth could throttle him. It would've been so easy to hate Astarion if all the pomp and circumstance and provocation had anything to do with the actual shape of him; instead, all Iorveth sees is a nervous-looking vampire fiddling with a bedspread after dropping the most powerful combination of three words in any spoken language.

Iorveth could kill him. "At least let me say it back", is mostly where the anger is coming from, even if Iorveth doesn't really have the mental energy to unpack every emotion passing through him in the moment. He sits up, displacing the cat on his stomach in the process (it retreats with a meow that sounds like an indignant huff)― he touches bloodloss-cold fingers to Astarion's chin, and makes Astarion turn his head towards him. ]

I upset you. [ This first. He knows it would likely be kinder to ignore it, but he's never fancied himself kind. ] For that, I apologize.

[ No promises to be less cavalier about his own life; Iorveth doesn't make promises that he can't keep. A whisper of a sigh, and he presses their foreheads together. ]

But know that I wish to keep you from harm's way as well. [ It's impossible and insane, but he wishes it all the same. He presses the sentiment into Astarion's mouth, not quite pummeling him the way he would've liked― it's a coaxing of their lips to part and an insistent press of tongue to tongue, clumsy and ungraceful. Not the most romantic kiss in the world, but Iorveth doesn't care; it's just a prelude to what he wants to say, which he's sure Astarion is expecting by now. ]

―I love you. This, I'll not apologize for.

[ Low and purposeful, fingers loosely tangled in Astarion's hair. ]