[ He fully expects to be flicked in the face with water for noble, but settles for the way Astarion says that one word, soft, as if it's some unutterable curse. Understandable; he'd rebelled against it too, had to remind himself in the past to use a soft touch despite how little experience he'd had with it.
That said: Iorveth laughs. Probably a bit mean. ]
Adding to my ever-growing list of crimes. [ A light chuckle, as he leans into Astarion's hands, single green eye shuttering. ] "Ruining the resident vampire's rakish image."
[ The quotation marks are audible; there for dramatic flair. A bit of ribbing, before Iorveth gentles. ]
I consider myself lucky, then. To be cared for by you.
[ The soap lathers underneath his hands, and he rakes his fingers through every inch of Iorveth's hair until it's streaked with foam. Iorveth did this for him once, after their night out on the town. (Their possible last night alive, he'd said. A few of those have come and gone by now.) He'd felt awkward with someone else's hands in his hair, had hoped that Iorveth wasn't looking at his scars. What a difference a little bit of time makes.
He leans Iorveth back again to rinse the lather from his hair. Even with it gone, dissipating into the pool, the warm smell of something pleasant remains. Vanilla, perhaps. ]
Careful not to count yourself too lucky. The world as we know it may still end in the next tenday.
[ The scent of vanilla, sweet and soft, isn't one he wouldn't have chosen for himself, but it fits the mood of the night. Water displaces around him as he floats back, tipping indulgently to rest his head on Astarion's shoulder. ]
If I die tomorrow, I'll at least have the memory of this.
[ Uncomplicated and peaceful. The sort of idle happiness he'd never considered having, nor wanting. It's strange that it took an illithid parasite being lodged in his skull for him to get here, but that's life. ]
I never even dreamed of anything like this, before you. In all my years, I'd only ever wanted--
[ There's so little they seem to have in common superficially, but every so often, Iorveth says something that reminds him why they understand each other. All of Astarion's few and fleeting moments of peace in the palace had been in solitude; even his fantasies of power had ended in having the power to be left alone. Other people were always something to fear or deride.
He runs a soapy hand across Iorveth's chest, tugging him closer. ]
[ What, as if the answer to that question isn't abundantly clear. There's a brief flicker of temptation to say something completely unrelated, like "taking Scratch out for a walk while the owlbear cub trails along", but going that route feels a little too twee.
The soapy hand feels nice. Everything does. Astarion's velvet voice against his ear, and the warm scent of vanilla suffused with just a trace hint of undead sharpness. Almost like mulled wine. Iorveth almost forgets to reply to the question still hanging in the air, soaking and luxuriating in the safety of their hard-earned space, but he finally gets there. ]
Quiet. A table full of food. [ He smiles, finding his mundane dreams very droll. ] You, in soft clothes, sitting by a fireplace. Reading.
[ His voice lowers to a murmur. ]
I've wanted to die for many causes, but you're the only thing I'd like to live for.
[ Good. Astarion wants Iorveth to live — a long, long time, maybe forever. He thinks, a little bitterly, that if he'd sacrificed all of those spawn, at least he'd be able to turn Iorveth. He'd really hate Astarion then, though, so he supposes the outcome would be the same.
He soaps up Iorveth's arm, all the way down to his hand and his fingers. ]
[ It's Iorveth's turn to melt, now. Utterly boneless, defenseless and unguarded against Astarion's chest as he lets Astarion maneuver him however he pleases. For a terrible second, he realizes that this is what being spoiled must feel like, but he brushes that moment of recognition aside; it feels too nice to pass up, especially since Astarion wasn't wrong in pointing out that they could lose this all in a matter of hours.
Pliant and pleasantly warm, Iorveth nuzzles against Astarion's jaw. ]
Mm. You do love the sound of your own voice. [ A brief laugh, almost inaudible. ] I'll amend the details of my dream.
[ A sigh, this time. Content. Astarion, he murmurs, speaking his companion's name just for the sake of it, just because he can. ]
[ Iorveth is so stunningly different from how he'd once appeared, wonderfully malleable and soft in his arms, nothing like the stiff-backed elf who'd once (all right, several times) threatened to slit Astarion's throat. This is what Elysium must be like, he thinks. Endless days of warmth, with someone he loves in his arms.
The washing up turns to idle swipes of his hand, no rhyme or reason except to keep touching Iorveth while he's like this, keep enjoying it while he can. He tucks Iorveth under his chin, sighing. ]
As long as you're there, I'm not sure I care about the finer details of the future.
[ He sounds a little surprised. Is a little surprised. Astarion's vision of the future has always been focused on material things: the city he'll live in, the money he'll have, the nice things he'll be surrounded with. All of that seems shockingly unimportant if Iorveth isn't in the picture. ]
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That said: Iorveth laughs. Probably a bit mean. ]
Adding to my ever-growing list of crimes. [ A light chuckle, as he leans into Astarion's hands, single green eye shuttering. ] "Ruining the resident vampire's rakish image."
[ The quotation marks are audible; there for dramatic flair. A bit of ribbing, before Iorveth gentles. ]
I consider myself lucky, then. To be cared for by you.
no subject
He leans Iorveth back again to rinse the lather from his hair. Even with it gone, dissipating into the pool, the warm smell of something pleasant remains. Vanilla, perhaps. ]
Careful not to count yourself too lucky. The world as we know it may still end in the next tenday.
no subject
If I die tomorrow, I'll at least have the memory of this.
[ Uncomplicated and peaceful. The sort of idle happiness he'd never considered having, nor wanting. It's strange that it took an illithid parasite being lodged in his skull for him to get here, but that's life. ]
I never even dreamed of anything like this, before you. In all my years, I'd only ever wanted--
[ A vague wave of his hand. ]
--Quiet. A table full of food. Never with anyone.
no subject
He runs a soapy hand across Iorveth's chest, tugging him closer. ]
And what do you dream of now?
no subject
The soapy hand feels nice. Everything does. Astarion's velvet voice against his ear, and the warm scent of vanilla suffused with just a trace hint of undead sharpness. Almost like mulled wine. Iorveth almost forgets to reply to the question still hanging in the air, soaking and luxuriating in the safety of their hard-earned space, but he finally gets there. ]
Quiet. A table full of food. [ He smiles, finding his mundane dreams very droll. ] You, in soft clothes, sitting by a fireplace. Reading.
[ His voice lowers to a murmur. ]
I've wanted to die for many causes, but you're the only thing I'd like to live for.
no subject
He soaps up Iorveth's arm, all the way down to his hand and his fingers. ]
'Quiet' may be asking quite a lot from me.
[ Professional yapper, etc. ]
no subject
Pliant and pleasantly warm, Iorveth nuzzles against Astarion's jaw. ]
Mm. You do love the sound of your own voice. [ A brief laugh, almost inaudible. ] I'll amend the details of my dream.
[ A sigh, this time. Content. Astarion, he murmurs, speaking his companion's name just for the sake of it, just because he can. ]
no subject
The washing up turns to idle swipes of his hand, no rhyme or reason except to keep touching Iorveth while he's like this, keep enjoying it while he can. He tucks Iorveth under his chin, sighing. ]
As long as you're there, I'm not sure I care about the finer details of the future.
[ He sounds a little surprised. Is a little surprised. Astarion's vision of the future has always been focused on material things: the city he'll live in, the money he'll have, the nice things he'll be surrounded with. All of that seems shockingly unimportant if Iorveth isn't in the picture. ]