[ 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.
[ Very adorable. Iorveth refrains from touching Astarion's hair while he's still using them to eat (no one wants cheese grease on their curls), but he nuzzles into that nestle, shifting to make that perch against his shoulder more comfortable.
(A few feet away, the two half-elf women flag the tired-looking gnome proprietor over and whisper something animatedly into his ear. The poor man looks even more exhausted, but nods and heads towards the kitchen.) ]
Your first time. [ He hums, voice low. ] An honor, that.
[ Without delving too deeply into why it would have been Astarion's first time. Also trying not to ruin the mood. ]
You were the only thing that made me feel safe that night. I didn't wish to confuse that safety for anything else.
[ Iorveth was his first time for many things. Everything, really, at least everything that counts. His first time being so consumed with thoughts of someone that he couldn't think straight. His first time wanting to kiss someone as much as throttle them. His first time feeling like he mattered.
There are lots of 'firsts' left in his world. There's no one he'd rather experience them with than Iorveth.
He likes knowing that Iorveth feels safe with him, because he is safe with Astarion. Iorveth's well-being has somehow become more important to him than his own. Still, he picks his head up off of Iorveth's shoulder, glancing at him with a raised eyebrow. ]
You weren't worried at all about having a dangerous creature of the night in your bed?
[ He sounds slightly disappointed that Iorveth wasn't intimidated, like, a little. ]
[ From 'very adorable' to 'very funny'. Iorveth takes a moment to digest that telegraphed disappointment, and, like the rude elf he is, laughs about it. ]
I gave the 'dangerous creature of the night' many reasons and opportunities to harm me before that night. If you truly wanted to kill me, you would have done it―
[ Hm. ] ―Before or after the Goblin Camp, I think.
[ When they were all mostly just disparate travelers banded together out of convenience rather than any sense of camaraderie. Seems like ages ago that Shadowheart woke Lae'zel up with a knife to her throat. Good times. ]
Or you would have left me to rot in Henselt's dungeon. Easier, and less work for you.
[ To the tune of "I know how much you hate work." ]
[ Rude, and true. The easiest way to rid himself of Iorveth would have been to leave him to someone else; there has never been any shortage of people who want to kill him. Astarion would be lying if he said that he hadn't thought about it — not when they'd taken on Henselt, but much earlier, back when they'd first met. He'd thought Iorveth the most likely to kill him should his condition come to light, and he knew that he'd have to protect himself if that were the case.
Strange. Now, Iorveth is the only one who truly accepts him for his vampirism rather than just tolerates it as an eccentric quirk of his. ]
I would have missed your scowling at me.
[ He'd hated that scowl. Being on the receiving end of it often made him so irritated that he's not sure now if it was really hatred at all or just desire twisted into something more palatable. ]
Ugh, I suppose you made me soft, even back then. How embarrassing.
[ Flashback to Iorveth and Lae'zel standing with their arms folded, discussing whether they should get rid of the lying vampire in their camp while the rest of the crew made impassioned cases－ mostly having to do with lockpicking－ for keeping Astarion around.
A memory better left remembered and unspoken. Iorveth swallows it alongside his food, wipes his hand on a starched napkin that the gnome kindly brought with the spread, and traces Astarion's lower lip with his thumb. ]
It's what I fell in love with.
[ He says, completely unashamed by the admission. Competing with Astarion in the 'I love you more' and the 'I fell in love with you first' Olympics. He acknowledges how annoying this is, but he doesn't stop being convinced anyway.
Leaning in, he presses a wine-stained kiss to Astarion's mouth. From the kitchen, there's the scent of something sweet baking in the oven. ]
My first time being blindsided so thoroughly by anyone. You still surprise me, constantly.
[ Astarion looks almost bashful, which is not a common expression on him. He could listen to Iorveth talk about falling in love with him all night. He wishes he could capture the sound of it so that he could listen to it whenever he wanted, on demand. The next best thing, he supposes, is to demand that Iorveth recount it whenever he pleases.]
Oh, did you swoon?
[ Asked with a wry quirk of his lips. He's not sure Iorveth is physically capable of swooning. ]
Were you awestruck at how terribly dashing I was?
[ He vaguely recalls getting bonked on the head, but they don't have to talk about that part. ]
I thought you were an idiot, [ is probably the sort of reply that could make a romantic dinner crash and burn, but it's the truth. To offset that bluntness, Iorveth presses another light kiss to the corner of Astarion's mouth (the two half-elves giggle behind their hands again) and continues: ]
You had your entire future and freedom ahead of you, and you chose to stay instead of run. It was foolish－ so much so that it made me realize that your future and freedom were important to me.
[ Startling revelations. Astarion wasn't just another member of the party that Iorveth could say goodbye to and be fine with occasionally meeting, sharing stories, being friendly with. Iorveth felt protective of him, in a way that wasn't just about camaraderie.
A low huff, warm and affectionate. ]
Gods, I was so angry. At you, I thought. But the truth of it was that I was angry with the human who dared lay a finger on you. And angry with myself, for putting you in that position.
[ Being called an idiot is very much not romantic, but it isn't surprising coming from Iorveth, either. Iorveth has probably called him a fool more times than anything else. Hells, maybe he is an idiot, but there was nothing foolish about staying behind for Iorveth. It had been a split-second decision, made on emotion and impulse, but he doesn't regret it. He never could. ]
Yes, well, you made a grave mistake.
[ In choosing Astarion to help him with his crusade, for one. For two: ] You made me like you.
[ A snort, though the sound is laced with too much amusement to be acerbic. He's very resistable, and it's only Astarion who has cared to be dogged enough to think or believe otherwise.
Gods, Astarion is perfect. Iorveth has thought this a few thousand times already, but the observation feels novel every time it crosses his mind. Craning back an inch, he watches Astarion twinkle in candlelight, silver and red and everything beautiful about the world, sharp and quick and well-spoken, resilient and wary and strong. It makes him think that maybe Astarion was right about wanting immortality for him: forever doesn't seem long enough time to appreciate someone so singular.
His hand flits to Astarion's jaw, tracing the well-defined line of it up to his ear. ]
The only mistake I'd ever make more than once.
[ The only exception to his mantra of "never again". Iorveth's lips hike in a smile that he can't help, and he presses that elation against Astarion's mouth in what must be the hundredth kiss of the night (who's counting?). The contact is long, lingering, uncaring of anyone that might be watching.
When their lips finally part: ] I love you. Terribly, and without apology. I'll have you know that I don't equivocate when it comes to my devotion. You'll have all of it, or none at all.
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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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(A few feet away, the two half-elf women flag the tired-looking gnome proprietor over and whisper something animatedly into his ear. The poor man looks even more exhausted, but nods and heads towards the kitchen.) ]
Your first time. [ He hums, voice low. ] An honor, that.
[ Without delving too deeply into why it would have been Astarion's first time. Also trying not to ruin the mood. ]
You were the only thing that made me feel safe that night. I didn't wish to confuse that safety for anything else.
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There are lots of 'firsts' left in his world. There's no one he'd rather experience them with than Iorveth.
He likes knowing that Iorveth feels safe with him, because he is safe with Astarion. Iorveth's well-being has somehow become more important to him than his own. Still, he picks his head up off of Iorveth's shoulder, glancing at him with a raised eyebrow. ]
You weren't worried at all about having a dangerous creature of the night in your bed?
[ He sounds slightly disappointed that Iorveth wasn't intimidated, like, a little. ]
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I gave the 'dangerous creature of the night' many reasons and opportunities to harm me before that night. If you truly wanted to kill me, you would have done it―
[ Hm. ] ―Before or after the Goblin Camp, I think.
[ When they were all mostly just disparate travelers banded together out of convenience rather than any sense of camaraderie. Seems like ages ago that Shadowheart woke Lae'zel up with a knife to her throat. Good times. ]
Or you would have left me to rot in Henselt's dungeon. Easier, and less work for you.
[ To the tune of "I know how much you hate work." ]
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Strange. Now, Iorveth is the only one who truly accepts him for his vampirism rather than just tolerates it as an eccentric quirk of his. ]
I would have missed your scowling at me.
[ He'd hated that scowl. Being on the receiving end of it often made him so irritated that he's not sure now if it was really hatred at all or just desire twisted into something more palatable. ]
Ugh, I suppose you made me soft, even back then. How embarrassing.
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A memory better left remembered and unspoken. Iorveth swallows it alongside his food, wipes his hand on a starched napkin that the gnome kindly brought with the spread, and traces Astarion's lower lip with his thumb. ]
It's what I fell in love with.
[ He says, completely unashamed by the admission. Competing with Astarion in the 'I love you more' and the 'I fell in love with you first' Olympics. He acknowledges how annoying this is, but he doesn't stop being convinced anyway.
Leaning in, he presses a wine-stained kiss to Astarion's mouth. From the kitchen, there's the scent of something sweet baking in the oven. ]
My first time being blindsided so thoroughly by anyone. You still surprise me, constantly.
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Oh, did you swoon?
[ Asked with a wry quirk of his lips. He's not sure Iorveth is physically capable of swooning. ]
Were you awestruck at how terribly dashing I was?
[ He vaguely recalls getting bonked on the head, but they don't have to talk about that part. ]
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You had your entire future and freedom ahead of you, and you chose to stay instead of run. It was foolish－ so much so that it made me realize that your future and freedom were important to me.
[ Startling revelations. Astarion wasn't just another member of the party that Iorveth could say goodbye to and be fine with occasionally meeting, sharing stories, being friendly with. Iorveth felt protective of him, in a way that wasn't just about camaraderie.
A low huff, warm and affectionate. ]
Gods, I was so angry. At you, I thought. But the truth of it was that I was angry with the human who dared lay a finger on you. And angry with myself, for putting you in that position.
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Yes, well, you made a grave mistake.
[ In choosing Astarion to help him with his crusade, for one. For two: ] You made me like you.
[ Another knock of their knees. ]
You should have tried being more resistible.
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Gods, Astarion is perfect. Iorveth has thought this a few thousand times already, but the observation feels novel every time it crosses his mind. Craning back an inch, he watches Astarion twinkle in candlelight, silver and red and everything beautiful about the world, sharp and quick and well-spoken, resilient and wary and strong. It makes him think that maybe Astarion was right about wanting immortality for him: forever doesn't seem long enough time to appreciate someone so singular.
His hand flits to Astarion's jaw, tracing the well-defined line of it up to his ear. ]
The only mistake I'd ever make more than once.
[ The only exception to his mantra of "never again". Iorveth's lips hike in a smile that he can't help, and he presses that elation against Astarion's mouth in what must be the hundredth kiss of the night (who's counting?). The contact is long, lingering, uncaring of anyone that might be watching.
When their lips finally part: ] I love you. Terribly, and without apology. I'll have you know that I don't equivocate when it comes to my devotion. You'll have all of it, or none at all.
[ "All of it" is, in fact, a bit of a threat. ]
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