essea | [ ELVES CATCHALL POST. ]

[ It's fine if Astarion is a little smooth-brained, because he's so eminently charming (citation needed). Iorveth's love-drunk mind interprets Astarion's whimsical lack of consideration as a positive counterbalance to his own overactive paranoia; there's something flattering about being on the receiving end of Astarion's unplanned affection. At the very least, it feels honest and unfiltered.

Instead of balking at "mine forever"― which he might have, back when they were still figuring each other out― Iorveth leans into it, his own arms wrapping around Astarion's shoulders. By now, Iorveth has learned to interpret these casual (?) claims of ownership more as declarations of devotion rather than anything truly worrying.

(Delusional, perhaps.) ]

The Aen Seidhe can make jewelry. [ A light huff, harmlessly defensive about his culture again. ] I don't miss our tadpoles, but I should have used them more as tools for teaching before we got rid of them.

[ He could've beamed centuries of wood elf history directly into Astarion's brainfolds to stop him from dunking on them so often!!! Smh. ]

[ Even if Iorveth beamed wood elf history directly into his brain, Astarion would probably only have retained a quarter of it, if that. History is boring, and Astarion doesn't like to think about things that are boring.

It's a relief, though, to hear that the Aen Seidhe apparently have at least some eye for aesthetics, although he questions whether their jewelry could ever be as nice as the big honking diamonds on display in a Baldurian shop window. Iorveth would probably think so. Something about Aen Seidhe jewelry being 'understated' or 'elegant'. Personally, Astarion only cares if it's shiny. ]

Ooh, professor.

[ Coming for Gale's brand in his own tower? Heinous. ]

I only regret not using them for more dirty things.

[ As long as they're reminiscing about tadpoles!! ]

[ Speaking of smooth-brained (affectionate). A visible roll of his eye, and Iorveth walks them backwards to the foot of their curiously clean and well-made bed (magic?), sitting on the edge of the mattress with Astarion in tow. ]

Dirty. Passing along mental images of holding hands and me calling you my love in public, I expect.

[ A very rude callout on Iorveth's part: "you're not actually depraved, you just like to pretend you are." Iorveth, the worst elf in the world, loves Astarion more than anything, but also has holds very little belief in the notion of Astarion being a freaky little gremlin like himself. ]

Perhaps even passing along the scandalous desire to cuddle on a couch. Very deviant.

[ So Iorveth says, as if he wouldn't have peaced out mid-mission if Astarion had sincerely beamed him a desire to cuddle. A clown. ]

[ Yes, holding hands still feels dirtier than any deviant thing he's ever done. It's so intimate. Emotionally. Gods, the thought would fluster him if he thought about it too long. And, yes, maybe Iorveth has unlocked a heretofore unknown—a heretofore unthinkable—love of cuddling. Perhaps he's found that he quite likes chaste touch, when it's the right person doing it.

But it's very offensive for Iorveth to act as if he isn't even a little bit depraved. If Iorveth were to be believed, one would think he's downright vanilla.

He flops back on the mattress, limbs sprawled out lazily. ]

Or I could have watched you touch yourself through your eyes.

[ You know, after all the cuddling stuff. ]

[ It's good to watch Astarion sprawl. Iorveth makes a mental note to get him another indoors robe to lounge in, because― freaky as he thinks he is― Iorveth would still choose Astarion looking snug and comfortable over lounging around naked and in thigh-high boots.

Which isn't to say that he wouldn't like seeing the latter, too. A snort, and Iorveth reaches over to comb fingers through silver hair. ]

You could do that now, though I'd doubt it'd be interesting. [ It's quite literally just his cock and his hand. Not fine art. ] The novelty of the tadpole would have been being able to see me thinking of you throughout.

[ Iorveth's rather expansive Astarion Fantasy Bank. Fun for him, probably not so much for Astarion. ]

[ Astarion happens to find Iorveth's cock and his hand very fine art — perhaps his hand even more than his cock, lovely as it is. He'll love those hands even more with a handsome ring on Iorveth's long, tapered finger, he thinks. Still, Iorveth is right that the novelty would have been being inside Iorveth's mind, not just watching it happen.

He wonders, idly, if that sort of thing feels different to a living person. It's been so long since he was one that he can barely remember. ]

What would you think about?

[ Narcissist. He totally wants to hear about how hot Iorveth thinks he is. ]

[ Another snort, another callout: ] Fishing.

[ In this context, though, Iorveth doesn't mind. No point being coy about the fact that he's jerked it to Astarion more than a few times, during those absent stretches of time when Lae'zel'd commandeered Astarion for missions that took him outside of Elfsong for a few days.

He thinks about those times, humming lightly. ] Mm. What did I think about. [ Not "would", "did". ] Your long legs, definitely. Your cute ass.

[ To the tone of "sue me". ]

Your mouth. Your voice, the way your fangs show when you laugh. The way your skin warms after I touch you. [ He really could go on. He thumbs along Astarion's earlobe, enjoying the softness of it. ] Idle fantasies, harmless and lurid.

That's hardly lurid.

[ At least imagine him flogging you or something, damn. Astarion rolls his eyes, laughing. ]

It's downright wholesome.

[ Not that he's particularly upset by it--it does feel nice to be adored enough that Iorveth would think about his laugh of all things--but it is rather hypocritical, coming from someone who claims to be so much more depraved than Astarion could ever be. His voice. No, not lurid at all. Sweet all the same. ]

I thought about your fingers.

[ Not many times. Just a few, when it felt safer to imagine such things instead of actually participate in them. ]

[ A reciprocal huff, indicating that he left out the more obviously lurid things on purpose. Iorveth is certainly no prude about sex or physical intimacy, but Astarion has had two centuries of being regarded in those terms; Iorveth is still cautious about painting him with that well-used brush.

The mention of his fingers are nice, though. His lips quirk up, and the idle touch along one pointed ear glides up, back into soft curls and then down along the outline of Astarion's cheek, pressing bow-shaped calluses to smooth skin. ]

You do seem to like being pet. [ His voice lilts, affection bleeding into the teasing. ] My sweet cat.

[ Tracing under Astarion's bottom lip, feeling how his mouth is slightly warmer than the rest of him. ]

Was it while I was away taking care of the hag? [ He can only think of two times when they spent a significant amount of time being apart in the city; the House of Hope (when Lae'zel took Astarion and not Iorveth), and running around trying to put an end to Ethel (when Wyll and Karlach took Iorveth, but not Astarion). Iorveth is still a little bitter about not having been around to dunk on Raphael, actually. ]

[ He does like being petted, and so what! A gentle touch is novel and wonderful, and he's found himself quickly growing addicted to it. Anyone can take what they want from someone, roughly and without remorse, but it takes someone special to treat someone with kindness.

But he is a cat, as Iorveth said, and only a sweet one in Iorveth's eyes. He nips at the finger beneath his lip, playful. Not enough to actually draw blood, but enough to graze his fangs against the skin. He knows Iorveth is a freak who likes that sort of thing. As much as he praises Astarion for sweetness, he has the feeling that Iorveth would be disappointed were he to be truly defanged.

It's another thing he likes about Iorveth. He never has to worry if the monstrous parts of him are too monstrous for Iorveth. ]

Why? So you can picture it in vivid detail when you're lonely?

[ Definitely a freak, who doesn't shy away from putting a little bit of pain into his pleasure. Shapely fangs threaten to break his skin, and he goes ahead and pushes the proverbial knife into his own neck; he presses the pad of his thumb to that serrated point, drawing a drop of blood that he then rakes along the same bottom lip. ]

Obviously.

[ Wary of treading close to objectification territory, but willing to admit that Astarion is like, super hot. ]

Maybe I'll use these fingers you like so much and fuck myself with them. Thinking of you all the while.

[ Crude, but entirely within the realm of things he'd do if he missed Astarion. Iorveth wonder how long it'd take to get himself to that point, whether it would be weeks or only a handful of days. ]

[ He loves when Iorveth is sweet and entirely un-lurid, but he's delighted when Iorveth is crude, too. Iorveth doesn't lie to him, wouldn't ever lie to him, he thinks, and so any vulgarity from his lips is far from the half-hearted dirty talk Astarion used to employ. It's Iorveth, pure and unfiltered, and, well, there's nothing he loves more than Iorveth.

The thought is pleasing because he enjoys the thought of Iorveth bringing himself pleasure while thinking of nothing but him—mine forever, as he'd said—but also because it's stupidly, lizard-brain hot. He does like those fingers, in his hair and tracing his lip. And he'd like them very, very much inside Iorveth. No one said he couldn't objectify.

Astarion licks the blood off of his lip, savoring the taste. ]

I'd rather you did that where I could see.

You would, wouldn't you.

[ Amused. A weird thing, still, to wrap his mind around the fact that Astarion finds him appealing in a physical way. It's not that he believes the ugly human voices seared into his brain more than he believes Astarion, but it's wild that Astarion chose him out of all the objectively hot people who occupied their camp for all those tendays. ]

I've a feeling you enjoy it when I'm out of my mind for you.

[ No extraneous thoughts, only singleminded desire. One more sweep of his blood-tinged thumb to Astarion's lips, and Iorveth retracts his touch. Still sitting up to Astarion's lazy sprawl, watching him from his vantage point with clear affection in his sharp green eye. ]

[ Turning onto his side, Astarion snatches that hand right back. Demanding, like—to use Iorveth's favorite metaphor—a cat shoving its head back under your hand, desperate for affection. He strokes Iorveth's knuckles with his thumb, basking in Iorveth's gaze.

He usually doesn't like to be looked at, honestly. Too easy to read maleficence in a stranger's gaze. There's never anything harmful in Iorveth's gaze, though; it feels warm, like lazing in the sunlight. ]

I enjoy emptying out that too-full mind of yours.

[ It's bursting at the seams. A wonder the tadpole even fit in there, crammed in his brain with all of Iorveth's other thoughts. ]

...And I do rather like it when you're out of your mind.

[ Cute. Iorveth lets Astarion have that hand, reciprocating the exploratory touches with an occasional tickle of his fingertips or two. He doesn't wonder if Astarion was fine with being touched in the great void of pre-Cazador, if he was as affectionate and catlike with his partners before a cruel tyrant robbed him of his autonomy― it crosses his mind, but it's swept aside by the claim that Astarion kind of likes it when Iorveth is braindead and horny.

So. Braindead it is. The mattress creaks underneath them as Iorveth leans sideways and down to kiss Astarion's temple, ridiculously chaste in direct opposition to their subject of conversation. ]

I know you do. You like it when I beg.

[ Understandable. His sweet cat also likes to be a bit of a control freak, and that, Iorveth can concede, is probably where Astarion can get a little deviant. ]

You do that to me, you know. You've made it so that I can't have pleasure if you're not involved.

[ Sex is sex, but he has a feeling that he won't be able to get it up for anyone but Astarion anymore― which isn't a problem, given that he didn't really listen to his libido before Astarion rudely (citation needed) woke it back up again. ]

[ He very much does like to hear Iorveth beg. Maybe it's some sort of fucked up trauma response, a way to feel powerful after centuries of being the one made to beg. Maybe it's just hot. Like most things, Astarion really doesn't intend to examine it closer than he has to.

The suggestion that Astarion has ruined him for all others makes him laugh, rolling his eyes a little. It's ridiculous, of course. As much as Astarion likes to think that Iorveth would pine for him for the rest of his life if they separated, surely someone else would eventually catch his eye.

They wouldn't ever be able to love Iorveth as much as Astarion does, though, so: ]

Good.

[ So maybe he is a bit of a control freak. Whatever. He lets his thumb wander to Iorveth's ring finger, tracing circles on the skin. ]

I plan to make you beg for centuries to come, and I'd loathe competition.

[ To that, a full-on laugh. ]

Trust me when I say, beloved, that you won't have any.

[ Literally who is lining up to get a piece of a deranged elf with deep-seated neuroses... no one, that's who. Iorveth said it before, back on that bench in the bard-infested square: he's difficult. Too sharp, too stubborn. Most people think of Halsin when they think of wood elves, open and warm-hearted, and Iorveth is.

Well, he's this. Weird and prickly and intense. Hard to get along with. But it's what Astarion said he likes, so Iorveth is fine with it. ]

But I can promise that, centuries from now, you'd still have me begging for you. That's also a certainty.

[ Certain things might lose their novelty, but Iorveth doubts that he'll ever get used to how Astarion makes him feel. It still takes him off-guard, even now, when Astarion looks at him a certain way, laughs a certain way, touches him a certain way. ]

[ Astarion hates that Iorveth sees himself as so terribly undesirable. He likes to think he has very good taste, so if he loves this deranged terrorist, surely others would, too. It's funny; he certainly doesn't want to compete with anyone else, but he does want the world to recognize how singularly wonderful Iorveth is. Two wolves inside him. ]

Mm, I don't know about no competition.

[ There are dozens of people attracted to insane one-eyed elves, certainly. Besides, Iorveth had told him once that 'sometimes I even fuck'. He can't imagine someone ever getting the chance to be intimate with Iorveth and not becoming obsessed with him.

Then again, he is a special case. He was obsessed with Iorveth before all of that. ]

Besides, I've heard a ring makes a man more attractive.

[ Incredulous: ] More than you are now? Gods save us all.

[ Because Iorveth intends to return the favor, a ring for Astarion to match the ring for himself. He's noticed that Astarion hasn't been saying much about a reciprocal gesture, and maybe that's intentional― maybe he's not comfortable with putting a band around himself yet, real or perceived― but Iorveth would be lying if he said that he wasn't considering it at all.

So. A heavy implication that he won't be the only one with an occupied finger. Iorveth finally lowers himself down next to Astarion, loosely wrapping an arm around his middle to draw closer. Natural as breathing. ]

I'll have to swat flies left and right. [ Burying his face in Astarion's neck, kissing up where a human's pulse point would be. Some people might find the silence under pale skin eerie, but this is Iorveth's new normal. ]

[ He adores the idea of Iorveth wearing a physical reminder of his commitment, but it wouldn't be truthful if he said the idea of binding himself to another person again isn't a little daunting.

Iorveth is entirely different than Cazador, of course. The thought of being stuck with Cazador for eternity had filled him with dread, but eternity with Iorveth is nothing but desirable. It's just-- well, he generally prefers to do the marking rather than being marked. He doesn't have very good experiences with it, after all. ]

Mm, [ he says, craning his neck to allow Iorveth more of it like a creature enjoying its petting. Which is what he is, he supposes, in its most technical sense. ]

...Will the ring be very shiny?

[ Important to know before he makes any decisions!! ]

[ More featherlight kisses, ending with a quick peck to the jut of Astarion's jaw. Iorveth decides to stay there, his voice a little muffled where he still has his mouth pressed to cool skin. ]

I'll ask Halsin to carve you a ring, and I'll polish it until it shines.

[ Joking!!! Joking. Iorveth didn't ask Gale to fund his gifts, and he would never trust Halsin (affectionate) (derogatory) (affectionate) to make him a ring for Astarion to wear. He just wants the prospect to feel less overwhelming for Astarion, if that's how he feels about reciprocal gestures; they can stagger band exchanges, it's not like Iorveth respects clerical tradition anyway (derogatory).

The arm around Astarion's waist squeezes gently. It's crazy how much he likes this vampire-shaped magpie-cat. ]

It'll be after we get you your cloak, though.

[ Gale mentioned something in passing about someone being able to transfer the effects of the cloak to something less obtrusive to wear. Pretty much the only thing Iorveth retained from all the yapping (affectionate) about the important woman or other at the opera. ]

Edited 2025-04-14 00:46 (UTC)

[ Gods. Astarion also doesn't trust Halsin to carve a ring for him. No offense (full offense), but he and Halsin have very different ideas of fashion. The man wears leaves on his shoulders, for the gods' sake. This ring is presumably something he'll wear forever (which, for him, really means forever) and he certainly isn't going to do such a thing if it's ugly.

Gently stroking Iorveth's hair: ] Of course. I wouldn't want it to clash.

[ Since he's expecting to also wear this cloak forever. He absolutely didn't retain anything Gale said, as is typical for him. Besides, pushing it out to after the cloak is acquired lets him get used to the idea. Prepare for it, emotionally.

A beat, and then: ]

—The tattoo.

[ He'd meant to follow up on the idea, really, but then Iorveth had given him gifts and he'd been so overwhelmed with happiness and affection, and then immediately after they got in their hundredth argument of the past tenday. He was distracted. ]

[ There is still the looming possibility that the Cloak of Dragomir is incredibly ugly, and if so, Astarion is in for a wild ride. What if it, too, has leaves on the shoulders... a harrowing thought (for Astarion, not for Iorveth).

The tattoo, though. Iorveth has also completely forgotten about it in the aftermath of him acting like a moron (self-admitted), which makes him sit up from where he'd nestled against Astarion's neck. Like a dog stirring at the sound of a squirrel. ]

―Slipped my mind completely. [ Congratulations to Astarion Ancunín: the only man who could make Iorveth forget something that he'd planned. ] I suppose we could still find ink in Athkatla. Seems the place for it.

[ As long as the ink isn't laced with, like, poison or something. Iorveth is a wood eld, and as much as he pushes back against some unflattering perceptions of his people, he is, in fact, still hippy-dippy about certain things. Like using natural ink to carve patterns in his skin. ]

[ Astarion reaches out to draw Iorveth back to him. Childish, really, and selfish. Iorveth bemoaned his sharpness as a reason that he's difficult to love, but Astarion is as egocentric and greedy as they come — far harder to love than a wood elf who scowls a little too much. (And besides, Astarion likes Iorveth's scowl as long as it isn't directed at him.)

Still, he doesn't make any effort to appear less of a gluttonous juvenile, taking Iorveth's head in his hands and pressing it back into the crook of his neck. ]

Yes, a city of iniquity does seem like it would have a tattoo parlor on every street corner.

[ Alongside the shady taverns and gambling dens. Overwhelming, just as Iorveth had said. If Waterdeep is difficult for him, Athkatla will be far worse. ]

Darling. Say you don't regret agreeing to go.

[ Again, selfish. ]

[ Effectively tugged. The insistence reads a bit like a child protesting having his favorite toy confiscated, and while that might have rankled before－ "I'm a free elf, not a thing for you to keep"－ Iorveth can appreciate that he said some rude shit tonight that might have made Astarion slightly paranoid about the state of Iorveth's headspace.

(The rational voice in Iorveth's head, the one that sounds a little like Jaheira, warns him not to coddle, but it's contained within the single brain cell that he's allowed himself to have for the night. Not very loud, unfortunately.) ]

Why would I regret agreeing?

[ Yes, he has business in the north, but no one up there has reached out to him to tell him to hurry back. The opposite, even. Even Ciaran had told him to take a vacation before he'd left Baldur's Gate, so. Iorveth supposes that this is the not-so-vacation he's chosen to go on.

Pressed close, Iorveth nudges his nose under Astarion's chin. ]

I'd not deprive myself of a chance to see your needs met. I want you to be happy.

[ And, well. Iorveth never does anything that he doesn't want to do, or see value in doing. He can only ever be himself. ]

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject