[ "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.
[ The last time Iorveth walked away from him was not actually that long ago, but Astarion very kindly decides not to mention that. Besides, the feeling of Iorveth walking away from him is probably the worst feeling in the world — and that's coming from someone who was regularly tortured. He'd rather not dwell on it. ]
Well, I want you even more than I did then.
[ Competitive, even in this. It's also true, or at least he thinks it is. Astarion is barely in touch with his emotions now, but back then, he'd been so heavily removed from them as to not really even understand it as wanting. He'd just known that he had a desire to stand near Iorveth, and that it angered him when Iorveth disapproved of him. It's only with the hindsight of wholeheartedly believing that Iorveth is his One Perfect Person™ that he can categorize it as what it was: baby's first (and last, he'd be quick to say!!) crush.
And since Reginald never explicitly said he's not allowed to feel Iorveth up a little, he places a warm (in comparison to his usual 'dead body' temperature) hand on his chest, smoothing over Iorveth's tattoo. ]
My life began when I met you. Everything before that was just— [ Hm. He hums in thought. ] A bad dream.
[ Past Iorveth would probably be a little mortified by Present Iorveth, who is currently trying really hard not to cross a line into desperate rutting on a patio in broad daylight, in witness of wide-eyed fishermen and children skipping rocks. He's definitely going to have to rub one out later, if he ever finds a fifteen-minute pocket of the day that isn't in Astarion's company (doubtful).
His next exhale is low and heavy, his focus slightly scattered thanks to that touch. He arcs into it, and reciprocates by stroking up and down Astarion's back, massaging gently. ]
One I wish I could have woken you from earlier. [ Pressing his lips against silver curls, then sideways to Astarion's temple. ] But you did a fine job of breaking free from it on your own.
[ Namely: bashing Cazador's miserable fucking head in with a mace. Iorveth is so proud of him for that, honestly. ]
―Still, I love you most. [ Not letting this go!!! ] And I'll spend the next eternity proving it to you, obstinate cat.
[ Punctuating it with a proper kiss, mouth to mouth, as if that's final. ]
[ This is ridiculous. Unfortunately, Astarion really does like being kissed, so for a moment his mind goes all happy-fuzzy and he melts into it, entirely unable to argue, before there's a little niggle in the back of his brain and he draws back, poking Iorveth in the chest now like he thinks he kissed Astarion to make him stupid on purpose. (He does not recognize that he was already stupid.) ]
Well, I don't need an eternity to prove it to you. I would do it right now, but—
[ He hikes his chin up, as if that is going to make what he has to say any less embarrassing. ]
If you're not going to take care of the problem you've caused [ —which is the weird boner he's starting to get, natch— ] then I'll have to excuse myself.
[ Hm. Iorveth's eye flicks down in a moment of crude assessment, as if to gauge how urgent the so-called 'problem' is, and then: ]
Well. [ Another glance, this time at Astarion's still very fucked-up hand. They really should have gotten that looked at before Reginald went home (presumably); it looks pretty terrible, even after a quick Cure Wounds. Astarion is really not in any condition to be messing around, but― ]
―I have wanted you in my mouth since Athkatla. [ He'd said so the night before the hag mess, and it still holds. Iorveth sounds slightly smug about it, as if he's still trying to win the I Want You More game. A clown. ] And it requires minimal action on your part.
[ Iorveth can jack off later, but gods knows he isn't going to pass up an opportunity to blow Astarion if it's presented to him. He knows where his priorities are at. ]
—Minimal action, [ he echoes, laughing. ] Gods, you make it sound so sensual.
[ It doesn't actually sound any less appealing when put that way, though, which is a problem. Iorveth's mouth isn't what he was really hoping to be inside of, quite frankly, but it is possibly the only thing he can be inside of without too much jostling of the leg. Ugh, he hates that fucking hag. Did she know she'd be cockblocking him so much when she did it?
He, of course, notes that Iorveth makes no mention of reciprocation. In a very obvious manipulation attempt, he lays his head on Iorveth's shoulder, hand traveling down that precious tattoo. ]
[ Gods, he loves the sound of that laugh. Loves the feeling of Astarion listing against him, too, even if he knows when Astarion does something just to make Iorveth say yes. It doesn't take much, anymore― big eyes glancing up through lashes, imploringly, is basically enough for Iorveth to bend to petty whims― but since Astarion is pretty banged up at the moment, he should probably care more about that than the state of his boner. Because, unfortunately for him, it's definitely a boner at this point. ]
One good hand and one good leg. You're losing limbs, fast.
[ Tipping his head, kissing Astarion's cheek. The hand snaked up the pajama shirt trails down, slipping under the loose waistband of his matching pants to slide along a thigh. ]
I'm offering to wait on you, beloved. Hand and foot, literally. [ A huff-laugh, accompanied by an ear-nibble. ] Much as I want you, you're still injured.
[ Trying to be mindful, but also liable to fold like paper. ]
[ Astarion hums in thought. He doesn't take being told no well, obviously, but he doesn't argue... if only because he thinks Iorveth will be easier to cajole a little later, once all the blood has drained from his brain and gone to more interesting parts. Astarion is still winning the I Want You More war, as far as he's concerned. ]
Mm, I do like the idea of being pampered.
[ And his body very much likes the hand on his thigh. He leans in to press a kiss to Iorveth's eminently kissable (maybe not in most people's opinion, but certainly in his) mouth, then draws back after a moment, a little embarrassed. ]
I— [ He lowers his voice, as if afraid someone will hear. ] Not in this ugly thing.
[ As much as having Iorveth's mouth around him while he basks in the sun is, like, the ultimate fantasy, he does not feel sexy at all in this cloak. ]
[ Astarion owes that cloak the rest of his life, and he's still calling it ugly. Iorveth blinks, then mirrors Astarion's previous laugh with one of his own, surprised and honest in a way he never is around anyone else. ]
It is the ugliest thing you've ever allowed on your body.
[ Pulling his hand out of Astarion's pants, Iorveth picks at the end of the offending cloak with a thumb and forefinger. A very unflattering reddish blue-purple (an impossible combination of colors), held together with cheap-looking white string. ]
A pity Dragomir had no taste. [ Finally peeling himself away from Astarion to get up, even if his entire body protests it; not to mention that it's very uncomfortable being upright with the current state of his boner, but he'll live. ] ...Inside, then.
[ Offering Astarion a hand. Still looking at him like he's the most beautiful thing Iorveth's ever seen, even in the ugly cloak and his ill-fitting pajamas. ]
[ Astarion straight up does not remember who the fuck Dragomir is, but he nods anyway because a history lesson is the last thing he wants right now. Not sexy!! None of this is particularly sexy, honestly; he wobbles a little as he stands, limping like a stray dog. Even so, the loving expression on Iorveth's face makes it sexy, and Astarion leans against him for both stability and to kiss him again. ]
Well, you're the most beautiful thing I've ever allowed on my body, so I suppose it evens out.
[ Iorveth will absolutely not agree with this, but Astarion moves steadily along so he can't argue. ]
Once Gale fixes this ridiculous thing [ —because he's somehow assigned that task to him, even though it was one of his wizard friends he'd actually said was capable of it— ] I'll make love to you from sunrise to sunset.
[ Stupid. Iorveth walked right into that one, but Astarion doesn't let him argue the point, so― onward they go, hobbling with purpose across the sitting room and towards their mid-stage boss fight (the stairs), trying not to encounter their final boss (Gale and his inevitable cockblocking) preemptively.
The look Iorveth gives about the imaginary marathon sex they'll have has real 'sure Jan' energy, however. Iorveth likes intimacy because it's intense and honest and reaffirms the level of trust he has in Astarion, but it's also a lot to ask of someone who has had two hundred years to become sex-repulsed (very understandably). Sex without emotion is awful, and sex with emotion is scary. A Catch-22. Iorveth kind of suspects that they'll have one round, and Astarion will want to cuddle for the rest of the daylight hours.
He doesn't say that, though. ] It'll be your day to celebrate, and it'll be yours to do with however you wish.
[ Okay, that sounds a little like 'sure Jan'. Iorveth also leans in to kiss Astarion before he can think too deeply about whether or not Iorveth is being patronizing, and opens the door to their bedroom, which he swiftly locks shut after they enter. ]
[ Rude!! He has every intention of totally blowing Iorveth's mind all day in the sun. Delusional, maybe, considering his preference is to be held for hours afterward so he has confirmation that Iorveth still loves him, but 'delusional' is his favorite thing to be.
Whatever. Whether or not he's actually capable of such degeneracy will have to wait. While Iorveth locks the door to keep wandering cockblocks out, Astarion gets to work on untying this stupid, ugly cloak. Iorveth made the ties very secure (which is impossibly adorable, and he's filled with another surge of love), so it takes a little fumbling to undo them. Once they're loosened, he very carefully folds the cloak and places it atop the dresser. It may be ugly, but it's also the most precious thing he owns.
Cloakless now, he leans against the dresser, posing seductively as if he isn't still in his PJs. ]
[ Iorveth is already anticipating Gale flitting on by to ask loudly about how everything went, and is contemplating sliding a note under the door that reads "Only Knock If There's An Emergency"―
―but Astarion distracts him with all of this ridiculous peacocking, which is frankly very unsexy but is also the most endearing thing Iorveth has seen in his life, so there's that. It almost makes Iorveth want to travel back in time to see if the 'roguish rake' persona that Astarion adopted during the beginning of their tadpole journey will make him cringe now (affectionate).
That said, Iorveth is the one enthusiastically buying what Astarion isn't even selling, and he knows it. ]
Finally. [ Long, sure strides take by Astarion's side, and with a bit of finagling, he sets down a pillow for Astarion to rest his injured leg on before coaxing him to sit with his back against the headboard. ] ―That wretched hag really did do her utmost to ruin our nights together.
[ Sliding down over Astarion's body, Iorveth lifts the bottom of Astarion's pajama top to kiss his navel. Ridiculously saccharine. ]
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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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Well, I want you even more than I did then.
[ Competitive, even in this. It's also true, or at least he thinks it is. Astarion is barely in touch with his emotions now, but back then, he'd been so heavily removed from them as to not really even understand it as wanting. He'd just known that he had a desire to stand near Iorveth, and that it angered him when Iorveth disapproved of him. It's only with the hindsight of wholeheartedly believing that Iorveth is his One Perfect Person™ that he can categorize it as what it was: baby's first (and last, he'd be quick to say!!) crush.
And since Reginald never explicitly said he's not allowed to feel Iorveth up a little, he places a warm (in comparison to his usual 'dead body' temperature) hand on his chest, smoothing over Iorveth's tattoo. ]
My life began when I met you. Everything before that was just— [ Hm. He hums in thought. ] A bad dream.
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His next exhale is low and heavy, his focus slightly scattered thanks to that touch. He arcs into it, and reciprocates by stroking up and down Astarion's back, massaging gently. ]
One I wish I could have woken you from earlier. [ Pressing his lips against silver curls, then sideways to Astarion's temple. ] But you did a fine job of breaking free from it on your own.
[ Namely: bashing Cazador's miserable fucking head in with a mace. Iorveth is so proud of him for that, honestly. ]
―Still, I love you most. [ Not letting this go!!! ] And I'll spend the next eternity proving it to you, obstinate cat.
[ Punctuating it with a proper kiss, mouth to mouth, as if that's final. ]
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Well, I don't need an eternity to prove it to you. I would do it right now, but—
[ He hikes his chin up, as if that is going to make what he has to say any less embarrassing. ]
If you're not going to take care of the problem you've caused [ —which is the weird boner he's starting to get, natch— ] then I'll have to excuse myself.
[ He is somehow still haughty about this. ]
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Well. [ Another glance, this time at Astarion's still very fucked-up hand. They really should have gotten that looked at before Reginald went home (presumably); it looks pretty terrible, even after a quick Cure Wounds. Astarion is really not in any condition to be messing around, but― ]
―I have wanted you in my mouth since Athkatla. [ He'd said so the night before the hag mess, and it still holds. Iorveth sounds slightly smug about it, as if he's still trying to win the I Want You More game. A clown. ] And it requires minimal action on your part.
[ Iorveth can jack off later, but gods knows he isn't going to pass up an opportunity to blow Astarion if it's presented to him. He knows where his priorities are at. ]
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[ It doesn't actually sound any less appealing when put that way, though, which is a problem. Iorveth's mouth isn't what he was really hoping to be inside of, quite frankly, but it is possibly the only thing he can be inside of without too much jostling of the leg. Ugh, he hates that fucking hag. Did she know she'd be cockblocking him so much when she did it?
He, of course, notes that Iorveth makes no mention of reciprocation. In a very obvious manipulation attempt, he lays his head on Iorveth's shoulder, hand traveling down that precious tattoo. ]
You know, I still have one good hand.
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One good hand and one good leg. You're losing limbs, fast.
[ Tipping his head, kissing Astarion's cheek. The hand snaked up the pajama shirt trails down, slipping under the loose waistband of his matching pants to slide along a thigh. ]
I'm offering to wait on you, beloved. Hand and foot, literally. [ A huff-laugh, accompanied by an ear-nibble. ] Much as I want you, you're still injured.
[ Trying to be mindful, but also liable to fold like paper. ]
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Mm, I do like the idea of being pampered.
[ And his body very much likes the hand on his thigh. He leans in to press a kiss to Iorveth's eminently kissable (maybe not in most people's opinion, but certainly in his) mouth, then draws back after a moment, a little embarrassed. ]
I— [ He lowers his voice, as if afraid someone will hear. ] Not in this ugly thing.
[ As much as having Iorveth's mouth around him while he basks in the sun is, like, the ultimate fantasy, he does not feel sexy at all in this cloak. ]
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It is the ugliest thing you've ever allowed on your body.
[ Pulling his hand out of Astarion's pants, Iorveth picks at the end of the offending cloak with a thumb and forefinger. A very unflattering reddish blue-purple (an impossible combination of colors), held together with cheap-looking white string. ]
A pity Dragomir had no taste. [ Finally peeling himself away from Astarion to get up, even if his entire body protests it; not to mention that it's very uncomfortable being upright with the current state of his boner, but he'll live. ] ...Inside, then.
[ Offering Astarion a hand. Still looking at him like he's the most beautiful thing Iorveth's ever seen, even in the ugly cloak and his ill-fitting pajamas. ]
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Well, you're the most beautiful thing I've ever allowed on my body, so I suppose it evens out.
[ Iorveth will absolutely not agree with this, but Astarion moves steadily along so he can't argue. ]
Once Gale fixes this ridiculous thing [ —because he's somehow assigned that task to him, even though it was one of his wizard friends he'd actually said was capable of it— ] I'll make love to you from sunrise to sunset.
[
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The look Iorveth gives about the imaginary marathon sex they'll have has real 'sure Jan' energy, however. Iorveth likes intimacy because it's intense and honest and reaffirms the level of trust he has in Astarion, but it's also a lot to ask of someone who has had two hundred years to become sex-repulsed (very understandably). Sex without emotion is awful, and sex with emotion is scary. A Catch-22. Iorveth kind of suspects that they'll have one round, and Astarion will want to cuddle for the rest of the daylight hours.
He doesn't say that, though. ] It'll be your day to celebrate, and it'll be yours to do with however you wish.
[ Okay, that sounds a little like 'sure Jan'. Iorveth also leans in to kiss Astarion before he can think too deeply about whether or not Iorveth is being patronizing, and opens the door to their bedroom, which he swiftly locks shut after they enter. ]
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Whatever. Whether or not he's actually capable of such degeneracy will have to wait. While Iorveth locks the door to keep wandering cockblocks out, Astarion gets to work on untying this stupid, ugly cloak. Iorveth made the ties very secure (which is impossibly adorable, and he's filled with another surge of love), so it takes a little fumbling to undo them. Once they're loosened, he very carefully folds the cloak and places it atop the dresser. It may be ugly, but it's also the most precious thing he owns.
Cloakless now, he leans against the dresser, posing seductively as if he isn't still in his PJs. ]
Much better.
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―but Astarion distracts him with all of this ridiculous peacocking, which is frankly very unsexy but is also the most endearing thing Iorveth has seen in his life, so there's that. It almost makes Iorveth want to travel back in time to see if the 'roguish rake' persona that Astarion adopted during the beginning of their tadpole journey will make him cringe now (affectionate).
That said, Iorveth is the one enthusiastically buying what Astarion isn't even selling, and he knows it. ]
Finally. [ Long, sure strides take by Astarion's side, and with a bit of finagling, he sets down a pillow for Astarion to rest his injured leg on before coaxing him to sit with his back against the headboard. ] ―That wretched hag really did do her utmost to ruin our nights together.
[ Sliding down over Astarion's body, Iorveth lifts the bottom of Astarion's pajama top to kiss his navel. Ridiculously saccharine. ]