[ Astarion tenses a little, suddenly nervous. It's quite a lot to ask Gale for help with a seemingly insurmountable problem, isn't it? Especially after barging in and taking refuge in his home without warning. He's never cared about politeness, but he does care about being refused. Gale surely wouldn't deny him assistance with something so deeply important if he had the resources to help, he tells himself, but then again, what if he did? ]
Ah, not exactly.
[ Gale clears his throat a third time, tired of being treated like he isn't in the room. "Well, now would be an excellent time, seeing as we're all here, don't you think?"
Astarion wants to snap at him not to be so impatient, but that really wouldn't help his cause. He hems and haws, eyes on the spines of books lined up on the shelf rather than Gale. ]
It's just... a tiny thing, really. A favor— hardly even a favor!
[ Something Iorveth notes: Astarion is good at making demands, but not so good at making requests. Iorveth watches him flounder, endearingly graceless, and takes one step away to lean against the nearest bookshelf (bolted to the wall) with his arms folded across his chest. ]
It's your request to make.
[ Unhelpful!!! For once, Iorveth doesn't throw Astarion a bone, preferring that Astarion come out and say what he needs himself.
Meanwhile, Gale sets his book aside and fixes his attention on Astarion, looking skeptical.
"Well. If it's coin you need, I'll be happy to loan you some on the condition that you don't use it to bribe anybody."
An uncharitable guess, but not an unreasonable one. Iorveth rolls his eye. ]
[ Iorveth chooses now, of all times, not to say that Astarion said no pickles. He huffs, exasperated. ]
It isn't coin. [ A beat. ] Although—
[ He shakes his head. Not the priority (although it's worth coming back to, he thinks). Finally turning to face Gale, he takes an unnecessary breath in. ]
Seeing as you're such a famed practitioner of the arcane arts, [ he says, buttering Gale up for his request, ] I thought it would only be right to ask you to... share some of your magical knowhow.
[ A whole lot of words to say a whole lot of nothing. Gale furrows his brow in confusion.
Frustrated, he blurts out, ] —The sun, Gale. I want you to help me with the sun.
[ "Oh!" Gale says, perking up at the thought of a magical problem to solve. "That's quite the challenge to tackle, isn't it? No wizard that I know of has ever thought to lessen the effects of vampirism, but then again, I doubt most wizards that I know of have ever come face-to-face with a vampire and lived." He's boasting a little. The idea of doing something that 'no wizard that I know of' has ever done clearly appeals, though, and he scratches his chin in thought. "I could ask my colleagues at the Academy — I've been asked to return there as a professor, you know."
[ A blank stare, here. Is it really an accomplishment for Gale to be asked to teach, if the result was already written in the stars? (Yes.) Iorveth can't imagine why Gale would want a "good boy" from Iorveth, a less-than-mediocre spellcaster at best, but he offers one just to be diplomatic. ]
Congratulations.
[ If it sounds a tinge sarcastic, well. Iorveth will be Iorveth. It's accompanied by a nod of his head, to soften the edges. ]
My only point of contention is whether your colleagues will demand to gawk and gather around Astarion, should you consult them. Whether he'll tolerate their curiosity is entirely up for him to decide－ [ a gesture towards Astarion, here, ] －but we needn't encourage it.
[ As a response, Gale raises his hands in the universal sign for "oh no", and shakes his head. "I'd be very discreet about it, of course! Strictly need-to-know basis. Besides, photosensitivity isn't exclusive to vampires－ drow and duergar experience it to some extent, and there's been extensive research done on how to aid their transition to the surface. I'm sure..."
Ah. Iorveth's gotten Gale started, and now he's inclined to start tuning him out. ]
[ Astarion is somewhere between irritated (at Gale's long-windedness) and pleased (at Gale's selflessness). He settles on crossing his arms and rolling his eyes as if Gale is an embarrassing younger sibling, but there's a twinge of a smile hidden beneath his put-out expression. Thank the gods. There are benefits to being friendly with intellectuals after all. ]
Yes, well, [ he says to cut Gale off, ] I'm sure you have much to think about on the subject.
[ "Oh, plenty," Gale agrees. "I wonder, is a vampire's sensitivity to sunlight a physiological response, or is there a more arcane aspect to it? I—"
Cutting him off again: ] A fascinating quandary, I know. I'd be happy to discuss it further over a bottle of your most expensive wine, but for now— [ A pointed look. ] I'm afraid I'm really quite hungry after my journey.
[ Gale lifts a brow. "I do hope you aren't suggesting that I remedy that." ]
[ A cat and dog, getting along. Iorveth finds it sweet despite all the ways in which the past few days have served to harden him again, and pushes off the bookshelf with a vague smile of his own, plucking a random tome from a pile to keep himself busy with later. ]
You are free of all that Netherese bile now.
[ Breezily, as he makes his way towards the stairs leading up to the guest bedroom. ]
If Astarion wishes to know what wizard tastes like, I'll not stop him.
[ As if Gale has no say in the matter. Awful. Iorveth is just tugging his metaphorical pigtails, though－ Astarion has always been exceedingly polite about not sinking his fangs into the members of their motley crew without their express permission, and Iorveth is fairly certain that Astarion will continue to extend that courtesy even though they've temporarily gone their separate ways. ]
[ Astarion has no intention of actually gnawing on Gale, but he does let him think that he's considering it for a few minutes, like a cat toying with an anxious mouse. He doesn't doubt that Gale would offer his blood if the situation were truly dire, but he has no need for a reluctant donation when he has a willing meal all to himself. After making Gale sweat just enough to be entertaining, he follows Iorveth up the stairs, Gale's too-big slippers pitter-pattering against the wood.
He leans against the doorway of the guest bedroom, eyeing Iorveth discerningly. ]
How do you feel?
[ If he's still unwell, Astarion will go without, or maybe he really will go hunting for pigeons like he'd teased Tara about. ]
You look better. One might venture to say 'good enough to eat'.
[ The guest bedroom is as cozy as the rest of the place, with velvet curtains pulled over large windows (Iorveth hasn't peered out of them yet for the view) and well-dusted wooden furniture laden with various knickknacks, both tasteful and not. There are books all over the place, even here, piled on chests and floor-to-ceiling shelves, with the occasional artefacts displayed in glass cases in between. Iorveth runs his fingers over one such case, though he suspects the wooden toy ship inside it is less magical and more sentimental. ]
I suspect I am.
[ Good enough to eat, he means. He turns away from the shelf he'd been inspecting and gestures for Astarion to come closer, his expression markedly less burdened by exhaustion than the morning prior. ]
I've done you a disservice, withholding blood for the past tenday or so. [ Maybe longer－ he's lost all sense of time. The grueling journey interrupted by the kidnappings didn't give Iorveth much space or energy to let Astarion feed, and though he realizes that, despite what the other spawn had said about him being a convenient bloodbag for Astarion, he isn't one, still. He prefers seeing Astarion sated and happy, curled up next to him with blood on his lips like a cat with a mouse in its mouth. ]
[ As he gravitates toward Iorveth, hands clasped innocently behind his back, he says, playfully, ] If you wanted to service me, you should have said so. [ Ha.
At the beginning of his freedom, being denied blood after having free access to it would have been intolerable. Now, it's still unpleasant, but more like an irritating itch that won't go away. He knows now that he'll have a next meal, and so he doesn't worry nearly as much about when it will be. The worse part of the past tenday was traveling so steadily that he had to forgo things like casual affection and sharing a bedroll, although he'll never admit such a thing. ]
I made do.
[ And he'd make do again if Iorveth decided to withhold his blood indefinitely or eternally. There's always some ne'er-do-well that no one would miss skulking around. ]
But I'll allow you to atone for your transgressions, beneficent magistrate that I am.
[ Beneficent. Iorveth has the audacity to laugh. ]
Such magnanimity. [ He doesn't bow, but does a bare-boned alternative: a sweep of one arm, palm up and offered. ] What were the punishments for transgressing against a noble? One thousand silver shards and a public flogging?
[ Waterdeep is ridiculous. Gale is delusional if he thinks Iorveth will adhere to any of the city's codes of conduct to the letter; the most Iorveth will do is make fun of it in the bedroom with Astarion, and find ways to circumvent them if they hinder his ability to do what needs to be done. Clever, sly fox. ]
I wonder if the Honorable Magistrate Ancunín will spare me the rod.
[ Oh, he loves the sound of Iorveth's laughter. An unpracticed thing, like he hasn't much experience in things like joy or carelessness, but a wonderful thing nonetheless. Astarion would do terrible things just to see Iorveth throw his head back and laugh.
He tugs Iorveth closer by the collar of his borrowed shirt, the texture of it velvety-soft against his fingers. 'Borrowed' may quickly turn to 'stolen'; Astarion likes the feel of Iorveth in nice things almost as much as he likes the feel of himself in them. Just a shirt, Iorveth had said, but it's more than that, he thinks. The sort of creature comfort that they've both been denied and deserve now more than ever. ]
Oh, I can think of a few punishments to dole out for this misbehavior.
[ Downstairs, Gale feels a disturbance in the Weave and tries not to think about it. ]
[ Joy left Iorveth when he realized that he was born only to be decimated; carelessness left him when he decided to reject victimhood. Since then, it's only been protectiveness and anger and cycles of love and grief that whittled him down to bone and blood, interrupted only by an Illithid kidnapping and the strange journey that happened thereafter. Against all odds, his new comrades have given him new reasons to smile－ against even greater odds, the vampire of the group has given him a reason to laugh.
Tugged by the collar, Iorveth allows himself to be pulled into Astarion's space. It's a welcome sort of stumble, one that makes him realize that it's been a while since both of them have been clean and safe enough for this sort of harmless fooling around.
Another huff, amused, and Iorveth links his hands behind his own back. A criminal!!! ]
Name your price. I submit myself to you willingly.
[ A thing Iorveth wouldn't even think of saying in front of anyone else. He would snarl and bite and kick and scream in front of an actual judge and jury; in contrast, Astarion just gets a little bump to his jaw with Iorveth's nose. ]
[ Iorveth has no idea how dangerous those words are, or worse, he does and he's insane enough not to care. It's a happy little zing up Astarion's spine to hear, brain lighting up in satisfaction as he crowds Iorveth back toward the bed. It's plush, blankets of a deep mauve thrown over the cloudlike featherbed, so soft one could sink right into it. (A little too soft for most, probably, but Astarion likes it that way.) Gale, he realizes, has money. Being an archwizard pays off, it seems. ]
I think you'll need to be restrained while I deliberate. A safety precaution, you see.
[ He finds himself cursing the fact that he didn't think to stop by a store and buy some sort of rope or, like, fuzzy handcuffs. Oh, well. He's nothing if not a master of improvisation. ]
[ Signs of privilege and prestige all around them; Iorveth, for now, doesn't wonder if Astarion would prefer a life like this instead of the one they'd been living the past few days. He's too busy sinking back onto a could-soft duvet with Astarion above him, shushing animal instinct to indulge in the impossible certainty that Astarion won't actually hurt him in any meaningful way.
Most people who have been recently restrained in a horrific way would say "too soon" to being tied up, even in a playful manner. Iorveth, not a normal or reasonable person, slowly links his wrists above his head, letting a frisson of thrill run up his spine at the thought of being able to trust someone the way he trusts Astarion. Iorveth has fought all his life for the semblance of control, so it feels nice, in a way, to not feel threatened when he gives up said control to someone else.
"I think I'm more in love with you than strictly necessary," is a candidate for an answer, but Iorveth settles on: ]
If needs must.
[ Long, lean, and stretched on a bed. Iorveth remembers how miserable Astarion'd been, curled under that bridge in the middle of a forest, and wants to make up for making him feel so small. ]
Aren't you docile? [ is a tease, because if there's anything in this world that Iorveth will never be described as, it's docile. That's fine. Astarion likes his feral woodland animal.
He especially likes that his feral woodland animal is docile just for him, though. He crawls up over Iorveth's long, lean body, letting his weight rest again his thighs as he takes in the visual. A disservice, Iorveth had said. Ridiculous, when Iorveth's entire existence feels like a favor to him.
His head tilts, contemplative. ]
I wonder. Should I tie you up or hold you down?
[ Not that he could ever really hold Iorveth down if he decided to fight back, not with these weak arms, but— the appeal is in Iorveth letting him. ]
[ "With what strength", Iorveth doesn't say. He'll let Astarion have this one. ]
It'll have to be your hands, if you haven't any rope.
[ That, or Astarion could use any number of Gale's robe belts to lash Iorveth to the bed, but Iorveth will let Astarion innovate however he wants. He wiggles his fingers where they're resting above him, on a pillow pressed against the headboard. ]
I'll not struggle. Whatever punishment you mete out, I'll accept with dignity.
[ Astarion might like if he struggled a little, but this is undernegotiated as it is, and Astarion has never heard of a safe word before in his life, so he doesn't say so. Instead, he closes his palm over Iorveth's linked wrists, leaning his weight into his hand in lieu of actual strength. Iorveth's hands sink a little lower into that soft pillow, the silky pillowcase crinkling.
Iorveth is treading dangerously, allowing a crazed vampire the freedom to mete out 'whatever punishment'. Then again, he's been treading dangerously since the first moment he let Astarion kiss him, or perhaps even before that, when he first let Astarion bite him. Hells, he started treading dangerously when he decided not to sneak into Astarion's tent at night and stake him in the heart.
Astarion laughs, an amused exhale under his breath. ]
You struggle so little that one might think you want the rod.
[ He wouldn't mind. You don't become involved with a freak without expecting some freakiness. ]
[ Iorveth can allow Astarion whatever, because of his deranged certainty that Astarion will stop if anything gets too close to the realm of uncomfortable or unsavory. That, coupled with the fact that Iorveth doesn't mind a bit of pain edging into his fooling around; makes things more exciting, in his (un)professional opinion.
He lifts his chin, mock-haughty; his tone verges on challenging, taunting. Theatre. ]
Don't tell me you've never wanted to threaten me with something sharp.
[ Testing the pressure pressing down onto his wrists, enjoying that weight. It'll be an easy thing to rear up and headbutt Astarion in his impossibly pretty face, but that isn't the point of this exercise. ]
A mouthy wood elf with a penchant for rubbing you the wrong way. [ The corner of his scarred lips curls, amused. ] This is your chance to shut him up.
[ 'Don't tell me you've never wanted to threaten me with something sharp' — ha. If only Iorveth knew how many times Astarion had wished to brandish his dagger when Iorveth said something smug or disapproving. Those fantasies have died down now, but they've only been replaced with more intense desires.
He'd had to remove his dagger when shedding his old, dirty travel clothes. It sits on the nightstand now, and he reaches over Iorveth to grab it, fingers just barely grazing it until he can finally finagle it into his hand, unwilling to give up his advantageous position. His fingers wrap around the handle, feeling the weight of it in his palm before he lightly presses the cold, flat edge of it against the notch between Iorveth's collarbones. Gentle, testing. ]
Since you've been so terribly withholding, perhaps a little bloodletting is in order.
[ It's playacting, but it's also a question. He has no idea what the limits are; if it were him on the other end of Iorveth's blade, he'd be viscerally distressed. ]
[ A stray feeling, here, that Astarion has never negotiated any sort of arrangement before. It makes sense－ Astarion's spent two hundred years living with ultimatums－ and reflecting on it makes Iorveth want to break the hold and pull Astarion into an embrace, but.
They're still playing. Also, Astarion has a dagger in his hand. The best Iorveth can do is communicate with his body language, let the tension bleed completely from his body so that he's a relaxed lump on pillowy down. A wild thing to be doing when, again, the man on top of him is brandishing a very sharp object dangerously close to his vital organs, but it's still all green for Iorveth. ]
Hardly a punishment.
[ Turning his head, lifting his chin to stretch his neck and expose more collarbone. ]
[ That's the only go-ahead he needs. Astarion drags the dagger down until it catches on Iorveth's—Gale's—shirt. He loves this shirt, but it has to go. Gale can just cast Mending on it later; Astarion will say it was an accident, and they'll both know he's lying. The blade runs through the thin, silky fabric like butter, exposing Iorveth's torso in all its tanned glory.
Canvas revealed, he gets to painting, pressing the very tip of his knife just underneath Iorveth's clavicle, only light enough to break the skin and little more. He opens his mouth to say something snappy, but the smell of Iorveth's freshly drawn blood fills his nostrils, ruby red beading on his skin. On impulse, he dips his head down, tongue laving over the spot until there's nothing left but a faint red mark.
His fangs graze against the skin there, digging into Iorveth's flesh enough to make indents but not enough to make him bleed further. He stays there for a long moment, arguing with the animal instinct screaming at him to bite down; to do so would end playtime too soon, and so with notable difficulty, he draws back. ]
[ The shirt!!! Iorveth raises a brow when the knife cuts through it, having expected Astarion to want to keep the thing intact. A concern that becomes of very little consequence once the blade slips over skin, drawing a thin line of pain that makes Iorveth shiver under Astarion's grip.
Not uncomfortable. Still all green. Iorveth tips his chin up for a long breath, then swivels his focus back down to see the tail end of Astarion licking blood off of his skin.
Common sense tells him that this shouldn't be hot; lizard brain says that it's very hot. He doesn't quite flush, but the sound of his pulse sounds much louder against his ears. ]
You could try to be less pretty while you do this.
Criminals don't get to make demands of magistrates.
[ Give him an inch, and he'll take a mile. Iorveth has made the great mistake of giving Astarion a little control, and now he's gone mad with power. He pauses for a moment, glancing further down Iorveth's torso and then back up at his hands. It simply isn't physically possible to hold him down and get creative with his dagger. His mouth twists in displeasure before he settles his gaze on Iorveth's face. ]
But magistrates get to make demands of criminals. Stay.
[ He relinquishes his hold on Iorveth's wrists, finding it perhaps even more gratifying to see if Iorveth will obey without any physical force keeping him there at all. Meanwhile, he holds the blade against Iorveth's chest, letting it linger there. From here, he could press the dagger into Iorveth's body, between his fourth and his fifth ribs, and puncture his pounding heart.
He has no desire to, yet the knowledge that Iorveth—prickly, paranoid, mistrusting Iorveth—allows him to get so close excites him more than is strictly sane. The blade cuts a little deeper, a small slice in his flesh that calls more of that wonderful blood to flow forth again, a tiny trickle down his chest. In an instant he's flattening his tongue against Iorveth's skin, humming in something between deep satisfaction and restless longing. ]
[ Oh, so they're really doing this. Iorveth watches Astarion appraise him, his mouth pulled into that haughty little frown, and instead of the usual indignance that might bubble up from the pit of his gut, he feels...
...excited? Enamored? He tries to put his finger on what makes it so different, Astarion telling him to stay versus a human telling him not to move, and it really boils down to the assumption that Astarion wants him. If Iorveth senses, in any way, that Astarion is looking through him instead of at him, the light would snap from green to red, but so far－
－still fine. Still lizard brain-hot. So he keeps his position, hands pressed to the pillow of his own accord, shifting just slightly when Astarion draws another cut in his skin and cleans it with his mouth. ]
Are all magistrates as brazen as you, or are you the exception?
[ A little breathless, but still playing the part. ] Fuck.
[ These little rivulets of blood only serve to stir the hungry monster inside him, and it's so unbelievably difficult to keep a leash on the beast. His teeth drag across Iorveth's chest mindlessly, yearning for more. He wants to bite Iorveth all over, wants to gulp down his blood in large, greedy mouthfuls. His eyes squeeze shut, and he takes a slow inhale and an even slower exhale before opening them and withdrawing. ]
I'm special. [ Obviously. ] But it seems you like your magistrates brazen.
[ He can't help himself — he nibbles down Iorveth's sternum all the way to the soft skin of his stomach, blade pressing against the tender flesh there almost as an afterthought. His soft underbelly, literally and figuratively. ]
You know, you're behaving so well that I'm considering giving you a reward.
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no subject
Ah, not exactly.
[ Gale clears his throat a third time, tired of being treated like he isn't in the room. "Well, now would be an excellent time, seeing as we're all here, don't you think?"
Astarion wants to snap at him not to be so impatient, but that really wouldn't help his cause. He hems and haws, eyes on the spines of books lined up on the shelf rather than Gale. ]
It's just... a tiny thing, really. A favor— hardly even a favor!
no subject
It's your request to make.
[ Unhelpful!!! For once, Iorveth doesn't throw Astarion a bone, preferring that Astarion come out and say what he needs himself.
Meanwhile, Gale sets his book aside and fixes his attention on Astarion, looking skeptical.
"Well. If it's coin you need, I'll be happy to loan you some on the condition that you don't use it to bribe anybody."
An uncharitable guess, but not an unreasonable one. Iorveth rolls his eye. ]
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It isn't coin. [ A beat. ] Although—
[ He shakes his head. Not the priority (although it's worth coming back to, he thinks). Finally turning to face Gale, he takes an unnecessary breath in. ]
Seeing as you're such a famed practitioner of the arcane arts, [ he says, buttering Gale up for his request, ] I thought it would only be right to ask you to... share some of your magical knowhow.
[ A whole lot of words to say a whole lot of nothing. Gale furrows his brow in confusion.
Frustrated, he blurts out, ] —The sun, Gale. I want you to help me with the sun.
[ "Oh!" Gale says, perking up at the thought of a magical problem to solve. "That's quite the challenge to tackle, isn't it? No wizard that I know of has ever thought to lessen the effects of vampirism, but then again, I doubt most wizards that I know of have ever come face-to-face with a vampire and lived." He's boasting a little. The idea of doing something that 'no wizard that I know of' has ever done clearly appeals, though, and he scratches his chin in thought. "I could ask my colleagues at the Academy — I've been asked to return there as a professor, you know."
Gale beams, waiting for his next 'good boy'. ]
no subject
Congratulations.
[ If it sounds a tinge sarcastic, well. Iorveth will be Iorveth. It's accompanied by a nod of his head, to soften the edges. ]
My only point of contention is whether your colleagues will demand to gawk and gather around Astarion, should you consult them. Whether he'll tolerate their curiosity is entirely up for him to decide－ [ a gesture towards Astarion, here, ] －but we needn't encourage it.
[ As a response, Gale raises his hands in the universal sign for "oh no", and shakes his head. "I'd be very discreet about it, of course! Strictly need-to-know basis. Besides, photosensitivity isn't exclusive to vampires－ drow and duergar experience it to some extent, and there's been extensive research done on how to aid their transition to the surface. I'm sure..."
Ah. Iorveth's gotten Gale started, and now he's inclined to start tuning him out. ]
no subject
Yes, well, [ he says to cut Gale off, ] I'm sure you have much to think about on the subject.
[ "Oh, plenty," Gale agrees. "I wonder, is a vampire's sensitivity to sunlight a physiological response, or is there a more arcane aspect to it? I—"
Cutting him off again: ] A fascinating quandary, I know. I'd be happy to discuss it further over a bottle of your most expensive wine, but for now— [ A pointed look. ] I'm afraid I'm really quite hungry after my journey.
[ Gale lifts a brow. "I do hope you aren't suggesting that I remedy that." ]
no subject
You are free of all that Netherese bile now.
[ Breezily, as he makes his way towards the stairs leading up to the guest bedroom. ]
If Astarion wishes to know what wizard tastes like, I'll not stop him.
[ As if Gale has no say in the matter. Awful. Iorveth is just tugging his metaphorical pigtails, though－ Astarion has always been exceedingly polite about not sinking his fangs into the members of their motley crew without their express permission, and Iorveth is fairly certain that Astarion will continue to extend that courtesy even though they've temporarily gone their separate ways. ]
no subject
He leans against the doorway of the guest bedroom, eyeing Iorveth discerningly. ]
How do you feel?
[ If he's still unwell, Astarion will go without, or maybe he really will go hunting for pigeons like he'd teased Tara about. ]
You look better. One might venture to say 'good enough to eat'.
no subject
I suspect I am.
[ Good enough to eat, he means. He turns away from the shelf he'd been inspecting and gestures for Astarion to come closer, his expression markedly less burdened by exhaustion than the morning prior. ]
I've done you a disservice, withholding blood for the past tenday or so. [ Maybe longer－ he's lost all sense of time. The grueling journey interrupted by the kidnappings didn't give Iorveth much space or energy to let Astarion feed, and though he realizes that, despite what the other spawn had said about him being a convenient bloodbag for Astarion, he isn't one, still. He prefers seeing Astarion sated and happy, curled up next to him with blood on his lips like a cat with a mouse in its mouth. ]
no subject
At the beginning of his freedom, being denied blood after having free access to it would have been intolerable. Now, it's still unpleasant, but more like an irritating itch that won't go away. He knows now that he'll have a next meal, and so he doesn't worry nearly as much about when it will be. The worse part of the past tenday was traveling so steadily that he had to forgo things like casual affection and sharing a bedroll, although he'll never admit such a thing. ]
I made do.
[ And he'd make do again if Iorveth decided to withhold his blood indefinitely or eternally. There's always some ne'er-do-well that no one would miss skulking around. ]
But I'll allow you to atone for your transgressions, beneficent magistrate that I am.
[ Again: ha. ]
no subject
Such magnanimity. [ He doesn't bow, but does a bare-boned alternative: a sweep of one arm, palm up and offered. ] What were the punishments for transgressing against a noble? One thousand silver shards and a public flogging?
[ Waterdeep is ridiculous. Gale is delusional if he thinks Iorveth will adhere to any of the city's codes of conduct to the letter; the most Iorveth will do is make fun of it in the bedroom with Astarion, and find ways to circumvent them if they hinder his ability to do what needs to be done. Clever, sly fox. ]
I wonder if the Honorable Magistrate Ancunín will spare me the rod.
no subject
He tugs Iorveth closer by the collar of his borrowed shirt, the texture of it velvety-soft against his fingers. 'Borrowed' may quickly turn to 'stolen'; Astarion likes the feel of Iorveth in nice things almost as much as he likes the feel of himself in them. Just a shirt, Iorveth had said, but it's more than that, he thinks. The sort of creature comfort that they've both been denied and deserve now more than ever. ]
Oh, I can think of a few punishments to dole out for this misbehavior.
[ Downstairs, Gale feels a disturbance in the Weave and tries not to think about it. ]
no subject
Tugged by the collar, Iorveth allows himself to be pulled into Astarion's space. It's a welcome sort of stumble, one that makes him realize that it's been a while since both of them have been clean and safe enough for this sort of harmless fooling around.
Another huff, amused, and Iorveth links his hands behind his own back. A criminal!!! ]
Name your price. I submit myself to you willingly.
[ A thing Iorveth wouldn't even think of saying in front of anyone else. He would snarl and bite and kick and scream in front of an actual judge and jury; in contrast, Astarion just gets a little bump to his jaw with Iorveth's nose. ]
no subject
I think you'll need to be restrained while I deliberate. A safety precaution, you see.
[ He finds himself cursing the fact that he didn't think to stop by a store and buy some sort of rope or, like, fuzzy handcuffs. Oh, well. He's nothing if not a master of improvisation. ]
What do you think?
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Most people who have been recently restrained in a horrific way would say "too soon" to being tied up, even in a playful manner. Iorveth, not a normal or reasonable person, slowly links his wrists above his head, letting a frisson of thrill run up his spine at the thought of being able to trust someone the way he trusts Astarion. Iorveth has fought all his life for the semblance of control, so it feels nice, in a way, to not feel threatened when he gives up said control to someone else.
"I think I'm more in love with you than strictly necessary," is a candidate for an answer, but Iorveth settles on: ]
If needs must.
[ Long, lean, and stretched on a bed. Iorveth remembers how miserable Astarion'd been, curled under that bridge in the middle of a forest, and wants to make up for making him feel so small. ]
Deliberate to your heart's content.
no subject
He especially likes that his feral woodland animal is docile just for him, though. He crawls up over Iorveth's long, lean body, letting his weight rest again his thighs as he takes in the visual. A disservice, Iorveth had said. Ridiculous, when Iorveth's entire existence feels like a favor to him.
His head tilts, contemplative. ]
I wonder. Should I tie you up or hold you down?
[ Not that he could ever really hold Iorveth down if he decided to fight back, not with these weak arms, but— the appeal is in Iorveth letting him. ]
no subject
It'll have to be your hands, if you haven't any rope.
[ That, or Astarion could use any number of Gale's robe belts to lash Iorveth to the bed, but Iorveth will let Astarion innovate however he wants. He wiggles his fingers where they're resting above him, on a pillow pressed against the headboard. ]
I'll not struggle. Whatever punishment you mete out, I'll accept with dignity.
[ Famous last words. ]
no subject
Iorveth is treading dangerously, allowing a crazed vampire the freedom to mete out 'whatever punishment'. Then again, he's been treading dangerously since the first moment he let Astarion kiss him, or perhaps even before that, when he first let Astarion bite him. Hells, he started treading dangerously when he decided not to sneak into Astarion's tent at night and stake him in the heart.
Astarion laughs, an amused exhale under his breath. ]
You struggle so little that one might think you want the rod.
[ He wouldn't mind. You don't become involved with a freak without expecting some freakiness. ]
Or was it the blade you wanted?
no subject
He lifts his chin, mock-haughty; his tone verges on challenging, taunting. Theatre. ]
Don't tell me you've never wanted to threaten me with something sharp.
[ Testing the pressure pressing down onto his wrists, enjoying that weight. It'll be an easy thing to rear up and headbutt Astarion in his impossibly pretty face, but that isn't the point of this exercise. ]
A mouthy wood elf with a penchant for rubbing you the wrong way. [ The corner of his scarred lips curls, amused. ] This is your chance to shut him up.
no subject
He'd had to remove his dagger when shedding his old, dirty travel clothes. It sits on the nightstand now, and he reaches over Iorveth to grab it, fingers just barely grazing it until he can finally finagle it into his hand, unwilling to give up his advantageous position. His fingers wrap around the handle, feeling the weight of it in his palm before he lightly presses the cold, flat edge of it against the notch between Iorveth's collarbones. Gentle, testing. ]
Since you've been so terribly withholding, perhaps a little bloodletting is in order.
[ It's playacting, but it's also a question. He has no idea what the limits are; if it were him on the other end of Iorveth's blade, he'd be viscerally distressed. ]
no subject
They're still playing. Also, Astarion has a dagger in his hand. The best Iorveth can do is communicate with his body language, let the tension bleed completely from his body so that he's a relaxed lump on pillowy down. A wild thing to be doing when, again, the man on top of him is brandishing a very sharp object dangerously close to his vital organs, but it's still all green for Iorveth. ]
Hardly a punishment.
[ Turning his head, lifting his chin to stretch his neck and expose more collarbone. ]
As long as you put your mouth on me, I'm content.
no subject
Canvas revealed, he gets to painting, pressing the very tip of his knife just underneath Iorveth's clavicle, only light enough to break the skin and little more. He opens his mouth to say something snappy, but the smell of Iorveth's freshly drawn blood fills his nostrils, ruby red beading on his skin. On impulse, he dips his head down, tongue laving over the spot until there's nothing left but a faint red mark.
His fangs graze against the skin there, digging into Iorveth's flesh enough to make indents but not enough to make him bleed further. He stays there for a long moment, arguing with the animal instinct screaming at him to bite down; to do so would end playtime too soon, and so with notable difficulty, he draws back. ]
no subject
Not uncomfortable. Still all green. Iorveth tips his chin up for a long breath, then swivels his focus back down to see the tail end of Astarion licking blood off of his skin.
Common sense tells him that this shouldn't be hot; lizard brain says that it's very hot. He doesn't quite flush, but the sound of his pulse sounds much louder against his ears. ]
You could try to be less pretty while you do this.
[ As if he's mad about it. ]
no subject
[ Give him an inch, and he'll take a mile. Iorveth has made the great mistake of giving Astarion a little control, and now he's gone mad with power. He pauses for a moment, glancing further down Iorveth's torso and then back up at his hands. It simply isn't physically possible to hold him down and get creative with his dagger. His mouth twists in displeasure before he settles his gaze on Iorveth's face. ]
But magistrates get to make demands of criminals. Stay.
[ He relinquishes his hold on Iorveth's wrists, finding it perhaps even more gratifying to see if Iorveth will obey without any physical force keeping him there at all. Meanwhile, he holds the blade against Iorveth's chest, letting it linger there. From here, he could press the dagger into Iorveth's body, between his fourth and his fifth ribs, and puncture his pounding heart.
He has no desire to, yet the knowledge that Iorveth—prickly, paranoid, mistrusting Iorveth—allows him to get so close excites him more than is strictly sane. The blade cuts a little deeper, a small slice in his flesh that calls more of that wonderful blood to flow forth again, a tiny trickle down his chest. In an instant he's flattening his tongue against Iorveth's skin, humming in something between deep satisfaction and restless longing. ]
no subject
...excited? Enamored? He tries to put his finger on what makes it so different, Astarion telling him to stay versus a human telling him not to move, and it really boils down to the assumption that Astarion wants him. If Iorveth senses, in any way, that Astarion is looking through him instead of at him, the light would snap from green to red, but so far－
－still fine. Still lizard brain-hot. So he keeps his position, hands pressed to the pillow of his own accord, shifting just slightly when Astarion draws another cut in his skin and cleans it with his mouth. ]
Are all magistrates as brazen as you, or are you the exception?
[ A little breathless, but still playing the part. ] Fuck.
no subject
I'm special. [ Obviously. ] But it seems you like your magistrates brazen.
[ He can't help himself — he nibbles down Iorveth's sternum all the way to the soft skin of his stomach, blade pressing against the tender flesh there almost as an afterthought. His soft underbelly, literally and figuratively. ]
You know, you're behaving so well that I'm considering giving you a reward.
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