[ Oof. Losing Astarion's weight on top of him is very unwelcome, but Iorveth is too boneless (properly, this time) to do anything about it but chase him with one relaxed hand, resting it near his hip. His head lists sideways to accept the touch and to listen to what he's being told, and once Iorveth is sure that Astarion has finished, he opens his eye (he hadn't noticed that he'd closed it) and ventures: ]
I love the shape of you. But it's not my place to tell you to love the body you inhabit.
[ It's the same reason why Iorveth won't tell Astarion something stupid and trite like "your scar is beautiful"; it doesn't matter what he thinks it is, if Astarion hates it.
That said, he runs his warm palm up his partner's now slightly-less pale skin, and rests it where his heart is unbeating in his chest. ]
An honor, regardless, to be told that I can make you forget. [ A soft smile, and Iorveth nudges his forehead against Astarion's hand. ] I can only be grateful that you are who you are.
[ An honor. Iorveth is so ridiculous. Astarion would have rolled his eyes at such a declaration before; he did, back when Iorveth had so dramatically offered him his blood for the first time, my pledge. He'd thought himself entirely unworthy of anything treated with that much seriousness. He still does, sometimes, but the earnestness with which Iorveth professes these things to him makes him almost believe that he's deserving of them. ]
It's me who should be grateful for you, but— [ He rolls onto his side so that he can run a thumb over Iorveth's jaw. ] Ugh. Playing the I love you more game is irritatingly twee, don't you think?
[ Even though, you know. He does love Iorveth more. ]
How do you feel? Aside from, ah. [ The corner of his mouth curls upward. ] Sticky.
[ Smoothbrained creature of impulse that he is, he didn't consider that this would have been better to do before the bath. ]
[ Mirrored sentiments. "I definitely love you more," Iorveth thinks, before he's asked to stop mentally arguing and give a description of how he feels.
It's a stupid question. ]
A stupid question.
[ Once a rude elf, always a rude elf. That said, as ever, there's an addendum: ] I feel good. Happy. Lucky. [ A pause, and then: ] Loved.
[ An admission, so that Astarion can enjoy his successes. He deserves to. He's going to be pleasantly limp for the entire night, which is demonstrated by the fact that he isn't getting up right away to find a damp towel to wipe both of them off with (which is what he would usually do, perpetual motion machine that he is). All Iorveth manages is a tip of his head, and a lazy scrape of his teeth over Astarion's thumb. ]
I feel that the Gods themselves couldn't have made a more perfect creature than you. [ Which probably isn't saying much, because the Gods suck. Iorveth laughs as he says it, unserious but also deadly serious, and nudges Astarion's palm with his chin. ] Now go clean yourself, before I embarrass myself further.
[ Iorveth certainly wasn't thinking that Astarion was perfect all of the times he scolded him for being foolish, shortsighted, not seeing things clearly— but he won't argue against it. He responds to the nudge with a pat before forcing himself up (he's tired too, you know, that was really a lot of physical effort) and absconding back into the bathroom. When he returns, it's draped in a purple robe that really isn't his color but is soft and warm, and with a (you guessed it, purple) cloth in hand.
Crawling back up beside Iorveth on the bed, he runs the damp cloth over tanned skin. This, too, is the sort of thing he never indulged in before Iorveth. Another kind of gentleness, caring for someone else. ]
We'll need to go shopping tomorrow.
[ A thought apropos of seemingly nothing, yet very logical, in his mind. Thinking of how much he loves Iorveth reasonably leads to how much he'd rage if anything were to happen to him. ]
[ Funny, how so many humans and creatures who live far shorter lives accuse them of being "boys" when, in fact, the reality is that they're tired elves who have seen far too much shit in two hundred years than most humans will ever perceive in a lifetime. Iorveth lounges, still fuzzy around his edges when Astarion returns, and submits himself to the cleaning with the docility of a wild animal who has found one person it likes being brushed by.
The robe looks nice on Astarion. Iorveth admires it as his stomach gets wiped down (thank the gods), and huffs a soft laugh. ]
Look at you, planning.
[ Iorveth has maybe three brain cells working at full capacity right now, so obviously Astarion is picking up the slack. His fingers travel over the bare crest of one knee peeking out through purple fabric, idle and affectionate. ]
As godsless as this city seems, it has a temple district－ surely we'll be able to pilfer some holy water from an ill-visited place of worship or other.
[ Astarion tosses the cloth onto the floor and places the vial of oil on the nightstand. (Telling, where his priorities lie.) Afterward, he settles onto his back beside Iorveth again, staring up at the ceiling. It might be the only thing in this damned inn that isn't purple, but he's sure that they'll change that soon enough. ]
I don't worry.
[ A lie. For someone who rarely thinks ahead beyond the present moment, he's surprisingly anxious. A constant feeling of nervousness, like the day-to-day of a small prey animal. He doesn't know what he's worried about most of the time, just that it feels like something bad could happen very soon.
As for Alkam— ]
I'm just... strategizing. [ Another word for worrying. ] We only managed to best Cazador because sunlight didn't affect me.
[ An exasperated huff. The whole point of all of this was to stop the turning gears in Iorveth's head, not give them a reason to speed up. ]
Nothing you need to worry your pretty little head about. I'm sure it will all work out, one way or another.
[ Astarion better soak up this moment of lax stupidity from Iorveth, because it's truly not built to last. The lazy, lax lounging fades just a bit, making way for the all-too-familiar hawklike sharpness to flit back into his one-eyed focus. ]
Mm. [ "I'm sure it will all work out" is not an actual strategy, but Iorveth loves Astarion so he won't absolutely dunk on him the way he would if, say, Wyll said the same. "Yes, that's what they all say before they find themselves hanging by their necks at the gallows", would be his customary response.
Instead: ] What would be the worst possible outcome for you? Other than you dying, obviously.
[ One crystalline thing that they can absolutely avoid. Sometimes, determining that is more useful than the best possible outcome. ]
[ 'How is that fucking helpful?' runs through his mind, but because he loves Iorveth and doesn't want to ruin his afterglow more than he probably already has, he doesn't snap at him. Astarion tells himself that Iorveth is trying to help in his own way; leave it to him, though, to focus on the worst case scenario.
Then again, it's not like Astarion hasn't been considering the worst case scenario himself. There's plenty of things that could go wrong: failing to kill Alkam and being banished to the darkness forever is a big one. Being horribly maimed is always an option. Hells, there's the possibility of not even being able to make it to Alkam to begin with. If he's stuck up in some residence, Astarion won't be able to enter without being invited, and gods, wouldn't that be a horrible way to fail?
There's only one true worst case scenario, though. He turns his head to look at Iorveth, frowning. ]
You've already dismissed my worst possible outcome out of hand.
[ Well, all right. He's a little snippy, but only because it's deeply unpleasant to think of. ]
There's really no point in discussing it if you're so determined to stick by my side no matter the consequences.
[ Ah. Setting aside the fact that anything happening to him is Astarion's worse case scenario, Iorveth's response is a very simple, very distinctly non-apologetic: ] If that's the case, yes, there is no point discussing it.
[ Literally non-negotiable, unless Astarion decides to forgo the risk altogether and lock Iorveth in a box to confront Alkam by himself. The rudest elf in the world continues to be very unapologetic about rejecting Astarion's request, despite the fact that he hated it when Astarion didn't turn tail and run before; the hypocrisy is not lost on Iorveth, but also, he doesn't care.
That said, he doesn't want to totally kill the mood (good luck), so he slides closer and nests his head against Astarion's shoulder. Underhanded, perhaps: he kisses a shapely jaw, affectionate while being rude. ]
Rest easy, beloved. You won't lose me to this.
[ Alkam really needs to get in line for Iorveth-killing privileges; so many people have already called dibs. ]
―But we can go shopping. You can decorate me with vials and bulbs of garlic.
[ 'Rest easy' and a little cuddling doesn't make him any less wary, but it does make him want to express it less, at any rate. He worms an arm around Iorveth, pulling him closer, snug against Astarion's body like a pouting child hugging a teddy bear. ]
Ugh. Careful, or you'll repel me, too.
[ But he supposes he'd rather Iorveth repel every vampire than no vampire at all. A little bit of unpleasantness is a small price to pay for his safety. ]
A few stakes in your possession wouldn't be a bad idea.
[ Unlikely to be sold, but it can't be too hard to find a few pieces of sturdy wood to sharpen. Although, ugh, he does hate the idea of doing that sort of labor. There'll be wood shavings everywhere. ]
I'd carry some myself, but, ah, I'd hate to have it used against me.
[ An elf-shaped security blanket by Astarion's side, Iorveth nests and presses his lips, again, to soft silver hair. (So enamored with kissing Astarion that, yes, he's cut garlic out of his diet. A big sacrifice.)
Things Iorveth doesn't say: he still thinks the best plan is for him to act like a thrall and independently infiltrate Alkam's mansion (or whatever he lives in), then gut him when he's lowered his guard. Obviously, this requires incredibly good luck, the kind of acting skills that Iorveth doesn't have, and a large amount of faith that the weird old woman's charm dispelling amulet will work, but it seems slightly less risky than walking in with Astarion, who is very obviously a spawn, in tow.
Iorveth will not say this, because even he knows that this will get him broken up with (?). But he will voice an opinion, because when doesn't he. ]
Maybe you should find a glamour spell that turns your eyes a different color.
[ Wouldn't help with the paleness and the fangs, but it might make Astarion a little less obviously undead. ]
[ Broken up with? Mm, maybe. Shackled to the bedpost of this fancy purple bed? Certainly. As much as Astarion loves him, if Iorveth gave even the slightest hint that he'd disregard Astarion's autonomy and try to handle Alkam himself, he would never let him leave this room again.
A glamour spell isn't the worst idea, though. Still, it leaves the question of what their plan actually is, besides 'not dying'. ]
—And what then? [ A slight lift of the corner of his mouth, exposing a fang. ] Pretend to be the delivery man?
[ A hum, as Iorveth tries to will his sluggish brain to spring back to life. From lazy fox, back to scheming fox. ]
Well, you'd need to be invited into his manor somehow.
[ If Iorveth remembers that vampire rule correctly. Perhaps they got lucky with the inn because the staff were expecting them, but Alkam's abode is probably a different story. Under normal circumstances, Iorveth would suggest traversing rooftops and crawling in through a window, but that's out of the question.
Thoughtful, he drums his fingers along Astarion's back. ]
Perhaps we can find one of Alkam's spawn and ally with them. See if they hate him as much as all of your siblings hated Cazador, and have them invite us. [ Iorveth assumes. Petras seemed deluded enough to believe that Cazador might give him freedom and power, but the others seemed to have a more brain cells to rub together. ] Or we create enough of a ruckus that Alkam has to come to us.
[ It's actually astonishing how quickly Iorveth's brain comes back online. A little annoying, actually—he worked hard to empty that mind—but also endearing. Iorveth makes plans about plans. He's irritating and perfect.
With a pout: ] This isn't the sort of pillow talk we should be having.
[ Iorveth should be gushing about how wonderful Astarion is, and how he's so much better in bed than anyone else he's ever been with, and his cock is bigger, too. Then again, it is Astarion's fault. He should have kept his mouth shut and waited to suggest buying holy water tomorrow. ]
But, if you must know, I'm not sure I like the idea of looping someone else in. It's— [ He frowns deeper, turning over so that he isn't looking at Iorveth anymore, like saying this while showing his face would be too humiliating. ] No matter how much a spawn hates his master, you can't trust him. He'd do anything to avoid just one beating.
[ If Astarion is always living with an undercurrent of anxiety, Iorveth is living with the same brand of paranoia sitting right under his skin: that rage-fueled sentiment of never again. Prepared to the point of parody, because trauma dies hard.
Case in point. Astarion rolls over, obscuring his face while he speaks, Iorveth presumes, from experience. The horrible reality of having a blood pact with a monstrous creature of vice and cruelty is that one doesn't even have the freedom to rebel.
Iorveth smooths a hand over the jut of a shapely shoulderblade, and breathes. ]
Then I defer to your judgment. [ Even though Iorveth thinks that they could probably just kill the spawn if they try to betray them, it isn't worth Astarion's peace of mind. He seems to have so little of it when they have to do something "hard". ] We'll use whatever resources we can find, but we'll not trust anyone aside from each other.
[ A soft kiss to the crest of Astarion's shoulder again, and Iorveth falls back onto purple sheets. ]
[ Although his journey with the rest of these tadpoled fools has shown him that perhaps not everyone is inherently untrustworthy, he still believes most people are. Selfishness is in mankind's nature, and he can hardly blame them most of the time. He'd do whatever it took to save his own ass, too. ]
—There may be some use in looking like a spawn.
[ Not turning around, but glancing over his shoulder to gather Iorveth's reaction: ]
I could pretend to be bringing a missive from Cazador. Or a gift.
[ Trust is hard-earned; Iorveth dabbles with it only when he has to, and only for those who deserve it. Prideful, certainly, and injured by a world that doesn't give back half of what his loved ones bring to it.
So ultimately, he's fine with their arrangement. He didn't trust many to aid him with Henselt, and he doesn't trust anyone more than he trusts Astarion. It's fine.
Slumped back on soft pillows, less relaxed than before but still visibly comfortable being horizontal instead of vertical: ]
What gifts do vampires enjoy receiving? Virgins?
[ Blithely, but semi-playfully. He can't pretend to know the inner workings of vampire lords, but Astarion has spent (unwillingly) centuries with one. Again, he can defer to Astarion's judgment on this one.
Or Astarion can take the opportunity to be unserious. There's that, too. ]
[ A full turn over now, pinching the point of Iorveth's ear. ]
Well, if that's the case, I suppose you're out now that I've had my way with you.
[ He was out before, too, but obviously none of that truly counted. None of Astarion's sexual experience counted before Iorveth, and he's made a unilateral decision that the same applies to Iorveth whether he likes it or not.
After a moment of ear-tugging, he sobers. ]
They want what any king in his realm wants. Tribute. [ The more debasing the better, probably. ] Something that makes them feel powerful. The opportunity to watch the light go out of someone's eyes, I suppose.
[ Tugging on Astarion's proverbial pigtails, only to have his ear tugged in return. Iorveth huffs a soft laugh, bumping his head against the heel of Astarion's hand until the sobering topic of tribute is brought up.
Hard to think of how many people have fallen under Cazador's sword during the span of two decades (or more). Brought to him or otherwise. The fact that Astarion contributed to the vampire lord's reign (almost brought him to his ultimate goal, even) isn't lost on Iorveth, but Astarion is, as ever, the exception to all of Iorveth's rules. ]
The same as any human.
[ Minus Wyll and Gale, they don't count. ]
You could turn me in again, I suppose. An infamous elven terrorist as tribute. [ His favorite tactic. ] Unless you know of someone in Athkatla worth killing.
[ A pause. Turning Iorveth in again makes the most sense, of course, especially when he'd just said that he didn't want to involve anyone else in their plan, but the idea of Iorveth being any sort of tribute to a vampire lord also happens to make him full-body cringe, physically rejecting the thought like putrid blood. ]
...I'm sure there's someone in this city whose life has no value save to serve as bait.
[ If they die, then they die. If they get turned into a spawn — oh, well. It's Iorveth he can't stand the thought of that happening to.
Casual, with a waved hand: ]
Some ne'er-do-well or another that we can pluck up off the streets and tie up.
[ Again, it would be efficient for Iorveth to go out during the day to do some recon away from nightstalking eyes, but Astarion's already made his stance on that clear-- impossibly, his peace of mind is more important than pragmatism, so Iorveth shelves that idea again, alongside him playing bait. ]
Holy water, tribute-searching, and finding a way to get inside the right district. Not nearly as impossible-seeming as our ridiculous journey with the tadpole.
[ Alkam is a big question mark, still, but less imposing than a huge brain with the power to enslave all living creatures in Toril. Manageable, by those standards.
Iorveth scoots closer to Astarion, relaxed and warm, tangling one leg around his. ]
Chin up, hero of Baldur's Gate. What's a lowly vampire lord in front of a spawn who saved the world?
[ Biased, obviously, but still: Astarion is the strongest vampire Iorveth knows. (He doesn't know any other vampire, and that's the point.) ]
[ Gods. Astarion snorts unflatteringly. Hero of Baldur's Gate. As if. He's been the terror of it for two centuries, quite literally snatching innocents off of the streets and delivering them to his cruel master. Even disregarding that, there's nothing he did before that was even heroic-adjacent. He was selfish and mean, not unlike how he is now. ]
You're ridiculous.
[ Sometimes he worries that Iorveth sees too much good in him. Good that doesn't exist. He's not sure he's ever actually saved anybody from anything. That's the sort of thing Wyll does. He'd be surprised if the Blade of Frontiers weren't rescuing a kitten from up a tree right now. ]
You're a terror, [ Iorveth hums, ] but a dashing one, occasionally.
[ Neither of them are good people, and neither of them have ever wanted to be heroes-- Iorveth is aware. For a long time, all Iorveth expected was for fate to finally catch up to him and for his corpse to be thrown ignobly into a ditch; honestly, he still expects it, to some extent.
Not here, though. Not in Athkatla, and not by a vampire's hands. He flops, on his back and his chin tipped towards the ceiling, chest rising and falling with his inhales and exhales. ]
I'll make myself useful tomorrow. Not tonight.
[ Please let him be sex-brained for a few more hours. He's enjoying the extended afterglow, he finds-- the most uncomplicated he's felt in ages. ]
[ Astarion shifts onto his side so that he can run his fingers through Iorveth's still-damp hair, idly and affectionately playing with it. He'd meant it when he said that he enjoyed Iorveth's touch, in whatever form it takes; he craves being near him at all times, always longs to be connected at some point of contact. ]
You aren't clamoring to be productive?
[ Another snort. ]
Will wonders never cease?
[ Very uncharacteristic of him. As much as Astarion loves him in all of his overthinking and overplanning glory, he can't say he's mad about it. ]
I'll have to take advantage of you more often, if that's the outcome.
[ Regarding productivity. If given permission, Iorveth would get dressed and hop out the window and start asking around about Mrel Alkam or anyone that the citizens of Athkatla would like to get rid of; the only thing keeping him from his usual unhinged quest to Get Shit Done is Astarion and all the ways in which he continues to feel like a person and a place that Iorveth wants to be close to. He wasn't being facetious about cutting his own trancing time to scout around during the day, but Astarion has already made his stance on that clear, and so Iorveth won't push it.
Instead, he sits in this moment. Pleasantly tired, ruined by all this affection. His eye cracks open, and he reaches to sift Astarion's mussed bangs away from his face. ]
Too full of you right now to scheme, I think. Hard to think of anything after being so well and thoroughly taken apart.
[ If Astarion hasn't noticed, Iorveth hasn't been vertical for a single second after sex. ]
Presently, I'm only good for being bitten and being marked. Do with me as you will.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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I love the shape of you. But it's not my place to tell you to love the body you inhabit.
[ It's the same reason why Iorveth won't tell Astarion something stupid and trite like "your scar is beautiful"; it doesn't matter what he thinks it is, if Astarion hates it.
That said, he runs his warm palm up his partner's now slightly-less pale skin, and rests it where his heart is unbeating in his chest. ]
An honor, regardless, to be told that I can make you forget. [ A soft smile, and Iorveth nudges his forehead against Astarion's hand. ] I can only be grateful that you are who you are.
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It's me who should be grateful for you, but— [ He rolls onto his side so that he can run a thumb over Iorveth's jaw. ] Ugh. Playing the I love you more game is irritatingly twee, don't you think?
[ Even though, you know. He does love Iorveth more. ]
How do you feel? Aside from, ah. [ The corner of his mouth curls upward. ] Sticky.
[ Smoothbrained creature of impulse that he is, he didn't consider that this would have been better to do before the bath. ]
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It's a stupid question. ]
A stupid question.
[ Once a rude elf, always a rude elf. That said, as ever, there's an addendum: ] I feel good. Happy. Lucky. [ A pause, and then: ] Loved.
[ An admission, so that Astarion can enjoy his successes. He deserves to. He's going to be pleasantly limp for the entire night, which is demonstrated by the fact that he isn't getting up right away to find a damp towel to wipe both of them off with (which is what he would usually do, perpetual motion machine that he is). All Iorveth manages is a tip of his head, and a lazy scrape of his teeth over Astarion's thumb. ]
I feel that the Gods themselves couldn't have made a more perfect creature than you. [ Which probably isn't saying much, because the Gods suck. Iorveth laughs as he says it, unserious but also deadly serious, and nudges Astarion's palm with his chin. ] Now go clean yourself, before I embarrass myself further.
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Crawling back up beside Iorveth on the bed, he runs the damp cloth over tanned skin. This, too, is the sort of thing he never indulged in before Iorveth. Another kind of gentleness, caring for someone else. ]
We'll need to go shopping tomorrow.
[ A thought apropos of seemingly nothing, yet very logical, in his mind. Thinking of how much he loves Iorveth reasonably leads to how much he'd rage if anything were to happen to him. ]
I want you armed to the gills with holy water.
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The robe looks nice on Astarion. Iorveth admires it as his stomach gets wiped down (thank the gods), and huffs a soft laugh. ]
Look at you, planning.
[ Iorveth has maybe three brain cells working at full capacity right now, so obviously Astarion is picking up the slack. His fingers travel over the bare crest of one knee peeking out through purple fabric, idle and affectionate. ]
As godsless as this city seems, it has a temple district－ surely we'll be able to pilfer some holy water from an ill-visited place of worship or other.
[ A hum. ] Are you worried?
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I don't worry.
[ A lie. For someone who rarely thinks ahead beyond the present moment, he's surprisingly anxious. A constant feeling of nervousness, like the day-to-day of a small prey animal. He doesn't know what he's worried about most of the time, just that it feels like something bad could happen very soon.
As for Alkam— ]
I'm just... strategizing. [ Another word for worrying. ] We only managed to best Cazador because sunlight didn't affect me.
[ An exasperated huff. The whole point of all of this was to stop the turning gears in Iorveth's head, not give them a reason to speed up. ]
Nothing you need to worry your pretty little head about. I'm sure it will all work out, one way or another.
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Mm. [ "I'm sure it will all work out" is not an actual strategy, but Iorveth loves Astarion so he won't absolutely dunk on him the way he would if, say, Wyll said the same. "Yes, that's what they all say before they find themselves hanging by their necks at the gallows", would be his customary response.
Instead: ] What would be the worst possible outcome for you? Other than you dying, obviously.
[ One crystalline thing that they can absolutely avoid. Sometimes, determining that is more useful than the best possible outcome. ]
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Then again, it's not like Astarion hasn't been considering the worst case scenario himself. There's plenty of things that could go wrong: failing to kill Alkam and being banished to the darkness forever is a big one. Being horribly maimed is always an option. Hells, there's the possibility of not even being able to make it to Alkam to begin with. If he's stuck up in some residence, Astarion won't be able to enter without being invited, and gods, wouldn't that be a horrible way to fail?
There's only one true worst case scenario, though. He turns his head to look at Iorveth, frowning. ]
You've already dismissed my worst possible outcome out of hand.
[ Well, all right. He's a little snippy, but only because it's deeply unpleasant to think of. ]
There's really no point in discussing it if you're so determined to stick by my side no matter the consequences.
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[ Literally non-negotiable, unless Astarion decides to forgo the risk altogether and lock Iorveth in a box to confront Alkam by himself. The rudest elf in the world continues to be very unapologetic about rejecting Astarion's request, despite the fact that he hated it when Astarion didn't turn tail and run before; the hypocrisy is not lost on Iorveth, but also, he doesn't care.
That said, he doesn't want to totally kill the mood (good luck), so he slides closer and nests his head against Astarion's shoulder. Underhanded, perhaps: he kisses a shapely jaw, affectionate while being rude. ]
Rest easy, beloved. You won't lose me to this.
[ Alkam really needs to get in line for Iorveth-killing privileges; so many people have already called dibs. ]
―But we can go shopping. You can decorate me with vials and bulbs of garlic.
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Ugh. Careful, or you'll repel me, too.
[ But he supposes he'd rather Iorveth repel every vampire than no vampire at all. A little bit of unpleasantness is a small price to pay for his safety. ]
A few stakes in your possession wouldn't be a bad idea.
[ Unlikely to be sold, but it can't be too hard to find a few pieces of sturdy wood to sharpen. Although, ugh, he does hate the idea of doing that sort of labor. There'll be wood shavings everywhere. ]
I'd carry some myself, but, ah, I'd hate to have it used against me.
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Things Iorveth doesn't say: he still thinks the best plan is for him to act like a thrall and independently infiltrate Alkam's mansion (or whatever he lives in), then gut him when he's lowered his guard. Obviously, this requires incredibly good luck, the kind of acting skills that Iorveth doesn't have, and a large amount of faith that the weird old woman's charm dispelling amulet will work, but it seems slightly less risky than walking in with Astarion, who is very obviously a spawn, in tow.
Iorveth will not say this, because even he knows that this will get him broken up with (?). But he will voice an opinion, because when doesn't he. ]
Maybe you should find a glamour spell that turns your eyes a different color.
[ Wouldn't help with the paleness and the fangs, but it might make Astarion a little less obviously undead. ]
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A glamour spell isn't the worst idea, though. Still, it leaves the question of what their plan actually is, besides 'not dying'. ]
—And what then? [ A slight lift of the corner of his mouth, exposing a fang. ] Pretend to be the delivery man?
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Well, you'd need to be invited into his manor somehow.
[ If Iorveth remembers that vampire rule correctly. Perhaps they got lucky with the inn because the staff were expecting them, but Alkam's abode is probably a different story. Under normal circumstances, Iorveth would suggest traversing rooftops and crawling in through a window, but that's out of the question.
Thoughtful, he drums his fingers along Astarion's back. ]
Perhaps we can find one of Alkam's spawn and ally with them. See if they hate him as much as all of your siblings hated Cazador, and have them invite us. [ Iorveth assumes. Petras seemed deluded enough to believe that Cazador might give him freedom and power, but the others seemed to have a more brain cells to rub together. ] Or we create enough of a ruckus that Alkam has to come to us.
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With a pout: ] This isn't the sort of pillow talk we should be having.
[ Iorveth should be gushing about how wonderful Astarion is, and how he's so much better in bed than anyone else he's ever been with, and his cock is bigger, too. Then again, it is Astarion's fault. He should have kept his mouth shut and waited to suggest buying holy water tomorrow. ]
But, if you must know, I'm not sure I like the idea of looping someone else in. It's— [ He frowns deeper, turning over so that he isn't looking at Iorveth anymore, like saying this while showing his face would be too humiliating. ] No matter how much a spawn hates his master, you can't trust him. He'd do anything to avoid just one beating.
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Case in point. Astarion rolls over, obscuring his face while he speaks, Iorveth presumes, from experience. The horrible reality of having a blood pact with a monstrous creature of vice and cruelty is that one doesn't even have the freedom to rebel.
Iorveth smooths a hand over the jut of a shapely shoulderblade, and breathes. ]
Then I defer to your judgment. [ Even though Iorveth thinks that they could probably just kill the spawn if they try to betray them, it isn't worth Astarion's peace of mind. He seems to have so little of it when they have to do something "hard". ] We'll use whatever resources we can find, but we'll not trust anyone aside from each other.
[ A soft kiss to the crest of Astarion's shoulder again, and Iorveth falls back onto purple sheets. ]
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Good.
[ Although his journey with the rest of these tadpoled fools has shown him that perhaps not everyone is inherently untrustworthy, he still believes most people are. Selfishness is in mankind's nature, and he can hardly blame them most of the time. He'd do whatever it took to save his own ass, too. ]
—There may be some use in looking like a spawn.
[ Not turning around, but glancing over his shoulder to gather Iorveth's reaction: ]
I could pretend to be bringing a missive from Cazador. Or a gift.
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So ultimately, he's fine with their arrangement. He didn't trust many to aid him with Henselt, and he doesn't trust anyone more than he trusts Astarion. It's fine.
Slumped back on soft pillows, less relaxed than before but still visibly comfortable being horizontal instead of vertical: ]
What gifts do vampires enjoy receiving? Virgins?
[ Blithely, but semi-playfully. He can't pretend to know the inner workings of vampire lords, but Astarion has spent (unwillingly) centuries with one. Again, he can defer to Astarion's judgment on this one.
Or Astarion can take the opportunity to be unserious. There's that, too. ]
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Well, if that's the case, I suppose you're out now that I've had my way with you.
[ He was out before, too, but obviously none of that truly counted. None of Astarion's sexual experience counted before Iorveth, and he's made a unilateral decision that the same applies to Iorveth whether he likes it or not.
After a moment of ear-tugging, he sobers. ]
They want what any king in his realm wants. Tribute. [ The more debasing the better, probably. ] Something that makes them feel powerful. The opportunity to watch the light go out of someone's eyes, I suppose.
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Hard to think of how many people have fallen under Cazador's sword during the span of two decades (or more). Brought to him or otherwise. The fact that Astarion contributed to the vampire lord's reign (almost brought him to his ultimate goal, even) isn't lost on Iorveth, but Astarion is, as ever, the exception to all of Iorveth's rules. ]
The same as any human.
[ Minus Wyll and Gale, they don't count. ]
You could turn me in again, I suppose. An infamous elven terrorist as tribute. [ His favorite tactic. ] Unless you know of someone in Athkatla worth killing.
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...I'm sure there's someone in this city whose life has no value save to serve as bait.
[ If they die, then they die. If they get turned into a spawn — oh, well. It's Iorveth he can't stand the thought of that happening to.
Casual, with a waved hand: ]
Some ne'er-do-well or another that we can pluck up off the streets and tie up.
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Holy water, tribute-searching, and finding a way to get inside the right district. Not nearly as impossible-seeming as our ridiculous journey with the tadpole.
[ Alkam is a big question mark, still, but less imposing than a huge brain with the power to enslave all living creatures in Toril. Manageable, by those standards.
Iorveth scoots closer to Astarion, relaxed and warm, tangling one leg around his. ]
Chin up, hero of Baldur's Gate. What's a lowly vampire lord in front of a spawn who saved the world?
[ Biased, obviously, but still: Astarion is the strongest vampire Iorveth knows. (He doesn't know any other vampire, and that's the point.) ]
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You're ridiculous.
[ Sometimes he worries that Iorveth sees too much good in him. Good that doesn't exist. He's not sure he's ever actually saved anybody from anything. That's the sort of thing Wyll does. He'd be surprised if the Blade of Frontiers weren't rescuing a kitten from up a tree right now. ]
—But you do make me sound very dashing.
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[ Neither of them are good people, and neither of them have ever wanted to be heroes-- Iorveth is aware. For a long time, all Iorveth expected was for fate to finally catch up to him and for his corpse to be thrown ignobly into a ditch; honestly, he still expects it, to some extent.
Not here, though. Not in Athkatla, and not by a vampire's hands. He flops, on his back and his chin tipped towards the ceiling, chest rising and falling with his inhales and exhales. ]
I'll make myself useful tomorrow. Not tonight.
[ Please let him be sex-brained for a few more hours. He's enjoying the extended afterglow, he finds-- the most uncomplicated he's felt in ages. ]
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You aren't clamoring to be productive?
[ Another snort. ]
Will wonders never cease?
[ Very uncharacteristic of him. As much as Astarion loves him in all of his overthinking and overplanning glory, he can't say he's mad about it. ]
I'll have to take advantage of you more often, if that's the outcome.
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[ Regarding productivity. If given permission, Iorveth would get dressed and hop out the window and start asking around about Mrel Alkam or anyone that the citizens of Athkatla would like to get rid of; the only thing keeping him from his usual unhinged quest to Get Shit Done is Astarion and all the ways in which he continues to feel like a person and a place that Iorveth wants to be close to. He wasn't being facetious about cutting his own trancing time to scout around during the day, but Astarion has already made his stance on that clear, and so Iorveth won't push it.
Instead, he sits in this moment. Pleasantly tired, ruined by all this affection. His eye cracks open, and he reaches to sift Astarion's mussed bangs away from his face. ]
Too full of you right now to scheme, I think. Hard to think of anything after being so well and thoroughly taken apart.
[ If Astarion hasn't noticed, Iorveth hasn't been vertical for a single second after sex. ]
Presently, I'm only good for being bitten and being marked. Do with me as you will.
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