essea | [ ELVES CATCHALL POST. ]

[ 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. ]

[ He's silent for a moment, then: ]

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.

[ 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. ]

—But you do make me sound very dashing.

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.

I could clamor, but you wouldn't like it.

[ 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.

[ Gods, Iorveth is such a freak. Astarion loves it, of course, and loves him. He arranges Iorveth's hair artfully over his forehead before moving down to cup Iorveth's jaw, thumb brushing against the sharp angle of it. The most beloved jawline in all of Faerûn, if not the whole world. ]

I wasn't certain if you were too spent to spare your blood.

[ He's hungry, obviously—always is—but he hadn't planned on partaking. Iorveth has already spoiled him, and besides, he knows that giving blood is likely exhausting. His own experience with it is limited, but he knows enough to know that one generally needs all of their blood. As selfish as he is, he can't find it in himself to be selfish with Iorveth.

Teasing: ] It would be understandable. I can be quite overwhelming to, ah, take in.

[ Giving blood is like drinking too much: great in the moment, not so much later. But Iorveth likes the way Astarion looks after he's gotten blood in his system, and he also can't stand the thought of him being hungry. There's been too much starvation in Iorveth's life for him to feel comfortable with its peripheral existence, especially if it's something that he can do something about.

That aside: ] Yes, beloved, your prick is so substantial that I could feel it in the back of my throat when you fucked me.

[ Also teasing. Dick size is neither here nor there for Iorveth, but if Astarion wants his ego stroked, well. He can do so, while also slightly tugging on pigtails again. Iorveth will never actually be embarrassed by how into it he gets whenever Astarion lets him be a freak, but he can make Astarion work for the compliments a little. ]

I felt my mind leaking out of my ears by the end of it.

[ Okay, this is true. Delivered with all the blitheness of a sarcastic quip, but with the slightest quirk of scarred lips. ]

[ Mood significantly improved now that they've dropped the topic of future vampire encounters, Astarion crawls back on top of Iorveth like a lapcat, pinching his angular nose. Every inch of him sharp and keen. Astarion can't imagine ever caring for anyone softer. Iorveth is perfect just how he is, jagged edges and all. ]

If you can still be sarcastic, [ he scolds before releasing Iorveth's nose, ] clearly I wasn't thorough enough.

[ It felt pretty thorough!! But there's always room for improvement, especially when one has a goal in mind. Case in point: ]

Next time, I'll make certain you can't even form coherent thought.

I thought we were to be mortal enemies, next time.

[ Allowing the pinch, crinkling his nose playfully once the hold is relinquished. There's still something miraculous about the fact that Astarion wants him at all, and Iorveth holds on to that feeling with pleasant contentedness as he slips one hand behind Astarion's nape and tucks that pretty face along the column of his neck.

(Outside the door: the handsome tiefling with red eyes has attempted to pick the lock of the Blackmanes' suite, to no avail. If Cazador embodied the vices of pride and wrath, Alkam is avarice and jealousy－ the spawn knows that his master will not love another spawn (he assumes, and wants to confirm) encroaching onto his territory.

The lock clatters again, standing strong, for now, against well-used tools. It's likely that the inhabitants are too far away to hear.)

Meanwhile, Iorveth kisses Astarion's hair. Treating him like the lapcat he really isn't, stuck to him like glue. ]

Though you couldn't stand me speaking sharply at you again, I think.

[ Face pressed against Iorveth's slightly-damp neck, Astarion inhales. Maybe he's a little bit of a freak, too, albeit in a different way. Iorveth's warm, sandalwood scent makes all of the (probably very few) neurons in his brain light up, and he presses his lips against tanned skin, mouthing harmlessly like a playful puppy. ]

I don't know.

[ He'd know it was only for show, and that Iorveth doesn't actually mean any of it. (At least, until Iorveth strikes a chord and Astarion blows his top during what is supposed to be sexy roleplay.) Another press of his mouth against Iorveth's throat, fangs catching against skin, somewhere between a threat and a warning. Foreplay, if sinking one's teeth into someone's neck can have such a thing. ]

If you irritate me too much, I'll just find another use for your mouth.

[ Iorveth can easily imagine how this might go: he'll be a little rough, say a few slightly mean things, and say one very mean thing that makes Astarion puff up and hiss at him. It's always a push and pull with them, one way or the other.

Enjoyable, though. As pleasant as the itch-pain of fangs grazing against thin skin. Craning his neck, Iorveth makes more room for Astarion to sink into what is quickly becoming a spot constantly marked by two little inflamed dots: the only reason it hasn't scarred yet is because Iorveth has been discreet enough, at least, to half-heartedly Cure Wounds himself the following day. (Only to close up the punctures, and not to make them go away entirely.) ]

Smart of you. [ A laugh, and Iorveth kisses the crown of Astarion's head. ] Usually, the first thing my captors or rivals do is try to make me shut up.

[ It is, in fact, the only way to stay sane around an unhinged terrorist with a sharp tongue. ]

But you'd only be doing me a favor if you try to shut me up with your cock.

[ Just so Astarion knows. This freak has an oral fixation, if Astarion hasn't noticed. ]

[ Iorveth is so blunt. He grins against the skin of Iorveth's throat, amused; straightforward in all things, he supposes. A small laugh escapes him, unnecessary breath blowing against Iorveth's skin. ]

Mm, I can think of a way to shut you up now.

[ First cock rings, now this!! He can't believe that he ever thought Iorveth uninterested in intimacy. He'd told himself that he was perfectly fine with that, and he had been at the time, but he can't imagine giving it up now. Iorveth is his perfect match in all ways: degenerate enough to be interesting, while still tolerant of Astarion's need to maintain control. No one else in the world could ever be such an ideal blend, he thinks.

His hand worms its way between Iorveth's head and the pillow, cradling it. Loving, even in this. Drinking from Iorveth is wholly different from drinking from anyone else, special and sacramental. His teeth break skin, still as purposefully gentle as he'd been earlier, and he laps at the blood beading on the surface softly, languidly. ]

[ Annoyingly (Blissfully)--

--it shuts Iorveth up. Teeth and tongue and adrenaline-serotonin, he lists into the bite and the drain, permissive only because he trusts Astarion to watch over him when he's limp and bloodless. Something he failed to consider the first time he let Astarion sink his fangs into him, and something that surprised Iorveth afterwards, the fact that Astarion did, in fact, stick around while he passed out.

A sigh, a hum, and a full-bodied settling. Completely useless, down and out for the night. Foolish, all things considered, but a luxury nevertheless to submit completely to being lazy for once.

(The tiefling spawn gives up for the night; he'll return with better tools, and he'll see if he can please his master with a tribute, with something that will earn him at least a tenday of peace.

Meanwhile, the night hag scowls in her lair.)

Iorveth, limp and warm and trapped under Astarion's weight, murmurs: ]

If I'm to die, let it be like this.

[ Under Astarion's mouth, in bed. Wouldn't that be nice. ]

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