I can't help but be precious, [ he complains. ] Just look at me.
[ Still able to be a narcissist, even after a long 24 hours of Iorveth being poisoned, Iorveth being cured, kidnapping a man, tying him up and interrogating him, having hag nightmares, and getting formally engaged. This is what Iorveth has pledged eternity to.
A moment of thought, and then: ] He is my younger brother. And stupider. And less handsome.
[ But he's so annoyiiiingggg, he resists the urge to whine. Astarion doesn't fear Petras—or any of his siblings—in the least now that they're out from under Cazador's thumb, but that doesn't mean begging Petras to take yet another spawn under his wing won't be... irritating. ]
I guess it wouldn't be so bad. I could rub my happiness in his face.
[ What a Mean Older Sibling thing to say. Still, it makes Iorveth smile because of the sentiment behind it: that Astarion is happy. His kneejerk instinct is to say that Petras probably won't feel very jealous at all upon hearing that Astarion hitched himself to his personal bloodbag, but he can hazard a guess as to how Astarion would react to that comment. (Poorly.)
So: ] Hm. I would enjoy spoiling you where your siblings could see.
[ Proof that Astarion has been, is, and will be adored. (That they, too, aren't ruined, and may be able to find someone who adores them as well.) (Not as much as Astarion is adored, though. That's not possible.) Iorveth watches Astarion slump dramatically on violet sheets, and laughs under his breath. ]
We'll consider it after our business is done. Your future is my priority.
[ Obviously. Iorveth's stomach grumbles after he says so, undercutting the dramatic declaration somewhat; right, he hasn't eaten anything in a while. Should've told Astarion to pick something up for him while he was out. ]
[ 'Your future is my priority'. Astarion practically has cartoon hearts twirling around his lovestruck head. No one has ever made him a priority. He's always had to prioritize himself because no one else would. No one, that is, until Iorveth. Sometimes he thinks that this must all just be some pathetic daydream that he's having in the spawn dormitories. Someone this wonderful couldn't possibly exist in real life.
Then Iorveth's stomach growls, and he laughs. No, there wouldn't be any mood-ruining tummy rumbles in his daydreams. This is very, very real. ]
There's still a bit of the night left yet.
[ The sun will come up before long, but he didn't harass that poor jeweler for the entire night. Just most of it. ]
I could take you for a celebratory [ —Dinner? Breakfast? Time has become so strange since he's been relegated to the night shift— ] meal.
[ Which would probably have been a much more romantic place to do all of this. Gods, two centuries of practicing seduction and he's terrible at romance. ]
[ Iorveth could just hop out for some food to carry back and eat in the room, but he'd be lying if he said that it wouldn't be nice to go out into the city while riding high on this feeling. He's not the sort to walk around yelling about his partner, but there is a bit of a thrill in knowing that, when others call them 'Masters Blackmane', they're not so far off from the truth.
Iorveth bends over for the millionth kiss of the night, then gets up out of bed to find his eyepatch, then dig into his pack. ]
I thought I might get rid of the items that the hag got us, as well. Leave them in an alley somewhere.
[ Maybe discarding them will help Astarion trance a little better tonight? Iorveth has no idea. But they feel too much like the masks in Ethel's lair now, an artefact that slowly drains away at one's soul and sanity, and he wants them away from Astarion as quickly as possible. ]
[ He's very tired, actually, because he hasn't had a proper trance in two days now, but hitting the town and demanding the best for my fiancé is appealing enough to override any tiredness. Besides, when was the last time they went out together? Probably back in Waterdeep, when they ended up in a blowout argument (and then made up later). He still doesn't know a lot about how proper long-term relationships work—despite being in one—but he's fairly certain one is supposed to 'keep the romance alive' by making sure they don't only kill racists and kidnap tieflings together. Even if he sort of likes doing those things with Iorveth.
So, he sits up, attempting to fix his hair with his fingers, trying to remember how Iorveth had arranged it. ]
Ugh, those creepy little trinkets.
[ Maybe they're harmless, honestly, and ultimately just gross. That doesn't sound like a hag, though. It's more likely that they'd slowly turn them into gelatinous cubes, or something. ]
You won't hear any complaint from me. I wasn't planning on accessorizing with them any time soon.
[ Funny― the only way Iorveth knows how to keep the proverbial romance alive is by killing racists and torturing people to make them promise never to harm his loved ones again. Maybe they need a dating coach. Someone who can teach them what normal couples do. Someone like... Gale.
Good thing that Iorveth doesn't follow that line of thought. Instead, when he reaches into his pack to make sure that he has the ugly charms for them to discard later, he takes out his vial of cologne and, this time, dabs a bit of it behind Astarion's ear as he fixes that curl that he'd laid down before. Sandalwood, amber, leather. ]
Too on-the-nose for you, I think.
[ A vampire wearing literal hearts around his neck. Iorveth scoffs at the thought of it as he gets ready, eyepatch and boots and knives on his person. With that done, he goes to the other room to quickly make sure that nothing is amiss (Damris is still bound and gagged and miserable) before they can leave. ]
[ Astarion pops into the study behind Iorveth, a silver head peeking out from the doorway. ]
Oh, [ he says, cocking his head as if he's just thought of this: ] We should probably keep our distance from the Scepter District tonight.
[ His eyes drop to the tiefling still groaning through his gag on the floor. He still doesn't have the desire to take Damris under his wing. Foisting him off on Petras would be as much a favor for himself as for Damris; being around someone who poisoned Iorveth for longer than strictly necessary would drive him to madness. Or at least rudeness. ]
[ Oh. Poor Linus, ever holding on to hope. Iorveth straightens from where he'd been testing Damris's bonds again, and notes the way the tiefling glances up at the mention of 'lover boy', frowns, then sets his jaw in obstinate silence.
Hm. Iorveth steps back, hawklike eye fixed on the hogtied form, and offers a breezy: ]
Perhaps we should kill him. He might become a liability.
[ A throwaway threat; there's no intention behind it. It's mostly to see Damris's reaction, which is instantly negative: a narrowing of lash-framed eyes, and an agitated flick of his bound tail against his leg. Iorveth wouldn't blame the guy for having grown somewhat attached to a besotted fool who, despite everything, has likely shown Damris more kindness than others have.
Interesting. With that observation, he turns towards Astarion and offers him his hand. ] ...But we needn't waste time, either. Come.
[ He would actually feel a bit badly about disposing of Linus. The fool is far too naive and earnest, but he doesn't seem cruel. His only crime is being stupid enough to fall for a vampire spawn. Astarion would still take care of him it it became necessary, but he wouldn't feel good about it.
Strange, that he'd give a damn about another person's life at all. The feeling is decidedly unpleasant. He takes Iorveth's hand, tugging him out of the office. ]
I'd rather not ruminate on our problems too much tonight.
[ Alkam, Damris, Linus. The old hag. Endless problems with not very many solutions. He knows Iorveth hates it when he does this, but it would be nice to stick their heads in the sand for just a few more hours. ]
Tell me where you'd like me to take you. Are you in a 'classy restaurant' sort of mood, or a 'tavern where you might get robbed and murdered' one?
[ Right. A normal date night. One that doesn't require planning beyond dessert options, novel as that concept is. Effectively tugged away from problems that require solving, Iorveth swivels his attention― figuratively and physically― back to Astarion, lacing their fingers together as they make their way down to the inn's main lobby and past the very suspect bar (no, no, not the time to be thinking about that, either). ]
Somewhere in the middle, I think. [ Not ritzy enough that Astarion would feel weird sitting and eating nothing, but not rowdy enough that they'd be interrupted by smelly drunks. They are meant to be celebrating, after all.
(It makes Iorveth's heart do another flip, when he recalls the word wedding coming out of Astarion's mouth. Hells.) ]
...It would have been nice, to go to that old woman's cafe. In Baldur's Gate. Someplace like that, perhaps.
[ Cozy, warm. Maybe not the ideal place to go out and flaunt each other, but intimate. ]
[ A knowing smile. Like being called 'love', he remembers this, too. It had been the first time he'd ever been out with someone in that way. Not a seedy tavern to throw back drinks at before taking them to their doom, but a little diner, during the day, with no intent to drag anyone kicking and screaming back to his master.
Iorveth had been making him miserable at the time, what with his stubborn refusal to invite Astarion to stay with him after their Netherbrain journey, but he'd still enjoyed the place. ]
Actually, I rather liked it there, too.
[ A pause. ]
Pretend that I asked for your hand there, instead. I know it's very unlike me, but... I didn't plan ahead.
[ Another strange twist-flip of his heart in his chest, at "asked for your hand". It was all fun and flirting to cuddle in bed and talk about belonging, something that Iorveth had already felt to be the truth with or without a ring, but. Gods.
He can feel his temperature rise, and he knows that Astarion can feel it where their palms meet. Can likely see it, too, as a dusting of color along the peak of his cheeks. Not as tomato-red as Astarion was before, but emulating it. ]
You? Not planning ahead? An unbelievable thought, that.
[ Pulling on pigtails first, to distract from the flush. After he gets that out of the way, Iorveth clears his throat, trying to discipline his tone into something less eager and more diplomatic. ]
Perhaps... Gale can portal us to Baldur's Gate, before we return to Waterdeep. We could...
[ He clears his throat again. ] ...We could commission Dolores for robes.
[ Astarion feels Iorveth heat up before he sees it, a lovely darkening of his tanned skin. Iorveth is usually so decisive when he speaks, and he's never heard him dance around his words this much. He sounds, perhaps, like he might be excited by the prospect. It's so fucking cute. It makes Astarion want to wrap his arms around him and squeeze until he pops, or maybe rip his clothes off in the middle of the city and have his way with him.
A happy medium: Astarion reaches out to grab Iorveth by the collar, tugging him in until their lips meet and holding him there while he presses all of his love and affection into one kiss. When he draws back, he keeps his fingers loosely wound into the fabric of Iorveth's shirt, hesitant to let go.
His mouth twitches with an insuppressible smile. ]
[ Oh, Astarion is dangerous. Iorveth forgets himself around Astarion, not to mention the rest of the world― tugged in for a kiss, he barely registers that they're still out on the streets, that there are a few straggling night owls in their periphery. It's his turn for cartoon hearts by the time Astarion draws back and makes his customary sweet declaration; the usual hawklike glint of Iorveth's single eye is dulled by affection, made soft like moss. ]
―Find a place for us to eat, and quickly. Before I march us back to bed.
[ Gods, it's criminal that Damris is still back there. He casts that thought aside for the moment, choosing to focus all of his attention on the man he currently wants to back against a wall and kiss for several minutes. Hours? Astarion makes him fucking insane, really. Case in point: Iorveth tips inwards again despite what he just said about finding a place to eat, lips to lips and eventually tongue to tongue, licking up into Astarion's mouth greedily.
("Get a room," a half-orc mutters under his breath as he makes a wide arc to avoid the two in the middle of the street.) ]
[ It's too bad that their brain worms ceased their connection the moment that they withered and died. If he could share his mind with Iorveth now, it would just be an endless stream of I love you, I love you, I love you. Still as smooth-brained and thoughtless as ever, mind still full of emotion and kneejerk reactions, but so much more pleasant now. He's reminded of that first night they'd ever kissed, out in the street not too much unlike this. He must have been trembling with overwhelm at how it had felt to be kissed like somebody who actually mattered. From that moment on, he'd been entirely fucked. He was never going to 'get over' somebody who made him feel like that. ]
Jealous, [ he murmurs against Iorveth's lips, too pleased to pull away and berate the poor half-orc who just wanted to walk home without seeing two elves with their tongues down each other's throats. Another kiss, inexorable, like being pulled by a magnet to the soft heat of Iorveth's mouth.
In between self-indulgent kisses, he makes himself say, voice taking on a whiny little tinge, ] You can't expect me to be reasonable when you're right here for the taking.
[ It is kind of ridiculous for Iorveth to expect him to be able to tear himself from anything that gives him such a rush of happiness. Either Iorveth denies him and gets to eat, or Astarion kisses him out here until the sun comes up and he turns to ash. ]
[ The Woodland Fox, the most wanted elf in the Northern Forests, a nuisance to most and a terror to others, is felled instantly by the vaguest hint of a whine in his lover's voice while they kiss. He knows it, too－ he can feel how he's emotionally brought to his fucking knees just from that verbal pout, and Astarion should be able to feel it physically from how Iorveth shivers while their lips are still locked.
It's ridiculous. Decades of pouring himself into his duty as a freedom fighter, decades of tucking his face under a bandana and forgetting how to smile, and now this. Astarion has shifted his entire narrative by demanding that first kiss, and now Iorveth can't stop.
Finally, after another layered kiss (the half-orc looks over his shoulder and looks genuinely surprised that the two are still at it): ]
Gods, you really are unreasonably perfect.
[ It's a full-bodied ache to have to peel away, with Iorveth grudgingly consigning himself to the role of the more reasonable of the two (very debatable). He flicks under Astarion's chin with his free hand, a little breathless and a little flushed. ]
―Come. I'll eat quickly.
[ Guiding him to the nearest tavern, which luckily happens to be a cozy establishment with only a smattering of sleepy-looking guests who give the two elves little mind when they stumble in. Iorveth finds them a table pressed against the wall in the corner, fingers still laced, unwilling to be the first one to let go this time around. ]
[ Part of him hates that Iorveth pulls away while Astarion is still coiled up tight like a spring, eager to relieve some of the pressure in his heart by pouring it into Iorveth instead. Another part of him is thankful for it, because there's really no way he has enough self-control to stop himself, and Iorveth probably does need to eat. Gods, how long has it been? He really needs to brush up on the care and keeping of wood elf terrorists, if Iorveth isn't going to take care of himself.
He slides himself into a seat beside Iorveth, releasing his hand only to let his own rest on Iorveth's knee instead. With his free hand, he waves over the tavernkeeper, a gnome with greying hair, soft around the middle. He looks tired, like he's been forcing himself to stay awake all night and is now struggling not to nod off. ]
A bottle of your most egregiously expensive red for me and my lovely fiancé, [ he says, laying it on thick. ]
[ Astarion sits next to him instead of opposite him, which is great－ Iorveth'd been hoping he would. He lets Astarion have the corner seat against the wall (if any assailant comes over, Iorveth is in the first line of stabbing fire), and tangles their ankles under the table.
This poor gnome man is going to have the worst night of his life. He mumbles something about the wine not actually being very expensive ("it's a nice red, but I wouldn't call it egregious"), and looks even more tired after Iorveth orders a basket of bread, stew, and a platter of cold cuts and cheese for himself that would usually feed two and a half people comfortably. No real reaction to 'fiancé', save for a weary hike of one brow that suggests that he finds it odd that the two didn't choose a more ritzy place to flaunt their new engagement, if that's what they're trying to do. "Congratulations, by the way," is the rather unremarkable addendum before he ambles back into the kitchen.
A disaster. Iorveth doesn't care. He tips his head and presses another kiss to Astarion's jaw. ]
You're ridiculous, [ he laughs, warmly. A pair of half-elf women sitting a few tables away giggle under their hands, clearly more enamored by Iorveth and Astarion than anyone else has been since they arrived in Athkatla. ]
[ Ridiculously in love with you, he doesn't say, because that's too twee even by his twitterpated standards. He does laugh along with Iorveth, though, aware of the half-elves watching them only in the distant way that he's aware of everyone in his periphery at all times. They don't actually matter, because they aren't Iorveth. ]
I can't help it.
[ A quick kiss to Iorveth's cheek. He really can't help himself; he wants to shout about Iorveth from the damned rooftops. To scream someone loves me until his voice is hoarse.
He uses the last dregs of his willpower not to do that. Iorveth probably wouldn't like if he made a scene and got them kicked out before he got to enjoy his meal. Instead, he rubs Iorveth's knee affectionately, feeling the warmth of his body through the fabric of his trousers. ]
You know how much I like to show off my things.
[ Said warmly, wryly, with only a little undercurrent of possessiveness. ]
[ "My things" would probably have been a red flag before. A point of contention, a cause for a biteback: "I'm no one's thing". Iorveth would still say something to that effect (or much worse) if it came out of anyone else's mouth, but Astarion is the exception. Mostly because it contains a kernel of truth－ he is, effectively, bound to Astarion now. ]
Show off all you like, then. [ Indulgent. The warning voice in his head (the one that sounds a lot like Lae'zel recently, and says chk a lot) says not to overindulge bad habits, but his shoulder devil (the one that sounds a lot like Astarion lately) says that they just got engaged, Astarion can do whatever the hell he wants for at least the next tenday, while everything is still novel.
So. Shoulder devil wins. Iorveth never had a shoulder angel to begin with. Iorveth combs through Astarion's hair, sliding his warm palm down to his cheek. ]
You deserve to be seen the way you are. Cherished above all things－ my bethrothed.
[ If anyone mistakes Astarion for vapid arm candy, Iorveth will absolutely murder them without thinking twice. ]
[ Ooh, 'betrothed'. Iorveth is so dramatic; he loves it. It's comforting, really. Iorveth never makes him wonder. His love might be 'too much' for some, but for someone like Astarion who's been starved of it for so long, it's just enough. And that's all that matters, really, because he wants to be the only person that receives Iorveth's excessive affection for the rest of eternity. Spoiled, forever.
The tired-but-friendly gnome returns with Iorveth's requested food, balancing plates that are much too heavy for him. He places half of it in front of Iorveth and half of it in front of Astarion, presumably because he thinks that this amount of food must be for two people. (If only he'd ever seen Iorveth eat. The man is a black hole.) Astarion is in a good mood, so he only thanks him for the plates and gently pushes them toward Iorveth. ]
If you don't eat now, I won't be able to stop myself from cherishing you in a way that's not appropriate for the public.
[ Food, wine, and Astarion. This is Iorveth's idea of being thoroughly spoiled, and it shows in the visible lowering of his defenses, in the slight slant of his usually ramrod-straight posture, in the releasing of tension from his broad archer's shoulders. It makes him look younger, more like the century-and-a-half elf that he is instead of a guerilla warrior that's lived too many lifetimes to count.
He uncorks the bottle of red and pours for the both of them. ]
Threatening me with a good time. [ When has he ever cared about what's appropriate? Astarion is free to do whatever the hells he wants with him for the next tenday, at least. Maybe the next year. Engagement is a concept that will knock the wind out of Iorveth every time he thinks about it.
That said, less romantically: ] If you think I've stopped thinking about putting you in my mouth, you'd be wrong.
[ Hungry, in more ways than one. Glasses clink, and Iorveth has a sip of wine. ]
Ever since Henselt. I don't think I've stopped thinking about you.
[ Astarion watches Iorveth take a sip carefully, leaning in surreptitiously to sniff his glass before taking a drink himself. He might be slightly traumatized by the whole event. Part of him wanted to slap the glass out of Iorveth's hand and taste-test it before allowing him to drink, but that really wouldn't be romantic.
He laughs at the idea that Iorveth has been thinking about him all that time, although it does bring some pleased color to the very tips of his ears. He's not certain how long Iorveth has been on his mind. It feels as if he just wriggled his way in there one day and never left. He can recall being pulled out of bed by Lae'zel and wishing he could spend the day with Iorveth instead, which had been horrifically embarrassing to him at the time.
Gently, he knocks their knees under the table. ]
Mmm. Pest extermination [ --probably smarter than saying 'assassination' aloud in a tavern-- ] really got you hot under the collar, did it?
[ Iorveth should probably exercise more caution around red wine, but the gnome looked far too tired to make assassination attempts. Down the hatch the drink goes, alongside generous slices of bread stacked with cheeses and sliced meat. The void yawning in Iorveth's gut that serves as his stomach is grateful for the tribute.
Only minimally distracted by the food, Iorveth tangles ankles with Astarion as he considers the question with raised-brow fondness. ]
Pest extermination usually does. [ The expected (deranged) response. It's also an exaggeration― despite Iorveth's offhanded approach to brutality, he's a pragmatist, not a sadist― but he likes to lean into the character when he can. His own mask of sorts, one he only wears to be funny around Astarion, and not to intimidate.
That said, less insanely: ] But if you hadn't agreed to share my bed that night, I doubt we would be where we are right now.
[ If Astarion's reaction had been "ew gross", it's very likely that Iorveth's budding crush would have been, well, crushed. Funny in hindsight, how much of a turning point that entire night'd been for Iorveth. ]
[ Even now, it's still odd to remember being asked to share Iorveth's bed — just share it, he'd insisted. It wasn't anything he had felt like he deserved. For someone to simply want to be near him, without any ulterior motive, had been unthinkable. And yet there Iorveth had been, on the mattress beside him, a polite two inches between them and not a come-on to be found. It had felt a little like playing at being someone else, someone who was allowed that sort of chaste closeness, because he sure wasn't.
He rests his head on Iorveth's shoulder, leaning against him in a way that's just overly affectionate enough to be grating to most onlookers. Luckily, there's no half-orcs in here to demand they get a room. ]
You were so adorable. You were very careful not to let our nethers touch.
[ Which had actually been quite striking to him, but he's still allowed to tease Iorveth about it. ]
That was the first time I ever shared someone's bed without— [ He falters, not wanting to ruin the mood by dredging up anything too unpleasant. ] Well, I'm sure you know. It was... special.
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[ Still able to be a narcissist, even after a long 24 hours of Iorveth being poisoned, Iorveth being cured, kidnapping a man, tying him up and interrogating him, having hag nightmares, and getting formally engaged. This is what Iorveth has pledged eternity to.
A moment of thought, and then: ] He is my younger brother. And stupider. And less handsome.
[ But he's so annoyiiiingggg, he resists the urge to whine. Astarion doesn't fear Petras—or any of his siblings—in the least now that they're out from under Cazador's thumb, but that doesn't mean begging Petras to take yet another spawn under his wing won't be... irritating. ]
I guess it wouldn't be so bad. I could rub my happiness in his face.
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So: ] Hm. I would enjoy spoiling you where your siblings could see.
[ Proof that Astarion has been, is, and will be adored. (That they, too, aren't ruined, and may be able to find someone who adores them as well.) (Not as much as Astarion is adored, though. That's not possible.) Iorveth watches Astarion slump dramatically on violet sheets, and laughs under his breath. ]
We'll consider it after our business is done. Your future is my priority.
[ Obviously. Iorveth's stomach grumbles after he says so, undercutting the dramatic declaration somewhat; right, he hasn't eaten anything in a while. Should've told Astarion to pick something up for him while he was out. ]
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Then Iorveth's stomach growls, and he laughs. No, there wouldn't be any mood-ruining tummy rumbles in his daydreams. This is very, very real. ]
There's still a bit of the night left yet.
[ The sun will come up before long, but he didn't harass that poor jeweler for the entire night. Just most of it. ]
I could take you for a celebratory [ —Dinner? Breakfast? Time has become so strange since he's been relegated to the night shift— ] meal.
[ Which would probably have been a much more romantic place to do all of this. Gods, two centuries of practicing seduction and he's terrible at romance. ]
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[ Iorveth could just hop out for some food to carry back and eat in the room, but he'd be lying if he said that it wouldn't be nice to go out into the city while riding high on this feeling. He's not the sort to walk around yelling about his partner, but there is a bit of a thrill in knowing that, when others call them 'Masters Blackmane', they're not so far off from the truth.
Iorveth bends over for the millionth kiss of the night, then gets up out of bed to find his eyepatch, then dig into his pack. ]
I thought I might get rid of the items that the hag got us, as well. Leave them in an alley somewhere.
[ Maybe discarding them will help Astarion trance a little better tonight? Iorveth has no idea. But they feel too much like the masks in Ethel's lair now, an artefact that slowly drains away at one's soul and sanity, and he wants them away from Astarion as quickly as possible. ]
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So, he sits up, attempting to fix his hair with his fingers, trying to remember how Iorveth had arranged it. ]
Ugh, those creepy little trinkets.
[ Maybe they're harmless, honestly, and ultimately just gross. That doesn't sound like a hag, though. It's more likely that they'd slowly turn them into gelatinous cubes, or something. ]
You won't hear any complaint from me. I wasn't planning on accessorizing with them any time soon.
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Good thing that Iorveth doesn't follow that line of thought. Instead, when he reaches into his pack to make sure that he has the ugly charms for them to discard later, he takes out his vial of cologne and, this time, dabs a bit of it behind Astarion's ear as he fixes that curl that he'd laid down before. Sandalwood, amber, leather. ]
Too on-the-nose for you, I think.
[ A vampire wearing literal hearts around his neck. Iorveth scoffs at the thought of it as he gets ready, eyepatch and boots and knives on his person. With that done, he goes to the other room to quickly make sure that nothing is amiss (Damris is still bound and gagged and miserable) before they can leave. ]
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Oh, [ he says, cocking his head as if he's just thought of this: ] We should probably keep our distance from the Scepter District tonight.
[ His eyes drop to the tiefling still groaning through his gag on the floor. He still doesn't have the desire to take Damris under his wing. Foisting him off on Petras would be as much a favor for himself as for Damris; being around someone who poisoned Iorveth for longer than strictly necessary would drive him to madness. Or at least rudeness. ]
His lover boy has been asking about him.
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Hm. Iorveth steps back, hawklike eye fixed on the hogtied form, and offers a breezy: ]
Perhaps we should kill him. He might become a liability.
[ A throwaway threat; there's no intention behind it. It's mostly to see Damris's reaction, which is instantly negative: a narrowing of lash-framed eyes, and an agitated flick of his bound tail against his leg. Iorveth wouldn't blame the guy for having grown somewhat attached to a besotted fool who, despite everything, has likely shown Damris more kindness than others have.
Interesting. With that observation, he turns towards Astarion and offers him his hand. ] ...But we needn't waste time, either. Come.
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Strange, that he'd give a damn about another person's life at all. The feeling is decidedly unpleasant. He takes Iorveth's hand, tugging him out of the office. ]
I'd rather not ruminate on our problems too much tonight.
[ Alkam, Damris, Linus. The old hag. Endless problems with not very many solutions. He knows Iorveth hates it when he does this, but it would be nice to stick their heads in the sand for just a few more hours. ]
Tell me where you'd like me to take you. Are you in a 'classy restaurant' sort of mood, or a 'tavern where you might get robbed and murdered' one?
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Somewhere in the middle, I think. [ Not ritzy enough that Astarion would feel weird sitting and eating nothing, but not rowdy enough that they'd be interrupted by smelly drunks. They are meant to be celebrating, after all.
(It makes Iorveth's heart do another flip, when he recalls the word wedding coming out of Astarion's mouth. Hells.) ]
...It would have been nice, to go to that old woman's cafe. In Baldur's Gate. Someplace like that, perhaps.
[ Cozy, warm. Maybe not the ideal place to go out and flaunt each other, but intimate. ]
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[ A knowing smile. Like being called 'love', he remembers this, too. It had been the first time he'd ever been out with someone in that way. Not a seedy tavern to throw back drinks at before taking them to their doom, but a little diner, during the day, with no intent to drag anyone kicking and screaming back to his master.
Iorveth had been making him miserable at the time, what with his stubborn refusal to invite Astarion to stay with him after their Netherbrain journey, but he'd still enjoyed the place. ]
Actually, I rather liked it there, too.
[ A pause. ]
Pretend that I asked for your hand there, instead. I know it's very unlike me, but... I didn't plan ahead.
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He can feel his temperature rise, and he knows that Astarion can feel it where their palms meet. Can likely see it, too, as a dusting of color along the peak of his cheeks. Not as tomato-red as Astarion was before, but emulating it. ]
You? Not planning ahead? An unbelievable thought, that.
[ Pulling on pigtails first, to distract from the flush. After he gets that out of the way, Iorveth clears his throat, trying to discipline his tone into something less eager and more diplomatic. ]
Perhaps... Gale can portal us to Baldur's Gate, before we return to Waterdeep. We could...
[ He clears his throat again. ] ...We could commission Dolores for robes.
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A happy medium: Astarion reaches out to grab Iorveth by the collar, tugging him in until their lips meet and holding him there while he presses all of his love and affection into one kiss. When he draws back, he keeps his fingers loosely wound into the fabric of Iorveth's shirt, hesitant to let go.
His mouth twitches with an insuppressible smile. ]
"What my love wants, my love gets."
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―Find a place for us to eat, and quickly. Before I march us back to bed.
[ Gods, it's criminal that Damris is still back there. He casts that thought aside for the moment, choosing to focus all of his attention on the man he currently wants to back against a wall and kiss for several minutes. Hours? Astarion makes him fucking insane, really. Case in point: Iorveth tips inwards again despite what he just said about finding a place to eat, lips to lips and eventually tongue to tongue, licking up into Astarion's mouth greedily.
("Get a room," a half-orc mutters under his breath as he makes a wide arc to avoid the two in the middle of the street.) ]
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Jealous, [ he murmurs against Iorveth's lips, too pleased to pull away and berate the poor half-orc who just wanted to walk home without seeing two elves with their tongues down each other's throats. Another kiss, inexorable, like being pulled by a magnet to the soft heat of Iorveth's mouth.
In between self-indulgent kisses, he makes himself say, voice taking on a whiny little tinge, ] You can't expect me to be reasonable when you're right here for the taking.
[ It is kind of ridiculous for Iorveth to expect him to be able to tear himself from anything that gives him such a rush of happiness. Either Iorveth denies him and gets to eat, or Astarion kisses him out here until the sun comes up and he turns to ash. ]
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It's ridiculous. Decades of pouring himself into his duty as a freedom fighter, decades of tucking his face under a bandana and forgetting how to smile, and now this. Astarion has shifted his entire narrative by demanding that first kiss, and now Iorveth can't stop.
Finally, after another layered kiss (the half-orc looks over his shoulder and looks genuinely surprised that the two are still at it): ]
Gods, you really are unreasonably perfect.
[ It's a full-bodied ache to have to peel away, with Iorveth grudgingly consigning himself to the role of the more reasonable of the two (very debatable). He flicks under Astarion's chin with his free hand, a little breathless and a little flushed. ]
―Come. I'll eat quickly.
[ Guiding him to the nearest tavern, which luckily happens to be a cozy establishment with only a smattering of sleepy-looking guests who give the two elves little mind when they stumble in. Iorveth finds them a table pressed against the wall in the corner, fingers still laced, unwilling to be the first one to let go this time around. ]
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He slides himself into a seat beside Iorveth, releasing his hand only to let his own rest on Iorveth's knee instead. With his free hand, he waves over the tavernkeeper, a gnome with greying hair, soft around the middle. He looks tired, like he's been forcing himself to stay awake all night and is now struggling not to nod off. ]
A bottle of your most egregiously expensive red for me and my lovely fiancé, [ he says, laying it on thick. ]
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This poor gnome man is going to have the worst night of his life. He mumbles something about the wine not actually being very expensive ("it's a nice red, but I wouldn't call it egregious"), and looks even more tired after Iorveth orders a basket of bread, stew, and a platter of cold cuts and cheese for himself that would usually feed two and a half people comfortably. No real reaction to 'fiancé', save for a weary hike of one brow that suggests that he finds it odd that the two didn't choose a more ritzy place to flaunt their new engagement, if that's what they're trying to do. "Congratulations, by the way," is the rather unremarkable addendum before he ambles back into the kitchen.
A disaster. Iorveth doesn't care. He tips his head and presses another kiss to Astarion's jaw. ]
You're ridiculous, [ he laughs, warmly. A pair of half-elf women sitting a few tables away giggle under their hands, clearly more enamored by Iorveth and Astarion than anyone else has been since they arrived in Athkatla. ]
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I can't help it.
[ A quick kiss to Iorveth's cheek. He really can't help himself; he wants to shout about Iorveth from the damned rooftops. To scream someone loves me until his voice is hoarse.
He uses the last dregs of his willpower not to do that. Iorveth probably wouldn't like if he made a scene and got them kicked out before he got to enjoy his meal. Instead, he rubs Iorveth's knee affectionately, feeling the warmth of his body through the fabric of his trousers. ]
You know how much I like to show off my things.
[ Said warmly, wryly, with only a little undercurrent of possessiveness. ]
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Show off all you like, then. [ Indulgent. The warning voice in his head (the one that sounds a lot like Lae'zel recently, and says chk a lot) says not to overindulge bad habits, but his shoulder devil (the one that sounds a lot like Astarion lately) says that they just got engaged, Astarion can do whatever the hell he wants for at least the next tenday, while everything is still novel.
So. Shoulder devil wins. Iorveth never had a shoulder angel to begin with. Iorveth combs through Astarion's hair, sliding his warm palm down to his cheek. ]
You deserve to be seen the way you are. Cherished above all things－ my bethrothed.
[ If anyone mistakes Astarion for vapid arm candy, Iorveth will absolutely murder them without thinking twice. ]
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The tired-but-friendly gnome returns with Iorveth's requested food, balancing plates that are much too heavy for him. He places half of it in front of Iorveth and half of it in front of Astarion, presumably because he thinks that this amount of food must be for two people. (If only he'd ever seen Iorveth eat. The man is a black hole.) Astarion is in a good mood, so he only thanks him for the plates and gently pushes them toward Iorveth. ]
If you don't eat now, I won't be able to stop myself from cherishing you in a way that's not appropriate for the public.
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He uncorks the bottle of red and pours for the both of them. ]
Threatening me with a good time. [ When has he ever cared about what's appropriate? Astarion is free to do whatever the hells he wants with him for the next tenday, at least. Maybe the next year. Engagement is a concept that will knock the wind out of Iorveth every time he thinks about it.
That said, less romantically: ] If you think I've stopped thinking about putting you in my mouth, you'd be wrong.
[ Hungry, in more ways than one. Glasses clink, and Iorveth has a sip of wine. ]
Ever since Henselt. I don't think I've stopped thinking about you.
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He laughs at the idea that Iorveth has been thinking about him all that time, although it does bring some pleased color to the very tips of his ears. He's not certain how long Iorveth has been on his mind. It feels as if he just wriggled his way in there one day and never left. He can recall being pulled out of bed by Lae'zel and wishing he could spend the day with Iorveth instead, which had been horrifically embarrassing to him at the time.
Gently, he knocks their knees under the table. ]
Mmm. Pest extermination [ --probably smarter than saying 'assassination' aloud in a tavern-- ] really got you hot under the collar, did it?
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Only minimally distracted by the food, Iorveth tangles ankles with Astarion as he considers the question with raised-brow fondness. ]
Pest extermination usually does. [ The expected (deranged) response. It's also an exaggeration― despite Iorveth's offhanded approach to brutality, he's a pragmatist, not a sadist― but he likes to lean into the character when he can. His own mask of sorts, one he only wears to be funny around Astarion, and not to intimidate.
That said, less insanely: ] But if you hadn't agreed to share my bed that night, I doubt we would be where we are right now.
[ If Astarion's reaction had been "ew gross", it's very likely that Iorveth's budding crush would have been, well, crushed. Funny in hindsight, how much of a turning point that entire night'd been for Iorveth. ]
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He rests his head on Iorveth's shoulder, leaning against him in a way that's just overly affectionate enough to be grating to most onlookers. Luckily, there's no half-orcs in here to demand they get a room. ]
You were so adorable. You were very careful not to let our nethers touch.
[ Which had actually been quite striking to him, but he's still allowed to tease Iorveth about it. ]
That was the first time I ever shared someone's bed without— [ He falters, not wanting to ruin the mood by dredging up anything too unpleasant. ] Well, I'm sure you know. It was... special.
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