essea | [ ELVES CATCHALL POST. ]

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. ]

[ He'd hoped for that answer, although he hadn't been sure it would be the one he would get. Iorveth is, after all, a freak, and Astarion had thought that perhaps rough would always be his preference. He enjoys it either way, just pleased to be the recipient of Iorveth's touch, but he favors gentleness, always has. Thousands of conquests, but none of them were ever gentle or loving. Iorveth had questioned if Astarion minded his tactility, but in fact, there's nothing that brings him more happiness than being touched kindly by someone who loves him.

All way too embarrassing to say, of course. Still, he dips down to kiss Iorveth, light and gentle as requested. A few more languid strokes of Iorveth's hardening length and he sits up, creating space for himself between Iorveth's long limbs as he reaches for the vial of stolen oil, uncorking it and depositing a generous amount on his fingers until they're suitably slick. ]

You ridiculous sap. [ (Affectionate). With the nudge of a knee, he urges Iorveth's legs open wider. ] Luckily, you're the only one I want to be kind to.

[ On the cusp of being pleasantly sex-brained, Iorveth has to make a conscious effort to coordinate the lower half of his body to do as he's prompted. His limbs are comfort-heavy and relaxed, and his legs take a bit of nudging to spread enough to let Astarion sit between them. ]

You can be kind, [ Iorveth laughs again, despite the very vulnerable position he's in. ] But I will sulk if you kiss someone else.

[ Astarion can and should have friends, many of them, but Iorveth might have to rescind previous statements about not minding if Astarion goes and finds his pleasures elsewhere. Sure, Astarion still can, but more and more, Iorveth is finding that he might feel Some Type Of Way about it if it happens. Terrifying.

A low breath, and Iorveth tries to lift a leg and rest his calf on his partner's shoulder. Playful. Not exactly the most elegant position for what they're about to do, but at least his cock is hard enough now that it sits comfortably (?) on his stomach, giving Astarion easy access to the rest of him. ]

[ You can be kind, as if he has any inclination to do so. The only thing he has less inclination to do is to kiss someone else. It's oddly very sweet that Iorveth takes umbrage with the idea of kissing someone else and not having sex with someone else, although he imagines neither would be received particularly well. Still, he enjoys the idea that such chaste, nonsexual contact could be special enough to Iorveth to warrant being singled out.

He's not that interested in chaste, nonsexual contact right now, though. His hand dips between Iorveth's legs, fingertip brushing against him, circling the rim. Less teasing and more languid, taking his time. He's often rushed his way through sex just to get it over faster, but he doesn't have anywhere else he wants to go right now. ]

I do like the idea of you in a fit of jealous rage.

[ Not how Iorveth would truly react, he knows. That's probably why it's a fun fantasy and not a dreadful one. ]

—But you know I have no interest in any lips but yours. No one else's scowl quite as attractively.

[ Pinpick thrills run up Iorveth's spine at the feeling of questing fingers: not pleasurable, per se, but interesting. He finds a pillow to stuff under the small of his back (since they're going for care and comfort), hips angled upwards as he relaxes into the touch. One hand rests on his own stomach, then drifts down to his now-erect cock to give it languid attention. A bit of a show for Astarion, if he's into that sort of thing.

A huff through his nose, warm and deep; for a moment, he forgets how to speak, distracted by everything happening to his lower half. He makes a pleased sound of half-acknowledgment, 'hm?', then remembers to use his words. ]

I have perfected the art.

[ It's economical, being able to tell someone to fuck off just by looking at them. Iorveth has it down to a science by now, though it's impossible to attempt the look here, even just to demonstrate.

Instead: a content nuzzle into purple-burgundy bedsheets, damp bangs sticking to his jaw. Turned on, skin hot, eye half-lidded. He swallows, and his tattoo ripples along his throat. ]

―Though you're stiff competition.

[ Use of the word 'stiff' intentional. That said, Astarion is incredibly cute when he pouts. ]

[ Astarion is into that sort of thing. Of course he is; Iorveth's hands are one of his favorite parts of him, and the sight of his fingers brushing against his erection makes heat pool in his stomach, 'stiff' becoming more accurate by the second.

All of that aside, he reaches out to remove Iorveth's hand, replacing it with his own free one. ]

Sweetheart, [ he says, the endearment full of warmth as he moves his featherlight touch up and down, ] I know this may be a difficult concept for you—

[ Gently, as he'd promised, he pushes a fingertip inside, a shallow breaching at first. 'Out of practice', Iorveth had said, and so he deserves to be prepared tenderly, softly. He feels warm and tight, and Astarion savors the feeling for a protracted moment before exploring deeper, both hands matching that slow, unhurried pace. ]

But I want you to lie back and do nothing but feel pleasure.

[ A very difficult concept. Iorveth was not built to be a pillow princess. ]

[ Coaxed out of touching himself, then coaxed to lie back and just feel. It's definitely an unfamiliar request, and one that puzzles him even while his body reacts to the careful, slow intrusion happening between his legs.

A soft exhale and a conscious effort not to tense around that pretty digit later: ]

―What of yours?

[ A strange thing, to be told not to reciprocate. It would worry him if not for the gentle way Astarion is handling him, giving him welcome shivers of pleasure from his cock to offset the initial strangeness of being relaxed open. He remains achingly hard, toes curling and eye flitting closed every time his partner pets along the underside of his flushed erection or strokes something inside of him that feels far too sensitive to be reasonable.

Fuck, it's starting to feel good. Slowly, terrifyingly. Already, Iorveth can tell that this is going to make him utterly stupid by the end of it. ]

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