essea | [ ELVES CATCHALL POST. ]

[ His purse full of (Gale's) gold is his second greatest treasure. Iorveth is still his first, and yes, part of the reason he holds on so tightly--claws digging in and all--is thanks to two centuries' worth of neuroses, but that doesn't make Iorveth any less precious. He could have chosen anyone to get attached to, but he chose a deranged wood elf terrorist.

A deranged wood elf terrorist who looks unbearably cute with his ears turning red. Astarion reaches up to stroke them with his thumbs, feeling their warmth. ]

He knows I can't resist the idea of him naked and dripping.

[ Look!! Two hundred years of indifference at best and disgust at worst toward being naked with someone means that he's allowed to be obsessed with the first person he actually feels an attraction toward. ]

My love gets what my love wants, [ is an echo from days ago, soft and fond. ]

[ Again, the stroking to his ears feels nice. They're a point (ha) of pride, despite all the ways in which humans have derided the shape of his cartilage: he hasn't let many touch them because of it, almost as a defense mechanism, so it's good to trust someone enough to handle that sensitive spot.

A low sound of contentment, and Iorveth nuzzles up against the side of Astarion's face before tapping the small of his back. ]

Then I'll ready the bath. [ Not much to do since the tub is already full and enchanted to be warm, but whatever. ] Let the staff know that no one's to come into our room during the day, will you?

[ This place seems like it'd have people who'd try to clean their rooms every day, not that Iorveth has ever stayed anywhere so opulent; he has, however, been in the presence of people who were royalty-adjacent. Unexpected visitors, too, are a no-go, especially if they have red eyes.

So. Astarion gets bullying duty. Before he slides out from under Astarion's weight, Iorveth makes sure to kiss another mark on his neck, one that'll last a few minutes this time around. In case anyone still had doubts about Masters Blackmane, plural. ]

[ It's very difficult to tear himself away when Iorveth is sucking so enticingly on his neck—suddenly, he understands the appeal of having a vampire suckling at one's throat—but he does so, and quite valiantly, he thinks. One last peck for good measure, and he stands to leave, although not without throwing a glance behind his back at Iorveth. ]

You know how I love to order around servants.

[ Which he happens to think everyone in the world is. It's Astarion's world, and the rest of its inhabitants are simply living in it!

And in an instant he's off, pulling on his shoes to go clomp downstairs and do some bossing around. The Masters Blackmane will positively not be disturbed during sunlight hours! ]

[ Astarion "no one will ever treat me like a servant again" Ancunín, also Astarion "everyone around me are my servants" Ancunín. Iorveth is too far gone to feel annoyed by that particular bit of hypocrisy, and will let Astarion do whatever he likes while he sets up the bath (the water turns purple once he puts the bath salts in, because of course it does). Wine uncorked with two glasses sitting on the edge of the spacious pool, he makes the executive decision to wade in first and soak preemptively. A fox that likes water, who would've guessed.

Meanwhile, back down at the lobby, the staff are beginning to form varying opinions about Master Blackmane (the handsome one). "Pompous" gets thrown around once or twice. If Astarion cares to notice, there's a rather good-looking tiefling with long, dark hair and ruby-red eyes nursing a drink at the inn's open bar, tracking Astarion's movements from across the hall with an expression of bemusement and confusion.

In the bath, Iorveth has a sip of vintage red. ]

[ Astarion can hear the staff grumbling under their breath, but he doesn't let it faze him. You'd do well to stay in House Blackmane's good graces, he tells them. We're quite a prominent family in Cormyr. And, on the way back to the stairs, he adds, What are you looking at? Buy a portrait, it'll last longer.

Astarion really is awful when speaking to anyone who isn't Iorveth, and the anonymity of 'Master Blackmane' only bolsters his ego. He returns upstairs in a flurry of silver, kicking off his boots again after he closes the door. He makes his way to the tub, standing before it with his hands on his hips disapprovingly.

With a huff: ] I wanted to sensually undress you.

[ As much as he enjoys the sight... unfair. ]

Edited (got back on my computer and saw the horrors of phone tagging) 2025-04-24 00:45 (UTC)

[ Iorveth, lounging with his forearms resting on the edge of the pool, chin on damp skin and wet bangs sticking to his face: ]

You said you wanted to see me naked and dripping.

[ So, here he is. Relaxed, tan skin slightly flushed from warm bathwater, sharp edges filed down enough to make him look less like an unhinged terrorist and a little (just a little) more like what most people would expect a wood elf to look like.

Light-purple waves ripple around him as he sits up and moves to pour Astarion a glass, and beckons for him to undress and get in. ] Did you make sure that all of Athkatla will fear the House Blackmane?

[ Astarion crosses his arms. Yes, he did say he wanted to see Iorveth naked and dripping, but obviously he wanted to unwrap him first! With a petulant pout, he gets to ridding himself of his (Gale's) shirt, pulling it over his head. Afterward, he smooths down his hair just in case it got mussed. ]

Of course. Who do you think I am?

[ Maybe one day, the world will fear the House Ancunín, too. He'd hoped for it, back when ascension was still on his mind, but it seems a very faraway goal now. Certainly, no one fears his power now.

He unlaces his trousers next, letting them and his smallclothes pool around his ankles before stepping out and sinking into the water next to Iorveth. ]

Do you remember that first night we visited the bathhouse in Baldur's Gate? You refused to sleep with me. It was very rude of you.

[ There's strength in being a walking deterrent, even if it perpetuates certain cycles of violence. Iorveth, a nightmare elf that certain humans in the north speak about in hushed tones and through grit teeth, would know.

That said, he's very 'Iorveth NoLastname' right now, and not very 'Woodland Fox'. The burning inferno of his rage and indignation is a nice campfire in his chest, subsumed by cotton-soft affection that he wraps, unashamedly, around Astarion like an elf-shaped cloak. Water displaces around him as he closes the space between them, nothing polite or guarded about the gesture. ]

I doubt we'd be here now if I'd slept with you then.

[ Iorveth can't even imagine what that would have been like. Iorveth would have felt nothing about it, Astarion would have been disgusted by it, and they probably wouldn't have spoken to each other after. ]

You were irritatingly beautiful that night, though. I resented it.

[ 'I resented you,' he doesn't say, although it's true. He'd resented Iorveth for being able to reject him, being able to reject anyone at all. Iorveth had had the principles and power to choose who he wanted to be with, things Astarion had never had. He'd felt like the most disgusting, pathetic wretch on Toril watching someone exert their autonomy like that. ]

Yes, well—

[ He shrugs. ]

I suppose you thought me a very beautiful idiot, back then.

[ Still beautiful, though! ]

I did have fun that night, though. [ Despite the rejection. Despite everything, really. ] You know, I think I was already fond of you and didn't know it.

[ Iorveth doesn't refute "idiot". He'd thought Astarion to be insincere at best, malicious at worst－ looking for an opportunity to twist Iorveth's arm and make him look, yes, a fool, which was a common turn of phrase back then. A man who would stop at nothing to drag Iorveth down to his level, whatever Iorveth had thought that to be.

So why the fuck did Iorveth enjoy acting a fool with Astarion? Must've been for the same reason that's just been articulated to him. He thinks about it briefly, sifting water over Astarion's bare shoulders with idle care. ]

I certainly didn't know it, either. [ A low hum, almost a chuckle. It's funny now, in hindsight. ] I'd assumed you just wanted to pull the rug out from under me.

Which is why you had to tell me to kiss you, that first time.

[ "I will kill you if you laugh at me", another common sentiment that Iorveth'd infused into every single one of his glares. ] But I'd thought about it, even before you demanded it.

—I didn't demand it.

[ Well. Maybe a little, but he had no other choice. Even after sharing a bed, stabbing each other a little, and Astarion's suggestion that Iorveth be his kept elf in his fancy castle, Iorveth had still been acting stupid. Like he couldn't believe that someone would ever even want to kiss him. Astarion had still been vacillating between love and hate at that time, endlessly curious and endeared against his will, but also terribly distrustful and constantly irritated by the things he had found less-than-perfect about Iorveth's personality. (He wishes he could go back in time and punch himself a few times for ever thinking Iorveth wasn't perfect.)

Facing Iorveth properly, he points an accusatory finger. ]

I just thought that, well, you weren't going to do it. Ever.

[ And he'd been curious what it would be like. He'd thought maybe that Iorveth might be rough, forceful in all things, but he'd surprised Astarion with how gentle he'd been, how featherlight. Iorveth had been right, Astarion supposes, with his constant complaints that Astarion didn't see him clearly. ]

Honestly, with how ridiculously chastely you tranced beside me, I had suspected that you didn't have any interest in, ah, physical pleasures.

[ Narcissistic, probably. He couldn't imagine someone lying that close to him and not wanting to sleep with him. ]

[ Hilarious. Astarion lays out that he thought Iorveth uninterested in intimacy, while Iorveth looks at that accusatory finger and thinks about putting it in his mouth. A private joke for Iorveth to smile internally about, while he leans sideways against the bath-pool's edge and watches steam curl artfully around Astarion's shoulders. ]

Mm. I think I told you that I would go to a brothel if all I wanted was to bed someone pretty.

[ Incredibly rude of him, in hindsight. But it was true at the time, and it's still somewhat true now: he doesn't want Astarion because he's hot and fuckable. He is hot and fuckable, mind, but that's not why Iorveth wants him. ]

I wanted to know you. You. The man who stayed when I told him not to, the man who agreed to sharing a bed when I felt I would die from how hollow I'd felt after killing Henselt.

[ He didn't show it at the time, nor talk about it; he can admit it more freely now, comfortable with sharing these vulnerabilities with someone he keeps so close to his heart. ]

And now, I know you. [ Or, well. He likes to think. A light laugh, and he lists even more into the water, limp and relaxed. ] And wanting you is a constant state of being.

[ He'd agreed to sharing a bed after assassinating Henselt because he'd thought Iorveth wanted to do something normal like fuck. He hadn't expected to actually just share a bed. A relief in many ways, but endlessly confusing and a little offensive, actually. (Very 'I don't want to fuck you, but why don't you want to fuck me?')

A moment of watching Iorveth slack-limbed and calm, before Astarion places his water-warmed hands on his shoulders to manhandle him around, his back to Astarion's front. He wets his hands, cupping water in his palms and pouring it over Iorveth's hair. ]

Well. I thought myself uninterested in physical pleasures, too, at any rate.

[ He hadn't exactly burned with lust for Iorveth, not to begin with, and the first sparks of desire had made him feel uncomfortable, ashamed. ]

I suppose I must have enjoyed pleasures of the flesh before, [ he muses, idly. Never after Cazador, but before that. Surely he had his way with whichever good-looking person caught his eye. His disinterest in delayed gratification seems an inborn personal trait. ] It does seem like me.

[ He reaches over to grab a (purple, of course) vial from the side of the pool, opening it and sniffing it before shrugging and emptying it out into his hand. It smells clean. Good enough to wash Iorveth's hair with, Astarion thinks as he runs his soapy fingers over that lovely, dark hair. ]

But I can't remember wanting anyone before you. [ Which is perhaps more due to the fogginess of his mortal memories than anything else, but he likes to think that he would remember anyone who meant anything. He never would have forgotten Iorveth. So: ] You're the only one worth remembering, regardless.

[ The existential horror of not being able to remember oneself. Iorveth can't imagine it, as an elf who has existed, iron-gripped and bloody-clawed, around his sense of identity－ it's unthinkable, the amount of torment that had to be inflicted on someone to make them have to forget who they'd been before their torture.

It doesn't make him happy, really, to know that Astarion can't recall. Too reminiscent of haunted, gaunt elves who'd forgotten how to live after being starved and mistreated. Iorveth leans back in Astarion's hands, nuzzling into the cradle of fingers pleasantly rubbing product into his hair. ]

I'm not worth so much.

[ Astarion should have been entitled to his past. Iorveth believes that, is still convinced of that, point blank. But he understands the sentiment, and it makes him ache. ]

Whatever you can't remember, rebuild. Find what pleases you now, and let no one tell you you've not earned it.

[ Another gentle turn between Astarion's hands, ill-advisedly pressing his damp cheek to a soap-slick palm. ]

[ It's a good thing Iorveth can't see his face, because Astarion scowls at I'm not worth so much. He is, because Astarion just said he is. Slightly irritated and resisting the urge to tug on Iorveth's hair, he instead tips Iorveth back into the water to rinse off. As he brings him back up: ]

Ugh. You're lucky I don't drown you.

[ His arms sling around Iorveth's shoulders, draping over his back. Even in the heated pool, Iorveth's body feels a little warmer than his. ]

You please me.

[ In every way possible. He fits his chin against the notch between Iorveth's neck and shoulder, arms tightening around Iorveth, somewhere between 'snug affection' and 'too-tight possessiveness'. ]

I could show you just how much, if you like.

[ Iorveth suspects that Astarion might drown him, but Astarion shows him mercy this time around. It wouldn't be the worst way to go, really, held under purple water by a beloved pair of hands.

Blinking water out of his remaining eye, he reaches backwards with one bath-limp arm (after wriggling it out from under Astarion's iron squeeze) and pets silver hair, enjoying the texture of it when it's damp. ]

A foolish question. I always like.

[ Warm, relaxed, with half a glass of wine in him. Iorveth nudges and nuzzles, shaking off some of that previous moroseness to settle into less complicated, more pleasant affection. ]

Nothing makes me want to fuck more than you wanting me, incidentally. [ Blunt. ] Hilarious, that you thought I had no interest in you. I only didn't because you had no interest in me.

[ Argument rises in his throat, but it never makes it out of his mouth. 'I was interested in you' would be a lie, and they would both know it. He'd only ever propositioned Iorveth because it had felt like what he was supposed to do, the only way he knew to interact with the world. Wanting had come later, after Iorveth had turned him down enough times to bruise his ego irreparably. It had been offensive, but also strangely comforting to know that Iorveth hadn't expected—or perhaps even wanted—any physicality from him. Ironically, it wasn't until he knew that intimacy wasn't on the table that he ever wanted it.

All irrelevant. He wants it now — wants Iorveth, specifically. He hadn't ever considered that sex could be anything but a meaningless transaction between someone using and someone being used, but Iorveth taught him differently. ]

I'm interested in you now, [ is what he lands on, pressing his mouth against the skin of Iorveth's shoulder. ] Mad with lust, if you must know.

[ A grin behind Iorveth's back. He'll know it by the feeling of teeth against his damp skin. ]

Sometimes I fantasize about holding you down and having my wicked way with you until you can think of nothing but how much I love you.

[ Absolutely deviant, he thinks. ]

A villain.

[ Iorveth laughs, full-throated, matching Astarion's grin. ]

So much of my head is already full of you, and you'd occupy even more of it.

[ It's true－ all the unhinged plans, the cogs and gears turning and grinding, are part and parcel of the future Iorveth wants to make with Astarion. What they should do, where they can go, how they can maneuver to be safe and secure. His current world boils down to this silver-haired menace and the chaotic mess they make together; Iorveth is a lost cause already, but Astarion would really be nailing the proverbial coffin shut if he decided to ruin Iorveth completely.

Very first world problems, though. Iorveth stretches, tangling fingers in damp curls, petting Astarion blindly while he presses back against a now-warm chest. ]

But, hm. I'd let you do the most heinous things to me, beloved.

[ Still laughing, craning back to kiss the side of Astarion's jaw. Iorveth knows that "wicked" in Astarion standards isn't actually so wicked at all; his vampire is very sweet, really. ]

[ Iorveth thinks himself ugly, but the mere sound of his laugh is probably the most beautiful thing Astarion has ever heard. He wishes he could listen to it on demand, bottled up in some sort of arcane contraption. Something to ask Gale about — although not with too much specificity, because he'd be horrifically embarrassed were Gale to realize that he wants to capture Iorveth's laugh.

His arms release Iorveth from their confining hold, one hand reaching up to stroke the area where Iorveth's tattoo starts, following its trail down his neck and collarbone and then back up again. At least, it's supposed to be stroking the tattoo; Astarion can't see it very well, so much of it is by memory. ]

'Let' me, hm?

[ He's sure he can think of a few heinous things to do to Iorveth, but he doesn't only want to be let to do them. ]

But what would you like me to do to you?

You could put a ring around my cock and keep me from coming for a tenday and I'd still like it.

[ Again, bluntly. A "haha jk... unless...?" moment. Being a certified freak, Iorveth really has no hard limits on sex especially if it's about tests of trust; he says as much, humming into the feeling of a hand tracing along the branches of his tattoo. ]

I enjoy giving myself to you. I'd not allowed myself to do so while there were still humans left to kill－ the idea of surrender, even in sex, felt...

[ A vague gesture, with his hand. A silent you know. ]

At any rate, I like seeing you confident. Commanding. In your element. [ A quirk of his lips, and another kiss, this time to the underside of Astarion's chin. ] But I also enjoy the idea of spoiling you until you're delirious and messy.

[ Two wolves (foxes?) inside Iorveth: 'let Astarion be a gremlin', versus 'be a heinous goblin to Astarion'. He's made of multitudes. ]

[ Gods. Astarion only just came to tolerate the feeling of another person's weight on him, and Iorveth is talking about cock rings. They are not the same. Astarion still has endless hang-ups, a need to feel in control no matter what. If Iorveth ever suggested putting a ring around anything but his finger, he'd recoil instantly. Still, he files the idea away in the back of his mind to be considered later. A tenday feels excessive, even for him, but perhaps some part of the idea has merit.

For now, though, he only presses a kiss to Iorveth's chin in return, humming thoughtfully. ]

Do you enjoy being taken, or did you only do it because you thought I needed you to?

[ Not an accusation, but an acknowledgement. He's sure Iorveth has had to make concessions around intimacy for his sake. ]

[ Everyone thinks the scowling wood elf is the prude of the group until he gets comfortable with someone and starts talking about cock rings. He really has no right to talk shit about Halsin, but the difference between himself and the druid, in Iorveth's opinion, is that he at least knows who to proposition. Honestly still reeling about Halsin's offer for a threesome, however many months later. What the fuck, actually.

Anyway. Iorveth turns around on Astarion's lap, where he's ostensibly perched, to be face to scarred face; frustrated by his limited peripheral vision, and wanting to get Astarion out of his blind spot. He's too lovely not to appreciate fully. ]

Me enjoying myself and you needing something aren't mutually exclusive. [ Not to be annoying, but to make a point (which is probably annoying). ] Example: you need to drink, and I enjoy your teeth.

[ Like, way too much. Speaking of, though, Iorveth reaches for his mostly-empty wineglass, takes a sip, and leans forward again to press his wine-stained mouth to Astarion's. Lazy, warm. Once their lips part: ]

But I suppose I should speak more plainly. I like being full of you. I was just... [ Another vague handwave. ] Out of practice.

Edited 2025-04-25 05:00 (UTC)

[ It's good thing Iorveth does clarify further. Astarion can't stand the idea of having to be accommodated, even if it's true. Clearly, he's enjoyed himself both ways--and every other possible way--but he couldn't have handled the discomfort, the memories. Not that first time, when the mere thought of intimacy still made his chest tighten in anxiety. ]

Well, I'm feeling magnanimous. I could help you practice.

[ He pets Iorveth's hair, affectionate. Sometimes, he likes to imagine Iorveth with long locks plaited in those ridiculous wood elf braids. Ridiculous, because he doesn't care for that sort of Halsin-y style at all, but there's something about the thought of it on Iorveth. Like imagining a version of him before the world hardened him. ]

Do you happen to have that bottle of bath oil you stole from Gale's bathroom cabinets?

[ Casually. ]

[ The normal response would probably be "no, why would I have", but: ]

―Yes. A vial of it, in our pack in the bedroom.

[ Unashamed to say so― he doesn't feel guilty about wanting Astarion in every way that he can― but perhaps with slight reservation, given that he understands Astarion's complicated relationship (or lack thereof) with sex. Intimacy isn't required, and Iorveth loves Astarion with or without encouraging him to be a little freak, but it is always on the table if Astarion wants it.

The long and short of it: Iorveth slumps against Astarion's front, limp, relaxed arms looped loosely around his partner's shoulders. Trusting, affectionate. After being hit in the head with the strangeness of this new city, being near Astarion is a soothing balm. ]

Astarion. [ A soft breath, in and out. They'd made implicit fun of his inability to seduce anyone in the past, but Iorveth tries it now regardless, drawing on whatever dregs of appeal he thinks he might have left. Nuzzling up against Astarion's jaw, he murmurs: ] Beloved. Fuck me.

[ Okay, maybe a little too blunt to be seductive. But he is, as always, clear in his intentions, with no space for deceit. ]

[ Astarion adores Iorveth's bluntness, seductive or not. He always has. He's had enough of deceit and game-playing; Iorveth is never anything but straightforward, even when it's something Astarion doesn't want to hear. (Especially when it's something he doesn't want to hear, it feels like.)

But he wants to hear this, and he grins at the overgrown fox in his lap, fingers trailing over Iorveth's spine, up and down. ]

You don't have to ask me, although a little begging wouldn't be out of order.

[ A control freak, as always.

Teasingly: ] Should I carry you to the bed?

[ An impossibility. Trying to do so would be brutally unsexy. ]

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