[ Time has simply lost all meaning: the last time Iorveth saw sun was to torture Damris with it, and his circadian rhythm has been monumentally fucked since leaving Baldur's Gate. It really is a good thing that he's had more than a few decades to acclimate to horrible lifestyles. A saner man might have started losing his mind (ha).
Nuzzling into that hand, he presses his lips to the cradle of Astarion's fingers. ]
That surprises you, does it. [ This would have sounded far more sarcastic before; now, it just sounds like a dry tease. ] ―I wished to be the first thing you saw when you woke up.
[ A pleased hum, reciprocated. Early-morning flirting, as he pinches the tip of a pointed ear. No intention for anything to get hot or heavy, but laying it on thick anyway. The perks of being smitten.
He hears footsteps coming up the stairs: two different strides, a pitter-patter of light feet and longer strides to catch up. Reginald and Gale again? Maybe they're here for Damris. Whatever. He wants to savor a sleepy Astarion for a little while longer, so he nuzzles again and slides one hand up the back of Astarion's shirt, just for some extra skin-on-skin. ]
[ Resting well has put him in a shockingly good mood, all things considered. The aftershocks of yesterday are still there, but they're not quite as strong; it's hard to believe that anything could hurt him too badly when the world is narrowed down to this, just a soft bed and a warm body. This is what he wants forever, every day until eternity runs out. When it does, he'll hold Iorveth just like this as the sun burns out.
Too deranged for this early in the morning. He says none of it, just brushes his lips against Iorveth's in a light approximation of a kiss. ]
How convenient. I also wished for your lovely face to be the first thing I saw.
[ Astarion hears the footsteps, technically, but anything happening outside this room is so unimportant as not to exist. He runs the back of his fingers down Iorveth's cheek, mouth twitching up. ]
I know I'm the man of the hour, but how do you feel?
[ There are voices lingering outside their room: "--well, lad, we should wake them!" "Hm, well, you see... they tend to..."
Iorveth stops paying attention. He rolls onto his back instead, taking Astarion with him and letting Astarion's weight bear down, chest to chest. The hand under the shirt stays where it is, palm smoothing up scarred and unscathed skin, massaging slowly. ]
I'm famished. [ A gentle bite to Astarion's jaw, as punctuation. ] Sore, as well.
Otherwise? Fine. My head was beyond saving. [ He laughs, mouth still pressed to Astarion's skin.
Meanwhile, on the other side of the door: "well, if they're healthy enough to potentially get intimate, they can handle a checkup!" ]
[ You get freaky in your friend's house, like, one or two times, and suddenly he's afraid to open the door when you're alone with your boyfriend (fiancé). At least, that's what Astarion would be thinking if he were listening, which he isn't. It's been days since he's felt anywhere close to all right, but with Iorveth underneath him just like he likes, soft and pliant and going nowhere, he feels— good, he thinks. Sore as well, leg protesting even this amount of movement, but he can live with it. ]
Oh, I don't know. Your head looks rather perfect to me. [ Sickly sweet, the sort of tone he'd die if anyone other than Iorveth ever heard. ] Perfect here [ —a kiss to Iorveth's eyelid— ] and here [ —his scarred cheek— ] and, oh, most definitely here.
[ He's allowed a little life-affirming making out as a treat, so his next kiss is to Iorveth's (perfect!) mouth, a smile on his own lips. At least until he hears the sound of a doorknob turning, and—
"Oh!" Gale's voice. "I'm afraid I did warn you, Master Reginald..." ]
[ Very inconsiderate of the wizard whose room they're renting and the cleric who fixed them up to interrupt a morning makeout session. Iorveth is about to crane up and see if Astarion is amenable to a bit of tongue when the door opens, and he grunts in frustration at being deterred. ]
Not a single moment of peace.
[ If it's not Damris in the other room, it's people who genuinely wish them well. Horrible!!! Their lives are so hard. Iorveth keeps his hands where they are, one still tucked under Astarion's shirt and the other pressed against Astarion's cheek, making no effort to move until the halfling is on him like a ginger hurricane, whacking his forearm with the flat of a cane.
"No, no, no! If you care a whit about your partner, don't let him put his weight on his leg that way!"
Reginald motions with his hands, like rolling a ball of dough.
"Get him on his back, please! And a cushion under the sore leg! If you want to canoodle, do it two days from now!" ]
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Nuzzling into that hand, he presses his lips to the cradle of Astarion's fingers. ]
That surprises you, does it. [ This would have sounded far more sarcastic before; now, it just sounds like a dry tease. ] ―I wished to be the first thing you saw when you woke up.
[ A pleased hum, reciprocated. Early-morning flirting, as he pinches the tip of a pointed ear. No intention for anything to get hot or heavy, but laying it on thick anyway. The perks of being smitten.
He hears footsteps coming up the stairs: two different strides, a pitter-patter of light feet and longer strides to catch up. Reginald and Gale again? Maybe they're here for Damris. Whatever. He wants to savor a sleepy Astarion for a little while longer, so he nuzzles again and slides one hand up the back of Astarion's shirt, just for some extra skin-on-skin. ]
no subject
Too deranged for this early in the morning. He says none of it, just brushes his lips against Iorveth's in a light approximation of a kiss. ]
How convenient. I also wished for your lovely face to be the first thing I saw.
[ Astarion hears the footsteps, technically, but anything happening outside this room is so unimportant as not to exist. He runs the back of his fingers down Iorveth's cheek, mouth twitching up. ]
I know I'm the man of the hour, but how do you feel?
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Iorveth stops paying attention. He rolls onto his back instead, taking Astarion with him and letting Astarion's weight bear down, chest to chest. The hand under the shirt stays where it is, palm smoothing up scarred and unscathed skin, massaging slowly. ]
I'm famished. [ A gentle bite to Astarion's jaw, as punctuation. ] Sore, as well.
Otherwise? Fine. My head was beyond saving. [ He laughs, mouth still pressed to Astarion's skin.
Meanwhile, on the other side of the door: "well, if they're healthy enough to potentially get intimate, they can handle a checkup!" ]
no subject
Oh, I don't know. Your head looks rather perfect to me. [ Sickly sweet, the sort of tone he'd die if anyone other than Iorveth ever heard. ] Perfect here [ —a kiss to Iorveth's eyelid— ] and here [ —his scarred cheek— ] and, oh, most definitely here.
[ He's allowed a little life-affirming making out as a treat, so his next kiss is to Iorveth's (perfect!) mouth, a smile on his own lips. At least until he hears the sound of a doorknob turning, and—
"Oh!" Gale's voice. "I'm afraid I did warn you, Master Reginald..." ]
Gods, can't you see we're busy?
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Not a single moment of peace.
[ If it's not Damris in the other room, it's people who genuinely wish them well. Horrible!!! Their lives are so hard. Iorveth keeps his hands where they are, one still tucked under Astarion's shirt and the other pressed against Astarion's cheek, making no effort to move until the halfling is on him like a ginger hurricane, whacking his forearm with the flat of a cane.
"No, no, no! If you care a whit about your partner, don't let him put his weight on his leg that way!"
Reginald motions with his hands, like rolling a ball of dough.
"Get him on his back, please! And a cushion under the sore leg! If you want to canoodle, do it two days from now!" ]