[ 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. ]
[ Nature is gross, but Iorveth isn't, and Astarion would very much like to see the glow of sunlight on his body. He remembers, briefly, that they'd bought a tattoo ink that sparkles in the sunlight, and he's suddenly filled with renewed interest in the idea now that he'll actually get to see it glitter.
—But then Damris rears his (unfortunately not actually) ugly head. Astarion would have been embarrassed at being caught quite literally sitting in Iorveth's lap once upon a time, but no longer. If anyone has an issue with their very enthusiastic displays of affection, it's only because they're jealous of the depth of love they share. Most people will never experience such a thing! How sad for them.
He probably shouldn't antagonize Damris when he's wearing a cloak that Damris would have every reason to want to steal, but: ]
Ugh, you're like a bad copper.
[ Always turning up. ]
Can't you see I'm busy basking in the sun? The stench of your jealousy is wafting over here and ruining the atmosphere.
[ Very bold of Astarion to be acting so imperious when, only minutes ago, he'd been asking Iorveth to shove him into sunlight because he didn't want to step into it himself. Damris didn't see that, of course, so Iorveth doesn't touch on it. Astarion is entitled to do a few victory laps― he's earned it, no matter how stupid it might be to do them around this particular tiefling.
Damris looks the both of them up and down. His scrutiny is sharp and obvious, his irritation even more so. Envious of someone who has everything he wants for himself: blood, protection, daylight. Rather immaturely, he grabs a cushion from a nearby chair and throws it Astarion's way with a frustrated huff, then turns on his heels like a beautiful hurricane to storm off (presumably to plot Astarion's untimely demise).
Damris has bad aim. The cushion bounces harmlessly against the couch's armrest. ]
Well. Now the tiefling knows. [ Not great. But nothing can really dampen the triumph of having stolen the right cloak, so Iorveth sets aside the possibility of being poisoned again to bite a temporary mark along Astarion's collarbone. ] You'll have to wear this cloak to bed, if you want to safeguard it.
[ Damris is acting exactly how Astarion would—better, probably—so, obviously, Astarion thinks he's a rotten little brat. Getting a taste of his own personality in Damris has been truly intolerable. At least he'll have to deal with Petras for eternity, which is at least equivalent to infinite torture in the hells, if not worse. ]
I'll bathe in it if I must.
[ Astarion doesn't plan to take off this cloak ever, actually. It's the ugliest thing he's ever seen, and despite all of his vanity, he'll wear it forever. Or at least until there's a better alternative. ]
...But I wouldn't be terribly heartbroken if Gale could turn it into something a little less, mm, obtrusive.
[ Astarion's lot in life, Iorveth thinks, to attract younger-brother types. Maybe because Astarion constantly can't let sleeping dogs lie. Part of his charm, and part of the reason why they'll always have enemies. Keeps things interesting.
A gondola swims lazily across the water, several yards away. A few houses over, two children run down a small strip of pier with makeshift fishing rods, chattering animatedly amongst themselves about being able to catch something this time. The reminder that the term "in broad daylight" means something makes him stop nosing against Astarion's jaw, but he doesn't move to remove Astarion from his immediate proximity. ]
He did mention someone who could. [ A Something Silverhand? Waterdeep's Open Lord, or something of the like. Iorveth has only retained this information because it pertained to Astarion, but he remembers the woman being mentioned as someone who may or may not have attended the opera. ] I'll have them fashion it into a pair of sandals for you.
[ The beloathed Waterdhavian Crocs (that are actually still intact, unburned, in the closet of their borrowed bedroom). Pulling Astarion's pigtails with that mental image. ]
[ Swift and horrified. He is not a sandal-wearer! But he slings an arm around Iorveth's shoulders the next, unabashedly affectionate, so clearly the idea doesn't upset him that much. ]
And then I'll track down Reginald and make him bring you back.
[ Iorveth isn't getting out of this relationship that easy. He can die all he wants, and Astarion will just drag his corpse around until he finds someone to bully into bringing Iorveth back to life. (Whatever happened to Withers, he wonders. That old coot was annoyingly cryptic, but Astarion wouldn't mind keeping him around for emergencies.) ]
[ Iorveth NoLastname, terror of the north, finally killed by a vampire offended by his choice in footwear. What a way to go, hypothetically. Instead of being offended by the well-earned threat, Iorveth looks pleased that it was leveled against him with the sort of crooked grin that suggests that he enjoys the audacity. ]
At this rate, you'll have a ring on every finger.
[ Taking one of Astarion's very pretty hands, pressing his lips against its knuckles. ]
I'll speak to Gale about it soon, if you can't bear to look frumpy for too long.
[ Again, tugging at pigtails. Like Iorveth said, Astarion could be wearing a burlap sack and he'd still lovely in sunlight, but "I'll kill you" was cute, and he likes it when Astarion bites or scratches back. Cute aggression, but self-aimed. ]
[ 'Cute aggression', he calls it. 'Aggression I find cute', he should probably say.
Astarion pulls on Iorveth's precious little wood elf ear. ] Frumpy!
[ He recalls saying the cloak was frumpy, yes, but not himself. ...He does look frumpy, but that's none of Iorveth's business. Astarion probably looks near to the worst he's ever looked: in his pajamas with an ugly maroon cloak atop, with a messed up hand and an even more fucked up leg. But Iorveth had called him beautiful, and Astarion likes that he'd been seemingly deluded by love. ]
Ugh. You only get away with saying such things because I'm in no position to bend you over my knee.
[ Untrue. Astarion would and has let Iorveth get away with murder. ]
[ Iorveth has already made a mental list of things he can say to tease Astarion without actually offending him: obviously untrue things about his appearance is one (something he can get away with, since he's fairly certain that Astarion knows that Iorveth thinks he's infuriatingly pretty), threatening him with ugly sandals is another. Iorveth is also compiling a list of things he can say that will actually make Astarion upset, which he is trying to avoid, but occasionally says anyway because they hold true in the moment.
Right now, he's just having fun watching Astarion's expressions kaleidoscope under the sun. No one in Iorveth's past has been quite as expressive, though they've come close to being as dramatic. ]
I "get away with such things" because I'd enjoy being bent over your knee.
[ And thus, the so-called punishment would be smugly accepted, and Astarion would only be rewarding Iorveth for bad behavior. Freak elf strikes again. That said, he's not sure if he would actually enjoy any of that, but he just wants to see how Astarion would react. ]
How intolerable it must be for you that I love you so much.
[ Astarion adores when Iorveth is a freak, actually. It's funny, because he's historically hated listening to deranged fantasies, but Iorveth's all feel terribly nonthreatening. Eccentric, really.
He presses his mouth against Iorveth's cheek. ]
I love you more, of course. [ As always. ] And now that we've gotten this pesky sun issue taken care of, we can start looking into your immortality.
[ Just in case Iorveth somehow had the deluded idea that it's just something they'd maybe address at some point in the distant future. No better time than the present to start obsessing over a new goal that will definitely fix his entire life this time. ]
[ Iorveth has deluded himself into thinking that maybe Astarion would want some time with this new perspective on life to see if eternity with Iorveth is really a good idea (eternity is a long, long, long) time, but apparently not. Reginald's voice floats back into his head, a reminder that now that Astarion can safely journey without fear of being instantly vaporized by the inexorable thing that occupies the sky half of the time, he can also afford to have distance.
It's probably the healthy thing to do, instead of jumping right into Forever. Slow-burn character building instead of instant gratification. So, to cover his bases: ]
You could take more time to consider. [ Saying what he was thinking, he appends: ] Eternity is a long time, love.
[ It also seems like a no-takebacks kind of deal. ]
I've seen enough of the world, loved and lost enough to know that I'll never find anyone like you. [ Big words for someone who is, essentially, a Country Boy. ] But the world may surprise you yet.
[ Slow-burn?? Character building??? Delayed gratification???? He fucking hates those things. After everything they've been through in the past few days, he's hesitant to ruin this moment of happiness, so Astarion tries very hard to remain pleasant and not immediately start accusing Iorveth of backing out on what he very much promised Astarion back in their Athkatlan inn.
Even though he is. ]
I'm sure you aren't trying to suggest that I'll find another someone like you.
[ He pets Iorveth's hair affectionately, eyebrow twitching just slightly as his body rejects 'being normal' and 'not blowing up the moment something doesn't go his way'. ]
[ Eyebrow twitch, clocked. Iorveth could press the issue, say that it isn't a matter of Iorveth going anywhere (he won't) and more a matter of covering all bases, but he also has to tell himself that Astarion doesn't like covering his bases. He likes the base that he has, even when Iorveth looks at it and objective thinks that there are probably nicer bases out there, or that the base needs fortifying.
A breath, in and out, and Iorveth shelfs the issue. ]
I'm suggesting that you still have time, [ he drawls, pinching the bridge of Astarion's nose. ] Still a few centuries left in me yet. I'm younger than you, I think.
[ Two hundred, give or take. An old elf stuck in a young-ish elf's body. ]
[ Astarion leans his temple against Iorveth's, a desire to be as close to Iorveth's perplexing mind as he can possibly be. Sometimes, he feels as if he understands Iorveth wholly and totally, and other times it's as if he might as well be speaking a different language. It's like suggesting that someone wait a few centuries to decide if they'd like one million gold in their pockets or if they'd like to be kicked in the head instead — a preposterous choice. ]
Yes, I'm practically robbing the cradle, aren't I?
[ Affectionate, even when Iorveth is irritating him a little with this idea of waiting and thinking things through. Iorveth is still closer in age to him than nearly anyone else they'd travelled with. Gods, Lae'zel had been a baby. ]
But, my love, I don't need a few centuries to confirm what I already know. Immortality would be torment without you by my side.
[ He supposes he could just walk cloakless into the sun after Iorveth dies, but. He has a feeling that idea might not go over too well. Astarion draws back, then, so that he can study Iorveth's face. ]
Darling, you would tell me if you didn't want this, wouldn't you?
[ Iorveth rolls his eye－ having a few decades on him is hardly robbing a cradle－ but lizard hindbrain says that it feels incredibly nice to have Astarion pressed up against him, his usually cool body made slightly warm under all this sun. Creature comforts.
Shifting under Astarion, leaning against the back of the wooden couch taking up most of the patio space, Iorveth raises a brow. ]
I would. [ To answer Astarion's question. Blunt candor, as usual. ] But that isn't the issue, foolish cat.
[ The actual, real issue is: ] You may have noticed, [ Iorveth says, flatly, ] that I rarely let things go.
[ Offenses? Repaid in blood. Wars? Perpetual. He'll fight until he dies. Grudges? Kept. Instances of his heart having been broken? Remembered, even if it would be easier to forget. ]
It's forever with me, or you break me irreparably. [ Which is an absolutely bugfuck nuts thing to say, and Iorveth knows it. He doesn't look proud to be announcing this. ] I don't wish you to have that loom heavy on you.
[ "Hey, I actually kind of love you in a deranged way, and if you decide after 500 years that you actually don't love this arrangement, I want you to know that you would fuck me up literally forever and I might just choose to die if that happens. Is that ok?," is not the kind of decision that anyone would want someone they love to make. Alas, ]
[ This suddenly feels like maybe it's too deep a conversation to have while practically in Iorveth's lap, so Astarion very carefully and very gingerly move his legs into a normal sitting position, like a normal person who isn't positively crawling all over his favorite person at all times. His leg is still sore, and he makes a face during the process but otherwise is so brave about it. ]
Sweetheart.
[ He tilts his head, actually looking quite concerned: his brow is furrowed, a little frown on his lips. ]
I wasn't only being adorable when I said that I loved you more.
[ Although it is pretty adorable, he thinks. Still, he's pretty sure he loves Iorveth more than anyone in existence has ever loved anyone; Iorveth took his shriveled black heart and made it grow three sizes, and it still seems to grow more and more with every passing day. ]
Eternity is far too short of a time to spend with you.
[ Reciprocal obstinacy regarding "I love you more", but that's not the part of this whole thing that needs addressing; maybe sometime later, when Iorveth has Astarion in bed and can terrorize him on a more advantageous playing field. Now, Iorveth thinks about the implication behind Astarion's insistence, takes in that little frown (not pleased that he put a damper on what should be the happiest moment of Astarion's unlife), and offers: ]
...A chip on my shoulder, perhaps. [ Sorry, essentially. ] I did let the halfling remind me of it.
[ Reginald, who has gone home to do laundry with his lovely wife, Regina (similar names coincidental). ]
If forever is with you, I want it. And if you want the same, well－
[ He clears his throat. ] －we'll see which devil or god will be willing to bargain with us.
[ If Iorveth feels guilty about putting a damper on the happiest moment of Astarion's (un)life, he can also feel good about giving Astarion a new happiest moment of his (un)life. If forever is with you, I want it, he says, and Astarion breaks out beaming, the sort of genuine, unabashed joy he used to be too afraid to show. Happiness only ever made him a target, delight just something to lose. In the presence of Iorveth, though, he feels safe to smile.
He kisses Iorveth's cheek several times in quick succession, then his mouth. ]
You ridiculous fool of a man. That halfling is as wise as he is tall.
[ Which is to say, not at all. (In Astarion's very biased opinion.) ]
—The finer details can wait until we've fully recovered, of course. [ As if there's any part of him that's capable of focusing on the 'finer details' of anything. ] That lovely head of yours is undoubtedly still recuperating from being whacked like an unruly mole.
[ Despite the slight misgivings Iorveth may have about the state of his feelings for Astarion (unhealthy), the warning alarms quiet once he sees the breadth of that full-faced smile. Uncalculated, showing all of his teeth. Of all the expressions that Astarion has in his arsenal (a lot), it's that grin that makes Iorveth melt. The sort of sincerity he'd always been needling for, even when he'd only wanted it out of principle and not out of any feeling of conscious attraction.
A warm sigh, and he returns Astarion's kiss with one of his own. ]
―Torture, that I have to mind your leg. [ Carefully pressing a hand to the crest of Astarion's knee, indicating that he does, in fact, remember that it's still very delicate. ] If not for the halfling's warning, I'd be making love to every inch of you right now.
[ Astarion wants Iorveth to turn his brain off after having it thoroughly bonked by a bloodthirsty hag, but they also can't canoodle. Horrible. Their lives are so hard. ]
Gods, I was prepared to go back to Athkatla if this cloak wasn't the one.
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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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—But then Damris rears his (unfortunately not actually) ugly head. Astarion would have been embarrassed at being caught quite literally sitting in Iorveth's lap once upon a time, but no longer. If anyone has an issue with their very enthusiastic displays of affection, it's only because they're jealous of the depth of love they share. Most people will never experience such a thing! How sad for them.
He probably shouldn't antagonize Damris when he's wearing a cloak that Damris would have every reason to want to steal, but: ]
Ugh, you're like a bad copper.
[ Always turning up. ]
Can't you see I'm busy basking in the sun? The stench of your jealousy is wafting over here and ruining the atmosphere.
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Damris looks the both of them up and down. His scrutiny is sharp and obvious, his irritation even more so. Envious of someone who has everything he wants for himself: blood, protection, daylight. Rather immaturely, he grabs a cushion from a nearby chair and throws it Astarion's way with a frustrated huff, then turns on his heels like a beautiful hurricane to storm off (presumably to plot Astarion's untimely demise).
Damris has bad aim. The cushion bounces harmlessly against the couch's armrest. ]
Well. Now the tiefling knows. [ Not great. But nothing can really dampen the triumph of having stolen the right cloak, so Iorveth sets aside the possibility of being poisoned again to bite a temporary mark along Astarion's collarbone. ] You'll have to wear this cloak to bed, if you want to safeguard it.
[ Stuck in ugly maroon forever. A light tease. ]
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I'll bathe in it if I must.
[ Astarion doesn't plan to take off this cloak ever, actually. It's the ugliest thing he's ever seen, and despite all of his vanity, he'll wear it forever. Or at least until there's a better alternative. ]
...But I wouldn't be terribly heartbroken if Gale could turn it into something a little less, mm, obtrusive.
[ And hideous. ]
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A gondola swims lazily across the water, several yards away. A few houses over, two children run down a small strip of pier with makeshift fishing rods, chattering animatedly amongst themselves about being able to catch something this time. The reminder that the term "in broad daylight" means something makes him stop nosing against Astarion's jaw, but he doesn't move to remove Astarion from his immediate proximity. ]
He did mention someone who could. [ A Something Silverhand? Waterdeep's Open Lord, or something of the like. Iorveth has only retained this information because it pertained to Astarion, but he remembers the woman being mentioned as someone who may or may not have attended the opera. ] I'll have them fashion it into a pair of sandals for you.
[ The beloathed Waterdhavian Crocs (that are actually still intact, unburned, in the closet of their borrowed bedroom). Pulling Astarion's pigtails with that mental image. ]
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[ Swift and horrified. He is not a sandal-wearer! But he slings an arm around Iorveth's shoulders the next, unabashedly affectionate, so clearly the idea doesn't upset him that much. ]
And then I'll track down Reginald and make him bring you back.
[ Iorveth isn't getting out of this relationship that easy. He can die all he wants, and Astarion will just drag his corpse around until he finds someone to bully into bringing Iorveth back to life. (Whatever happened to Withers, he wonders. That old coot was annoyingly cryptic, but Astarion wouldn't mind keeping him around for emergencies.) ]
An amulet, maybe. Or a ring.
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At this rate, you'll have a ring on every finger.
[ Taking one of Astarion's very pretty hands, pressing his lips against its knuckles. ]
I'll speak to Gale about it soon, if you can't bear to look frumpy for too long.
[ Again, tugging at pigtails. Like Iorveth said, Astarion could be wearing a burlap sack and he'd still lovely in sunlight, but "I'll kill you" was cute, and he likes it when Astarion bites or scratches back. Cute aggression, but self-aimed. ]
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Astarion pulls on Iorveth's precious little wood elf ear. ] Frumpy!
[ He recalls saying the cloak was frumpy, yes, but not himself. ...He does look frumpy, but that's none of Iorveth's business. Astarion probably looks near to the worst he's ever looked: in his pajamas with an ugly maroon cloak atop, with a messed up hand and an even more fucked up leg. But Iorveth had called him beautiful, and Astarion likes that he'd been seemingly deluded by love. ]
Ugh. You only get away with saying such things because I'm in no position to bend you over my knee.
[ Untrue. Astarion would and has let Iorveth get away with murder. ]
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Right now, he's just having fun watching Astarion's expressions kaleidoscope under the sun. No one in Iorveth's past has been quite as expressive, though they've come close to being as dramatic. ]
I "get away with such things" because I'd enjoy being bent over your knee.
[ And thus, the so-called punishment would be smugly accepted, and Astarion would only be rewarding Iorveth for bad behavior. Freak elf strikes again. That said, he's not sure if he would actually enjoy any of that, but he just wants to see how Astarion would react. ]
How intolerable it must be for you that I love you so much.
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He presses his mouth against Iorveth's cheek. ]
I love you more, of course. [ As always. ] And now that we've gotten this pesky sun issue taken care of, we can start looking into your immortality.
[ Just in case Iorveth somehow had the deluded idea that it's just something they'd maybe address at some point in the distant future. No better time than the present to start obsessing over a new goal that will definitely fix his entire life this time. ]
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It's probably the healthy thing to do, instead of jumping right into Forever. Slow-burn character building instead of instant gratification. So, to cover his bases: ]
You could take more time to consider. [ Saying what he was thinking, he appends: ] Eternity is a long time, love.
[ It also seems like a no-takebacks kind of deal. ]
I've seen enough of the world, loved and lost enough to know that I'll never find anyone like you. [ Big words for someone who is, essentially, a Country Boy. ] But the world may surprise you yet.
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Even though he is. ]
I'm sure you aren't trying to suggest that I'll find another someone like you.
[ He pets Iorveth's hair affectionately, eyebrow twitching just slightly as his body rejects 'being normal' and 'not blowing up the moment something doesn't go his way'. ]
You're one of a kind, my sweet.
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A breath, in and out, and Iorveth shelfs the issue. ]
I'm suggesting that you still have time, [ he drawls, pinching the bridge of Astarion's nose. ] Still a few centuries left in me yet. I'm younger than you, I think.
[ Two hundred, give or take. An old elf stuck in a young-ish elf's body. ]
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Yes, I'm practically robbing the cradle, aren't I?
[ Affectionate, even when Iorveth is irritating him a little with this idea of waiting and thinking things through. Iorveth is still closer in age to him than nearly anyone else they'd travelled with. Gods, Lae'zel had been a baby. ]
But, my love, I don't need a few centuries to confirm what I already know. Immortality would be torment without you by my side.
[ He supposes he could just walk cloakless into the sun after Iorveth dies, but. He has a feeling that idea might not go over too well. Astarion draws back, then, so that he can study Iorveth's face. ]
Darling, you would tell me if you didn't want this, wouldn't you?
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Shifting under Astarion, leaning against the back of the wooden couch taking up most of the patio space, Iorveth raises a brow. ]
I would. [ To answer Astarion's question. Blunt candor, as usual. ] But that isn't the issue, foolish cat.
[ The actual, real issue is: ] You may have noticed, [ Iorveth says, flatly, ] that I rarely let things go.
[ Offenses? Repaid in blood. Wars? Perpetual. He'll fight until he dies. Grudges? Kept. Instances of his heart having been broken? Remembered, even if it would be easier to forget. ]
It's forever with me, or you break me irreparably. [ Which is an absolutely bugfuck nuts thing to say, and Iorveth knows it. He doesn't look proud to be announcing this. ] I don't wish you to have that loom heavy on you.
[ "Hey, I actually kind of love you in a deranged way, and if you decide after 500 years that you actually don't love this arrangement, I want you to know that you would fuck me up literally forever and I might just choose to die if that happens. Is that ok?," is not the kind of decision that anyone would want someone they love to make. Alas, ]
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Sweetheart.
[ He tilts his head, actually looking quite concerned: his brow is furrowed, a little frown on his lips. ]
I wasn't only being adorable when I said that I loved you more.
[ Although it is pretty adorable, he thinks. Still, he's pretty sure he loves Iorveth more than anyone in existence has ever loved anyone; Iorveth took his shriveled black heart and made it grow three sizes, and it still seems to grow more and more with every passing day. ]
Eternity is far too short of a time to spend with you.
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...A chip on my shoulder, perhaps. [ Sorry, essentially. ] I did let the halfling remind me of it.
[ Reginald, who has gone home to do laundry with his lovely wife, Regina (similar names coincidental). ]
If forever is with you, I want it. And if you want the same, well－
[ He clears his throat. ] －we'll see which devil or god will be willing to bargain with us.
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He kisses Iorveth's cheek several times in quick succession, then his mouth. ]
You ridiculous fool of a man. That halfling is as wise as he is tall.
[ Which is to say, not at all. (In Astarion's very biased opinion.) ]
—The finer details can wait until we've fully recovered, of course. [ As if there's any part of him that's capable of focusing on the 'finer details' of anything. ] That lovely head of yours is undoubtedly still recuperating from being whacked like an unruly mole.
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A warm sigh, and he returns Astarion's kiss with one of his own. ]
―Torture, that I have to mind your leg. [ Carefully pressing a hand to the crest of Astarion's knee, indicating that he does, in fact, remember that it's still very delicate. ] If not for the halfling's warning, I'd be making love to every inch of you right now.
[ Astarion wants Iorveth to turn his brain off after having it thoroughly bonked by a bloodthirsty hag, but they also can't canoodle. Horrible. Their lives are so hard. ]
Gods, I was prepared to go back to Athkatla if this cloak wasn't the one.