essea | [ ELVES CATCHALL POST. ]

[ 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. ]

[ A pleased, throaty sound at the feeling of clever fingers along his back, not unlike a fox or canine-shaped creature expressing contentment. It's followed by the hundredth soft laugh of the night, hidden under the sound of displacing water as Iorveth peels himself from Astarion's front. ]

You'd kill us both before we got to the sitting room.

[ Affectionately. Iorveth imagines the maids anxiously peering into their room tomorrow night, and finding two naked dead elves in the bathroom.

Probably wouldn't be the worst scandal this place has seen. Chuckling, Iorveth pulls himself up and out of the pool, careful not to knock over their still half-full bottle of wine on the way. Warm, eager.

Finding a robe (purple) to pull on later: ] That said, [ referring to the fucking, which he still very much wants, ] does it ever bother you? My tactility.

[ Aware that he has a tendency to touch and kiss Astarion, even in public. Featherlight things, usually― lips to hair, lips to temple― but if it's much, Iorveth can moderate. ]

[ Astarion slips out of the water himself, dripping little trickles of violet water on the tile. Oh, well. It's appropriate for this place's aesthetic, he thinks. Another thing he thinks: Iorveth is a fucking idiot. Astarion approaches him while he's still picking up the robe, hands on his shoulders to manhandle him toward the bedroom. ]

For someone who yaps on and on about seeing things clearly, you don't see very well.

[ It's affectionate, mostly. He adores Iorveth, but it does irritate him a little to feel coddled in a way that he never asked for. Isn't it obvious? He holds Iorveth's hand every chance he gets. ]

I despise other people's touch. You aren't other people.

[ Making a mess already, dripping water all over nice tiles and clean floorboards. Iorveth is bullied towards the bedroom before he can even attempt to dry Astarion off a little, berated for his stupidity all the while. ]

I'd gathered that much.

[ A huff, amused despite the needling. Clearly, Astarion doesn't want mindfulness when it comes to affection― Iorveth will make a note of that. ]

Fine, then. I'll make sure only to stop when you hiss.

[ The entirety of Toril will suffer for it, but the world can fucking deal. Shoved back into their very violet bedroom, Iorveth makes a detour towards their pack and rummages inside it for both the tattoo quill and the vial of oil, keeping the former handy for if and when Astarion decides he wants to do a bit of doodling on Iorveth's skin; the vial is a more immediate necessity, and it gets tossed onto a stack of soft-looking pillows (wine, to match the sheets).

This time, Iorveth is the one to flop backwards onto the mattress first. Limp-limbed, tan skin (less tan than a few tendays ago, when they'd left Baldur's Gate; Iorveth hasn't seen the sun since then) warm and flushed from the bath. ]

Edited 2025-04-26 02:37 (UTC)

As long as I get to hear you purr.

[ Astarion crawls onto the bed, sliding on top of Iorveth in a way that's almost predatory, like a fanged animal sizing up dinner. (Which isn't too far from the truth.) Bath-warm Iorveth is even better than regular-warm Iorveth, a little bit of color on his chest and neck, hair still damp. ]

Gods, you're handsome.

[ The truth as he sees it, no matter what Iorveth says. He leans down to press a kiss against Iorveth's eyelid, then another where his eye used to be. Equally breathtaking, because it's Iorveth. ]

What an idiot you are to think I'd ever shy away from your touch, [ he scolds. ] Don't you know that I crave you?

[ By now, Iorveth can identify Astarion even if he were deaf and blind: the weight of him, the feel of him, his temperature and his touch. All of it is so achingly familiar now that he really does think he couldn't live without it, that he'd hurt from missing it if he were without it for a prolonged amount of time. ]

The concept took some getting used to.

[ Accepting the scolding, while he tries to figure out where to put his hands. 'All over' is the correct course of action, but where to start? One slides down Astarion's back, feeling the texture of those raised scars with careful fingers; the other loops and settles at Astarion's nape, tickling the soft ends of still-damp curls. ]

No one's ever spoken to me the way you do.

[ Iorveth's had lovers, sure, but the sex was either a casual affair or a frenetic, desperate scramble. Nothing like this, nothing that took so much time and built up in bits and pieces. Painstaking and precious. Iorveth wouldn't trade Astarion for anything. ]

[ Good. And yet-- everyone should worship the ground Iorveth walks on. Stuck between these two ideas, Astarion hums thoughtfully, pressing his mouth to the underside of Iorveth's jaw, his throat, his collarbone. ]

Mmm, do you like the way I speak to you?

[ Better to just focus it on Astarion. Other people don't matter, anyway. They're the only two people in existence, as far he's concerned. Everyone else is just set dressing.

He places a hand on Iorveth's chest, letting it wander downward, down the flat plane of Iorveth's abdomen where his fingers splay out, savoring the feeling of something precious beneath them. ]

Do you enjoy hearing how beautiful you are? How much I adore you?

[ Honestly, he's not sure if Iorveth finds such comments uncomfortable or not. He's only just begun to accept the compliments as they are without argument, after all. Of course, he's still going to say such things. One day, he thinks, his comments will make it through Iorveth's ridiculously thick skull. ]

Sometimes I think of tying you up and praising you for hours.

[ The only way Iorveth would let him get away with it, probably. ]

[ The expected (and instinctive) response is to say something along the lines of "you'd only have material for a few minutes at most", but Iorveth refrains. It seems a shame to ruin the sweet, comfortable mood with posturing― not to mention that it would be criminal to say anything that would stop what Astarion is currently doing.

Iorveth breathes. Feels that hand on his stomach move up and down in time to his inhales, his exhales. His pulse skips and jackrabbits a bit, the beginnings of expectant arousal sitting just under his skin, waiting and wanting. ]

I could do the same for you, [ he finally manages, ] but with less rope.

[ A light squirm under Astarion's weight, with the fingers exploring Astarion's back pressing inwards just a fraction. A manifestation of how has to fight himself a bit to say the next words, which still feel strange in his mouth. ]

I... do, like being loved by you. [ Uncharacteristically mealy-mouthed. He's told Astarion about his hangups, about how others have left or died, how he feels that everyone he cares for eventually dies or regrets it; Iorveth is fine with loving, but it always seems like wanting it back ends in the kind of disaster that he doesn't want Astarion to experience.

But he can only ever be honest, especially with someone he cares for so much. Another slight shift, and Iorveth presses his face against Astarion's neck. ]

You've accused me of being besotted, but you're the one who makes me so. Every time you speak. More and more, with each passing day.

[ Very rude of Astarion. If he wants Iorveth to be less obsessed, he could stand to be less lovable. ]

[ With less rope, he says. Astarion isn't sure if it's because Iorveth doesn't want to suggest he'd do anything to make Astarion feel trapped (even in ridiculous fantasy), or because there's no way Astarion would ever need to be tied up and forced to listen to praise when he demands it on the regular.

He laughs at 'every time you speak', because the gods know it isn't every time. All the same, he shifts, hand snaking down further between their bodies to wrap loosely around Iorveth's cock. Out of practice, he'd said, and Astarion wants to ease him into it. Relax him as much as possible. Iorveth seems to enjoy some level of pain in his intimacy, but discomfort is as unsexy as it gets. ]

You sound as if you're under my thrall. [ Then, teasing: ] Perhaps you are.

[ More shifting, as that touch trails down and wraps around the beginnings of a semi. It should probably be more embarrassing that sweet words and gentle cuddling in bed were enough to make his dick feel a little stupid, but it is what it is. A hitched breath and a low sigh through his nose later, Iorveth relaxes, letting the mattress have his weight. No tensing, no immediate move to reciprocate as a distraction. ]

You're a vampire, aren't you?

[ Half-laughed, even as he tries to reconcile the teasing conversation with the hand around his cock. Both are nice. ]

But, mm. I'll not be a mindless servant who doesn't challenge you. [ Obviously. ] Being foolishly besotted doesn't exclude me from getting on your nerves.

[ Another low laugh, and he moves his hips under Astarion's scrutiny, humming in time to that little ripple of friction. ]

Get on my nerves enough, and I'll have to punish you.

[ Only idle teasing, the suggestion of a punishment undoubtedly sensual in nature. To accentuate his point, his hand squeezes gently, beginning to stroke lightly, up and down. The movement is lazy, casual, as if there's nothing more natural in the world than giving a handjob to Iorveth while they talk in bed. ]

—But not tonight.

[ A maybe another night, if you're into that sort of thing. ]

I think tonight you should be rewarded.

[ Iorveth deserves to be rewarded every night—and every day, too—for putting up with Astarion the way that he does. Besotted or not, he puts up with quite a lot. ]

How do you want it, darling? Do you still like it rough, or would you like to be treated gently?

[ It's sweet that Astarion always asks. Iorveth has noticed it, and attributed it, perhaps, to the fact that no one ever thought to ask Astarion what he wanted.

Again: it's sweet. Especially since the answer is always going to be "I want whatever you're willing to give", as unhelpful as that is. Iorveth understands the necessity for it, and it makes his heart grow three sizes in the cynical chasm of his chest― he turns into the touch, lets himself accept it and respond to it, hot and hardening between lukewarm fingers. Not conceding, but accepting.

Which is why his answer is: ] Gently. [ Not the choice he usually goes for, weird freak creature that he is. It's easier to mix pain into pleasure because it gives him an excuse not to be treated softly, but he doesn't want excuses when it comes to being around Astarion. ] ...The world won't be kind to us, but we can be kind to one another.

[ They still have vampires to contend with, and a cloak to win. Everything is a struggle, but they don't have to be. ]

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