[ Sexier, Astarion says, when the truth of the matter is that Iorveth plays the least sexy version of the instrument: a recorder. That grand reveal is for another day, and Iorveth should rightfully get dunked on for how lame he is. The blowjob jokes will write themselves.
For now, though, Iorveth can sit in the (embarrassing) illusion that his flute-playing is cool, because he doesn't want to get in a fight about being laughed at for his stereotypical hobbies. ]
You see me as I am. What else would you know?
[ A flute-playing wood elf who loves as violently as he fights. What else is there? ]
I'll humor you. Any question you ask tonight, I'll answer.
[ For this, though, he definitely needs to be more drunk. The bottle that Hyacinth kindly left for them is uncorked, which means he can get to work right away on emptying it. ]
[ Lucky him. There's a nearly endless parade of all the things he wants to know marching through his head: did Iorveth love that other man? What does the future hold for them? Does Iorveth really think he looks bad in green?
He's hesitant to ask those, though, because he's afraid the answers won't be to his liking. Instead, a softball: ]
Among our friends, who would you, ah, nock your arrow in?
[ Astarion raises his eyebrows, impish, then suddenly— ]
[ Very much a softball. Also very cute that Astarion uses the term "friends", but Iorveth will keep that to himself.
The answer is easy, quick: ] Lae'zel. [ Definitely not Halsin. They're both wood elves, but they truly couldn't be more different in temperament and lived experiences; Halsin has tried to talk Iorveth down from ledges before, and Iorveth has hated it every single time.
So. Lae'zel. ] Despite her penchant for leaving her partners bruised, she seems a riot. [ The funniest one of them all, Iorveth thinks. ] An added bonus, that it would make Shadowheart furious.
[ All hypothetical, of course. Iorveth has no interest in touching anyone but Astarion, but this is all based on the notion that Astarion is unavailable. ] You?
[ It shouldn't be surprising. After all, Iorveth clearly likes unpleasant people. Still, Astarion raises an eyebrow, as if Iorveth has admitted something very scandalous. A gith! Iorveth would likely find himself more than a little bruised. Then again, he'd probably like that. Something to consider. ]
Hmm, [ he says, considering his options. Obviously, Halsin is the most objectively attractive out of all of them, but he's incredibly irritating. Astarion would rather be celibate than have to listen to Halsin harp on about the beauty of nature for longer than he has to. Then there's Shadowheart, but gods, that's too many mean girl personalities in one relationship. He hums in thought for a moment, then: ]
Wyll.
[ A beat, then: ] He stands to inherit a castle.
[ Defensive, as if he preemptively expects to be mocked for liking, horror of horrors, nice men. ]
[ No judgment. If anything, Wyll is the answer that Iorveth expected. He leans back, scraping his chair an inch or two away for a better vantage point from which to observe Astarion from. An imaginary Wyll situates himself beside Astarion in Iorveth's mind's eye, and his simple assessment of it is: ]
You two would make a pretty pair.
[ An understatement. Wyll is everything that Iorveth isn't: handsome and kind and generous, high-born, slotting nicely in social situations. No one would look at Wyll standing next to Astarion and think him to be a valet, the way most would when they look at Iorveth.
Rocking back in his chair, Iorveth takes another sip of wine. ] He would treat you well, too. [ For all of Astarion's talk of debauchery, Iorveth likes to think that he knows where Astarion's true priorities lie. A brief smile, and he waves one hand. ] An ideal arrangement.
[ Iorveth smiles, and Astarion wrinkles his nose. ]
Eugh, you don't need to sound as if you're matchmaking us.
[ Admittedly, they would complement each other on an aesthetic level, but it would never work! Wyll is so unbearably good, noble in every sense of the word, the perfect prince. He wouldn't be able to handle the parts of Astarion that are dark and unpleasant and, well, ugly. How could he ever understand what it feels like to be subjugated for two centuries, after all, when he's only two decades into his life? He hasn't had time to become embittered by the world yet.
Besides, he's only got six or so decades left in him. Astarion is already distressed at the thought of Iorveth's death, and he has centuries to go if they're lucky.
Pouting: ] You could at least try to act jealous. Perhaps threaten to stab him over me.
[ Iorveth has a feeling that Astarion likes it when Iorveth is possessive, and that's certainly not something that he should encourage. Healthy boundaries, and all that. So, Iorveth makes the barest attempt at being diplomatic: ]
I wouldn't deny you a night with him if you wish it.
[ Just so that's clear. (That, and the party needs someone who can use Eldritch Blast.) With that said, he finishes his second glass of wine and rocks back closer to Astarion, tipping his chin with a careful index. ]
But your absence would be sorely felt. [ Diplomacy over. Again, Iorveth is just a man when he's with Astarion: not a commander, not the last of the free elves of the north. Just Iorveth.
Regardless, he laughs at how ridiculous it all is. Love makes people incredibly stupid, apparently. ]
[ Ugh. Astarion rolls his eyes at the thought of 'a night with Wyll'. He doesn't need a night with a man who's invested in the idea of courtly love. Even if he did have the desire to be with someone besides Iorveth—which he doesn't—he'd choose someone less liable to get... attached. The same qualities that are charming about Wyll are the ones that make him an awful choice for a one night stand. Astarion would probably wake the next morning to Wyll doodling Mr. Wyll Ancunín in a notebook. Or, gods, Mr. Astarion Ravengard. ]
You're especially alluring when you pine.
[ Unhealthy, probably, but the confirmation that someone cares to lose him feels good. As much as he's given Iorveth permission to seek outside pleasure—and meant it, or thought he did—he'd throw a fit if Iorveth ever let Lae'zel (or anyone else, for that matter) give him bruises. It's only natural, he thinks, to want to know that the feeling is mutual.
A little sulky: ] You could deny me a little. Or is it a wood elf requirement to encourage free love?
[ Since, well, the other wood elf he knows certainly does. ]
[ Gods, Iorveth cannot believe that Astarion is encouraging him to be more unhinged than he already is; and by "cannot believe", he means "can actually believe it". Astarion, his stupid, short-sighted fool of a vampire, who doesn't seem to grasp how fucking crazy Iorveth already is about him. It is incredibly absurd to ask Iorveth to be, well. Worse.
So. The flattest look that Iorveth can muster, followed by a scrub of his palm against his face. Debating. Thinking. He pours himself another glass instead of answering immediately, downs it in one easy gulp. Sighs.
Then manhandles Astarion so that he's sitting sideways on his chair, legs thrown over Iorveth's knees. Almost sitting on his lap, but not quite. An arm winds around Astarion's waist, drawing him in and close. ]
Then I'll say this. [ Foreheads pressed together, his smile a little crooked. ] You can fool around as you please, but I'll kill anyone who kisses you.
[ Fucking can be sport, but kissing is a different story for Iorveth; intimate, affectionate. He runs his thumb along Astarion's lower lip, punctuating the sentiment. ]
[ This is wholly inappropriate to do in public, and people are staring, so of course Astarion loves it. Iorveth threatening to kill people is even better than Iorveth pining, and he swoons a little. How did he ever get so lucky as to have such an unhinged man for his very own?
He presses their mouths together, eliciting a groan from another table and a whispered hiss that elves really have no decorum. Upon pulling away: ]
I would threaten to kill Lae'zel if she ever laid a finger on you, but—
[ It isn't difficult to figure out who the victor in the battle between a militaristic githyanki and a foppish vampire would be. Astarion has the instinct to kill, but Lae'zel probably knew ten ways to kill a man before her tenth birthday. ]
Well, it's probably for the best that she's found someone else.
[ Iorveth is inclined to throw the sharpest piece of cutlery they have on their table at the strangers who accused elves of having no decorum (Iorveth truly is the elvish embodiment of the Navy Seals meme), but he's preoccupied with: a) Astarion, and b) getting drunk. The peanut gallery lives to see another day.
Still holding Astarion in his half-embrace, Iorveth drums long fingers along the small of his back. Incorrigible, he thinks, and he's not sure if the thought is meant for Astarion or for himself. ]
She'd sooner slit her own throat than touch me. Lucky you.
[ On one hand, watching Astarion get bullied by Lae'zel might be a little funny (again, affectionate), but on the other, there really is just no chance of Iorveth being interested in anyone but Astarion. Between the liberation of his clan and being insane about Astarion, it really doesn't leave Iorveth much space to care about anything else.
He kisses his stupid cat-vampire's jaw, and the whole tavern groans under its breath again. Except for Hyacinth, whose devotion to Sune means that she's very pleased by public displays of affection in her establishment. ]
I can feel the drink working. [ Teeth scour over Astarion's skin, gentle and playful. ] Ask me more questions.
[ Iorveth speaks as if he's the most undesirable being on the Sword Coast, but Astarion isn't so certain that Lae'zel wouldn't be interested if she weren't already embroiled in an enemies-to-lovers situation (just like Edgar and Nicholas!). Iorveth is a strong warrior, and he can tell that Lae'zel respects that. Iorveth's intensity would be no turn-off for her, considering she's been at knifepoint with her lady love more than once. Hells, she would probably be better suited to him than an ex-magistrate with an appreciation for finer living, but Astarion sank his claws into Iorveth first.
He slings an arm around Iorveth's shoulders, casually possessive. ]
The whole establishment can tell it's working, my love.
[ Iorveth is very much making a fool out of himself. Again, something he likes. Astarion takes only a moment to think, the question coming to him quickly enough that it's clear he's had it on his mind before. ]
Why did you ask me to help you with your, ah— [ He waffles for a moment before miming a stab in the air. ] Royalty problem?
[ It's not as if Iorveth really thought him trustworthy, and he consistently called Astarion some variant of 'fool'. Perhaps it really was the pointy ears and nothing else. ]
[ Astarion is truly out here making an elf act unwise. Iorveth has been failing every single INT saving roll tonight, and will continue to fail them as long as Astarion keeps allowing Iorveth to half-cuddle him in front of some guests' literal salads.
He's playing with the fine curls at the back of Astarion's neck when the question lands; he continues to do so as he recalls the matter of why, spooling the threads of his memory to conjure how he'd felt about the other man back then. ]
―My ruse required a skilled lockpicker. [ If Astarion still recalls the crazy plan to walk into the den of a sworn enemy with Iorveth's wrists manacled. ] And I believed that you wouldn't try to play hero if things went south.
[ An uncharitable thing to say, perhaps, but it'd been important for Iorveth not to risk someone else's life while he risked his own; he may not have trusted Astarion to do anything but the bare minimum, but that and wishing harm on him was entirely different. He'd counted on Astarion fucking off the moment things started to go awry.
Ancient history now, really. Iorveth smiles, a private little thing for Astarion's eyes only. ]
More fool me. You always defy what I expect of you.
[ Astarion crosses his feet at the ankles over Iorveth's knees, considering his answer. He imagines the pointy ears did have something to do with it. Iorveth could have enlisted Gale and had him cast Knock, a plan that would have been nearly foolproof as it wouldn't have relied on Astarion picking a lock one-handed. Hells, he could have eschewed the ruse entirely and brought along Wyll, or Halsin, or Jaheira; good-natured, good-minded people who would have been willing to help.
Then again, maybe that's why. If Iorveth wanted someone who wouldn't 'play hero', none of them would have been an option. Iorveth knew that Astarion wasn't good-natured, wasn't good-minded. It's a bit unpleasant to hear that that's what Iorveth thought of him, but it shouldn't be. He isn't Jaheira, isn't Halsin, most certainly isn't Wyll. ]
I've already told you that I didn't play the hero.
[ He frowns a little, just faintly, and shakes his head. ]
If I'd liked you less, I probably would have sold you to that king myself.
[ Levelly, as he presses a palm to Astarion's cheek. Iorveth adores Astarion, loves him more than one man should reasonably love anyone, but he can still identify flaws in character. Astarion is a survivor, with his pain quite literally written into his skin; he's had to normalize the worst of what the world had to offer, and that sort of emotional and spiritual torture doesn't take prisoners.
Stroking under one red eye with a careful thumb: ] It had to be you, regardless. In some part, because of the mold of your auricle. [ He admits, because he'd be lying if he said that that wasn't important. ] But, in hindsight, I think you were on my mind.
[ Post-Moonrise Iorveth, impressed that Astarion was still with the group at all. A budding interest and a mounting frustration, the needling annoyance that Astarion was still hiding behind a mask after everything they've been through. ]
[ It's distressing to know that there's a universe out there in which Astarion left Iorveth for dead, or worse, delivered him to his executioner himself. The sting is softened, he supposes, by the acknowledgement that Iorveth already knows this about him and— what, doesn't care? Loves him despite his glaring flaws? He isn't sure, but Iorveth has always been more accepting of the unpleasant parts of him than the rest of their companions.
The corner of his mouth quirks up, and he asks, teasing, ] Was I so incredibly alluring that you couldn't stop thinking about me?
[ Probably not, but he'd like to live in the fantasy world where that's true. ]
[ There it is, that crooked little smile. Iorveth puffs a quiet chuckle, and turns his palm over on Astarion's face to pinch his nose between a thumb and forefinger. ]
Possibly. [ Sure, Iorveth didn't really want to perceive being Into Astarion until Astarion got hit in the head with a blunt weapon, but whatever. He wouldn't be here if some part of him didn't find Astarion alluring, even then. ] Though some of the thinking revolved around throwing you out of the nearest window.
[ "How dare you make me want to kiss you," etc. Iorveth drinks another sip of wine, and stubbornly refuses to meet Hyacinth's eyes when she swishes by their table and settles another bottle of something strong alongside a bowl of snack food. ]
―If I ask you a question in return, would you answer it?
[ Astarion grins charmingly at Hyacinth as she delivers more goods to their table—an astute businesswoman, it seems—and is surprised when she grins back even more charmingly before flouncing away, a woman who's beautiful and knows how to wield it. He laughs a little under his breath as he slides the bowl of food over toward Iorveth, briefly wondering how offended the patrons would get if he tried to feed it to Iorveth. (Several people have already turned their chairs away from this display; Astarion thinks they're just jealous.)
It's an assortment of cheese and dried fruit, it looks like, arranged artfully. Appealing enough to look at, but still better suited for a living person to eat than a vampire. If only he could request blood on tap. He takes a sip of his unfortunately-not-blood before turning his attention back to Iorveth, eyebrow raised. ]
I'll consider it, [ he says, because promising the truth seems a rather daunting task for someone like him. In retaliation for earlier, he pinches Iorveth's cheek. ] But only because it's you.
[ Opinions are mixed: half the tavern is just waiting for the pair to leave, and the other half (the significantly drunker and noticeably human half) are enjoying watching two elves put on a show. Unfortunately (?) for them, Hyacinth's cheese plate is far more interesting to Iorveth than the attention of strangers, and he gets to work on pecking at it with hawklike attention until he's interrupted by the pinch to his cheek.
With permission granted to ask his question, Iorveth licks his fingers (whoever invented honey dip for cheese deserves some sort of accolade) and settles back in his chair. ]
Did you think I would ask you to stay with me?
[ Hm. A beat, and he appends: ] Did you want me to?
[ Because Iorveth hadn't planned to, and had felt it a monstrous thing to ask even when he did. Not quite on par with Cazador turning Astarion into a vampire, but adjacent in terms of asking Astarion for his future. ]
[ Astarion didn't expect any particular question, but if he'd had to guess, he would never have guessed this. For a beat, he stares back, head cocked like a confused dog, before he starts to laugh. ]
Of course I wanted you to, you fool.
[ Was he not languishing in every corner of every room, absolutely bereft at the idea of the first person he ever cared for choosing to leave him? He'd thought it obvious, painfully so. Admittedly, being invited to the north wasn't his first choice, or even his second; he'd hoped that Iorveth would change his mind and choose to stay in Baldur's Gate because he was so madly obsessed with Astarion, or at least that he'd choose to go somewhere other than back to that forest. But— ]
I want to be where you are.
[ Whether he'd thought Iorveth actually would ask him is another story. Obviously not, considering how upset he'd been over the situation, but he'd rather not say so and remind Iorveth of all of his bad behavior. ]
Why do you ask?
[ His tone is light, but his body tenses a little. Perhaps Iorveth regrets asking him to stay, says the little voice in his head. ]
[ "I want to be where you are". Such a small thing that winds up being the center of Iorveth's world: it turns out that a man faced with the threat of his clan's very possible extinction wants nothing more than something, someone to return to.
Astarion is doing a very poor job of making Iorveth less devoted to him, at any rate. Hyacinth has betrayed Iorveth as well by not throwing them out immediately once they started being disgusting, so she can bear the brunt of Iorveth's ire later. If only she'd been a more responsible tavern owner, Iorveth might have stopped himself from becoming more deranged!!!! She should have thought about that before giving him more wine!!!!!!
Iorveth has upgraded from drawing small cartoon hearts around Astarion's head to drawing one big heart around the entirety of him. He traces over that same heart again and again, the outline getting thicker and stronger every time Astarion does something that Iorveth thinks is endearing; this should be Astarion's cue to run the fuck away, and yet. ]
I ask, because I'd felt monstrous for asking. [ A bit of honesty, here. ] But I think of what it would have been like had I let you go, and the thought burns me.
[ It's fucking unbearable. It was probably a little less so back then, but it's like a knife between his ribs now. ]
[ Oh. The tension drains out of Astarion immediately, relief flooding him. How stupid of him, to think that Iorveth might be getting cold feet. Despite the solemnity of Iorveth's admission, Astarion grins from ear to ear, ridiculously pleased. It should burn Iorveth! He should be just as distraught by the thought of their separation as Astarion is, which is 'very'. If Iorveth had chosen to leave without inviting Astarion along, he—
He likes to think that he would be very stoic about it, that perhaps he'd write a few letters over the years, and then one day they'd visit and Iorveth would see how ridiculously successful Astarion was and beg to be taken back. In reality, he'd probably have thrown a tantrum, maybe gone on a murdering spree around the Gate, and sulked for the next few centuries at least. ]
Yes, you're an awful monster, darling.
[ The hand dangling off of Iorveth's shoulder reaches up to pet his hair, soothing. ]
You've given me a future to look forward to. What could be more monstrous than that?
[ If Iorveth'd been mistrustful and tightly-wound towards the beginning of this journey, he would have left it even more resistant to openness if he'd chosen to leave Astarion behind. A complete commitment to being a weapon instead of a man, fighting and fighting until he didn't even have his sharp edges left.
Very different from how he's acting now, wrapped around and leaning against Astarion like an overprotective canine. Happy to have Astarion's trust, finding purpose in the knowledge that Astarion is willing to look forward to something in his future. ]
A lifetime of wearing green and brown. [ A tease, to keep things light. ] Worse yet, beige.
[ It would make Astarion look so sallow. Awful!!! He bumps his forehead against Astarion's jaw, and vigorously ignores the commentary from two men sitting two tables away― something about whether the elves would like some more company. Rubbish. ]
[ Astarion nearly gags at the thought of wearing beige; he's so obviously a winter! It's a testament to how much he adores Iorveth that he's willing to even consider the idea of looking ugly in order to stay by his side, much less living in the forest like some sort of... Halsin. It would be an unbearable thought if Iorveth weren't also in the picture. Somehow, being with him makes everything seem a little more bearable, even wearing beige. ]
You say such awful things!
[ It's teasing, but also, don't speak Astarion wearing beige into existence! What a horrible man. ]
What will we do in the north?
[ Aside from wear awful clothes. As a city slicker, he really has no idea what this type of living entails. ]
[ Face tucked against Astarion's jaw, Iorveth breathes him in. Luxuriates in the closeness, despite how public he's being with his affection. Speaking of the north, it's likely that he won't be able to get away with what he's doing now in the presence of men and women who know him, who expect a certain sort of behavior from the man meant to liberate their ranks from invading humans; he'll have to wear his title more properly. ]
I'll act less like some foolish love-drunk elf, I suppose. [ At least, not where people can see. ] ...Depending on whether the new queen finds our presence welcome, we'll stay in a town near the forest. I want to make sure that the transition of power has gone as well as can be expected.
[ A soft sigh, his fingers drumming against Astarion's hip. ]
You'll not be burdened by politics, at any rate. I'll take care of my business during the day― my nights will be for you.
[ That leaves the matter of when he'll actually trance, but it's whatever. His circadian rhythm is monumentally fucked anyway; adjusting to make time for Astarion is a far higher priority than five hours of solid trancing. ]
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For now, though, Iorveth can sit in the (embarrassing) illusion that his flute-playing is cool, because he doesn't want to get in a fight about being laughed at for his stereotypical hobbies. ]
You see me as I am. What else would you know?
[ A flute-playing wood elf who loves as violently as he fights. What else is there? ]
I'll humor you. Any question you ask tonight, I'll answer.
[ For this, though, he definitely needs to be more drunk. The bottle that Hyacinth kindly left for them is uncorked, which means he can get to work right away on emptying it. ]
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[ Lucky him. There's a nearly endless parade of all the things he wants to know marching through his head: did Iorveth love that other man? What does the future hold for them? Does Iorveth really think he looks bad in green?
He's hesitant to ask those, though, because he's afraid the answers won't be to his liking. Instead, a softball: ]
Among our friends, who would you, ah, nock your arrow in?
[ Astarion raises his eyebrows, impish, then suddenly— ]
Ugh, don't say Halsin.
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The answer is easy, quick: ] Lae'zel. [ Definitely not Halsin. They're both wood elves, but they truly couldn't be more different in temperament and lived experiences; Halsin has tried to talk Iorveth down from ledges before, and Iorveth has hated it every single time.
So. Lae'zel. ] Despite her penchant for leaving her partners bruised, she seems a riot. [ The funniest one of them all, Iorveth thinks. ] An added bonus, that it would make Shadowheart furious.
[ All hypothetical, of course. Iorveth has no interest in touching anyone but Astarion, but this is all based on the notion that Astarion is unavailable. ] You?
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Hmm, [ he says, considering his options. Obviously, Halsin is the most objectively attractive out of all of them, but he's incredibly irritating. Astarion would rather be celibate than have to listen to Halsin harp on about the beauty of nature for longer than he has to. Then there's Shadowheart, but gods, that's too many mean girl personalities in one relationship. He hums in thought for a moment, then: ]
Wyll.
[ A beat, then: ] He stands to inherit a castle.
[ Defensive, as if he preemptively expects to be mocked for liking, horror of horrors, nice men. ]
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You two would make a pretty pair.
[ An understatement. Wyll is everything that Iorveth isn't: handsome and kind and generous, high-born, slotting nicely in social situations. No one would look at Wyll standing next to Astarion and think him to be a valet, the way most would when they look at Iorveth.
Rocking back in his chair, Iorveth takes another sip of wine. ] He would treat you well, too. [ For all of Astarion's talk of debauchery, Iorveth likes to think that he knows where Astarion's true priorities lie. A brief smile, and he waves one hand. ] An ideal arrangement.
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Eugh, you don't need to sound as if you're matchmaking us.
[ Admittedly, they would complement each other on an aesthetic level, but it would never work! Wyll is so unbearably good, noble in every sense of the word, the perfect prince. He wouldn't be able to handle the parts of Astarion that are dark and unpleasant and, well, ugly. How could he ever understand what it feels like to be subjugated for two centuries, after all, when he's only two decades into his life? He hasn't had time to become embittered by the world yet.
Besides, he's only got six or so decades left in him. Astarion is already distressed at the thought of Iorveth's death, and he has centuries to go if they're lucky.
Pouting: ] You could at least try to act jealous. Perhaps threaten to stab him over me.
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I wouldn't deny you a night with him if you wish it.
[ Just so that's clear. (That, and the party needs someone who can use Eldritch Blast.) With that said, he finishes his second glass of wine and rocks back closer to Astarion, tipping his chin with a careful index. ]
But your absence would be sorely felt. [ Diplomacy over. Again, Iorveth is just a man when he's with Astarion: not a commander, not the last of the free elves of the north. Just Iorveth.
Regardless, he laughs at how ridiculous it all is. Love makes people incredibly stupid, apparently. ]
I suspect you like making me pine.
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You're especially alluring when you pine.
[ Unhealthy, probably, but the confirmation that someone cares to lose him feels good. As much as he's given Iorveth permission to seek outside pleasure—and meant it, or thought he did—he'd throw a fit if Iorveth ever let Lae'zel (or anyone else, for that matter) give him bruises. It's only natural, he thinks, to want to know that the feeling is mutual.
A little sulky: ] You could deny me a little. Or is it a wood elf requirement to encourage free love?
[ Since, well, the other wood elf he knows certainly does. ]
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So. The flattest look that Iorveth can muster, followed by a scrub of his palm against his face. Debating. Thinking. He pours himself another glass instead of answering immediately, downs it in one easy gulp. Sighs.
Then manhandles Astarion so that he's sitting sideways on his chair, legs thrown over Iorveth's knees. Almost sitting on his lap, but not quite. An arm winds around Astarion's waist, drawing him in and close. ]
Then I'll say this. [ Foreheads pressed together, his smile a little crooked. ] You can fool around as you please, but I'll kill anyone who kisses you.
[ Fucking can be sport, but kissing is a different story for Iorveth; intimate, affectionate. He runs his thumb along Astarion's lower lip, punctuating the sentiment. ]
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He presses their mouths together, eliciting a groan from another table and a whispered hiss that elves really have no decorum. Upon pulling away: ]
I would threaten to kill Lae'zel if she ever laid a finger on you, but—
[ It isn't difficult to figure out who the victor in the battle between a militaristic githyanki and a foppish vampire would be. Astarion has the instinct to kill, but Lae'zel probably knew ten ways to kill a man before her tenth birthday. ]
Well, it's probably for the best that she's found someone else.
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Still holding Astarion in his half-embrace, Iorveth drums long fingers along the small of his back. Incorrigible, he thinks, and he's not sure if the thought is meant for Astarion or for himself. ]
She'd sooner slit her own throat than touch me. Lucky you.
[ On one hand, watching Astarion get bullied by Lae'zel might be a little funny (again, affectionate), but on the other, there really is just no chance of Iorveth being interested in anyone but Astarion. Between the liberation of his clan and being insane about Astarion, it really doesn't leave Iorveth much space to care about anything else.
He kisses his stupid cat-vampire's jaw, and the whole tavern groans under its breath again. Except for Hyacinth, whose devotion to Sune means that she's very pleased by public displays of affection in her establishment. ]
I can feel the drink working. [ Teeth scour over Astarion's skin, gentle and playful. ] Ask me more questions.
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He slings an arm around Iorveth's shoulders, casually possessive. ]
The whole establishment can tell it's working, my love.
[ Iorveth is very much making a fool out of himself. Again, something he likes. Astarion takes only a moment to think, the question coming to him quickly enough that it's clear he's had it on his mind before. ]
Why did you ask me to help you with your, ah— [ He waffles for a moment before miming a stab in the air. ] Royalty problem?
[ It's not as if Iorveth really thought him trustworthy, and he consistently called Astarion some variant of 'fool'. Perhaps it really was the pointy ears and nothing else. ]
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He's playing with the fine curls at the back of Astarion's neck when the question lands; he continues to do so as he recalls the matter of why, spooling the threads of his memory to conjure how he'd felt about the other man back then. ]
―My ruse required a skilled lockpicker. [ If Astarion still recalls the crazy plan to walk into the den of a sworn enemy with Iorveth's wrists manacled. ] And I believed that you wouldn't try to play hero if things went south.
[ An uncharitable thing to say, perhaps, but it'd been important for Iorveth not to risk someone else's life while he risked his own; he may not have trusted Astarion to do anything but the bare minimum, but that and wishing harm on him was entirely different. He'd counted on Astarion fucking off the moment things started to go awry.
Ancient history now, really. Iorveth smiles, a private little thing for Astarion's eyes only. ]
More fool me. You always defy what I expect of you.
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Then again, maybe that's why. If Iorveth wanted someone who wouldn't 'play hero', none of them would have been an option. Iorveth knew that Astarion wasn't good-natured, wasn't good-minded. It's a bit unpleasant to hear that that's what Iorveth thought of him, but it shouldn't be. He isn't Jaheira, isn't Halsin, most certainly isn't Wyll. ]
I've already told you that I didn't play the hero.
[ He frowns a little, just faintly, and shakes his head. ]
If I'd liked you less, I probably would have sold you to that king myself.
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[ Levelly, as he presses a palm to Astarion's cheek. Iorveth adores Astarion, loves him more than one man should reasonably love anyone, but he can still identify flaws in character. Astarion is a survivor, with his pain quite literally written into his skin; he's had to normalize the worst of what the world had to offer, and that sort of emotional and spiritual torture doesn't take prisoners.
Stroking under one red eye with a careful thumb: ] It had to be you, regardless. In some part, because of the mold of your auricle. [ He admits, because he'd be lying if he said that that wasn't important. ] But, in hindsight, I think you were on my mind.
[ Post-Moonrise Iorveth, impressed that Astarion was still with the group at all. A budding interest and a mounting frustration, the needling annoyance that Astarion was still hiding behind a mask after everything they've been through. ]
You made me want to know you. Vexing.
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The corner of his mouth quirks up, and he asks, teasing, ] Was I so incredibly alluring that you couldn't stop thinking about me?
[ Probably not, but he'd like to live in the fantasy world where that's true. ]
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Possibly. [ Sure, Iorveth didn't really want to perceive being Into Astarion until Astarion got hit in the head with a blunt weapon, but whatever. He wouldn't be here if some part of him didn't find Astarion alluring, even then. ] Though some of the thinking revolved around throwing you out of the nearest window.
[ "How dare you make me want to kiss you," etc. Iorveth drinks another sip of wine, and stubbornly refuses to meet Hyacinth's eyes when she swishes by their table and settles another bottle of something strong alongside a bowl of snack food. ]
―If I ask you a question in return, would you answer it?
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It's an assortment of cheese and dried fruit, it looks like, arranged artfully. Appealing enough to look at, but still better suited for a living person to eat than a vampire. If only he could request blood on tap. He takes a sip of his unfortunately-not-blood before turning his attention back to Iorveth, eyebrow raised. ]
I'll consider it, [ he says, because promising the truth seems a rather daunting task for someone like him. In retaliation for earlier, he pinches Iorveth's cheek. ] But only because it's you.
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With permission granted to ask his question, Iorveth licks his fingers (whoever invented honey dip for cheese deserves some sort of accolade) and settles back in his chair. ]
Did you think I would ask you to stay with me?
[ Hm. A beat, and he appends: ] Did you want me to?
[ Because Iorveth hadn't planned to, and had felt it a monstrous thing to ask even when he did. Not quite on par with Cazador turning Astarion into a vampire, but adjacent in terms of asking Astarion for his future. ]
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Of course I wanted you to, you fool.
[ Was he not languishing in every corner of every room, absolutely bereft at the idea of the first person he ever cared for choosing to leave him? He'd thought it obvious, painfully so. Admittedly, being invited to the north wasn't his first choice, or even his second; he'd hoped that Iorveth would change his mind and choose to stay in Baldur's Gate because he was so madly obsessed with Astarion, or at least that he'd choose to go somewhere other than back to that forest. But— ]
I want to be where you are.
[ Whether he'd thought Iorveth actually would ask him is another story. Obviously not, considering how upset he'd been over the situation, but he'd rather not say so and remind Iorveth of all of his bad behavior. ]
Why do you ask?
[ His tone is light, but his body tenses a little. Perhaps Iorveth regrets asking him to stay, says the little voice in his head. ]
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Astarion is doing a very poor job of making Iorveth less devoted to him, at any rate. Hyacinth has betrayed Iorveth as well by not throwing them out immediately once they started being disgusting, so she can bear the brunt of Iorveth's ire later. If only she'd been a more responsible tavern owner, Iorveth might have stopped himself from becoming more deranged!!!! She should have thought about that before giving him more wine!!!!!!
Iorveth has upgraded from drawing small cartoon hearts around Astarion's head to drawing one big heart around the entirety of him. He traces over that same heart again and again, the outline getting thicker and stronger every time Astarion does something that Iorveth thinks is endearing; this should be Astarion's cue to run the fuck away, and yet. ]
I ask, because I'd felt monstrous for asking. [ A bit of honesty, here. ] But I think of what it would have been like had I let you go, and the thought burns me.
[ It's fucking unbearable. It was probably a little less so back then, but it's like a knife between his ribs now. ]
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He likes to think that he would be very stoic about it, that perhaps he'd write a few letters over the years, and then one day they'd visit and Iorveth would see how ridiculously successful Astarion was and beg to be taken back. In reality, he'd probably have thrown a tantrum, maybe gone on a murdering spree around the Gate, and sulked for the next few centuries at least. ]
Yes, you're an awful monster, darling.
[ The hand dangling off of Iorveth's shoulder reaches up to pet his hair, soothing. ]
You've given me a future to look forward to. What could be more monstrous than that?
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Very different from how he's acting now, wrapped around and leaning against Astarion like an overprotective canine. Happy to have Astarion's trust, finding purpose in the knowledge that Astarion is willing to look forward to something in his future. ]
A lifetime of wearing green and brown. [ A tease, to keep things light. ] Worse yet, beige.
[ It would make Astarion look so sallow. Awful!!! He bumps his forehead against Astarion's jaw, and vigorously ignores the commentary from two men sitting two tables away― something about whether the elves would like some more company. Rubbish. ]
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You say such awful things!
[ It's teasing, but also, don't speak Astarion wearing beige into existence! What a horrible man. ]
What will we do in the north?
[ Aside from wear awful clothes. As a city slicker, he really has no idea what this type of living entails. ]
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I'll act less like some foolish love-drunk elf, I suppose. [ At least, not where people can see. ] ...Depending on whether the new queen finds our presence welcome, we'll stay in a town near the forest. I want to make sure that the transition of power has gone as well as can be expected.
[ A soft sigh, his fingers drumming against Astarion's hip. ]
You'll not be burdened by politics, at any rate. I'll take care of my business during the day― my nights will be for you.
[ That leaves the matter of when he'll actually trance, but it's whatever. His circadian rhythm is monumentally fucked anyway; adjusting to make time for Astarion is a far higher priority than five hours of solid trancing. ]
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