essea | [ ELVES CATCHALL POST. ]

[ The unasked for touch makes him tense, but he doesn't yank his arm away no matter how much he wants to. Instead, he schools his features into something performatively mild, almost uninterested in what she's said. He tilts his head, eyebrows raising ever so slightly as if she's just told him a small fun fact. ]

Is he?

[ Damn Iorveth for being so distinctive. ]

Well, my sweet Edgar lost his eye to an owlbear attack. You know, he didn't even try to defend himself! That man wouldn't hurt a fly.

[ Said as if he didn't just watch Iorveth murder a few men a day ago. He smiles charmingly, pearly whites on display. ]

Best of luck to your commander. I do hope he finds the one-eyed wood elf he's looking for.

[ He skitters away after that, catching up to Iorveth to loop their arms together, the perfect picture of a Cormyrean couple travelling to visit the distant in-laws. Astarion leans in, voice lowered. ]

Far be it from me to rush perfection, but the quicker we're in and out, the better.

[ What does a Cormyrean couple look like? Iorveth follows Astarion's lead, taking care to lead him away from the front desk and up to the stairs with graceful deference.

At the suggestion that they try to expedite their task at hand: ] Or I get a new face.

[ A joke, bone-dry. ]

The fastest way to depose the current human in power would be to burn him and the entire town down. Unfortunately, this place is home to non-humans－ not to mention that the neighboring forest would burn down with it.

[ Moving up the stairs, down the hall. The key they've been given slots neatly into the room at the end of the hall, as promised, and the door swings open to reveal a modestly-sized space with one large bed. A normal-enough room, if not for the squirrel head mounted on the wall next to the lone window.

Iorveth grimaces, and closes the door behind him. ] I'll have to find a way to get to the Commandant. Preferably in private.

[ A stark difference between Iorveth and Astarion: he couldn't care less if some strangers or trees burned down in the process of killing their enemies. Iorveth cares, though, so he has no choice but to table the idea. (It's surprising, really, which one of them is the terrorist.) It's plan B, maybe. He'd hate to upset Iorveth, but they do need to rid the world of this Commandant one way or another.

He tosses his pack on the floor when they enter, putting his hands on his hips and staring disapprovingly at the mounted woodland creature. Ugh, tacky. After a long moment of judgment, he flops down onto the bed. Not exactly fancy, but better than sleeping on the ground. ]

Does he favor men, do you think?

[ Can't teach an old dog new tricks. Seduction is really just habit now. ]

[ The flattest look Iorveth can muster here, as he sets down his pack and weapons. Like, he gets it, but still－

－unimpressed, he sweeps over to Astarion where he's reclined on the bed, and flicks him between his eyes with a thumb and forefinger. ]

Even if he does, [ enunciating each syllable, ] do you think I'd willingly allow him to lay even a finger on you?

[ Not even a real question. Maybe 300 years from now, Astarion will be more comfortable with the thought of using seduction as a technique to get what he wants, but now? Not so much, Iorveth thinks. ]

Don't be stupid. I'd offer myself before I offered you, fool.

[ Another light flick, though this time he soothes over the little red spot with his thumb. ]

[ Astarion pouts in response to being flicked, but doesn't protest. How could he? It's not like he wants to seduce some unbearable man who wants Iorveth dead. He doesn't even want to stand in the same room as him without stabbing him into unrecognizable mush, much less degrade himself in such a way. Still, they do need to get him alone if they're going to assassinate him, and they don't have tendays to come up with better ideas. ]

You are irresistible, [ he teases, reaching up to take Iorveth's hand. He grasps it loosely, terribly aware of the damage he did a few inches up on Iorveth's wrist, but it sends a wave of warmth through him anyway. Iorveth may have an oral fixation, but for him, it's Iorveth's hands: long fingers, callused palms, capable of unimaginable violence and even more unimaginable gentleness. They're perfect. ]

Mmm. Well, I'm out of ideas.

[ Iorveth tangles their fingers, using that point of contact for balance as he moves to sit on the bed. After a moment of consideration, he climbs on top of Astarion, briefly pinning him to the mattress by that held hand.

The moment doesn't last; Iorveth has caught on to the fact that Astarion doesn't enjoy having someone bear down on him that way, and so he rolls off and onto his side after a careful but quick study of that perfect (but still-bruised) face. Sullen that Astarion still defaulted to his old habits of offering himself, but more annoyed that he put Astarion in a position where he'd have to offer. ]

Well. We do have a room next to the brothel. [ Thankfully, the walls aren't thin enough that he can hear what might be happening a few doors down, but there is the occasional thump or two. ] If he frequents this place, we might be able to catch him with his prick out.

[ It would be such a disgraceful way to die. Perfect. ]

[ He doesn't exactly have pleasant experiences of being pinned to the mattress, and while Iorveth's warmth draped over him is nice, he'd be lying if he said the feeling of someone's weight on top of him doesn't conjure up memories better left repressed. So much has changed, yet some parts of him still feel exactly, infuriatingly the same. Iorveth rolls off, and he feels disappointed in himself for associating anything sweet, perfect Iorveth has done with the unpleasant actions of his victims.

Astarion shifts to look at him, hand wandering of its own volition to grab Iorveth's again. ]

Perhaps the workers might talk.

[ For money, maybe, or just to watch him suffer. There are plenty of people whose secrets Astarion would have told for free. ]

[ A small age, since they've shared a bed like this. Iorveth doesn't let the twinge of guilt touch him beyond the suggestion that it might be there; he focuses, instead, on giving Astarion the attention he hadn't been giving him during this entire breakneck journey up from Baldur's Gate. One hand still held in Astarion's, the other moving up to gently trace the outline of a pointed ear. ]

They'd tell you anything. [ His voice lilts, and his next breath is a near-chuckle. ] You've a talent for gossiping.

[ It's a compliment. Iorveth draws a gentle line from the curve of Astarion's earlobe down to his jaw, savoring the feel of him. ]

Though I'd likely have to be out of the picture. I imagine that they'd be less willing to speak with me hovering nearby.

[ What with him being a one-eyed wood elf that may or may not be the one-eyed wood elf that the racist Commandant's been looking for for the past however many months. Sigh. ]

[ Astarion closes his eyes, basking in the gentle touch. He loves when Iorveth is full of murderous rage, but he loves more when Iorveth is loose and relaxed, when his touch is so soft that it's difficult to believe he could ever have hurt anyone in his life. Safe, warm, comforting. If he could, he'd live inside this moment forever and never have to deal with the drawbacks of vampirism or bigoted Commandants.

He can't, though, so he opens his eyes again. ]

I can chat with them while you rest. I'm sure they'd welcome a friendly face that isn't asking them for a sensual flogging.

[ Maybe in another life, Iorveth would have been just another wood elf without the massive and murderous chip on his shoulder, and Astarion would have remained a powerful magistrate lording his influence over the Upper and Lower Cities of Baldur's Gate. Iorveth might have brushed by Lord Ancunin during a rare trip outside of his forests, and he would have felt absolutely none of the gravitational pull he feels now－

－or maybe he would have, and chalked it up to a weird heart murmur. Ships passing, their lives too disparate to intersect. Iorveth cups Astarion's cheek with his callused palm, thumb pressing near his lips to idly find a fang. ]

That could work. But I won't sit idly by while you work. [ Terminally unable to not calm the fuck down and rest for even a second. ] Perhaps I could find someone to not-so-sensually flog.

[ Astarion can have tea with the women, and Iorveth can go torture a guy. ]

[ In another life, Astarion would brush shoulders with Iorveth and spare him only a glance. Then he'd return home, perhaps to a gaggle of shallow friends or maybe a superficial marriage made to secure his legacy, and he'd feel utterly alone. Astarion doesn't believe in soulmates—the gods don't care enough to divine such things—but he does believe that this universe, now, where he's lying next to Iorveth, must be the only one in which he's happy.

Codependent? Perhaps. Unhealthy? Certainly, but it's not as if Iorveth has done much to dissuade him. A few halfhearted comments about people not belonging to other people aren't enough to give him a healthy attachment style.

He nips playfully at Iorveth's thumb, the point of his fang grazing the pad. ]

But I want to be there when you flog someone.

[ It's hot!! Sue him. With a sigh: ] I'll allow it, if you must. You'll just have to recount the experience in painstaking detail for me later.

[ Dawn is starting to break. A quick press of his mouth to Astarion's brow, and Iorveth gets up to draw the curtains to keep the light out, taking a moment to unmount the squirrel head from the wall and toss it, with a thunk, to the corner of the room. ]

Every scream and whimper. [ Dryly, but with distant humor. Iorveth's lips quirk into a semi-smile as he pulls his boots off and retreats back to the bed, shedding some of his more uncomfortable layers to get ready for a quick trance.

Sliding a knife under their pillow before settling back down: ] I'll fetch you some new clothes, too.

[ His current travel shirt is stained with blood, and his pants leg is covered in dirt from where the humans had shoved and prodded him against the ground. They look like bog-standard travelers in that sense, disheveled and weather-stained, but Iorveth knows that Astarion likes to look tidy. ]

[ He tortures people, and he gets Astarion new clothes. Iorveth is his dream man, truly. Astarion grins as he sits up to kick off his dirt-caked shoes; they clatter on the floor, begging to be cleaned. Tomorrow, he promises them. They are, after all, his favorites. He peels off his bloody shirt, too, folding it neatly and placing it on the nightstand beside the bed. ]

I'll ask around about a healer for your wrists, [ he says as he sinks back into the mattress, pulling the covers up over his filthy trousers. ] Since I'm such an incorrigible gossip, as you say.

[ One of the fairest assessments Iorveth has ever made, probably. Astarion reaches out to curl around Iorveth, then withdraws. ]

Will you mind terribly if I— [ He never seemed to mind before, but that was before Iorveth started waking from flashbacks of dead bodies. ] I know that I have a certain... corpselike quality that some may not be able to— appreciate.

[ To say the least. ]

[ It's a little sweet, how Astarion folds his clothes so neatly before setting them aside, a casual subversion of vain people treating their belongings callously. Again, Astarion is a mess of charming contradictions that are as annoying as they are improbably, impossibly lovable.

Speaking of annoying, though. Iorveth knows why Astarion is making this disclaimer, but－ ]

I would "mind terribly", [ is a low murmur, with one arm curling around Astarion's bare waist to pull him inwards, ] if you don't come here.

[ Stupid cat. Iorveth fucking adores him. ]

Or are you saying that I've not properly expressed how much I appreciate your qualities?

[ No, you haven't, is what he'd say if the look of fear on Iorveth's face weren't still fresh in his mind. You should remedy that right now. Then he'd crawl on top of Iorveth and kiss him until they both fell into their trances, Astarion's weight pressing down on him and Iorveth's body heat keeping him warm.

Iorveth's distress is as vivid in his mind as if it were still happening right in front of him, though, so he doesn't. He allows Iorveth to pull him in, but he doesn't press any closer, doesn't crawl on top of him and assault him with affection no matter how much he wants to. ]

I'm saying that— well, I know what it feels like to be reminded of things you'd rather forget.

[ Awful. It feels awful.

A little exasperated, he adds, ] I'm trying to be thoughtful.

I don't wish to forget.

[ Is Iorveth's very simple, very unhealthy, very deranged correction to Astarion's very considerate remark about things that are better left forgotten. ]

I want to remember all of it. Every offense, every atrocity, so that I never forget how much they made us suffer.

[ Because everything that has ever meant anything to him has made him hurt; nothing is worth keeping if he can't fight tooth and nail for it. Iorveth splays his fingers against Astarion's back, touching as much of him as that one hand will allow. ]

...Besides. It wasn't you that reminded me of the dead. I'd only thought－

[ A beat, as he slowly drums his fingers. ]

－I'd feared [ he corrects, ] that I'd lost you.

[ Another stark difference between them. Iorveth replays all of the suffering and torment he's experienced to the point of insanity; Astarion stuffs it into a box under a rug in the dustiest corner of his mind, hoping never to see it again. Hard to say which is better. Hard to say which is worse. Neither option seems to be working particularly well for them.

If Iorveth had lost him that day, he wouldn't have had a body to wake up to. Astarion would have been a pile of ash before they ever reached Flotsam. Even he knows this is something that he shouldn't mention, though, lest he upset Iorveth. Better that he doesn't have the mental image of Astarion's disintegrated body in his head. ]

It doesn't bother you, then? Undeath?

[ The sound of insecurity in his own voice makes him sick. He hastily continues, ] I'm irresistible dead or alive, of course, but I can see how some might find it... disconcerting.

[ Perhaps Astarion can take solace in the fact that, if he ever did die horrifically, Iorveth would hold onto that trauma and live with it, let it burn him every single waking moment of the rest of his days. (Astarion, please swipe left.) Because Iorveth would, and he plans to if the ever-hovering shoe above their heads drops.

Stupid, he thinks again, as Astarion asks if the nature of his existence is bothersome, as if Astarion hasn't turned Iorveth's entire world upside down by making Iorveth fall in love with him. What does he think, that Iorveth tolerates him?

Still, the reason Astarion is asking is because of the previous night's freakout, so: ]

Astarion. [ Slowly, and with purpose. "Listen carefully," is what the slight lift of his brow says. ] I love you.

[ Like hitting someone in the head with a rock. He hums, thinking of an addendum. ]

Be assured that if another being identical to you appeared right now－ [ a ridiculous hypothetical, but he presents it with dry theatricality, ] ―similar to you in every way, save for the fact that he isn't a vampire...

...I wouldn't look at him twice. Nor would I want him. [ He pinches Astarion's ear, admonishing but affectionate. ] Though I wouldn't want any other vampire, either. Need I go on?

[ More things it's wiser not to say: Really? If another being identical to you appeared right now, we'd be having a threesome.

It's sweet, though, that Iorveth claims he wouldn't be tempted by this alternate universe, mortal version of Astarion. Being told that he's loved still makes him feel like an adolescent with sweaty hands tangling fingers with his first crush, an all-encompassing, light-headed joy. In an eternal lifetime, he'll never figure out what he did to deserve to be loved by someone like Iorveth, but he'll happily soak up all of the undeserved love regardless.

He presses his lips against Iorveth's, trying not to worry that his mouth is too cold. ]

No, but I wouldn't protest if you did.

[ But Iorveth probably already knew that. He's had countless ugly words hurled at him over the centuries. He can't help but want to latch on to the pretty ones. ]

I only asked because I love you, you know. [ Saying so makes him feel a little giddy, despite everything. How lucky he is to have someone worth loving. A little tongue-in-cheek (and a little serious): ] It's strange, but I seem to want you to be happy.

[ He seems to want Iorveth to be happy. Absurd. Iorveth snorts, the sound as undignified as the smile that pulls at his face. ]

Stranger still, then, that you've managed to become the source of my happiness.

[ Ever since he admitted to Astarion that he wanted Astarion to stay, and ever since Astarion answered in the affirmative. Iorveth'd doomed them to the narrative in that moment, and it's something he still thinks about― how things would have been different if he'd just decided to let the tryst be a tryst― but gods, he really is happy when he's with Astarion. Happy in a way that seems impossible, happy in a way that contradicts what and how he should be.

So. He coaxes Astarion closer again, another sliver of space between them breached, fingers loosely curled over the jut of Astarion's hip. ]

...I made you worry. [ An acknowledgment, low and simple. ] You were kind, to consider my feelings.

[ The sort of thing Iorveth will only ever say to Astarion: anyone else would be met with a swift and angry dismissal, a million permutations of "don't fucking patronize me". Iorveth can only trust one person in his life with the shape of his vulnerabilities and feelings, and poor Astarion is that one person. He leans forward for another kiss, murmuring something muffled in his native tongue followed by a rough translation against their pressed-together mouths: you're perfect.

(The sun is coming up. The madam of the inn-brothel is playing with the coin that Iorveth gave her earlier, toying with the idea of going to Commandant Loredo with information about the two elves, considering the pros and cons of having one or two of her girls visit her strange new customers just so she can be sure that the one-eyed one isn't actually "Edgar". Men usually forget to use aliases when they're getting their dick sucked, after all.) ]

I wasn't worried, [ he huffs defensively, although the sentiment gets cut off by the sensation of Iorveth's warm lips against his, and he suddenly feels powerless to protest. ] I was just... [ He racks his brain for a suitable synonym. ] Concerned.

[ Entirely different.

He slips an arm under Iorveth's, snaking around to splay out between his shoulder blades. His fingers are undoubtedly cold, he thinks as he feels the pleasant heat of Iorveth's living body, but he doesn't withdraw again. Foolish Iorveth, hitching his wagon to a dead man's. Astarion is happy to take advantage of his foolishness. ]

Trance now. We've a busy night ahead of us.

[ Not a busy day, not anymore. ]

I've courtesans to woo, and you have... someone to flog, surely.

[ Their two respective strengths. ]

[ Astarion is cold, but half the pleasure is feeling his own warmth slowly transfer to that cool skin. A bit of negotiating has Iorveth hauling Astarion up and over his torso as much as he can, and the now-familiar weight is comforting enough that Iorveth easily slides into his trance, as suggested－ a dreamless one, rendered only in vague colors and sense memory instead of anything concrete or alarming.

What's alarming is the knock on their door at around nightfall; three melodic raps against hardwood, unmistakable. Iorveth sits up when he hears it, a jolt like a wolf rearing up from sleep, his head instinctively whipping towards the window where he can spot a sliver of red-orange light filtering through the spaces between their blinds. No option to jump outside－ the sun is still out. ]

Astarion, [ he whispers in warning, hand to the small of Astarion's back. Outside the door, he can hear high, lilting voices speaking indecipherably. ]

[ It isn't the knock that wakes him but Iorveth's movement; he's jostled into consciousness, groaning in protest as Iorveth sits up and he slides off of his chest. Reaching for one of the down pillows, he flops back onto the mattress and shoves it over his head in the hopes of muffling any sound. It's only once Iorveth whispers to him that his ears properly perk up and catch the soft sound of conversation outside their door, and he finally sits up himself, brow furrowed.

Iorveth sure as hells can't answer the door when there's probably posters bearing his likeness in the city—wanted: dangerous elven terrorist—so the responsibility falls to Astarion. He swings his feet off of the bed and rises, swiping his shirt to pull it on, still unbuttoned, to hide his scars. ]

Stay, [ he says quietly before making his way to the door. He opens it just enough to poke his head out, expression expectant and impatient. ]

Can I help you?

[ Iorveth brushes his hair into his face, hiding more of his features while he readjusts his eyepatch over his missing eye. On one hand, he misses his headscarf－ he'd felt more covered with it on－ but on the other, the bright red cloth might have been even more distinguishing.

From his vantage point, he can't see the two pretty young women who are standing out in the hall, but he can hear them. "I heard there were two Cormyreans staying with us now," one of them (a redhead with lipstick that matches her hair) says, singsong; another voice (a brunette with a defining mole sitting pretty under her left eye) chimes in with "two handsome Cormyreans", punctuated by a flutelike laugh.

A flash of pale skin. The redhead pokes her arm through the gap between the door and the wall, trying to touch Astarion's arm.

"We're ever so curious. Won't you let us in for a chat?" ]

—Ah.

[ Well, there's the courtesans he planned to gossip with. It seems someone else already gossiped to them; it's doubtful they really have any interest in handsome Cormyreans, at least not enough to come knocking on their door. It takes every ounce of his willpower not to slam the door on the redhead's arm, but he stays where he is, smiling. ]

I'd love to, of course, if it's two delectable treats such as yourselves asking...

[ His eyes shift to the side. ]

But my companion isn't, mm, decent.

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