essea | [ ELVES CATCHALL POST. ]

[ Astarion settles down on the floor within arm's reach of the water, in case Iorveth needs another hair-washing or just some idle petting. The thought of Iorveth being out of arm's reach after the events of tonight makes his skin prickle unpleasantly, actually. He might never let Iorveth out of his sight again for fear of something happening to him. Just when he starts to believe the world might not be an entirely awful place, something happens to kickstart those neuroses right back up. ]

I'm not so desperate yet that I'm willing to travel to the Hells again.

[ He flicks the sweet-smelling water. ]

...Besides, you'd despise me for it, and then ascension wouldn't be any good to me at all.

[ A catch-22: he could do horrible things to give Iorveth eternal life, but then Iorveth would spend that eternal life disappointed in him. ]

[ Not-quite-sexy stripping. Iorveth peels his sweat-sticky layers from his body, dropping them carefully in a hamper for cleaning later. It was a nice outfit meant to accommodate going out and buying something shiny for Astarion's pleasure, so he'll want it in good condition for another day.

His eyepatch is the last bit to get removed, and he places it next to Astarion for safekeeping. The ring-necklace stays. He prefers to wear it on his skin like a second tattoo. ]

I wouldn't despise you. [ An observation and a half-revelation, as he dips into the water. ] But every vampire we've seen thus far has lived their un-life holed up in a tasteless mansion with intolerable minions. If that's to be my fate, I wouldn't choose it happily.

[ Keeping close, glancing up at Astarion from inside the shallow pool: ] Does that put us at odds?

[ He lets his cold hand dangle in the warm water, heating it up. Better to let it reach something resembling living body temperature before he tries to touch Iorveth with it. Astarion would hate to frighten Iorveth with a freezing hand on the back of his neck; after what he's been through today, that might be the thing that gives him a fatal heart attack. ]

I already said I'd spend my un-life holed up in some straw hut with intolerable elves for you.

[ He still doesn't really get how the Aen Seidhe live.

Then, grousing a little: ] But I suppose it would be nice if you didn't make eternity with me sound like a prison sentence.

[ Hm. Sliding down so that the back of his head settles against the edge of the pool, shoulders under the water and his hair (slightly longer since the last time Astarion trimmed it) swimming around him, Iorveth marinates for a second. ]

So you say, after making life in the forest sound like an intolerable concession.

[ Apparently, Astarion still thinks wood elves just kind of. Roll around in dirt and sleep on beds made of leaves. (Maybe some of them do???) He doesn't want to start a fight after a stressful night and an unsuccessful mission, but here he is anyway. ]

I said I want to build my future with you, in whatever form that takes. With you, you dolt.

[ Eternity is a long time, if they manage to secure it for the both of them. Iorveth is of the opinion that neither of them should suffer it. ]

[ Life in the forest kind of is an intolerable concession, but it's one he was willing to tolerate because Iorveth would be there. He would give up nearly anything to be with Iorveth, although admittedly, he had very little to give up in the first place. What would he have been doing right now, if not this? Skulking around in the Underdark surrounded by his awful siblings and seven thousand people who hate him. ]

A future with an expiration date, you mean.

[ For one of them, anyway, but the end of Iorveth's life feels a lot like the end of his life. The trials of having one singular person who has made life worth living; without said person, it all seems very bleak. ]

...Well. I guess I'm already fortunate to have as much of you as I do.

[ He doesn't sound wholly convinced of this. Astarion has never been the type to be content with what he has. ]

[ An extended silence after Astarion seems to give up on the matter of their future (Astarion's future), and Iorveth sighs. Sitting back up again, water displacing gently around him, he turns and reaches up－

－and tugs on Astarion's arms, hopefully forcing him to slide, clothes and all, into the water. Like picking up and dumping an unruly, sullen cat into a bath. Which is basically what's happening, as far as Iorveth is concerned. ]

Idiot. [ Again. ] You might not, but I'll claw and fight until my last breath for a way to extend my life without you having to ascend.

[ Deranged elf, always swimming up waterfalls and fighting obviously losing battles. Any hardship or suffering feels worth it if it contributes to the future of the people he loves. ]

[ Iorveth tugs, and Astarion goes tumbling into the water with a splash. He reacts, yes, like an unruly, sullen cat, practically hissing as he raises his arms and lets the water drip from his sleeves. His clothes! Gods, his hair! He splutters, spitting a little bit of lavender-scented water as he does so.

For a dead man, he's surprisingly red-faced. Red-eared, too. ]

—Darling.

[ An exasperated scold. ]

What in the hells was that for?

For sulking. [ Says the mean elf, pulling a very waterlogged Astarion towards him to capture in an embrace. Again, much like trying to hold an unruly cat to make it stop squirming. ] For thinking I wouldn't find a way to be with you without capturing seven thousand sorry souls and having you become something you would hate.

[ An assumption, but Iorveth believes it to be a rather informed one. Astarion may look like a dripping, hissing mess right now, but Iorveth vastly prefers this to whatever version of the vampire ascendant Astarion might have become. ]

For thinking I was disgusted by you.

[ A huff, displeased, and he flicks water at Astarion's red face. ]

I'd not tolerate such offense from anyone but you.

[ He has the right to sulk, he thinks, when he just spent the night trying to keep the love of his life from dying horribly. But Iorveth can appease him as easily as he can irritate him, and although he halfheartedly pretends that he doesn't want it, Astarion accepts the embrace, head leaning on Iorveth's perfect archer shoulder. ]

I only asked if you were disgusted, [ is his excuse. He never said that Iorveth actually was! In truth, Iorveth probably should be. All of that praise about how sweet and good Astarion is, and he's still pretty sure he's fundamentally a bad person. He is, admittedly, a little afraid that one day Iorveth will realize this and become disillusioned with him. ]

Do you mean it?

[ About finding a way to be with him. Iorveth always means what he says, but he still has to ask. ]

When I speak of eternal life, you sound— [ Mm. A pause. ] Unenthusiastic.

[ Iorveth feels sore all over, but it's mostly his insides that feel wrung-out and tired. Having weight applied to his poison-weakened body isn't the best for him, but the irrational, illogical part of his brain whose chemistry has been permanently changed by Astarion says that the additional weight is the only thing that feels good right now, so. Iorveth hefts Astarion closer, aching but content. ]

I'm unenthused about an eternal life predicated on being your kept elf in an ivory tower.

[ To make that distinction abundantly clear. ]

I'm enthused about an eternal life where we explore the world on our own terms, kill our enemies when we need to, and fuck where we want. Together.

[ A deviation from his previously-held dreams for the future. It still holds－ his evergreen desire to sit in a quiet, peaceful room with a table full of food and a roaring fire to keep warm－ but it's in concert with enjoying a life with someone he loves.

Obviously, this future also hinges on the survival of the Aen Seidhe, but Saskia seems to have that covered for now. Plus, Saskia is also going to live for like, another few millennia, thank the gods. ]

[ This whole distaste toward being a 'kept elf' is sort of ridiculous, he thinks, because he would make sure that Iorveth was safe and spoiled and had everything he could ever want and more. How could that be worse than the life Iorveth has led for years, stressed and deprived of all of life's greatest pleasures?

He doesn't argue this, because Iorveth might get angry, and it's a moot point, anyway. It's never going to actually happen. Astarion ensured that when he set all of those thousands of spawn free instead of condemning them to the Hells.

So, instead, he laughs. ]

Mm, romantic.

[ Iorveth would prioritize 'killing' before 'fucking'. But those are all the things he wants, too, in a manner of speaking. He wants to do whatever he wants whenever he wants, and yes, that includes killing and fucking. ]

If we're going to fuck eternally, [ he says with another laugh, withdrawing from the embrace, ] we'll really have to start doing more depraved things. I wouldn't want you to grow bored.

[ A casual hmph, at the accusation that Iorveth would ever get bored. For all of Astarion's grumbling about Iorveth's unwillingness to accept how cared for he is, Iorveth thinks Astarion reciprocally underestimates the depth of Iorveth's possibly-deranged love. ]

You're a fool if you truly think that would happen.

[ Hmph!!! Offended but still chronically unable to not fuss while Astarion is around, Iorveth reaches to help Astarion out of his waterlogged vampire chic outfit, undoing buttons and peeling stuck layers away from his skin with gentle attention. It really is unfair how beautiful Astarion manages to be, even when he looks half-drowned and rumpled.

After a beat of keeping his hands busy, Iorveth adds: ]

―I wouldn't say no to experimentation, however.

[ Like, he isn't not going to be a freak. That, and Astarion deserves to figure out what gets him going (or turns him off). ]

[ Dressing and undressing is perhaps one of the things Iorveth does that Astarion loves the most. A small thing, but it makes him feel— like somebody worth taking care of. An uncommon but very, very good feeling. He smiles crookedly as Iorveth peels the sopping clothing from him, taking it afterward and laying it out as flat as he can manage on the floor. No wrinkles for this vampire. ]

Of course you wouldn't, you filthy man.

[ Said warmly. Sometimes he thinks that maybe Lae'zel and Iorveth would have been a better match, if only because Lae'zel could match his freak tenfold. Iorveth pokes fun at him for not being as depraved as he claims to be and, well, he's unfortunately right. ]

The filthy man that I adore. [ He swipes a thumb across Iorveth's cheek. ] Now and always.

[ Iorveth will accept "filthy" from Astarion, and no one else. Truly, he sees nothing wrong with finding new and interesting (insane) ways to enjoy someone (or having them enjoy him), but he can tell that Astarion means "filthy" in an affectionate way.

Or, at least, he hopes. He wouldn't be able to bear it if Astarion felt pressured to perform again; he has a hand, if Astarion doesn't want sex. That'll never be a dealbreaker.

Blinking steam from his eye, Iorveth tips into the touch against his cheek and tries not to look too pleased by the declaration that he's adored. ]

...Always and increasingly.

[ A reciprocal proclamation, as he leans in to press his lips to Astarion's mouth, featherlight－

－which reminds him: ] Hells. I forgot to gag the tiefling. [ Another quick peck, and Iorveth starts to lift himself out of the pool. ]

[ Astarion closes his eyes and readies himself to be properly lavished with affection, and— oh. He cracks one eye open, then the other. ]

I guess the moment is over.

[ Damris has managed to ruin something yet again, and he's not even awake (hopefully). What the hells is the point of having a spat if it doesn't end in him being kissed all over his face and endlessly told how wonderful he is?

But he does want the awful creature gagged, because not only does he not want to hear anything the man has to say, he really doesn't want his shouting to draw unnecessary attention from anyone on the lower floors. He clambers out of the bath alongside Iorveth, a large puddle on the floor where he stands. ]

At least put on a robe before you go in there. I don't like the idea of him having access to all of your, ah, vulnerable parts.

[ Vampire spawn are crafty! He could bite off Iorveth's dick, and gods, that would be a fiasco. ]

[ Again: Astarion has the hardest life in the world. That said, Iorveth fully intends to shower Astarion with attention after he takes care of the Damris Business, and also fully intends to keep his dick intact for a rainy day, so on the robe goes (one in deep aubergine; he couldn't bring himself to choose the periwinkle), after he towels Astarion off so that he isn't dripping everywhere. Still fussing. ]

I'm not symmetrical enough for him to want to look at my cock, [ Iorveth drawls when he's finished, moving to dry his hair perfunctorily before heading back into the office. Damris is still on the floor, a lovely lump sprawled on a pile of hastily-stacked divan cushions, but he's showing signs of being... well, not alive, but not dead dead. A shift here, a soft groan there.

Well, at least they're not keeping a corpse locked up. Iorveth takes his bathrobe belt and uses it as a makeshift gag, to which the half-conscious tiefling protests with a weak grunt and the barest hint of sharp teeth attempting to find something soft to bite down on. ]

Almost as unruly as you, [ Iorveth hums, 'you' referring to Astarion. ]

[ Ah. Not dead, just heavily sedated. Well, that's fine by him. He only worries about what will happen when the sedation wears off. Like he said: vampire spawn are crafty. Iorveth has trussed him up very well, but if they don't kill him, they'll have to let him out eventually, and Astarion can't picture him being grateful.

A bridge he'll cross when he gets to it! Iorveth is the planner, not him. He peeks in dressed in, yes, the periwinkle robe. Not exactly his color, but he likes to think that he can pull anything off. ]

Oh, gods. So dramatic. [ He rolls his eyes. ] It's not like you haven't had worse.

[ Meanwhile, Astarion was tortured for two hundred years and would still throw a tantrum over a stubbed toe. ]

Oh! [ As if he's just thought of something. ] You should have asked him what his favorite flowers were, darling. [ Waving a hand: ] Eh. I'll just say roses.

[ Letting Damris' head loll back onto one of the cushions (which has developed a tear in the fabric from sharp horns raking against it), Iorveth gets back up and surveys his work. ]

Mm. I like roses, myself.

[ There are ruins back near his home forest with bushes full of the most delicate white roses, and thinking of it makes him slightly nostalgic. Both for better times, and for the scent of dewy moss on a quiet morning, but he doesn't want to say so now. Especially not after Astarion mentioned living in the forest with the sort of tone that implied that he doesn't love the idea of roughing it.

So. Wiping his palms on his bathrobe, he turns away from Damris and back towards Astarion, who manages to look very fetching in a color that Iorveth would have looked clownish in. ]

Have you ever worn a crown of flowers?

[ The most wood elf shit he could ever say. The tone here is that Iorveth absolutely has in the past. (And is unashamed of having done so.) ]

[ Astarion stares at Iorveth, raising his eyebrows as if the question is ridiculous — and it is. He adores Iorveth, just as he'd said, but surely he could use some context clues to suss this one out. ]

Oh, yes. The other spawn and I took turns weaving daisy chains for each other in between torturing each other.

[ It isn't biting, exactly—he still feels warm and fuzzy after Iorveth said such nice things in the bath—but a 'duh' wouldn't go amiss tacked onto the end. He doesn't like being reminded of the sort of things he missed out on (even if he can't imagine himself wearing something so twee before Cazador, either), but he especially doesn't like it happening in front of another spawn, half-conscious or not. A deep-seated habit not to show weakness in front of another vampire, maybe. ]

Obviously not.

[ A light laugh, dry. Head tipped and brow raised: ]

Magistrate Ancunín didn't have creative admirers, then.

[ Too soon? Maybe it'll always be too soon to talk about a past that Astarion can no longer remember. Devastating craters in someone's life will never get smaller, but maybe more distant with time.

It's meant to be light, though. Giving Damris one last nudge with the side of his foot (the tiefling responds with another soft groan), Iorveth tucks his now-beltless robe around himself with one hand and gestures for Astarion to follow him back to their bedroom. ]

Noted, for the future.

[ One day, Astarion will jumpscare Astarion with a flower crown, and it will be the most twee thing he'll ever put on his pretty head. ]

[ Once upon a time, he thinks that Iorveth would have taken a reaction like that poorly. Maybe he's grown used to Astarion, the way one grows used to the prickles of a hedgehog that they handle often. He follows behind as requested, hand coming to rest between Iorveth's shoulder blades, against the silky purple fabric of his robe. ]

Magistrate Ancunín wouldn't have worn it even if every one of his many [ —or so he assumes— ] admirers asked.

[ He recalls little about what sort of person he was back then, but this he knows. Astarion was never a flower crown-wearer, even before all of the bad things happened to him. He would have found them overly precious, and besides, he's never cared for flowers. Or any sort of nature, really. It's a wonder Iorveth puts up with him. ]

You're the only admirer I'd allow to gift such a thing to me.

[ Magistrate Ancunín wouldn't have given Iorveth-with-no-family-name the time of fucking day, and Iorveth-of-the-woods would have taken one look at a posh high elf and decided to hate him immediately. Really, the tadpole was the only thing keeping them in the same camp for a good portion of their initial journey: without that fixture in their heads, Iorveth would have split off and never given Astarion a second thought.

Terrifying to consider. Some things require time and patience, and Iorveth had neither back when they first met. A miracle, really, that circumstances forced him to see Astarion more clearly, because he doubts he would have chosen to do so otherwise.

Back into the bedroom they go, where Iorveth immediately chooses to be horizontal, letting his poison-tired body drape limply on clean sheets. He realizes too late that he's left his eyepatch back in the bathroom, but that's a problem for Iorveth of tomorrow. ]

Lucky me, [ he says, without irony or sarcasm. He does feel lucky, and this is the second time of the night that he's said so. ] What else would you let me gift you?

[ Gesturing for Astarion to join him in bed. ]

[ Iorveth looks terrifyingly inviting sprawled out on the sheets, soft and defenseless. Astarion slithers up beside him in an instant, pressing himself into the space that Iorveth's body creates. He's a big fan of his personal space, except when it comes to Iorveth. Then he's a fan of Iorveth's personal space.

Iorveth just doesn't feel like another person the way that other people do. Other people are scary, untrustworthy things, and being around them gives Astarion a constant low-level sense of anxiety and dread. Not Iorveth. 'My better half', he'd called Astarion, and while the 'better' part certainly isn't true, he does sometimes feel as if Iorveth is his other half in an almost literal way. A physical part of him that would hurt to be separated from. ]

Your time, [ he says, brushing hair out of Iorveth's face. ] Your love. [ A remarkably twee boop to Iorveth's nose, although he'd deny it ever happened if asked. ] Your kisses. What more could I ask for?

[ Astarion is still warm from the bath, but Iorveth tucks close to him anyway to keep that heat from escaping anywhere. An elf-shaped radiator, overprotective of Astarion's comfort.

The boop to the nose is twee, yes, but so is Iorveth's acceptance of it. Tipping his chin up to response, making the sort of soft noise an animal makes when someone scratches it behind its ear just right. ]

Compliments. Affirmations. [ Very unselfish of Astarion not to ask for them. Maybe they were included within 'love', though: the term encompasses a lot of things. ] Poetry about how beautiful you are.

[ The 'shallow praise' that Iorveth so often scoffed at. They're no longer shallow, now that Iorveth believes Astarion actually likes hearing them instead of being privately disgusted under his pretty mask.

Another soft, pleased hum, before he leans in for a very chaste kiss. ]

...The sun. I promise you that you'll have it back.

[ Famous last words, perhaps. But Iorveth has never said anything he doesn't mean, or intend to follow through to the end. ]

[ There's value in exploring the pleasure that he'd had rather violently taken from him, but there's something to be said about experiencing gentle touch for the sake of touch, too. Before Iorveth, he'd never had cause to believe that someone would want to touch him in order to make him happy, or to express affection for him. Touch always had an ulterior motive, he'd thought, and everyone else was just foolish for thinking otherwise.

He's addicted to it now. Iorveth's warm hand in his, his soft lips against Astarion's, his body curled around his. He remembers being so surprised the first time Iorveth had kissed him back; he'd expected Iorveth's kiss to be as harsh as him, but it had been light, shockingly sweet given Iorveth's rather sour personality. He talks of being ruined, but in the end, it's him who ruined Astarion for all others. In all of his most wildest fantasies, he never could have imagined someone touching him gently and speaking to him softly the way that Iorveth does. ]

My hero.

[ Really. It's the greatest gift anyone could ever give him. Iorveth is an idiot for putting himself through hell to get it, though. ]

But until the time comes that you can follow through on that one, I wouldn't say no to a few compliments.

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