[ Iorveth resisted countless times asking Astarion to come with him, and Astarion asked him to be his kept elf in his hypothetical castle before they'd even kissed. It wasn't a romantic overture, exactly -- although he certainly wouldn't have minded if Iorveth had wanted to be his kept elf in multiple ways. He'd just felt terribly lonely about the fact that he seemingly had no future while everyone else had plenty to look forward to, and he'd thought that Iorveth of all people understood the allure of safety at any cost. He hadn't planned on Iorveth finding freedom more alluring.
It's still embarrassing to think about. Gods, no one in this world has ever rejected him more summarily than Iorveth has.
He allows himself to be led along by the hand. Although he won't be trancing again -- seems unwise, if he knows that he's going to have horrible nightmares -- he doesn't mind tucking Iorveth in. It's another one of those little domestic things that he previously couldn't bear to think about doing, because he didn't think there would ever be anyone he loved enough to actually want to do it. ]
I hope you don't have any regrets.
[ About inviting Astarion along with him, that is. He's sure Iorveth has plenty of other regrets. They both do. ]
I don't.
[ Even if the north is awful and uncivilized and he hates it, he'd rather be miserable in the woods with Iorveth than anywhere without him. ]
[ Regrets. A stupid thing for Astarion to ask, though the addendum that Astarion doesn't have any smooths over any errant ripple of exasperation. Iorveth may have wrung his hands over Astarion's future before, but they've had enough fights about takebacks that Iorveth has surrendered that option entirely.
(Or, well. Mostly. Sometimes, the thought still flits across his mind: 'he'd be happier without all this'.)
Into the bedroom, back onto purple bedsheets. By himself, this time. A bit strange, to be in bed without someone; to mitigate, he lets go of Astarion's hand to rummage inside the pack that he'd left by the foot of his bed, and takes out the bottle of perfume that he'd gifted to Astarion before. He dabs a bit of the contents onto his collar, then onto a pillow as he finally answers: ]
Fool. I could never regret you.
[ Glancing at Astarion, then softening somewhat. ] I've accepted that I love you selfishly and unreasonably.
[ Watching Iorveth dab cologne onto his collar makes Astarion bloom with happiness, a grin spreading across his face. He loves this man so much that sometimes he feels he needs to shout it from the rooftops. He wishes he could kill every person who ever hurt Iorveth and drag their mangled corpses back to him like a cat with a bird.
Standing beside the bed, he takes the silky purple sheets in hand and pulls them up over Iorveth's body before perching on the edge of the mattress beside him. ]
Loving me is very reasonable.
[ But he knows what Iorveth means. Hells, he doesn't know if Iorveth has ever let himself do something 'selfish' for the last century. There's nothing more special than being the subject of his selfish affections.
He glances over at the window, where a little sliver of evening sun still peeks out from behind the curtains. ]
If it's all right with you, I think I might mill around downstairs while I wait for nightfall. [ There are people to cheat, pickpocket, and generally harass down there, after all. ] —Don't worry. I won't drink anything.
[ Loving Astarion might be reasonable, but loving Astarion to the degree that Iorveth does isn't. If they were still traveling in a group, it's likely that the others would have found ways to pull Iorveth in different directions, but alas.
That said, Iorveth concedes to Astarion going, freedom-loving elf that he is. He settles into what are now Astarion-scented pillows, giving Astarion's knee one last pat before resigning himself to bedrest. ]
Mm. Go make the city yours, 'Master Blackmane'. [ A brief twitch of his lips, amused. ] Be careful, and only get into the sort of trouble you can get yourself out of.
[ Mischievous cat. Iorveth would never tell Astarion not to carouse, as long as he can come back to him in one piece; with that, he closes his eye and waves him off. Getting as far away from Damris and this cursed inn might do Astarion a world of good. ]
[ Astarion leans over to kiss Iorveth's forehead before he forces himself up and away from this very appealing sight. If he stays, he'll crawl into bed with Iorveth, and if he crawls into bed with Iorveth, he'll trance. So he tears himself away, peeking in to make sure Damris looks well-bound before making his way downstairs. He plays a few games of cards at the bar. Cheats at all of them, but only gets accused once. Well, I've never been so offended in my life, he says before pretending to storm out into the now-nighttime in a huff.
Athkatla is lively at night. He first makes his way to a few of the smaller stalls, making pleasant conversation as he peruses their wares. He buys a bottle of scented oil because, well, he too is a red-blooded male (it's for my hair, of course, he tells the sweet old lady selling it). He asks around for the fanciest jewelry shop in the city, then, and spends about an hour harassing the jeweler about finding the shiniest ring he has.
The place is near the gate to the Scepter District, and poor Linus is on duty at the gate. Astarion swivels around the moment he notices him, but the shock of silver hair must be difficult to forget. "Sir!" he calls out. "Is Damris all right? I haven't seen him come back, and... well, I've been saving a bouquet for him." ]
Oh, gods, [ Astarion says, disgusted at the sweetness of it all. Linus tilts his head in confusion, and he corrects himself: ] I mean, oh, gods, he really must be nervous to confess! Well, I'd best be off.
[ "A-are you sure that's all it is?" Linus calls after him, but he's already scurrying away, making a beeline for purple pennants in the distance. ]
[ Poor Linus. His beloved is hogtied and tossed onto a pile of divan cushions like an attractive sack of potatoes, and the deranged elf responsible is trancing soundly with his face buried in a soft pillow that smells like his beloved. The dichotomy of man.
By the time Astarion returns with his card games won and his trinkets purchased, Iorveth is awake again and lounging in bed, restless but adhering to his promise to behave: he has his heirloom bow sitting on top of his crossed legs, and stops polishing it once he hears the door to their room swing open and shut.
If Astarion beelines for the bedroom, he'll find Iorveth with a throwing knife in hand, Just In Case. It, of course, gets tossed aside once Iorveth confirms that it's not an enemy who's infiltrated his space; he brightens in the way he only does in Astarion's vicinity, lips curling upwards in an uncalculated, unconscious smile. ]
You're back. [ Invisible fox ears flatten, relaxed and pleased. ] How does Athkatla measure against Waterdeep?
[ Starting to put his things away to give Astarion more space, wiping his wax-covered fingers on a dirty rag. ]
[ Astarion looks offended at the throwing knife, but softens when Iorveth tosses it aside. (Very polite of him. He could have been so much more dramatic. He almost died from that throwing knife... or he would've if Iorveth actually threw it.) Those invisible fox ears are just too cute to stay mad at. ]
Mm. It's filthy, stinky, and loud. [ A sigh. ] It reminds me of home.
[ Baldur's Gate, that is. Dirty and rowdy, replete with murderous cultists and rotten fish. Waterdeep is so much better in so many ways — cleaner, prettier, safer — but there's something about a slightly grimy city that feels more familiar. ]
It isn't half-bad, if you ignore the hags and vampire lords. [ Which he's been trying his best to do.
He removes his pack, opening it up to reach inside it. His fingers close around a small box inside, and then he suddenly reconsiders. Iorveth was poisoned yesterday. There's a hogtied man in their study. And there's purple everywhere.
It's not very romantic, is his point. He withdraws his hand, hugging the pack to his chest instead. ]
Do— [ He feels his face heat up even before asking the question. Gods, this is humiliating. ] Ah. Well, what I'm asking, I suppose, is... [ He hems and haws for a moment, ears growing steadily redder, and then finally says: ] Do the Aen Seidhe hold wedding ceremonies?
[ "It's nice, if you ignore the fact that it's a place where hags and vampires thrive" is probably not the character witness that Athkatla would want to represent them in a case, but that train of thought dissipates almost instantaneously with the offering of Astarion's very flustered, very mealy-mouthed question.
It takes a moment to register. He'd been trying to mentally prepare for a ring (the word 'trying' is doing a lot of heavy lifting there), but the surreality of the concept has forced Iorveth to compartmentalize it as 'a gift, but even better'; now that Astarion has thrown the term 'marriage' into the mix, Iorveth's ever-churning mind does about ten flips in (not unpleasant) bemusement.
That isn't mentioning whatever the fuck his heart does. There's no word in any language, Common or Aen Seidhe, for whatever goes on in his chest.
After a prolonged moment of silence, where Iorveth cycles through three major urges－ to gape, to lean back, and to surge forward and tackle Astarion onto purple bedsheets－ he finally manages: ]
Some do.
[ Very eloquent. He clears his throat, then raises a hand to touch the side of Astarion's very-flushed face. ] If you're asking because－
[ He stops. Scales tip in his head. He still kind of wants to grab Astarion and kiss him senseless. ] －Would you?
[ Hells. The familiar but rusty feeling of wanting to defenestrate himself returns. ]
[ Astarion's pale face must be tomato red. He clutches the pack a little tighter, nervousness clear as day in his body language. Yes, they've already spoken about this at length, but he'd always been sure to simply call it what it was: a ring, nothing more, nothing less. Surely they'd both known exactly what he meant, but it feels much more scary to say it aloud. His mind suddenly plays back every time Iorveth has ever turned him down. ]
I don't know, [ he blurts out as a defense mechanism, looking everywhere but Iorveth's eyes. He thinks about saying that he was 'only curious', but Iorveth might take that as him not wanting to. Ugh, if only he could make it clear that he wants to without Iorveth ever knowing that he wants to.
A protracted silence passes. ]
I was just thinking that we might look quite dashing in wedding robes, is all.
[ Wedding robes. Iorveth hasn't even seen an Aen Seidhe newborn in ages; no one has wanted to create unions or new life because of the bleakness of their clan's future. It was easier to comprehend Astarion wanting to put a ring on his finger, but the potential ceremony of it makes Iorveth feel－
－overwhelmed? Slightly. The sort of emotion that he can't put a name to. He blinks back the delirious migraine that's starting to build, too much pounding in his head, in his chest.
A half-sigh, warm, and Iorveth finally surges forward to take Astarion's beet-red face in both his hands, feeling, unbelievably, something hot and wet behind his one eye. ]
―You would be the most beautiful thing the forest's ever seen.
[ Gods, fuck. If Iorveth isn't careful, he might forget to breathe. ]
[ Normally, Iorveth's palms are a comforting warmth against his skin. Now, they feel about room temperature. He must be burning with embarrassment, and the knowledge of that makes him burn more. This isn't smooth and seductive. This is a mess.
Still, Iorveth's reaction makes a smile twitch at the corners of his mouth, uncontrollable. ]
So would you.
[ Whether Iorveth believes beauty of being something he's capable of not. At a certain point, it's out of his hands, an objective truth, Astarion thinks. Iorveth in some soft, silky fabric cut just for him, with a ring on his finger, belonging solely to Astarion-- yes, that would be very beautiful indeed. His heart can't beat, but he could swear he feels it pounding in his chest. ]
If that was something that you wanted.
[ Because Iorveth still hasn't actually said that he wants it. To be fair, Astarion hasn't actually asked him, either. A mess. ]
...I believe this sort of thing is traditionally done on one knee.
[ They've got the order of things all wrong, and awkwardly stumbling over questions and declarations that have only been half-made. Typical. There's nothing slick or smooth about what they're doing, but Iorveth doesn't care― this seems to be the way of things with them, fumbling blind around the things they want, wanting them fervently anyway.
His thumbs smooth against either side of Astarion's red face, enamored by the flush and how it manifests on ivory-pale skin; he really is the most beautiful man Iorveth has ever met. It feels like a physical ache to let go of him when all Iorveth wants to do is tug him into his chest. ]
I don't care how it's done. [ Blunt as usual, but equally warm and affectionate, anticipation and hope smoothing the edges of his candor. ] I want you.
[ And everything that that entails, wedding robes and all (gods, he still can't believe it). A far cry from when he'd been curled next to Astarion in bed, debating the pros and cons of saying a single word ('stay'); Iorveth, with his legs swung over the side of their stupid purple bed, has never been more sure than he is now about needing someone in his life.
It's a dangerous place to be. Vulnerable, foolhardy. Astarion is his only fatal weakness now, and will become so a thousandfold if he formally goes through with this, but that's a risk he'll happily take. For the millionth time, he doesn't love easy. ]
[ Not long ago, Iorveth had been trying to convince him that it would be healthy for them to spend some time apart. If he ever tries to do so again, Astarion might have to actually kill him. He runs a hand over Iorveth's cheek, flushed for another reason now, pleasure pinking his cheeks and ears. And, hells, probably the rest of him, too. It feels like there isn't an inch of him that isn't buzzing with happiness. ]
And I want you.
[ Obviously. It's the whole reason this just happened in the first place. He'd planned on just slipping the ring on Iorveth's finger and calling it a day, but in the moment, it had seemed so... without pomp, for something so monumental.
He giggles then, nervous and giddy. ]
Well! Who could ever have imagined that I would be marriage material? I thought I'd be sowing my wild oats for centuries to come.
[ Honestly, it's not something he ever really thought about before Iorveth came along. Before Cazador, it was an unexciting given that he'd marry someone for status and wealth, maybe have a couple of little brats running about the place. After Cazador, it was a given that he'd never do it whether he wanted to or not. Once the worm gifted him with freedom, the thought of belonging to someone else again would have repulsed him. It's only recently that he's learned belonging to someone because he wants to is endlessly different. ]
--Oh, gods, Gale will insist on coming and giving a speech.
[ He does his best to sound like he doesn't want that, but the excitement in his voice gives him away. ]
[ Marriage. The word still feels like a mallet to the skull, intense and unexpected, and Iorveth has to constantly blink stars out of his eye to keep himself grounded. For a second, he wonders if this entire thing isn't a byproduct of an overactive trancing mind, but even his overactive imagination (when it comes to Astarion and nothing else) couldn't conjure how lovely Astarion looks like now, flushed and smiling and vaguely anxious.
So. This time, Iorveth does give in to impulse. He reaches out and closes his hand around Astarion's forearm, pulling him in, pack and all, onto bed and into the waiting circle of Iorveth's arms. A tight embrace, dripping affection. ]
I'd invite the entirety of the cursed Emerald Grove to bear witness, if it pleased you.
[ Anything. It dawns on him, well and truly, that he would do anything for Astarion, but the realization fails to fill him with dread.
A hand buries in silver hair, petting soft curls; the other rests against Astarion's hip, keeping him close. Coveting, adoring. Iorveth buries his face into Astarion's neck, and kisses right above the mark that Cazador left inextricably where Astarion's pulse should have been. (Fuck that guy. He's dust, and Iorveth will give Astarion the world.) ]
Marry me, Astarion Ancunín. [ Murmured, with reverence. ] I give you all of me― my blood, my heart, my life.
[ Iorveth started with a pledge― he might as well bring it full circle. ]
[ Astarion topples into Iorveth's arms, pack crushed between them. He laughs, wriggling until he can get the pack out from between them, dropping it on the floor next to the bed and leaning his weight onto Iorveth. He's always enjoyed doing this because it feels like — no matter how ridiculously and inaccurately — Iorveth can't possibly go away from him, anchored by his body. Now Iorveth really won't be able to go anywhere, anchored by a ring instead. ]
I thought I was the one asking you, you incorrigible sap.
[ Clearly, it doesn't bother him. He's still grinning, ear to pointy ear, fangs out. He strokes Iorveth's hair, a gentle hand against dark, shiny locks. ]
'Iorveth Ancunín' does have a ring to it.
[ Is that all right to say? Should he be offering to be 'Astarion No-Last-Name' instead? ]
It'll have to be that way, as I've no name to give you.
[ He got rid of his, as one last sign of respect to his dead parents; his mother, especially, had begged him not to join the guerilla movement, and so the only way he knows how to honor her is by disassociating with her entirely. May her and his father's name remain unsullied by his actions.
Heavy shit that he doesn't have to talk about, not right now. Iorveth Ancunín, he rolls over in his head, and though it's a ridiculous mix of disparate elven styles, it feels right. ]
"Astarion, the Woodland Cat" is decidedly less glamorous.
[ A laugh, and he cranes up to kiss Astarion's temple this time around. Still in awe of him and the current state of things; it'll be impossible for Astarion to peel Iorveth away for at least the next hour. ]
[ Well, Astarion doesn't plan on being separated from Iorveth for at least two hours, if not more. Hells, he'd stay here and roll around in this bed with Iorveth for the rest of his eternal life if given the chance, and if there weren't a tiefling still grunting in displeasure in the next room over.
It is very fitting, he thinks, that they got officially engaged with a man hogtied in the other room. ]
Do you remember, [ he asks, mouth twisting in amusement, ] when we broke out of that awful man's cellar [ —Henselt, but his name doesn't bear repeating— ] and ended up taking refuge in the Water Queen's House?
[ They'd still been tiptoeing around each other then; Iorveth would still scowl at him and call him vampire, something he can't believe he ever tolerated now that he knows what Iorveth's softness is like. ]
You told them that we were engaged, and on the run. [ A ridiculous thought at the time. ] —And that we had a torrid sex life.
[ Well, no. That part was Astarion. ]
You called me 'love'.
[ Until precisely this moment, it would have been too embarrassing to admit that it's something he still remembers. ]
[ Iorveth loosens the embrace just enough to let Astarion get comfortable, allowing just enough distance between them so that Iorveth can see him properly instead of just indistinct, blurry blobs of skin and soft hair. His hands are indecisive, cycling between resting somewhere and moving to brush silver bangs out of Astarion's face, fixing his collar, touching his face. Trying to do something with all the cute aggression building inside his chest, a constant ache of pressure hammering against his ribs. ]
I remember. [ Sopping wet, annoyed, and reeling from the fact that Astarion hadn't fucking run. Iorveth can recall that entire night with shocking clarity. ] Oddly prophetic, now. Or maybe I loved you from the start.
[ Asking him to assist in regicide, giving him blood, feeling gutted when someone'd smashed a blunt weapon against his head. Maybe Iorveth had always had a stupid crush, and held the feeling at arm's length. Hells if he knows anymore－ he loves Astarion far too much now to be objective.
He laughs, and strokes the pointed end of Astarion's still-pink ear. ]
How troublesome for us that our cover story is the truth now.
[ Loved him from the start. Astarion laughs again, a light, tinkling sound, entirely without malice or nervousness. The sort of laugh that came to him so rarely for two centuries, but now comes more and more. ]
You didn't love me.
[ Astarion isn't even sure that Iorveth liked him. It's all right; Iorveth loves him now, and that's what's important. He can't hold a grudge when, admittedly, he wasn't always particularly likable or lovable. He didn't need to be loved back then. Iorveth waded through all of that unpleasantness and tolerated it, accepted it, and that led to Astarion opening up like a flower to the sun. ]
Have you any idea how much you scowled at me?
[ A quick kiss to the mouth, which isn't scowling now. ]
And you wouldn't kiss me until I demanded it.
[ Which, despite everything, is still probably one of the most romantic things that's ever happened to him. ]
[ Iorveth could eat that laugh out of Astarion's mouth, and he does; a quick kiss after that lilting chime, flagrantly in opposition to later claims about refusing contact. ]
Yes, yes. I called you a fool, I called you short-sighted, I found you insincere and annoying.
[ Astarion is allowed to be smug about it now, and lord it over Iorveth until the end of time. He's surprised that Astarion isn't demanding that he wear a sign around his neck that says 'I was horribly rude to a man who I would now do anything for, Ask Me Anything'. ]
Then you had the audacity to open yourself to me, and let me want you. [ Instead of balking at Iorveth's intensity, Astarion had welcomed it. Stupid. He had every opportunity in the world to decide that Iorveth was deranged and dangerous, and somehow, Astarion didn't. ] You agreed to stay when it was objectively a poor choice to make, given that I've no prestige, no name, no coin to bathe you in silks and jewels.
[ He'd been so deeply upset by the fact that Iorveth hadn't. Offended by the fact that Iorveth thought he could just walk into Astarion's life, make him feel things he'd never felt before, and then disappear. Maybe write a letter once a year. ]
I just... couldn't force myself to say so.
[ Vulnerability had still felt like death then. He'd instead spent all of his time convincing himself that it was for the better that Iorveth didn't want him to stick around. The Aen Seidhe would never like him, he'd thought, and besides, he despised nature. All of that ruminating, and he never truly managed to rid himself of the desire to be asked. Even then, he knew that none of those things would have mattered if there were someone in the world who cared enough about him to want him to stay. ]
Gods. I wanted to be near you all the time. [ He still does, but it doesn't feel quite so much like a scary, foreign feeling anymore. At the time, he'd found it a horrific desire. Never had he ever wanted to be close to someone before; more like as far away as possible. ] I thought that you must have made me into some sort of degenerate.
[ Nothing had ever felt so deviant as wanting to stand next to Iorveth. Spend time with him. Maybe even brush the backs of their hands together as they walk and pretend it was an accident.
Another kiss, this time to Iorveth's jaw, and he quips, ] Now I know you have.
[ Shared thoughts: it still feels deviant, to a certain extent, to want to be near someone all the time. For an elf raised on communalist ideals, taught to share everything with his kin, the feeling of wanting to be with someone, just one person, so intensely－
－it's definitely not sane. Definitely not safe, considering his status as a wanted criminal. Many people would jump at the opportunity to find the Woodland Fox's weakness, and he'd be wearing it in plain sight on his ring finger.
That's for future Iorveth to pour over obsessively, though. Love will make him even more savage, even more wild, but not to Astarion. ]
Mm. I have. [ Smiling, he tips Astarion's chin and kisses him properly, still chaste but with the contact lingering for longer than strictly necessary. When he pulls back, he continues to dot affection all over Astarion's face, starting with the corner of his mouth, the corners of his eyes. ] I've gone and made you enjoy this.
[ This, meaning cloying affection. The sort of thing Astarion from early days would have made gagging noises about. Iorveth litters more kisses to soft hair, to pointed ears. ]
[ Gods, he really would have gagged. He found this sort of affection purely performative, entirely unconvinced that anyone could ever do something like this because they wanted to. Subjecting himself to it would have meant debasing himself. This doesn't feel like debasing at all, though. It feels like being enhanced. Like every bit of it fills him with a little more of Iorveth's love, and everything that's Iorveth is pure and perfect, so it makes him a little closer to pure and perfect, too.
He rolls over onto his back so that he can switch their positions, pulling Iorveth on top of him. Showing Iorveth his soft, vulnerable underside both metaphorically and literally, the only person that he could ever trust not to abuse the privilege. ]
Luckily for you, we have an eternity for you to find more ways to corrupt me. [ Ha. No one would ever accuse Astarion of being uncorrupted. ] And I you.
[ Even if they both remain somewhat delusional about each other, the one thing Iorveth will always uphold is Astarion's safety. He'd never been one for forcing sex anyway, finding the whole practice of asserting intimacy to be repulsive at best; it's why he'd never wanted contact with Astarion before he was sure that it wasn't performative or false.
So. He still doesn't take being able to settle on top of Astarion for granted, in the same way that he doesn't take Astarion's willingness to expose his back to him for granted. Elbows on either side of that pretty, now slightly-less flushed face to brace and distribute his weight, Iorveth drapes himself on top of the now-familiar shape of Astarion's body and laughs. ]
Once we find a way to make me immortal.
[ They've made it sound easy, but Iorveth has no earthly idea how to make it happen. Oh well. Just another thing for him to pour his unhinged energy into. He presses his mouth against Astarion's neck, biting a soft, very temporary mark into pale skin. ]
I thought I could handle the thought of you taking another lover after me. Now, I'm not so sure.
[ He's always hated the feeling of someone on top of him; it makes him feel pinned down, trapped. Iorveth doesn't make him feel that way. Astarion finds that he actually likes the feeling of Iorveth's body atop his (and beside it, and under it). He never puts enough weight on Astarion to make him panic, and his body is a pleasant warmth enveloping Astarion's. Like many things Iorveth does, it makes him feel cherished. Something he would've considered an impossible concept months ago.
Astarion cranes his neck, both to allow Iorveth access and to signal that he does, in fact, like it. Anything surrounding his neck was once controversial, too. The feeling of Cazador's fangs in his throat wasn't just unpleasant because of the outcome; it had hurt, and he'd felt so scared, so cold. Iorveth's mouth on his neck is nothing like that. He wishes he could replace the marks Cazador gave him with the indentations of Iorveth's teeth instead. ]
My little vampire, [ he coos, amused at the reversal of roles, and less amused at the prospect of Iorveth's immortality not working out, ] you're ridiculous if you think I could ever care for anyone after you.
[ He never cared for anyone before Iorveth. It doesn't seem possible to care for someone after him. ]
My life was endless darkness until I met you. [ And it will be endless darkness after him, he can only assume. Very healthy. ]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
It's still embarrassing to think about. Gods, no one in this world has ever rejected him more summarily than Iorveth has.
He allows himself to be led along by the hand. Although he won't be trancing again -- seems unwise, if he knows that he's going to have horrible nightmares -- he doesn't mind tucking Iorveth in. It's another one of those little domestic things that he previously couldn't bear to think about doing, because he didn't think there would ever be anyone he loved enough to actually want to do it. ]
I hope you don't have any regrets.
[ About inviting Astarion along with him, that is. He's sure Iorveth has plenty of other regrets. They both do. ]
I don't.
[ Even if the north is awful and uncivilized and he hates it, he'd rather be miserable in the woods with Iorveth than anywhere without him. ]
no subject
(Or, well. Mostly. Sometimes, the thought still flits across his mind: 'he'd be happier without all this'.)
Into the bedroom, back onto purple bedsheets. By himself, this time. A bit strange, to be in bed without someone; to mitigate, he lets go of Astarion's hand to rummage inside the pack that he'd left by the foot of his bed, and takes out the bottle of perfume that he'd gifted to Astarion before. He dabs a bit of the contents onto his collar, then onto a pillow as he finally answers: ]
Fool. I could never regret you.
[ Glancing at Astarion, then softening somewhat. ] I've accepted that I love you selfishly and unreasonably.
no subject
Standing beside the bed, he takes the silky purple sheets in hand and pulls them up over Iorveth's body before perching on the edge of the mattress beside him. ]
Loving me is very reasonable.
[ But he knows what Iorveth means. Hells, he doesn't know if Iorveth has ever let himself do something 'selfish' for the last century. There's nothing more special than being the subject of his selfish affections.
He glances over at the window, where a little sliver of evening sun still peeks out from behind the curtains. ]
If it's all right with you, I think I might mill around downstairs while I wait for nightfall. [ There are people to cheat, pickpocket, and generally harass down there, after all. ] —Don't worry. I won't drink anything.
no subject
That said, Iorveth concedes to Astarion going, freedom-loving elf that he is. He settles into what are now Astarion-scented pillows, giving Astarion's knee one last pat before resigning himself to bedrest. ]
Mm. Go make the city yours, 'Master Blackmane'. [ A brief twitch of his lips, amused. ] Be careful, and only get into the sort of trouble you can get yourself out of.
[ Mischievous cat. Iorveth would never tell Astarion not to carouse, as long as he can come back to him in one piece; with that, he closes his eye and waves him off. Getting as far away from Damris and this cursed inn might do Astarion a world of good. ]
no subject
Athkatla is lively at night. He first makes his way to a few of the smaller stalls, making pleasant conversation as he peruses their wares. He buys a bottle of scented oil because, well, he too is a red-blooded male (it's for my hair, of course, he tells the sweet old lady selling it). He asks around for the fanciest jewelry shop in the city, then, and spends about an hour harassing the jeweler about finding the shiniest ring he has.
The place is near the gate to the Scepter District, and poor Linus is on duty at the gate. Astarion swivels around the moment he notices him, but the shock of silver hair must be difficult to forget. "Sir!" he calls out. "Is Damris all right? I haven't seen him come back, and... well, I've been saving a bouquet for him." ]
Oh, gods, [ Astarion says, disgusted at the sweetness of it all. Linus tilts his head in confusion, and he corrects himself: ] I mean, oh, gods, he really must be nervous to confess! Well, I'd best be off.
[ "A-are you sure that's all it is?" Linus calls after him, but he's already scurrying away, making a beeline for purple pennants in the distance. ]
no subject
By the time Astarion returns with his card games won and his trinkets purchased, Iorveth is awake again and lounging in bed, restless but adhering to his promise to behave: he has his heirloom bow sitting on top of his crossed legs, and stops polishing it once he hears the door to their room swing open and shut.
If Astarion beelines for the bedroom, he'll find Iorveth with a throwing knife in hand, Just In Case. It, of course, gets tossed aside once Iorveth confirms that it's not an enemy who's infiltrated his space; he brightens in the way he only does in Astarion's vicinity, lips curling upwards in an uncalculated, unconscious smile. ]
You're back. [ Invisible fox ears flatten, relaxed and pleased. ] How does Athkatla measure against Waterdeep?
[ Starting to put his things away to give Astarion more space, wiping his wax-covered fingers on a dirty rag. ]
no subject
Mm. It's filthy, stinky, and loud. [ A sigh. ] It reminds me of home.
[ Baldur's Gate, that is. Dirty and rowdy, replete with murderous cultists and rotten fish. Waterdeep is so much better in so many ways — cleaner, prettier, safer — but there's something about a slightly grimy city that feels more familiar. ]
It isn't half-bad, if you ignore the hags and vampire lords. [ Which he's been trying his best to do.
He removes his pack, opening it up to reach inside it. His fingers close around a small box inside, and then he suddenly reconsiders. Iorveth was poisoned yesterday. There's a hogtied man in their study. And there's purple everywhere.
It's not very romantic, is his point. He withdraws his hand, hugging the pack to his chest instead. ]
Do— [ He feels his face heat up even before asking the question. Gods, this is humiliating. ] Ah. Well, what I'm asking, I suppose, is... [ He hems and haws for a moment, ears growing steadily redder, and then finally says: ] Do the Aen Seidhe hold wedding ceremonies?
no subject
It takes a moment to register. He'd been trying to mentally prepare for a ring (the word 'trying' is doing a lot of heavy lifting there), but the surreality of the concept has forced Iorveth to compartmentalize it as 'a gift, but even better'; now that Astarion has thrown the term 'marriage' into the mix, Iorveth's ever-churning mind does about ten flips in (not unpleasant) bemusement.
That isn't mentioning whatever the fuck his heart does. There's no word in any language, Common or Aen Seidhe, for whatever goes on in his chest.
After a prolonged moment of silence, where Iorveth cycles through three major urges－ to gape, to lean back, and to surge forward and tackle Astarion onto purple bedsheets－ he finally manages: ]
Some do.
[ Very eloquent. He clears his throat, then raises a hand to touch the side of Astarion's very-flushed face. ] If you're asking because－
[ He stops. Scales tip in his head. He still kind of wants to grab Astarion and kiss him senseless. ] －Would you?
[ Hells. The familiar but rusty feeling of wanting to defenestrate himself returns. ]
no subject
I don't know, [ he blurts out as a defense mechanism, looking everywhere but Iorveth's eyes. He thinks about saying that he was 'only curious', but Iorveth might take that as him not wanting to. Ugh, if only he could make it clear that he wants to without Iorveth ever knowing that he wants to.
A protracted silence passes. ]
I was just thinking that we might look quite dashing in wedding robes, is all.
no subject
－overwhelmed? Slightly. The sort of emotion that he can't put a name to. He blinks back the delirious migraine that's starting to build, too much pounding in his head, in his chest.
A half-sigh, warm, and Iorveth finally surges forward to take Astarion's beet-red face in both his hands, feeling, unbelievably, something hot and wet behind his one eye. ]
―You would be the most beautiful thing the forest's ever seen.
[ Gods, fuck. If Iorveth isn't careful, he might forget to breathe. ]
no subject
Still, Iorveth's reaction makes a smile twitch at the corners of his mouth, uncontrollable. ]
So would you.
[ Whether Iorveth believes beauty of being something he's capable of not. At a certain point, it's out of his hands, an objective truth, Astarion thinks. Iorveth in some soft, silky fabric cut just for him, with a ring on his finger, belonging solely to Astarion-- yes, that would be very beautiful indeed. His heart can't beat, but he could swear he feels it pounding in his chest. ]
If that was something that you wanted.
[ Because Iorveth still hasn't actually said that he wants it. To be fair, Astarion hasn't actually asked him, either. A mess. ]
...I believe this sort of thing is traditionally done on one knee.
no subject
His thumbs smooth against either side of Astarion's red face, enamored by the flush and how it manifests on ivory-pale skin; he really is the most beautiful man Iorveth has ever met. It feels like a physical ache to let go of him when all Iorveth wants to do is tug him into his chest. ]
I don't care how it's done. [ Blunt as usual, but equally warm and affectionate, anticipation and hope smoothing the edges of his candor. ] I want you.
[ And everything that that entails, wedding robes and all (gods, he still can't believe it). A far cry from when he'd been curled next to Astarion in bed, debating the pros and cons of saying a single word ('stay'); Iorveth, with his legs swung over the side of their stupid purple bed, has never been more sure than he is now about needing someone in his life.
It's a dangerous place to be. Vulnerable, foolhardy. Astarion is his only fatal weakness now, and will become so a thousandfold if he formally goes through with this, but that's a risk he'll happily take. For the millionth time, he doesn't love easy. ]
no subject
And I want you.
[ Obviously. It's the whole reason this just happened in the first place. He'd planned on just slipping the ring on Iorveth's finger and calling it a day, but in the moment, it had seemed so... without pomp, for something so monumental.
He giggles then, nervous and giddy. ]
Well! Who could ever have imagined that I would be marriage material? I thought I'd be sowing my wild oats for centuries to come.
[ Honestly, it's not something he ever really thought about before Iorveth came along. Before Cazador, it was an unexciting given that he'd marry someone for status and wealth, maybe have a couple of little brats running about the place. After Cazador, it was a given that he'd never do it whether he wanted to or not. Once the worm gifted him with freedom, the thought of belonging to someone else again would have repulsed him. It's only recently that he's learned belonging to someone because he wants to is endlessly different. ]
--Oh, gods, Gale will insist on coming and giving a speech.
[ He does his best to sound like he doesn't want that, but the excitement in his voice gives him away. ]
no subject
So. This time, Iorveth does give in to impulse. He reaches out and closes his hand around Astarion's forearm, pulling him in, pack and all, onto bed and into the waiting circle of Iorveth's arms. A tight embrace, dripping affection. ]
I'd invite the entirety of the cursed Emerald Grove to bear witness, if it pleased you.
[ Anything. It dawns on him, well and truly, that he would do anything for Astarion, but the realization fails to fill him with dread.
A hand buries in silver hair, petting soft curls; the other rests against Astarion's hip, keeping him close. Coveting, adoring. Iorveth buries his face into Astarion's neck, and kisses right above the mark that Cazador left inextricably where Astarion's pulse should have been. (Fuck that guy. He's dust, and Iorveth will give Astarion the world.) ]
Marry me, Astarion Ancunín. [ Murmured, with reverence. ] I give you all of me― my blood, my heart, my life.
[ Iorveth started with a pledge― he might as well bring it full circle. ]
no subject
I thought I was the one asking you, you incorrigible sap.
[ Clearly, it doesn't bother him. He's still grinning, ear to pointy ear, fangs out. He strokes Iorveth's hair, a gentle hand against dark, shiny locks. ]
'Iorveth Ancunín' does have a ring to it.
[ Is that all right to say? Should he be offering to be 'Astarion No-Last-Name' instead? ]
no subject
[ He got rid of his, as one last sign of respect to his dead parents; his mother, especially, had begged him not to join the guerilla movement, and so the only way he knows how to honor her is by disassociating with her entirely. May her and his father's name remain unsullied by his actions.
Heavy shit that he doesn't have to talk about, not right now. Iorveth Ancunín, he rolls over in his head, and though it's a ridiculous mix of disparate elven styles, it feels right. ]
"Astarion, the Woodland Cat" is decidedly less glamorous.
[ A laugh, and he cranes up to kiss Astarion's temple this time around. Still in awe of him and the current state of things; it'll be impossible for Astarion to peel Iorveth away for at least the next hour. ]
no subject
It is very fitting, he thinks, that they got officially engaged with a man hogtied in the other room. ]
Do you remember, [ he asks, mouth twisting in amusement, ] when we broke out of that awful man's cellar [ —Henselt, but his name doesn't bear repeating— ] and ended up taking refuge in the Water Queen's House?
[ They'd still been tiptoeing around each other then; Iorveth would still scowl at him and call him vampire, something he can't believe he ever tolerated now that he knows what Iorveth's softness is like. ]
You told them that we were engaged, and on the run. [ A ridiculous thought at the time. ] —And that we had a torrid sex life.
[ Well, no. That part was Astarion. ]
You called me 'love'.
[ Until precisely this moment, it would have been too embarrassing to admit that it's something he still remembers. ]
no subject
I remember. [ Sopping wet, annoyed, and reeling from the fact that Astarion hadn't fucking run. Iorveth can recall that entire night with shocking clarity. ] Oddly prophetic, now. Or maybe I loved you from the start.
[ Asking him to assist in regicide, giving him blood, feeling gutted when someone'd smashed a blunt weapon against his head. Maybe Iorveth had always had a stupid crush, and held the feeling at arm's length. Hells if he knows anymore－ he loves Astarion far too much now to be objective.
He laughs, and strokes the pointed end of Astarion's still-pink ear. ]
How troublesome for us that our cover story is the truth now.
no subject
You didn't love me.
[ Astarion isn't even sure that Iorveth liked him. It's all right; Iorveth loves him now, and that's what's important. He can't hold a grudge when, admittedly, he wasn't always particularly likable or lovable. He didn't need to be loved back then. Iorveth waded through all of that unpleasantness and tolerated it, accepted it, and that led to Astarion opening up like a flower to the sun. ]
Have you any idea how much you scowled at me?
[ A quick kiss to the mouth, which isn't scowling now. ]
And you wouldn't kiss me until I demanded it.
[ Which, despite everything, is still probably one of the most romantic things that's ever happened to him. ]
no subject
Yes, yes. I called you a fool, I called you short-sighted, I found you insincere and annoying.
[ Astarion is allowed to be smug about it now, and lord it over Iorveth until the end of time. He's surprised that Astarion isn't demanding that he wear a sign around his neck that says 'I was horribly rude to a man who I would now do anything for, Ask Me Anything'. ]
Then you had the audacity to open yourself to me, and let me want you. [ Instead of balking at Iorveth's intensity, Astarion had welcomed it. Stupid. He had every opportunity in the world to decide that Iorveth was deranged and dangerous, and somehow, Astarion didn't. ] You agreed to stay when it was objectively a poor choice to make, given that I've no prestige, no name, no coin to bathe you in silks and jewels.
[ A huff, amused and affectionate. ]
no subject
[ He'd been so deeply upset by the fact that Iorveth hadn't. Offended by the fact that Iorveth thought he could just walk into Astarion's life, make him feel things he'd never felt before, and then disappear. Maybe write a letter once a year. ]
I just... couldn't force myself to say so.
[ Vulnerability had still felt like death then. He'd instead spent all of his time convincing himself that it was for the better that Iorveth didn't want him to stick around. The Aen Seidhe would never like him, he'd thought, and besides, he despised nature. All of that ruminating, and he never truly managed to rid himself of the desire to be asked. Even then, he knew that none of those things would have mattered if there were someone in the world who cared enough about him to want him to stay. ]
Gods. I wanted to be near you all the time. [ He still does, but it doesn't feel quite so much like a scary, foreign feeling anymore. At the time, he'd found it a horrific desire. Never had he ever wanted to be close to someone before; more like as far away as possible. ] I thought that you must have made me into some sort of degenerate.
[ Nothing had ever felt so deviant as wanting to stand next to Iorveth. Spend time with him. Maybe even brush the backs of their hands together as they walk and pretend it was an accident.
Another kiss, this time to Iorveth's jaw, and he quips, ] Now I know you have.
no subject
－it's definitely not sane. Definitely not safe, considering his status as a wanted criminal. Many people would jump at the opportunity to find the Woodland Fox's weakness, and he'd be wearing it in plain sight on his ring finger.
That's for future Iorveth to pour over obsessively, though. Love will make him even more savage, even more wild, but not to Astarion. ]
Mm. I have. [ Smiling, he tips Astarion's chin and kisses him properly, still chaste but with the contact lingering for longer than strictly necessary. When he pulls back, he continues to dot affection all over Astarion's face, starting with the corner of his mouth, the corners of his eyes. ] I've gone and made you enjoy this.
[ This, meaning cloying affection. The sort of thing Astarion from early days would have made gagging noises about. Iorveth litters more kisses to soft hair, to pointed ears. ]
How can I corrupt you further, I wonder.
no subject
He rolls over onto his back so that he can switch their positions, pulling Iorveth on top of him. Showing Iorveth his soft, vulnerable underside both metaphorically and literally, the only person that he could ever trust not to abuse the privilege. ]
Luckily for you, we have an eternity for you to find more ways to corrupt me. [ Ha. No one would ever accuse Astarion of being uncorrupted. ] And I you.
no subject
So. He still doesn't take being able to settle on top of Astarion for granted, in the same way that he doesn't take Astarion's willingness to expose his back to him for granted. Elbows on either side of that pretty, now slightly-less flushed face to brace and distribute his weight, Iorveth drapes himself on top of the now-familiar shape of Astarion's body and laughs. ]
Once we find a way to make me immortal.
[ They've made it sound easy, but Iorveth has no earthly idea how to make it happen. Oh well. Just another thing for him to pour his unhinged energy into. He presses his mouth against Astarion's neck, biting a soft, very temporary mark into pale skin. ]
I thought I could handle the thought of you taking another lover after me. Now, I'm not so sure.
no subject
Astarion cranes his neck, both to allow Iorveth access and to signal that he does, in fact, like it. Anything surrounding his neck was once controversial, too. The feeling of Cazador's fangs in his throat wasn't just unpleasant because of the outcome; it had hurt, and he'd felt so scared, so cold. Iorveth's mouth on his neck is nothing like that. He wishes he could replace the marks Cazador gave him with the indentations of Iorveth's teeth instead. ]
My little vampire, [ he coos, amused at the reversal of roles, and less amused at the prospect of Iorveth's immortality not working out, ] you're ridiculous if you think I could ever care for anyone after you.
[ He never cared for anyone before Iorveth. It doesn't seem possible to care for someone after him. ]
My life was endless darkness until I met you. [ And it will be endless darkness after him, he can only assume. Very healthy. ]
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)