[ 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.
[ Astarion kind of doesn't care about the leg, actually, and so far it's only been an annoyance that gets in the way of him getting what he wants. But it is sweet that Iorveth cares about his recovery, although that sort of just makes him want to have crazy public patio sex more, so then he's back to square one. ]
That's terribly romantic. [ A pause. ] And ridiculously stupid.
[ Iorveth contains multitudes. It's practically a fantasy come true for someone to care about this as much as Astarion does, but it's a nightmare to imagine Iorveth actually doing it. ]
Ugh. I don't know whether to kiss you or throttle you for it.
[ Maybe both, if Iorveth's into that. He shakes his head. ]
If it had been the wrong cloak, then— [ Astarion frowns in thought. ] Well, I'm not actually sure. [ He didn't think that far ahead!! ] But I surely wouldn't have allowed you within a mile of that hag.
[ "I'm not actually sure" makes Iorveth snort, but he's been around Astarion for long enough to know that contemplating cause-and-effect isn't one of Astarion's strong suits. He should have anticipated that― if they'd gotten the wrong cloak― Iorveth would rage, and seethe, and perhaps plot with Gale even if Astarion said no, and maybe they would have had a huge row about it. As they usually do. ]
I still wish to kill her, [ he says, matter-of-factly. Speaking of not being able to let anything go. ] She's living on borrowed time, as far as I'm concerned.
[ Maybe a century from now, he'll slip out for "an errand" and come back covered in hag blood. He sets that thought aside for now, and concentrates on scheming a little less.
Which brings him right back to being annoyed that there's a however-many-day ban on triumphant canoodling. He pulls Astarion closer by the waist and kisses his jaw, nibbling at a smooth patch of skin to watch it turn slightly pink.
The sound of kids laughing and playing nearby is still audible. Iorveth considers the pros and cons of doing something that will get Gale kicked out of the neighborhood. ]
[ A century from now, Astarion will have already made so many more enemies. The hag will barely register for Iorveth, surely. He'll be too busy trying to keep people from actively killing Astarion to seek retribution for someone making Astarion cry a hundred years ago.
But Iorveth says 'I still wish to kill her' and not 'I'm going to kill her', which is good enough for Astarion right now. As long as Iorveth doesn't enter a portal to Athkatla, he can keep staying Iorveth's revenge until the hag is only a distant memory.
Something that he can't put off forever, though: ]
Darling. [ Gently scolding. ] I adore your teeth, [ probably too much, ] but perhaps it's for the best that you keep them to yourself if you're planning on following that old coot's orders.
[ If you're planning on following them. Because, well, Astarion doesn't care. Again, he's never heard of delayed gratification in his life. ]
[ There's going to be a portal opening to Athkatla tonight. Would be a disaster if Iorveth decided to step into it.
But for now, it's all about watching the morning sun climb higher towards its zenith, and about watching Astarion not be fried under it. Iorveth shifts on the couch, still careful not to knock knees or move Astarion overmuch, but with very little intention of creating distance. ]
Hm. I'd not let myself do anything that would harm you. [ Honestly, it was harrowing hearing Astarion scream; the most alarmed he'd been the entire night, hag encounter and all. ] But wanting you is free.
[ Astarion might not believe in delayed gratification, but Iorveth is fine with torturing himself a little. He'd never tell Astarion, but he likes pining for him a bit. ]
Gods, I want you, [ is a sigh-laugh. An itch under his skin that he won't let himself scratch. Nuzzling into Astarion's hair (carefully, so as not to let the cloak slip), he kisses the tip of a pointed ear, uncaring of the fisherman on a nearby gondola who may or may not be watching. ]
[ Wow, imagine if Astarion's cloak did slip, and he instantly turned into a pile of ash next to Iorveth. Talk about a moment-killer. Luckily, Iorveth's caution pays off and it doesn't — not that Astarion even thinks of such a possibility, too distracted by the sweet sound of Iorveth's voice in his ear. ]
—I'm not asking for your sake, [ he chides again, a little awkwardly, although he doesn't make any attempt to move even an inch away. He's never really been good at talking about this sort of thing. His own desire. It doesn't feel shameful and dirty anymore, but being blunt isn't in his nature the way it is Iorveth's. He usually talks around it, makes liberal use of euphemism and innuendo. ]
When you say things like that, my sweet, I'm afraid it gets me all... atwitter.
[ Big turn-on. Huge. He loves when Iorveth says soft, sweet things to him — what he doesn't love is then being denied further affection. And surely Iorveth is not fine with torturing him a little!! ]
[ Good things about the cloak: it lets Astarion walk freely in daylight. Bad things about the cloak: Astarion fucking dies if he takes it off. That really means canoodling outside is out of the picture, because Iorveth suspects that Astarion would rather die before he gets intimate in nothing but the ugliest piece of fabric ever produced on this plane of existence. (Dragomir must have been the most unfashionable vampire ever, before his timely demise.)
A hum of acknowledgment, and Iorveth hooks his fingers around the cloak strings... only to secure them more properly, so that nothing slips. The opposite of sexy undressing, because it would traumatize Iorveth if fooling around ended with Astarion being a pile of ash on Gale's patio. It would probably also traumatize, you know, the literal children playing nearby. ]
Like what? [ Mean elf rears his ugly head. Not looking to make Astarion uncomfortable, ever, but also happy to make him squirm just a little. He'll know when to back off, but for now: ] Like how striking you are in daylight? How I wish to see how you flush when there's no darkness to hide you?
[ No innuendo. Iorveth is the worst. He bites under Astarion's jaw again, nibbling at him with affectionate fervor. ] ―I'll stop if you admit I love you more.
[ Striking, Iorveth says, and Astarion thinks again how he's sitting on this couch in his pajamas which happen to clash terribly with the ugly cloak he's wearing. Iorveth is deluded. Astarion loves him for it.
Iorveth is also the worst, and Astarion loves him for that, too. The problem is that Astarion doesn't want him to stop at all, actually; he cranes his neck so that Iorveth can access it better, closing his eyes as he basks in the warmth of sunlight and his most beloved person's affection, hand running idly through Iorveth's dark hair. ]
I would, my sweet, but I would hate to lie. [ A beat. ] To you, anyway.
[ Everyone else can go fuck themselves; he'll lie to anyone else about anything, but not Iorveth. ]
I love you more, darling. I did happen to — oh, I don't know — propose.
[ Hm. Okay, fine, he'll have to concede that point. Astarion did propose, which is not a thing Iorveth would ever have expected to happen― he'll give him that.
But: ] I fell for you first. [ Is he really going to be obstinate about this? The answer is yes. It's the sort of thing that he would scoff at if he saw anyone else arguing the point ("why the hells would it even matter, what would it even change"), but the point, for him, is that Astarion acknowledge that he is the most loved individual in all of Toril. A braindead debate, especially since there's no way to qualify or quantify his assertions. ]
I wanted you first. I anchored myself to you first. I've had longer to love you more.
[ Asking to share a bed was his first grand slip-up; there was no turning back for him, after that. He emphasizes the point with a squeeze to Astarion's waist, and a few more lovebites littered down the offered column of his neck. ]
If you'll recall, I kissed you first, [ sounds a little exasperated, like he can't believe Iorveth is actually arguing this point. Honestly, it had seemed obvious to him; there's a reason that he says I love you more, of course. It's a fact of life, indisputable, like that the sky is blue and Halsin is annoying.
The exasperation isn't enough for him to discourage the affection, and in truth, it's maybe kind of sort of a turn-on in itself. He does enjoy arguing with Iorveth, as long as Iorveth is only playfully stern and not stern in actuality. He ducks his head to press a kiss to Iorveth's hair, then his temple, then his cheek. ]
And, you know, I'm rather certain I fell for you first, too. I only didn't realize I had, because— well, I'm sure you understand that liking someone was a rather unfamiliar feeling at the time.
[ And his feelings certainly didn't feel the way they do now, pure and concentrated, so sure. They'd been complex, messy. Insecure and frightened. (Okay, maybe there's still a little of that part left.) ]
But I craved your attention, my love, even when all you did was scowl at me.
[ Telling Astarion that he's a glutton for punishment seems like a bad idea, since Astarion has had two hundred miserable years of being relentlessly punished for no reason at all, so Iorveth refrains. Still, the thought of Astarion wanting attention, even if it wasn't the attention he strictly wanted, makes Iorveth's heart clench a little.
Another thing he doesn't say: "you should've said so". He knows he wouldn't have believed it, and he knows Astarion would have rather had his throat slit than say something so liable to be turned down at the time. ]
I did more than scowl, [ he argues, just for the sake of it. ] I jeered, occasionally. Walked away more than a few times.
[ Hard to think of doing the last one now. One hand slips up the back of Astarion's loose pajama top under the shroud of the cloak, fingers splayed, raking up along Astarion's spine. His skin feels warmer than usual, and that itch under Iorveth's skin gets a little harder to ignore. ]
My pride got in the way of my wanting, I suppose. But in all certainty, I wanted you. [ A low chuckle, almost in disbelief. ] Even now, I want you as desperately as I did then. A feeling I doubt will ever fade.
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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.
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That's terribly romantic. [ A pause. ] And ridiculously stupid.
[ Iorveth contains multitudes. It's practically a fantasy come true for someone to care about this as much as Astarion does, but it's a nightmare to imagine Iorveth actually doing it. ]
Ugh. I don't know whether to kiss you or throttle you for it.
[ Maybe both, if Iorveth's into that. He shakes his head. ]
If it had been the wrong cloak, then— [ Astarion frowns in thought. ] Well, I'm not actually sure. [ He didn't think that far ahead!! ] But I surely wouldn't have allowed you within a mile of that hag.
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I still wish to kill her, [ he says, matter-of-factly. Speaking of not being able to let anything go. ] She's living on borrowed time, as far as I'm concerned.
[ Maybe a century from now, he'll slip out for "an errand" and come back covered in hag blood. He sets that thought aside for now, and concentrates on scheming a little less.
Which brings him right back to being annoyed that there's a however-many-day ban on triumphant canoodling. He pulls Astarion closer by the waist and kisses his jaw, nibbling at a smooth patch of skin to watch it turn slightly pink.
The sound of kids laughing and playing nearby is still audible. Iorveth considers the pros and cons of doing something that will get Gale kicked out of the neighborhood. ]
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But Iorveth says 'I still wish to kill her' and not 'I'm going to kill her', which is good enough for Astarion right now. As long as Iorveth doesn't enter a portal to Athkatla, he can keep staying Iorveth's revenge until the hag is only a distant memory.
Something that he can't put off forever, though: ]
Darling. [ Gently scolding. ] I adore your teeth, [ probably too much, ] but perhaps it's for the best that you keep them to yourself if you're planning on following that old coot's orders.
[ If you're planning on following them. Because, well, Astarion doesn't care. Again, he's never heard of delayed gratification in his life. ]
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But for now, it's all about watching the morning sun climb higher towards its zenith, and about watching Astarion not be fried under it. Iorveth shifts on the couch, still careful not to knock knees or move Astarion overmuch, but with very little intention of creating distance. ]
Hm. I'd not let myself do anything that would harm you. [ Honestly, it was harrowing hearing Astarion scream; the most alarmed he'd been the entire night, hag encounter and all. ] But wanting you is free.
[ Astarion might not believe in delayed gratification, but Iorveth is fine with torturing himself a little. He'd never tell Astarion, but he likes pining for him a bit. ]
Gods, I want you, [ is a sigh-laugh. An itch under his skin that he won't let himself scratch. Nuzzling into Astarion's hair (carefully, so as not to let the cloak slip), he kisses the tip of a pointed ear, uncaring of the fisherman on a nearby gondola who may or may not be watching. ]
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—I'm not asking for your sake, [ he chides again, a little awkwardly, although he doesn't make any attempt to move even an inch away. He's never really been good at talking about this sort of thing. His own desire. It doesn't feel shameful and dirty anymore, but being blunt isn't in his nature the way it is Iorveth's. He usually talks around it, makes liberal use of euphemism and innuendo. ]
When you say things like that, my sweet, I'm afraid it gets me all... atwitter.
[ Big turn-on. Huge. He loves when Iorveth says soft, sweet things to him — what he doesn't love is then being denied further affection. And surely Iorveth is not fine with torturing him a little!! ]
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A hum of acknowledgment, and Iorveth hooks his fingers around the cloak strings... only to secure them more properly, so that nothing slips. The opposite of sexy undressing, because it would traumatize Iorveth if fooling around ended with Astarion being a pile of ash on Gale's patio. It would probably also traumatize, you know, the literal children playing nearby. ]
Like what? [ Mean elf rears his ugly head. Not looking to make Astarion uncomfortable, ever, but also happy to make him squirm just a little. He'll know when to back off, but for now: ] Like how striking you are in daylight? How I wish to see how you flush when there's no darkness to hide you?
[ No innuendo. Iorveth is the worst. He bites under Astarion's jaw again, nibbling at him with affectionate fervor. ] ―I'll stop if you admit I love you more.
[ The worst!!!!!!!! ]
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Iorveth is also the worst, and Astarion loves him for that, too. The problem is that Astarion doesn't want him to stop at all, actually; he cranes his neck so that Iorveth can access it better, closing his eyes as he basks in the warmth of sunlight and his most beloved person's affection, hand running idly through Iorveth's dark hair. ]
I would, my sweet, but I would hate to lie. [ A beat. ] To you, anyway.
[ Everyone else can go fuck themselves; he'll lie to anyone else about anything, but not Iorveth. ]
I love you more, darling. I did happen to — oh, I don't know — propose.
[ Badly, but it still counts. ]
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But: ] I fell for you first. [ Is he really going to be obstinate about this? The answer is yes. It's the sort of thing that he would scoff at if he saw anyone else arguing the point ("why the hells would it even matter, what would it even change"), but the point, for him, is that Astarion acknowledge that he is the most loved individual in all of Toril. A braindead debate, especially since there's no way to qualify or quantify his assertions. ]
I wanted you first. I anchored myself to you first. I've had longer to love you more.
[ Asking to share a bed was his first grand slip-up; there was no turning back for him, after that. He emphasizes the point with a squeeze to Astarion's waist, and a few more lovebites littered down the offered column of his neck. ]
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The exasperation isn't enough for him to discourage the affection, and in truth, it's maybe kind of sort of a turn-on in itself. He does enjoy arguing with Iorveth, as long as Iorveth is only playfully stern and not stern in actuality. He ducks his head to press a kiss to Iorveth's hair, then his temple, then his cheek. ]
And, you know, I'm rather certain I fell for you first, too. I only didn't realize I had, because— well, I'm sure you understand that liking someone was a rather unfamiliar feeling at the time.
[ And his feelings certainly didn't feel the way they do now, pure and concentrated, so sure. They'd been complex, messy. Insecure and frightened. (Okay, maybe there's still a little of that part left.) ]
But I craved your attention, my love, even when all you did was scowl at me.
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Another thing he doesn't say: "you should've said so". He knows he wouldn't have believed it, and he knows Astarion would have rather had his throat slit than say something so liable to be turned down at the time. ]
I did more than scowl, [ he argues, just for the sake of it. ] I jeered, occasionally. Walked away more than a few times.
[ Hard to think of doing the last one now. One hand slips up the back of Astarion's loose pajama top under the shroud of the cloak, fingers splayed, raking up along Astarion's spine. His skin feels warmer than usual, and that itch under Iorveth's skin gets a little harder to ignore. ]
My pride got in the way of my wanting, I suppose. But in all certainty, I wanted you. [ A low chuckle, almost in disbelief. ] Even now, I want you as desperately as I did then. A feeling I doubt will ever fade.
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