[ 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. ]
[ It's likely that the hogtied tiefling in the other room wouldn't recognize the doting wood elf for the stone-faced kidnapper that'd burnt his fingers just hours ago. In front of Astarion, Iorveth is the man he might have been if the Aen Seidhe were never a persecuted people; he smiles, he laughs. He's happy, as if grief hasn't turned him irreparably inside out.
And gods, Astarion is so lovely. Silver hair spilling on violet fabric, red eyes like dark amber in lamplight. Iorveth lifts up just enough to get a better look at him, soft and relaxed and trusting, and feels his heart seize with affection for the hundredth time tonight. ]
Never again, then.
[ A familiar mantra. One that he's told himself countless times, after he pried himself out of his shackles, starved and beaten and half-dead. Never again, never again. ]
You'll never be alone again. I'll make sure of it. [ He can't bear the thought of Astarion sitting with his knees drawn up and his shoulders hunched, cowering in the shadow of crates again. Never. ]
My beloved, [ Iorveth continues, choosing to shower Astarion with praise and affirmation. ] My sun, my happiness. [ Fingers card through Astarion's hair, tangling gently. ] ...Will you want a ring for yourself?
[ 'You'll never be alone again'. A lofty, nearly impossible to achieve goal, but Iorveth says it with such conviction that Astarion is inclined to believe him. Gods, he practically swoons. No one in existence is more romantic than Iorveth, no one more perfect. These unhinged declarations might scare someone else off, but they're exactly what Astarion needs. Solid, irrefutable proof of being loved, and a promise that he'll never have it taken away from him.
He preens under Iorveth's praise, unabashedly delighted. 'Words', Iorveth used to sigh, but there's nothing better than hearing those 'words' come from Iorveth's mouth. Because he believes them, just as strongly as he used to believe the insults he would be pelted with. More strongly, even. Iorveth seems to loathe when Astarion tells him that being with him makes the past worth it, but every sweet word from him feels like it cancels out the cruelty. ]
I don't know.
[ Not too long ago, he'd felt uncertain about the idea. He'd been very confident about the idea of Iorveth pledging himself to him, less so about the other way around. Now, after watching Iorveth nearly get poisoned to death, with a confrontation with a hag possibly in the cards tomorrow— well, maybe taking the leap wouldn't be quite so bad. ]
Tell me how beautiful I would look in one and I'll consider it.
[ "I don't know" is Astarionese for "it's somewhat unpleasant, and I don't want to think about it". Iorveth had found it exasperating in certain contexts, his kneejerk reaction being "you can't just avoid thinking about something forever", but he understands the hesitation― Astarion is allowed to have had enough of being claimed― and chooses not to press, even when he's told that the reciprocal ring is still on the table.
Won't stop him from adding more praise onto the pile, though. If he won't indulge Astarion tonight, then when? ]
Seeing how beautiful you are in one, everyone else in all the realms would remove their own rings in shame.
[ Ridiculous. Iorveth laughs at the theater of it, then kisses another mark along Astarion's jaw. Savoring him, and soothing the redness with his tongue after he's done. ]
When you feel ready, perhaps. [ He hums. ] I would wait lifetimes for you.
[ As usual, the fact that Iorveth doesn't push him to do something that he's uncertain about makes him want to do it all the more. Every time that Iorveth left their interactions chaste, all of the times he turned Astarion's half hearted attempts at seduction down -- it made him certain that Iorveth would never force intimacy on him, which coincidentally made him burn with desire for it. The same applies now; Iorveth says he'll wait lifetimes, and it makes Astarion uncertain that he wants to wait that long. ]
I want to.
[ And he does. Maybe not right this second, but-- ]
I only need time to... acclimate.
[ To become comfortable with the idea of wearing proof that he belongs to someone. To argue with the little voice in his head until it quiets down. ]
[ Acclimating is fine― gods know that Astarion deserves time to sit with himself and listen to what he wants. The only thing that Iorveth regrets about any of this is not having given Astarion more time, but he also acknowledges that they didn't have much of it on their side to begin with. The Netherbrain, the parasites, the cultists. Iorveth could have waited until they defeated their final foe to ask Astarion to stay, perhaps, but that extra time probably may not have given Astarion any more context or perspective.
Oh well. Iorveth can give Astarion as much time as he needs now, though; he wasn't lying about lifetimes. Slowly turning onto his side with Astarion in tow, he reaches for Astarion's hand and presses it to his lips, trailing his mouth along long fingers and kissing over the bumps and dips of perfect knuckles. ]
...Perhaps I could craft you something. Out of wood and gold.
[ Shiny enough to please Astarion, with a bit of Aen Seidhe flavor. ] Unless you prefer something more expensive.
[ Astarion stills, a wave of emotion crashing over him at the casual suggestion that Iorveth would craft something for him. It conjures up the memory of Iorveth embroidering a slightly crooked little sun on his shirt. It's so deeply intimate, terribly personal. The thought of having something that Iorveth made with his own two hands with him at all times is— ]
No, [ he says fiercely, offended. How could Iorveth ever think there would be anything in this world more valuable to him than something his hands have touched? He realizes this could perhaps be misconstrued, so he helpfully corrects: ] —I mean, yes.
[ Poor Iorveth probably has no idea what the hells he's talking about. He shakes his head as best he can against the pillow, which really just ends up making a mess of his hair. ]
[ Iorveth would have accepted no, even if it would have made him slightly sullen. Making a ring is a very wood elf thing to do, and the possibility of Astarion finding it just a bit too twee for his discerning magpie taste wasn't zero.
So. Iorveth frowns a bit at the 'no', then raises a brow at 'yes', and laughs when Astarion finally sticks the landing with 'of course'. Finicky cat. Iorveth loves him endlessly, even when he's rumpled and scowling. ]
"What my love wants, my love gets."
[ Teasing, parroting a phrase Astarion likes to say to him. He bites softly against the empty space on Astarion's ring finger, finding it near-impossible not to have some part of his mouth on pale skin at all times. A real problem. ]
...It'll require some time to get the materials and to do the crafting. Enough time for you to consider. [ Because honestly, that's still the most important thing. ] Take your time. Think. I'll remain yours, ring or no ring.
[ Obviously, not an easy thing for someone like him to say. Being someone's is so ridiculously fraught, and he feels a fresh stab of anger at Cazador for making it that way. But if Cazador hadn't made it so, he probably never would have laid eyes on Iorveth in the first place. A tricky thing, to hate someone so much yet have them to owe for the thing he loves most in the world.
He tilts his hand, running the pad of his thumb across Iorveth's lower lip. ]
If not for the tiefling hogtied in the other room, I'd rip your clothes off.
[ Astarion only needs to be, but Iorveth feels a frisson of thrill at the idea that someone like Astarion could even want to be his. Improbable, impossible. In Iorveth's love-addled, delusional mind, he's still fighting against the world to keep Astarion by his side.
A little shiver, and Iorveth kisses the tip of the thumb tracing his scarred lip. Speaking of ripping clothes off and not being romantic, though: ]
Mm. [ A hum of affirmation, and a warm sigh. ] I want your pretty cock in my mouth, but the world continues to conspire against us.
[ Crass, but honest. Astarion really isn't helping Iorveth's oral fixation by casually allowing him to put his mouth everywhere; another sigh, and he noses against a lukewarm palm. ]
What should we do with the tiefling, after we finish our business here?
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－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. ]
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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.
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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. ]
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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. ]
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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. ]
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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? ]
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[ 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. ]
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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. ]
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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.
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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. ]
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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. ]
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[ 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.
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－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.
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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.
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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.
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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. ]
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And gods, Astarion is so lovely. Silver hair spilling on violet fabric, red eyes like dark amber in lamplight. Iorveth lifts up just enough to get a better look at him, soft and relaxed and trusting, and feels his heart seize with affection for the hundredth time tonight. ]
Never again, then.
[ A familiar mantra. One that he's told himself countless times, after he pried himself out of his shackles, starved and beaten and half-dead. Never again, never again. ]
You'll never be alone again. I'll make sure of it. [ He can't bear the thought of Astarion sitting with his knees drawn up and his shoulders hunched, cowering in the shadow of crates again. Never. ]
My beloved, [ Iorveth continues, choosing to shower Astarion with praise and affirmation. ] My sun, my happiness. [ Fingers card through Astarion's hair, tangling gently. ] ...Will you want a ring for yourself?
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He preens under Iorveth's praise, unabashedly delighted. 'Words', Iorveth used to sigh, but there's nothing better than hearing those 'words' come from Iorveth's mouth. Because he believes them, just as strongly as he used to believe the insults he would be pelted with. More strongly, even. Iorveth seems to loathe when Astarion tells him that being with him makes the past worth it, but every sweet word from him feels like it cancels out the cruelty. ]
I don't know.
[ Not too long ago, he'd felt uncertain about the idea. He'd been very confident about the idea of Iorveth pledging himself to him, less so about the other way around. Now, after watching Iorveth nearly get poisoned to death, with a confrontation with a hag possibly in the cards tomorrow— well, maybe taking the leap wouldn't be quite so bad. ]
Tell me how beautiful I would look in one and I'll consider it.
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Won't stop him from adding more praise onto the pile, though. If he won't indulge Astarion tonight, then when? ]
Seeing how beautiful you are in one, everyone else in all the realms would remove their own rings in shame.
[ Ridiculous. Iorveth laughs at the theater of it, then kisses another mark along Astarion's jaw. Savoring him, and soothing the redness with his tongue after he's done. ]
When you feel ready, perhaps. [ He hums. ] I would wait lifetimes for you.
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I want to.
[ And he does. Maybe not right this second, but-- ]
I only need time to... acclimate.
[ To become comfortable with the idea of wearing proof that he belongs to someone. To argue with the little voice in his head until it quiets down. ]
--What might it look like?
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Oh well. Iorveth can give Astarion as much time as he needs now, though; he wasn't lying about lifetimes. Slowly turning onto his side with Astarion in tow, he reaches for Astarion's hand and presses it to his lips, trailing his mouth along long fingers and kissing over the bumps and dips of perfect knuckles. ]
...Perhaps I could craft you something. Out of wood and gold.
[ Shiny enough to please Astarion, with a bit of Aen Seidhe flavor. ] Unless you prefer something more expensive.
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No, [ he says fiercely, offended. How could Iorveth ever think there would be anything in this world more valuable to him than something his hands have touched? He realizes this could perhaps be misconstrued, so he helpfully corrects: ] —I mean, yes.
[ Poor Iorveth probably has no idea what the hells he's talking about. He shakes his head as best he can against the pillow, which really just ends up making a mess of his hair. ]
Of course I want you to craft it, you fool.
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So. Iorveth frowns a bit at the 'no', then raises a brow at 'yes', and laughs when Astarion finally sticks the landing with 'of course'. Finicky cat. Iorveth loves him endlessly, even when he's rumpled and scowling. ]
"What my love wants, my love gets."
[ Teasing, parroting a phrase Astarion likes to say to him. He bites softly against the empty space on Astarion's ring finger, finding it near-impossible not to have some part of his mouth on pale skin at all times. A real problem. ]
...It'll require some time to get the materials and to do the crafting. Enough time for you to consider. [ Because honestly, that's still the most important thing. ] Take your time. Think. I'll remain yours, ring or no ring.
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[ Obviously, not an easy thing for someone like him to say. Being someone's is so ridiculously fraught, and he feels a fresh stab of anger at Cazador for making it that way. But if Cazador hadn't made it so, he probably never would have laid eyes on Iorveth in the first place. A tricky thing, to hate someone so much yet have them to owe for the thing he loves most in the world.
He tilts his hand, running the pad of his thumb across Iorveth's lower lip. ]
If not for the tiefling hogtied in the other room, I'd rip your clothes off.
[ Less romantic. But also true. ]
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A little shiver, and Iorveth kisses the tip of the thumb tracing his scarred lip. Speaking of ripping clothes off and not being romantic, though: ]
Mm. [ A hum of affirmation, and a warm sigh. ] I want your pretty cock in my mouth, but the world continues to conspire against us.
[ Crass, but honest. Astarion really isn't helping Iorveth's oral fixation by casually allowing him to put his mouth everywhere; another sigh, and he noses against a lukewarm palm. ]
What should we do with the tiefling, after we finish our business here?
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