essea | [ ELVES CATCHALL POST. ]

[ Astarion still feels a little prickly at having been made to ask in such a way, but just as he couldn't deny Iorveth his words, he can't deny him his affection. He allows Iorveth to take a pale, spindly hand in his, although he gently rearranges their fingers so that Iorveth doesn't have to touch any enchanted-chest bite marks. It is a relief, of course, to be told that Iorveth will stay with him, but there's still a deep ache in his chest, unpleasant and shameful. He feels ashamed not only of what he said--although he does--but of what was said about him. Gods, Iorveth made him sound like Cazador, a monster who only cares for subjugating others.

Hesitantly, he ventures, ] Do you truly think that of me?

[ 'Tell me you don't,' he wishes he could demand, but that would be in direct opposition to what he hopes to accomplish. ]

That I believe your only virtue is in groveling?

[ Iorveth smooths his thumb over the back of Astarion's hand, gently tracing the rise and fall of his knuckles. There seem to be a lot of things that are still left unresolved and need unpacking, but at least there's some assurance that they'll have time together to address it. A bit at a time, maybe.

He pauses, when Astarion asks him the question. It was unkind, obviously; he rarely feels guilt over the things he says, given that he usually says exactly what he means, but what he said before was, admittedly, a jab just for the sake of jabbing.

His grip tightens momentarily, before loosening in increments. ]

I doubt you would keep me by your side if what I said was true.

[ Iorveth would like to think that Astarion thinks more of him than just being a yes-man, mostly because he thinks he's not terribly great at being one. (Case in point.) ]

You could find prettier, kinder men to beg for you. But you're here with me.

[ Stepping just a half-step closer, almost closer enough to lean in and touch foreheads. ] ...Forgive me. I spoke carelessly again.

[ The words should be reassuring, but they aren't. Astarion says things only to hurt, but Iorveth so rarely says anything that isn't honest. He fights a scowl, if only because he doesn't want Iorveth to think he's angry at him for saying what he did, although the memory disgusts him enough to make him wrinkle his nose. ]

But you wouldn't have thought to say it if there weren't some truth to it, [ he says, eyebrows raised. That must have come from somewhere, and it makes him feel ill to think that somewhere deep down Iorveth feels as if he's being used, or that Astarion thinks so little of him.

An unnecessary breath in and out, discomfort written plainly on his face before he says, in a small voice, ] I only wanted to feel important enough to you that I didn't have to ask.

[ Humiliating, childish, selfish. ]

[ Oh. There's the friction: Iorveth has always wanted someone to ask, and Astarion has always been on the side of asking. Opposite poles on a magnet. No wonder, Iorveth thinks, but the realization also guts him; gods, he must have hurt Astarion terribly. Love is a vicious, terrible thing sometimes.

Letting go of Astarion's hand, he reaches up to cup Astarion's face with two palms, thumbs smoothing at his temples. ]

It was selfish frustration on my part. It... [ A low breath. ] ...It rankled, to hear that you'd rather I beg instead of keep your best interests at heart.

But your interests aren't mine to decide. [ Even if things like "making Astarion stay in Waterdeep" might be safer for Astarion in the long run, it ignores what Astarion wants; he sees that a bit more clearly, now. ] And it's shameful that I made you feel unimportant.

[ Stroking under one red eye this time, tracing the perfect line of a well-defined cheekbone. Astarion is still shaped like something Iorveth loves unhealthily. ]

[ Astarion should take responsibility for his own feelings. Iorveth didn't make him feel unimportant, he made himself feel unimportant. But he doesn't have the emotional maturity to acknowledge that, and so instead he shrugs, a sort of nonverbal 'it's all right'. ]

I know it might be a bit shocking to hear, considering how impossibly wonderful and lovable I am—

[ Iorveth may be the only one who would ever agree with that statement. ]

But I suppose I'm a bit... [ He shifts uncomfortably, as if it's viscerally unpleasant to admit this. ] Jealous of those Aen Seidhe of yours.

[ Iorveth is everything to him, but the Aen Seidhe are everything to Iorveth. It's hard not to be jealous. ]

[ "Wonderful and lovable". Iorveth huffs a quiet laugh at the descriptors (he's not going to argue it), and leans in, finally, to bump foreheads. ]

I grew with them, and I broke with them. I shared everything with them, good and ill, until now.

[ He isn't just a part of the Aen Seidhe: he is Aen Seidhe. A concept that Astarion probably doesn't quite grasp, and one that, of everyone in their ragtag group, Lae'zel probably related to the most. (Probably the reason why she didn't kill Iorveth on sight.) ]

...The north is stabilizing. My people have a dragon watching over them, now. [ Saskia, the one he gave Henselt's head to. Saskia, who Iorveth hopes will finally bring some sort of peace to elves who have been fighting tooth and nail for it for well over a century. ] They've tired of me and my intensity, I suspect.

[ It hurts. But what doesn't? Iorveth strokes Astarion's cheek again, and settles. ]

So now, you get the brunt of it. [ A wry laugh. ] This is where most people would run screaming, you're aware.

[ At the end of the day, Astarion is weak for Iorveth. Having him near provokes an unconscious reaction, and he brushes their noses together without even thinking to. His body can't stand being close to anyone, but it wants to be close to Iorveth. Special, Astarion had called him; such a common word hardly seems to hold enough weight for what Iorveth is to him. He's a key, one that unlocked so many feelings and experiences that he thought were forever forbidden to him.

Despite Iorveth's gravitational pull tugging him closer, that last comment makes him pull away, if only by an inch. He can't properly think if his mind is filled with thoughts of closing any distance left between their mouths. ]

If I didn't know any better, I'd think you want me to run screaming.

[ It's a constant push-pull with him. Iorveth wants to be asked to stay, yet he seems determined to tell Astarion to go. ]

[ Astarion pulls away, and Iorveth tries to chase him. Instinctive on his part, as well; he didn't love being angry at someone he's come to value more than himself. ]

It's a warning, you fool. [ "You fool" drips affection. ] From here on out, you'll wish I knew the meaning of moderation.

[ Astarion can't possibly expect Iorveth to let that admission of jealousy slide, especially not after they'd spent the whole night stabbing each other with words. He traces Astarion's jaw and brushes noses again, mindful of pushback but indulging in the much-coveted closeness anyway. ]

The Woodland Fox will always watch over the Aen Seidhe, but "Iorveth" is yours. [ A hum, tired but warm. ] Yours alone.

[ Ugh, he can't help it — he has no willpower. Astarion's arms wind around Iorveth's middle, pulling him in until their bodies are flush and he can feel Iorveth's body heat. Much better. It had been cold being the object of Iorveth's displeasure. Iorveth has many virtues besides groveling for Astarion's affection, but he can't deny that it feels good to have Iorveth's warmth shine on him. ]

As I'm yours, [ he admits before touching his lips to Iorveth's, light and sweet.

It's a sentiment typically followed by some sort of caveat ('for tonight', usually, when used on a victim that he didn't expect to see tomorrow), but not now. Belonging to Cazador had made him averse to belonging to anyone at all in any way, and it does still feel a bit terrifying, but there's no point in denying what is irrevocably true. Astarion made him bleed, but it's Iorveth who really holds a knife to his neck. ]

[ Gods, if Iorveth was insane before this blowup, he's really beyond saving now. No part of him wants to own Astarion, but the thought of their fates intertwining like this is equal parts worrying and thrilling, the kind of ill-advised attachment that Iorveth will not give up now, ever.

He strokes Astarion's cheek again, slow and reverent, relishing that brief touch of lips against lips without pressing further, a little dizzy after the violent swing in mood. There are still questions on his mind, small thorns that may need plucking in the future ("you said you're awful, you aren't")― later. He wants to remember all of this first: that sweet touch, the terrifying confession. ]

Come to bed with me, [ he murmurs, sifting fingers through Astarion's hair. ] ...I'd intended to go out during the day, but I've changed my mind.

[ Now he just wants to stay and hold Astarion for a long while, and maybe brush his hair after they nap, and feel bad about making him feel bad. Like trying to pet a cat after one's stepped on its tail: "I'm sorry, I won't do that again."

One last soft touch, tracing the point of Astarion's ear, and Iorveth steps back. ]

[ The person who makes him the angriest is also the person he most wants to be with when the fight is over, so he doesn't resist, although perhaps he should. It would be selfless to tell Iorveth that he'll be all right, that he should go out in the sun while he can, but as has been established time and time again, Astarion is not selfless.

He settles on the bed, body sinking slightly into the soft mattress, and tugs Iorveth toward him, atop him. A rare thing; he usually hates the feeling of being trapped underneath somebody, but not now. Not only is it a concession he feels is necessary to make, but he wants to feel Iorveth's weight on him, to know that he isn't going anywhere. ]

You must know, my dear, your virtues are near endless.

[ Still caught on that. He can't bear the thought that Iorveth ever feels as if his virtues aren't seen. ]

[ Pulled onto the bed, Iorveth waits for their positions to flip―

―and feels heartsick when it doesn't, when Astarion allows him to stay where he is, weight bearing down on Astarion's chest, pinning him without compromise onto the mattress. Iorveth is aware of the thorny shield that Cazador has forced Astarion to make around the concept of intimacy, how another warm body was made to be something to grit one's teeth and bear instead of enjoy; to be permitted something that Iorveth knows Astarion finds invasive is...

...well, it's huge. He almost misses the verbal addendum entirely, but it, too, is as sweet as the gesture, and it makes him heartsick all over again as he rolls onto his semi-side (as grateful as he is for the trust, having an oversized man fully crushing you is never comfortable) and gathers Astarion to his chest, curling around him with protective limbs and posture. ]

Only you would think so, [ he finally replies. ] But I only wish you to think so of me.

[ Like. What virtues. But also, if Astarion sees them, that's all he needs.

He presses kisses to Astarion's hair, his temple, his cheek. ]

My beloved. ...Not a single thing about you is "awful". [ If they're going to talk about things they're caught on. ]

[ Proof of Iorveth's many virtues: that he's still able to shower Astarion in affection after he treated him so, well, awfully. Astarion objectively doesn't deserve it, but unlike Iorveth, he has no intention of warning him off. He'd rather bask in the undeserved attention, pressing a kiss to the strong bridge of Iorveth's nose. ]

I know. I'm wonderful.

[ It's a brush-off, because he is awful in so many ways, but he doesn't want to argue that Iorveth should think badly of him. (Another awful quality of his. He'd rather Iorveth see him through rose-colored glasses than see him as he truly is.)

A change in subject, lest Iorveth think too long on it and decide that he is awful, actually: ] What were you planning to leave the tower for?

[ Petting Astarion like an oversized cat, with fingers tangled in soft curls tickling the back of Astarion's neck. Iorveth likes this feeling, of not knowing where he ends and where Astarion begins.

The question of what he was planning to do, though. A brief pause, here, anticipating a not-great reaction to the answer, but he answers truthfully. ]

I'd planned to do some research on Athkatla. [ All that song and dance, and he really had planned on going with Astarion from the start. Yes, he could have just said so. No, he didn't. The rudest elf in Toril. ] Find a map, at least.

[ Chronically unable not to plan. Even now, he's spinning webs. ]

I'd also wanted to see if I could find someone to relay a message to Saskia. She'd told me not to hurry back, but she should be expecting me anyway. [ Again: resident unhinged elf was going to lay the groundwork for sticking to his vampire like glue. He really could have said so from the start. ]

Darling.

[ It's difficult to muster up indignance when he's cozy, surrounded by Iorveth's warmth, and being petted gently. He does try, but his expression ends up more of a juvenile pout, annoyed that Iorveth would put him through all of that when he'd intended to come along from the start. He could have just said something before Astarion decided to use his words as daggers! It would have saved him so much brooding time. ]

What if I had never asked?

[ He hadn't been planning on it. He'd been so offended by the suggestion that Iorveth might not come along by default that he'd made himself determined to allow Iorveth to leave for the sake of his pride, no matter how unpleasant the thought.

Obviously, he'd been a little irrational. ]

[ It really was ninety percent Iorveth's fault, for not telling Astarion outright and also for phrasing the hypothetical as "what if I didn't go" instead of literally anything else. But Iorveth is also, if nothing else, a drama king, and that's a dangerous thing to be when one's favorite person is a theater kid.

Case in point. ] If we hadn't quarreled? [ An understatement about a slapfight that was almost a breakup, but. You know. ] I would have chosen to go with you regardless.

[ Plainly. Again, he realizes that this is probably not the best thing to hear after they'd spent the last twelve hours trying to bite each other's head off, but he makes no move to do anything other than tangling his legs with Astarion's and massaging his scalp with the pads of his fingers. ]

[ He should be furious. Iorveth let him stew in all of that unpleasantness and blow up in a way that he'll certainly be embarrassed about tomorrow, when all along, it hadn't even mattered -- Iorveth was always going to be there regardless, and he knew it. Somehow, though, his love-addled brain manages to find this endearing. Iorveth is a drama queen who made him suffer for no reason, but Iorveth also loves him enough that he always intended to stay. How romantic!

He still has his pride, though, so he's sure to grouse, ] You unbearable man.

[ He's still nestled against Iorveth's body, very much bearing him. ]

You let me think you would rather dance naked in the forest with wood elves [ --or, you know, whatever the Aen Seidhe do-- ] than stay by my side.

The Aen Seidhe don't "dance naked". [ Because that's the important thing here, right. That said, he knows what Astarion means, so he presses another kiss to his forehead, resting his lips there for a good few moments. Drinking him in. ] But I would rather stay clothed and in bed with you than watch pricks dangle in the night, yes.

[ His mouth travels down to Astarion's cheek, then to the corner of his mouth. Iorveth considers whether or not he would be allowed a proper kiss, but is interrupted, again, by Gale and his immaculate timing, his friendly voice cutting through their hushed conversation with almost comedic ignorance:

"Iorveth! I've made some breakfast, if you'd care to join me. My omelettes are looking quite fluffy this morning, if I may say so myself."

A low sigh, not quite sharp enough to sound annoyed. ]

If I pretend to be trancing, he might bring a tray up like a good housewife.

Edited 2025-02-11 14:32 (UTC)

[ Astarion would prefer if Iorveth just stayed here in bed with him, kissing him and stroking his hair, but he's already been selfish enough today. The smell of Gale's cooking wafts up the stairs, and even Astarion has to admit that it smells enticing, although it's nothing compared to the smell of fresh blood. Iorveth deserves a nice breakfast. Astarion has watched him scarf down enough food to know that. ]

Go, if you want.

[ That's what he says, anyway, although his body language tells a different story, fingers curling into the fabric of Iorveth's shirt. ]

I'll still be here, being tempting.

[ As usual. ]

[ Iorveth's stomach growls; only natural, since he's still alive. But he watches Astarion and feels the fingers in his shirt, remembers the revelation that Astarion isn't a fan of asking. Exhausted himself of it, probably.

(Another twist of Iorveth's gut; did he sound at all like Cazador, demanding something that he might eventually take away? Monstrous, disgusting.)

Leaning in, he takes the tip of Astarion's ear in his mouth, and nibbles at it lightly. ]

I'll take my chances with the tray, I think.

[ Another call from below: "Iorveth? Are you asleep?" (If he was before, he certainly wouldn't be now, with the way Gale is hollering.) Tara's voice echoes soon thereafter: "Mr. Dekarios, don't be so loud. I can go see to him if you're so afraid of your eggs browning."

Iorveth breathes a half-laugh. ] Mother is coming.

[ His perfect man, staying despite being told otherwise. Astarion can hardly believe he was blackout angry at him only minutes ago. That won't be a problem, though; now that they've cleared the air, he's certain it won't ever happen again. It isn't like they're deeply unhealthy or anything.

Astarion makes a sound that's somewhere between a laugh and a scoff. ]

Tara is fond of you, you know.

[ Perhaps it's a wood elf thing, the connection to nature that makes all animals friendly toward him. Or maybe it's just that Tara can see Iorveth's innate goodness shining out, the same way Astarion can. ]

...You've a way with cats.

[ "I certainly hope I didn't just hear you refer to me with such a term," comes Tara's indignant voice as she flutters through the doorway. ]

[ Surely nothing terrible will ever happen again to the two of them, and they'll navigate their future journey sanely and safely without conflict. Surely.

In the meantime: Tara. In an effort to be somewhat polite (?) to the tressym, Iorveth rolls and sits up, sliding along soft bedsheets so that he has his back to the headboard with Astarion still tucked against his chest. The usual position, with Astarion draped like a silver vampire-shaped blanket over Iorveth's body. ]

Tara. [ An implicit correction. Not a cat, yes, they know. She has a name!!! ] Magnanimous of you, to allow Gale to use you as an envoy.

[ Their visitor flaps onto the edge of the bed, where she stretches her wings with avian-feline grace. "Mr. Dekarios can get quite ambitious about breakfast. But considering his talent in the kitchen, you should consider yourself lucky to be invited to his table."

Protective, Iorveth thinks. The epitome of "I'm allowed to bully him, but not you." Kind of reminds him of someone, actually. (Ha ha.)

"I think we may even have some blood sausage in the pantry," she continues. ]

[ Their positions now reversed, Astarion doesn't follow Iorveth's lead in shifting onto his side. He enjoys crushing Iorveth under his weight (and also, how dare you suggest he weighs that much!). Sprawled across Iorveth's body, he closes his eyes and ignores Tara entirely until she mentions blood (sausage), at which point he cracks a singular eye open. ]

Wonderful. We'll take breakfast in bed.

[ All of Tara's fur-feathers stand on end in offense. "Well, it seems Mr. Dekarios isn't the only one who's forgotten his manners!" she huffs. "Breakfast will be served downstairs at the table, as is proper."

That's what she says, anyway, but Astarion gets the sense that she doesn't want to see Gale eating alone at an empty table. ]

Gale could come join us here.

[ A waist around Astarion's waist, fingers still tracing soft curls. Iorveth is still exceedingly comfortable in his current position, and now, with Astarion pressed against him and on top of him, he's also in no position to move unless he coaxes Astarion off.

Which, Tara may notice, Iorveth is not doing. She narrows her eyes at the both of them, and Iorveth can swear that she understands how respectful it is that he isn't dislodging a content feline from his lap.

"This is Gale's house, and you should really abide by his rules," she finally decides. Using Gale instead of Mr. Dekarios― she must really be serious. "I'm sure you two have enjoyed each other all night, and have some time for the man who'll spend all day looking into your affairs."

Iorveth could laugh about "enjoyed each other all night": more like "tried to kill each other all night", actually. But he doesn't say that, and presses his lips to the crown of Astarion's head. ]

I'll go where you go, [ he murmurs, slyly. ]

[ 'I'll go where you go.' Iorveth is being so very sweet that Astarion really doesn't want to go; he'd rather stay here, pressing Iorveth into the mattress and kissing all over his face until he can't think straight. He supposes there is some merit to what Tara has to say, though: Gale will be looking into his affairs all day, and he's been remarkably helpful already. Sitting at the breakfast table is probably the least Astarion can do to repay him.

So, with considerable effort, he shifts off of Iorveth and onto his back, immediately scowling at the loss of Iorveth's warmth against his skin. ]

Fine. I'd hate to deprive Gale of his opportunity to play host.

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