[ A little huff, when called out about the crying. Nose dusted with red, more obvious in the bright of the morning than the dim of night; Iorveth'd almost forgotten how stark everything looks in light, especially by the waterside.
Why shouldn't he get emotional? If not now, when? He sniffs again, more composed this time, even if he still looks like a proud elf at his partner's graduation. Absurd, but earnest. ]
The time of day wouldn't have mattered, [ Iorveth pushes back without any real vehemence, hands flying up to Astarion's face to cradle it for a moment, to turn those pretty features from side to side to inspect it better under the sun. Under the sun. No tadpoles necessary, though he would have liked to have them for long enough to beam 'you are perfect' directly into Astarion's brainfolds. Unhinged. ]
But, Gods. I'll say it again: you were made for the sun.
[ Ugh!!! Still misty-eyed (a wood elf through and through, in these private moments away from scrutiny or judgment), he presses his lips to Astarion's forehead and lets go of him again, torn between the aggressive desire to sit Astarion down on the patio couch and kiss him all over, or to simply just watch Astarion do whatever the fuck he wants under daylight from a distance. He decides on the latter for now, moving away to take a seat as he takes in the sight of glittering water and Astarion backlit by it, the unflattering cloak doing nothing to detract from how stunning he is. Sure, Astarion is still ostensibly in his pajamas with one fucked-up hand, but that doesn't matter!!!!! ]
―Now you can do whatever you wish, whenever you wish.
[ Astarion would marry Iorveth at midnight as soon as he'd marry him at daybreak, but of course the time of day matters. He'd hoped to declare his quite literally undying love with the sun streaming in through the leaves of those trees Iorveth loves so much; it would be a perfect day, a perfect memory to keep with him forever. Gods, except the ugly cloak. He desperately hopes Gale can do something about this, because he's not getting married in maroon.
Iorveth very much chose the wrong option, because whatever the fuck Astarion wants is always Iorveth. He gravitates toward Iorveth instantly, putting his knee up on the couch and using the leverage to lean in— ]
Fuck.
[ Wrong knee. That really fucking hurts. He switches knees, leaning in on his good leg now, pressing a kiss to Iorveth's cheek. ]
You know I only wish to be with you. [ A pause. ] Mmm, but perhaps I might get a tan, too.
[ A 'tan'. He might turn mildly less translucent. ]
[ "Your leg", Iorveth groans as Astarion leans in for the peck, protesting too much even when he's sitting there with 'I-love-this-guy' tears lingering on his face. He keeps Astarion braced on the couch with his hands at Astarion's hips, looking up at him with the sort of awe that says 'I cannot believe you are making me feel this way (irritated) (affectionate)'. ]
You can go anywhere you please now without fear, [ he says, somewhat incredulously, ] and yet you still wish to be with me and get an impossible tan.
[ Like, Astarion could go anywhere. He could actually go to Cormyr and be able to say anything about it. Maybe he still has other restrictions pertaining to having to be invited to places and burning when touching running water, but still.
Freedom. So much of it. Iorveth is happy for him, profoundly and impossibly. ]
Well? [ Pinching the end of Astarion's cloak, letting it billow a bit. ] What did you envision yourself doing first, when the sun was eventually returned to you?
[ Astarion could go to Cormyr, yes. Maybe he will. But what Iorveth can't seem to get through his thick skull (very irritated) (very affectionate) is that Astarion has no interest in going anywhere that his favorite person isn't. When he thinks of going to someplace like Cormyr, it's only exciting because he imagines showing off his fancy Cormyrean leather boots to Iorveth, and buying a nice new sword for Iorveth, and taking Iorveth to dinner to watch him stuff his face.
That's what love is, he thinks. He only ever used to dream of finally being left alone, and now he dreams of forever being kept company.
He sighs, taking Iorveth's face in his hands and smoothing his thumbs over those lovely, sharp cheekbones. ]
Making sweet, degenerate love to you in the midday sun. [ What love is, also: being able to say the words 'making love' without gagging. With a pout: ] But I've been put on canoodling restriction.
[ He should've seen that answer coming from leagues away. Iorveth laughs, a sort of surprised half-bark, and tries to see if he can finagle Astarion up onto his lap without jostling that injured leg too much in the process. Eventually, he semi-strongarms Astarion to sit sideways across his knees, and keeps him in place with his palm to the small of Astarion's back. ]
Making love outdoors? [ Still laughing under his breath, shaking his head as if in disbelief. ] I'll make a wood elf of you yet.
[ The closest Astarion has gotten to degeneracy, honestly. Very cute. Iorveth rubs up against Astarion's jaw, mimicking a fox rubbing up against a leg－
－and ignores Damris, who has come to snoop despite expressly being told not to. From the back of the sitting room leading out into the patio, in the safety of shade, Damris is watching with obvious shock and actual jealousy at Astarion, who has managed to get the cloak that everyone else he knows has tried and failed to acquire. ]
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no subject
Why shouldn't he get emotional? If not now, when? He sniffs again, more composed this time, even if he still looks like a proud elf at his partner's graduation. Absurd, but earnest. ]
The time of day wouldn't have mattered, [ Iorveth pushes back without any real vehemence, hands flying up to Astarion's face to cradle it for a moment, to turn those pretty features from side to side to inspect it better under the sun. Under the sun. No tadpoles necessary, though he would have liked to have them for long enough to beam 'you are perfect' directly into Astarion's brainfolds. Unhinged. ]
But, Gods. I'll say it again: you were made for the sun.
[ Ugh!!! Still misty-eyed (a wood elf through and through, in these private moments away from scrutiny or judgment), he presses his lips to Astarion's forehead and lets go of him again, torn between the aggressive desire to sit Astarion down on the patio couch and kiss him all over, or to simply just watch Astarion do whatever the fuck he wants under daylight from a distance. He decides on the latter for now, moving away to take a seat as he takes in the sight of glittering water and Astarion backlit by it, the unflattering cloak doing nothing to detract from how stunning he is. Sure, Astarion is still ostensibly in his pajamas with one fucked-up hand, but that doesn't matter!!!!! ]
―Now you can do whatever you wish, whenever you wish.
no subject
Iorveth very much chose the wrong option, because whatever the fuck Astarion wants is always Iorveth. He gravitates toward Iorveth instantly, putting his knee up on the couch and using the leverage to lean in— ]
Fuck.
[ Wrong knee. That really fucking hurts. He switches knees, leaning in on his good leg now, pressing a kiss to Iorveth's cheek. ]
You know I only wish to be with you. [ A pause. ] Mmm, but perhaps I might get a tan, too.
[ A 'tan'. He might turn mildly less translucent. ]
no subject
You can go anywhere you please now without fear, [ he says, somewhat incredulously, ] and yet you still wish to be with me and get an impossible tan.
[ Like, Astarion could go anywhere. He could actually go to Cormyr and be able to say anything about it. Maybe he still has other restrictions pertaining to having to be invited to places and burning when touching running water, but still.
Freedom. So much of it. Iorveth is happy for him, profoundly and impossibly. ]
Well? [ Pinching the end of Astarion's cloak, letting it billow a bit. ] What did you envision yourself doing first, when the sun was eventually returned to you?
no subject
That's what love is, he thinks. He only ever used to dream of finally being left alone, and now he dreams of forever being kept company.
He sighs, taking Iorveth's face in his hands and smoothing his thumbs over those lovely, sharp cheekbones. ]
Making sweet, degenerate love to you in the midday sun. [ What love is, also: being able to say the words 'making love' without gagging. With a pout: ] But I've been put on canoodling restriction.
no subject
Making love outdoors? [ Still laughing under his breath, shaking his head as if in disbelief. ] I'll make a wood elf of you yet.
[ The closest Astarion has gotten to degeneracy, honestly. Very cute. Iorveth rubs up against Astarion's jaw, mimicking a fox rubbing up against a leg－
－and ignores Damris, who has come to snoop despite expressly being told not to. From the back of the sitting room leading out into the patio, in the safety of shade, Damris is watching with obvious shock and actual jealousy at Astarion, who has managed to get the cloak that everyone else he knows has tried and failed to acquire. ]