[ 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.
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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.