[ That's very fucking rude, actually, considering Astarion's leg is still very sore. He flinches, gritting his own teeth to avoid giving Damris the satisfaction of having hurt him. The little brat would like that.
"Oh, Damris," Linus says, ever the romantic hero. "I should have noticed. I should have done something." ]
Yes, you should have, [ Astarion pipes up, because, well. Damris is a little shit, but someone still should have helped him, if only because someone should have helped Astarion.
"We have so much to discuss," Linus says, eyes wide and, ugh, filled with adoration. ]
Mm, there's still a bit of sun yet. Perhaps you might like to take a walk.
[ Sweet summer Linus is Iorveth's inverse: sincere to a fault, incredibly unparanoid, probably a little stupid. Emotions come easily to him, given his emphatic response to the suggestion that they go outside－ "yes! Gods, my working night shifts meant that I only got to see you after sunset. But we're not beholden to my schedule anymore!"
He beams, the poor idiot. Iorveth spots the flutter of anxiety that runs through Damris again, a tremor that travels from his hands up to his shoulders.
"Don't be inconsiderate", Damris snaps at Astarion, still managing to keep the strained smile on his face. "Linus was just outside, looking for the tower. He should sit down and rest."
Another tail-slap, this time to their feet. Iorveth considers stomping on the tapered end of it, but decides to pull Astarion closer to him instead, keeping him propped against his side. ]
Either way, an honest discussion would be worth having, [ he drawls. Emphasis on honest. Unlike Linus, he'd hated when Astarion tried to curry favour; he was glad when the mask came off. ]
[ Astarion raises an eyebrow when he realizes, gods, did Linus quit his job to come here? For Damris? There really is no accounting for taste.
"Honesty," Linus says, nodding. "Yes, that's exactly what we need."
Unfortunately, Astarion can tell that he's actually talking about confessing his everlasting love or some stupid nonsense like that. It's endlessly romantic when it's him and Iorveth doing it; when it's someone else, it's embarrassing. Have some decorum and get a room!
As Astarion watches Damris wring his hands, he realizes just how anxious he must be. He'd been anxious about having his secret found out, too, once upon a time. He'd been sure that the people who'd thought to call themselves his companions would turn on him in an instant, just another monster for them to kill and loot. He still can't quite believe they didn't. (Lae'zel seriously considered it.)
That anxiety must be killing Damris. The uncertainty. The fear. Oh, it's delicious. ]
Mm, yes, [ he coos. ] You'd hate to find out that someone you care for wasn't honest with you, wouldn't you?
[ He loops an arm around Iorveth's, gently tugging. ]
Well, we've a walk to take, [ even if he doesn't love the idea of having to do it in this ugly cloak, ] but we really should catch up later, Linus. I'll fill you in on all of the ugly details.
[ More agitated tail-lashing from Damris, though it doesn't hit either of them this time around. Linus looks confused by the implication that there are any ugly details to hear, but is instantly distracted by a suggestion that they go somewhere more private to converse; he practically floats behind Damris, trailing after him like a lovesick puppy.
Gods, Iorveth wonders if they've ever looked like that. They couldn't possibly have, he concludes. Surely they're not so pathetic-looking or obvious. Surely.
So he thinks, as he's effectively tugged by his own vampire, away from the sitting room and towards the foyer. ]
How do you fancy Damris's odds?
[ Either they come back to find Damris gloating with his new love, or find him sobbing hysterically into a pillow. Not ideal for them either way, but the former will be slightly less awkward to deal with than the latter. Iorveth steps out of the door and into the blood-red curtain of the sunset, marveling for a moment at the fact that Astarion remains intact despite the light still screaming across the sky. ]
[ It's less a walk and more a lean, Astarion resting his weight against Iorveth's. He'd hoped to heal quickly enough to be fully back in action tomorrow, but that ridiculous tressym had to assault him; gods, Gale really should get a more domesticated pet. ]
Well, I certainly hope they're terrible, but—
[ He spares a glance behind his shoulder at the tower door. ]
Ugh. That little idiot came all the way to Waterdeep for him.
[ And he'd looked so besotted. Astarion scrunches up his nose and shakes his head. ]
Perhaps he'll be able to overlook that his sweetheart is a bloodthirsty creature of the night. [ A pause. ] And a poisoner. [ Another. ] And irritating.
He does have a skillset, [ is the only concession Iorveth will make, deranged as he is. It's likely Damris had to prove himself useful beyond being just a pretty face, and he became good enough at making insidious concoctions to have Iorveth fall for it, so.
Credit where it's due. ] After all, he did almost kill me. No mean feat.
[ Every human who's been after him for all these years would've been so mad to hear that the Woodland Fox got taken out by a tiefling in Athkatla. Iorveth smiles about it, wry, as he slowly makes his way down the street and towards a nearby apothecary (speaking of poisoning). First things first: potions and salve for the injured leg. ]
Whether Linus would appreciate Damris being capable of cold-blooded murder is yet to be seen, however.
[ Linus seems so... normal. A hapless fool who probably dreams of living in a nice house by the waterside with two dogs. ]
[ Iorveth reminds him that Damris did nearly kill him, and Astarion scowls. He should have made Damris suffer more. There's no amount of torture that could ever absolve him of that particular sin, but it would still feel good. ]
Not everyone can be as appreciative of the lethal arts as you are, my sweet.
[ Astarion strokes Iorveth's bicep, adoring. Iorveth's complete lack of moralizing on murder is by far one of his best qualities. There's a part of Astarion that feels incredibly shameful when he thinks about all of the less-than-ethical things he's done, but Iorveth doesn't even care. It's a relief. ]
But all vampires are gifted in manipulation and deceit. I'm sure he'll bat his eyes and say that none of it was his fault.
[ Forced into servitude for the sake of survival; no place for poetry or ethics in that particular situation. Not everyone could choose death over dignity, and if Astarion hates himself for the things he's had to do to live, then that's punishment enough for two hundred years of committing crimes on Cazador's behalf.
Still, Iorveth laughs under his breath at the comment about vampires being gifted in being shady. It seems almost like a self-own, so: ]
Is that what you'll say to me if you ever do anything questionable in the future?
[ Teasing, but also curious. A part of him hopes that Astarion would know better by now than to try to win him over with pretty lies, but another part of him kind of likes when Astarion looks at him with big doe eyes. Insulted by the insult to his intelligence, but also, like. Astarion's cute. Sue him.
Into the apothecary they go, met by the sharp stinging smell of dried herbs and half-made decoctions. A young-looking human wearing an apron waves to the both of them, but goes back to grinding something using mortar and pestle. ]
[ Into the apothecary they go. Astarion wrinkles his nose at the pungent aroma of alchemical supplies; he has experience with making concoctions himself—poisons, mostly—but he's never been particularly passionate about the process of making them, only what happens once they hit someone's bloodstream. Perhaps this is the sort of life Damris imagines for himself, creating admixtures at his workbench before returning home to Linus and their 2.5 adopted children. Gross. ]
Little old me, do something questionable?
[ He does bat his lashes, the picture of innocence except for the malicious little twinkle he'll never quite be able to get out of his eyes. ]
Darling, I would never.
[ So, yes. If Iorveth ever finds himself in a position to be upset with Astarion for something he's done, Astarion will gladly pull out all of the manipulation tactics in his repertoire. He adores Iorveth with every fiber of his being, but that doesn't mean he's willing to tolerate his disappointment or distaste for the sake of honesty.
Still hanging off of Iorveth's arm, he reaches with his free hand to pick up and sniff a nearby bottle on a shelf. Gods, it's acrid; his nose hairs are practically singed. ]
You don't think there's any chance they have a 'tincture of immortality' here, do you?
[ So that's a "yes I'll do questionable things", and "yes I'll bat my lashes and expect you to forgive me". Both of these things would usually make a man love someone less, but they slough off of Iorveth's broad shoulders for now; he trusts Astarion too much to believe that Astarion would ever do something that would seriously harm him, physically or emotionally.
A brief exhale through his nose, warm, and Iorveth plucks the bottle out of Astarion's hand. ]
Ever the optimist. [ Dry, but fond. ] I doubt we'll be treated to two miracles in one day.
[ Still celebrating Astarion's win, honestly. Iorveth smiles, a small hidden thing that he presses quickly to Astarion's cheek before turning towards a rack full of more familiar-looking vials. Standard-issue potions, kept mostly consistent among the Realms in order to avoid people accidentally purchasing the wrong thing.
He takes a few, and puts them into a handy basket scattered strategically around the shop. Another bottle catches his eye, and he inspects it along with its label. ]
"The next time you see a creature within ten minutes after drinking this philter, you will become infatuated by that creature for one hour and regard it as your one true love," [ he reads. ]
[ The liquid in the bottle is a dark pink-purple, ever-so-slightly shimmery. Pretty, really, if it weren't a potion for forcing feelings of love onto unwitting bystanders (he assumes). Not that he particularly cares about the ethics of it, but it's a little gauche to not even be able to seduce people the old-fashioned way. ]
Mm, I don't need that. When you've a face like this, it does the difficult work for you.
[ The only people who don't fall in love with him within the first ten minutes are blind or stupid, obviously. It just so happens that most people are blind or stupid.
He leans against Iorveth's arm, just this side of 'too shmoopy for the public'. ]
[ Iorveth could say something about not having fallen in love with Astarion's face, but he decides not to ruin the moment with it. (It's a vexingly pretty face, at any rate.) Instead, he unstoppers one of the potion vials and offers it to Astarion to drink, which makes the young man with his dirty hands look up from where he's hunched over his bench and call out:
"Hey, I hope you're going to pay for that!"
Iorveth ignores him. ] You're not even a bit curious as to how Damris would act if he were madly in love with you?
[ Not that Iorveth would drug Damris even as a prank (he hates magical coercion by principle), but gossiping about him is free.
With the vial passed on, Iorveth can move on to inspecting salves and oils. Primarily looking at things that might help soothe cat-related injuries, but also looking skeptically towards the various so-called 'massage oils' to be used for 'creative purposes'. Gods. ]
[ Peering over Iorveth's shoulder, he says, ] Oh, don't worry, darling. I've already purchased a rather large amount of oil for that purpose in Athkatla.
[ More things he probably shouldn't be saying in public. Oh, well!!! He would have already dipped into his lubrication supply, if not for this stupid leg. Being close to Iorveth is not enough, he needs one of them to be inside the other.
But he's still on stupid canoodling restrictions, so he sighs and rests his chin on Iorveth's shoulder. ]
I wouldn't mind having you tenderly rub some of that [ —a salve in a soothing, pale blue tin— ] on my wounds, though. [ A pause. ] Tenderly.
[ A 'rather large amount'. Iorveth's brow shoots up, making his eyepatch strap slip somewhat in the process; there's something a bit embarrassing about how just the suggestion of that is enough to make Iorveth feel slightly hotter under his collar, but it does. Astarion should be able to feel it, nestled close as he is－ just a faint hike in temperature, and a skip of Iorveth's pulse.
He combs his fingers through Astarion's curls, petting him slowly. Distracted, but trying to seem impassive. ]
We've already broken the healer's rules. You'd best not tempt me again.
[ Kissing the crown of Astarion's head, while the shopkeep glances at them, at where they're standing and radiates, 'oh, those types of customers'. ]
[ Most of Astarion's affection is out of a genuine desire—or urge, or perhaps need—to be as close to Iorveth as he can, but a small part of it is performative. He enjoys showing off, proving to the world that he has someone who loves him, someone who cares. That's why he catches the shopkeep's exhausted eyes (he can't ever catch a break; just last tenday some irritating wizard came in and started questioning if his fleshwort was ethically sourced) and presses a kiss to Iorveth's cheek. ]
You know how I feel about rules.
[ Not a fan. Two hundred years of having to follow far too many, and now he'd rather follow none at all.
Another sigh. ]
But I'd prefer to be in my most athletic shape the next time we, ah, canoodle, so perhaps it's for the best that you attempt to control your wild, lustful urges.
[ The shopkeep is tired of people coming in to buy the most basic of items when they could be sampling some of his more eccentric offerings, but that's life. Meanwhile, Iorveth sways sideways and loops an arm around Astarion's waist, hugging him close－
－and nearly knocking over a row of small, amber bottles in the process. Crisis only narrowly averted. Alarmed, the young man wipes his hands on his apron and calls out: "careful! Those are expensive, and if you break any of them, I will throw you two out."
Hm. Iorveth squints at the tiny label, which reads 'Modify Memory Potion: Very Powerful! Use Responsibly'. The kid over there must be better at his job than Iorveth'd thought. ]
―I'm liable to turn us both into frogs if I start wanting to 'canoodle' here. [ This place is a den of dangerous substances, apparently. ] Though you'd made a pretty frog, mind.
Adorable, actually. Is he somehow touched at the implication that Iorveth would still love him as a frog? Yes. Is that the worst realization he's ever had? Also yes. He sputters a little, clearly pleased at how cute Iorveth is being but mortified at how much it makes his heart melt. ]
You're so terribly in love with me. It's embarrassing.
[ It really is. Out of all the people in the world that Iorveth could love! He reaches out to adjust Iorveth's eyepatch on his face, letting his fingers graze over the skin more than is strictly necessary. ]
But I suppose you'd make a rather fetching frog, too.
I could attempt to love you less, [ Iorveth shoots back, though the threat is toothless-- as ever, not a fan of claiming something he has no intention of doing. He does intend to apply salve on Astarion's injured leg, however, so he makes sure to drop the tin into his basket of potions for later use...
...After he gives Astarion a quick peck to his jaw. So much for not being embarrassing. ]
--Some might argue that I'd make a more fetching frog. [ Still not a fan of his own looks, though he mentions it with less bitterness around Astarion; he's learned by now that Astarion doesn't receive negative observations about Iorveth's appearance particularly well. ] I might as well be one, I wear so much green.
[ Iorveth isn't allowed to love him less ever, so thank the gods the threat is halfhearted at best. He's also not allowed to disparage his looks, which are incredibly handsome according to Astarion's totally unbiased opinion; he tugs on Iorveth's ear, scolding. ]
You're a prince, my sweet, [ he says, fully delusional, ] not a frog.
[ With Astarion's rose-colored glasses on, Iorveth is a knight in shining armor, the man of his dreams, the most perfect and infuriating being in the world. ]
Although I wouldn't say no to a little more variety in your wardrobe. [ Very much facetious: ] Mm, what do you think of purple?
[ 'Prince' is hilarious, actually－ another raised brow (not enough to dislodge the eyepatch this time), and a half-laugh later, Iorveth moves to pay for their purchases, much to the relief of the young man with his stained fingers. ]
I would reconsider 'forever' if you insist I spend the rest of eternity in purple.
[ As facetious as the suggestion, after a reciprocal tug to Astarion's earlobe. ]
...Which reminds me that we should speak about how we imagine 'forever' to play out, at some point. [ Astarion's least favorite thing: making the fuzzy edges of the future a little sharper. Iorveth packs the legally-procured items into his pack, then flicks the tip of Astarion's nose. ] A daunting task, to be sure.
[ Ugh!!!! Planning. Astarion has an instant negative reaction to the thought, frowning even as he snatches Iorveth's hand up to hold in his the moment it's free. He adores Iorveth with every fiber of his being and, for the most part, he just wants to be close to him. Iorveth is also his security blanket, though, and Astarion feels the need to latch onto him whenever his emotional state veers even slightly unpleasant.
It's all very healthy. ]
I can't imagine what there is to discuss. We'll get married, make sensational love every day [ —the shopkeep grimaces— ] and be happy forever.
[ It's evident that this is the extent of the thought he's put into this. How are they going to support themselves? Where are they going to live? Are they going to adopt 2 dogs like Damris and Linus? (Gods, no.) ]
[ Credit where it's due (?), it's a good short-sightedness; one that speaks to Astarion's desire to live the most uncomplicated, indulgent life that he can. Perhaps he didn't let himself want even that, at some point.
But: ] I'm still a wanted elf, and you'll still be in danger from association for... [ A hum, under his breath. ] ...A century, yet. If complications up north persist.
[ Maybe not the best line of conversation to have in an apothecary. (The shopkeep looks visibly disturbed by 'wanted elf', which is Not Great.) Twining hands and forearms, Iorveth slowly leads Astarion back out into the twilight city, making sure to note if it looks like Astarion is having difficulty with the leg.
Once they're out of that specific earshot: ]
Damris has his ambitions already－ it reminded me that I wish to know if you have any of your own.
[ A century is whatever. A century's fine! Astarion can spend a century as a fugitive knowing that they have many more centuries ahead of them. He just shrugs at the statement, hoping that since Iorveth drops this whole 'future' thing in the store, he's dropped it entirely.
Not so. When they step outside, Iorveth starts back up again, and Astarion looks visibly put out by the line of questioning. Ambitions! Freedom was ambitious enough. Having somebody who loves him was an impossible pipe dream. Doesn't Iorveth see that he's plenty ambitious? ]
Well, I once had the ambition to be the most powerful vampire in Baldur's Gate.
[ Just pointing out that if ambition is what Iorveth wants, he pretty much crushed the possibility of that.
An exasperated sigh: ] What, do you want me to attend wizard school and become an alchemist like him? Please.
[ Astarion only scoffs because he knows he wouldn't be good enough to accomplish such a thing. He's not really good at anything, save for maybe killing. ]
[ Mention of the unrealized dream of becoming vampire ascendant evokes an obvious reaction; a small but noticeable twitch of Iorveth's scarred lips, the shadow of a frown tugging at the corner or it. It's the one thing that he fears will fester in the future, a thing that Iorveth thinks that Astarion might regret centuries later, when the novelty of being loved by Iorveth might have worn off. A disservice to Astarion to think that way, perhaps, but it's the one small bone in Iorveth's throat that keeps sticking.
He doesn't pull away, though. Might have, in the past. Their hands stay held, even if the grip loosens just a sliver. ]
I wish you to be whoever you wish to be, [ is his response, which is the flipside of the prideful way in which he always states that he's exactly who he needs himself to be; the logical next step after securing one's freedom. ] And if that involves ill-fitting wizard's robes and Gale's pretentious academy, I'd not say no.
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"Oh, Damris," Linus says, ever the romantic hero. "I should have noticed. I should have done something." ]
Yes, you should have, [ Astarion pipes up, because, well. Damris is a little shit, but someone still should have helped him, if only because someone should have helped Astarion.
"We have so much to discuss," Linus says, eyes wide and, ugh, filled with adoration. ]
Mm, there's still a bit of sun yet. Perhaps you might like to take a walk.
[ He grins maliciously. ]
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He beams, the poor idiot. Iorveth spots the flutter of anxiety that runs through Damris again, a tremor that travels from his hands up to his shoulders.
"Don't be inconsiderate", Damris snaps at Astarion, still managing to keep the strained smile on his face. "Linus was just outside, looking for the tower. He should sit down and rest."
Another tail-slap, this time to their feet. Iorveth considers stomping on the tapered end of it, but decides to pull Astarion closer to him instead, keeping him propped against his side. ]
Either way, an honest discussion would be worth having, [ he drawls. Emphasis on honest. Unlike Linus, he'd hated when Astarion tried to curry favour; he was glad when the mask came off. ]
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"Honesty," Linus says, nodding. "Yes, that's exactly what we need."
Unfortunately, Astarion can tell that he's actually talking about confessing his everlasting love or some stupid nonsense like that. It's endlessly romantic when it's him and Iorveth doing it; when it's someone else, it's embarrassing. Have some decorum and get a room!
As Astarion watches Damris wring his hands, he realizes just how anxious he must be. He'd been anxious about having his secret found out, too, once upon a time. He'd been sure that the people who'd thought to call themselves his companions would turn on him in an instant, just another monster for them to kill and loot. He still can't quite believe they didn't. (Lae'zel seriously considered it.)
That anxiety must be killing Damris. The uncertainty. The fear. Oh, it's delicious. ]
Mm, yes, [ he coos. ] You'd hate to find out that someone you care for wasn't honest with you, wouldn't you?
[ He loops an arm around Iorveth's, gently tugging. ]
Well, we've a walk to take, [ even if he doesn't love the idea of having to do it in this ugly cloak, ] but we really should catch up later, Linus. I'll fill you in on all of the ugly details.
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Gods, Iorveth wonders if they've ever looked like that. They couldn't possibly have, he concludes. Surely they're not so pathetic-looking or obvious. Surely.
So he thinks, as he's effectively tugged by his own vampire, away from the sitting room and towards the foyer. ]
How do you fancy Damris's odds?
[ Either they come back to find Damris gloating with his new love, or find him sobbing hysterically into a pillow. Not ideal for them either way, but the former will be slightly less awkward to deal with than the latter. Iorveth steps out of the door and into the blood-red curtain of the sunset, marveling for a moment at the fact that Astarion remains intact despite the light still screaming across the sky. ]
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Well, I certainly hope they're terrible, but—
[ He spares a glance behind his shoulder at the tower door. ]
Ugh. That little idiot came all the way to Waterdeep for him.
[ And he'd looked so besotted. Astarion scrunches up his nose and shakes his head. ]
Perhaps he'll be able to overlook that his sweetheart is a bloodthirsty creature of the night. [ A pause. ] And a poisoner. [ Another. ] And irritating.
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Credit where it's due. ] After all, he did almost kill me. No mean feat.
[ Every human who's been after him for all these years would've been so mad to hear that the Woodland Fox got taken out by a tiefling in Athkatla. Iorveth smiles about it, wry, as he slowly makes his way down the street and towards a nearby apothecary (speaking of poisoning). First things first: potions and salve for the injured leg. ]
Whether Linus would appreciate Damris being capable of cold-blooded murder is yet to be seen, however.
[ Linus seems so... normal. A hapless fool who probably dreams of living in a nice house by the waterside with two dogs. ]
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Not everyone can be as appreciative of the lethal arts as you are, my sweet.
[ Astarion strokes Iorveth's bicep, adoring. Iorveth's complete lack of moralizing on murder is by far one of his best qualities. There's a part of Astarion that feels incredibly shameful when he thinks about all of the less-than-ethical things he's done, but Iorveth doesn't even care. It's a relief. ]
But all vampires are gifted in manipulation and deceit. I'm sure he'll bat his eyes and say that none of it was his fault.
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Still, Iorveth laughs under his breath at the comment about vampires being gifted in being shady. It seems almost like a self-own, so: ]
Is that what you'll say to me if you ever do anything questionable in the future?
[ Teasing, but also curious. A part of him hopes that Astarion would know better by now than to try to win him over with pretty lies, but another part of him kind of likes when Astarion looks at him with big doe eyes. Insulted by the insult to his intelligence, but also, like. Astarion's cute. Sue him.
Into the apothecary they go, met by the sharp stinging smell of dried herbs and half-made decoctions. A young-looking human wearing an apron waves to the both of them, but goes back to grinding something using mortar and pestle. ]
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Little old me, do something questionable?
[ He does bat his lashes, the picture of innocence except for the malicious little twinkle he'll never quite be able to get out of his eyes. ]
Darling, I would never.
[ So, yes. If Iorveth ever finds himself in a position to be upset with Astarion for something he's done, Astarion will gladly pull out all of the manipulation tactics in his repertoire. He adores Iorveth with every fiber of his being, but that doesn't mean he's willing to tolerate his disappointment or distaste for the sake of honesty.
Still hanging off of Iorveth's arm, he reaches with his free hand to pick up and sniff a nearby bottle on a shelf. Gods, it's acrid; his nose hairs are practically singed. ]
You don't think there's any chance they have a 'tincture of immortality' here, do you?
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A brief exhale through his nose, warm, and Iorveth plucks the bottle out of Astarion's hand. ]
Ever the optimist. [ Dry, but fond. ] I doubt we'll be treated to two miracles in one day.
[ Still celebrating Astarion's win, honestly. Iorveth smiles, a small hidden thing that he presses quickly to Astarion's cheek before turning towards a rack full of more familiar-looking vials. Standard-issue potions, kept mostly consistent among the Realms in order to avoid people accidentally purchasing the wrong thing.
He takes a few, and puts them into a handy basket scattered strategically around the shop. Another bottle catches his eye, and he inspects it along with its label. ]
"The next time you see a creature within ten minutes after drinking this philter, you will become infatuated by that creature for one hour and regard it as your one true love," [ he reads. ]
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Mm, I don't need that. When you've a face like this, it does the difficult work for you.
[ The only people who don't fall in love with him within the first ten minutes are blind or stupid, obviously. It just so happens that most people are blind or stupid.
He leans against Iorveth's arm, just this side of 'too shmoopy for the public'. ]
And I already have my one true love.
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"Hey, I hope you're going to pay for that!"
Iorveth ignores him. ] You're not even a bit curious as to how Damris would act if he were madly in love with you?
[ Not that Iorveth would drug Damris even as a prank (he hates magical coercion by principle), but gossiping about him is free.
With the vial passed on, Iorveth can move on to inspecting salves and oils. Primarily looking at things that might help soothe cat-related injuries, but also looking skeptically towards the various so-called 'massage oils' to be used for 'creative purposes'. Gods. ]
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[ More things he probably shouldn't be saying in public. Oh, well!!! He would have already dipped into his lubrication supply, if not for this stupid leg. Being close to Iorveth is not enough, he needs one of them to be inside the other.
But he's still on stupid canoodling restrictions, so he sighs and rests his chin on Iorveth's shoulder. ]
I wouldn't mind having you tenderly rub some of that [ —a salve in a soothing, pale blue tin— ] on my wounds, though. [ A pause. ] Tenderly.
[ He's delicate. ]
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He combs his fingers through Astarion's curls, petting him slowly. Distracted, but trying to seem impassive. ]
We've already broken the healer's rules. You'd best not tempt me again.
[ Kissing the crown of Astarion's head, while the shopkeep glances at them, at where they're standing and radiates, 'oh, those types of customers'. ]
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You know how I feel about rules.
[ Not a fan. Two hundred years of having to follow far too many, and now he'd rather follow none at all.
Another sigh. ]
But I'd prefer to be in my most athletic shape the next time we, ah, canoodle, so perhaps it's for the best that you attempt to control your wild, lustful urges.
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－and nearly knocking over a row of small, amber bottles in the process. Crisis only narrowly averted. Alarmed, the young man wipes his hands on his apron and calls out: "careful! Those are expensive, and if you break any of them, I will throw you two out."
Hm. Iorveth squints at the tiny label, which reads 'Modify Memory Potion: Very Powerful! Use Responsibly'. The kid over there must be better at his job than Iorveth'd thought. ]
―I'm liable to turn us both into frogs if I start wanting to 'canoodle' here. [ This place is a den of dangerous substances, apparently. ] Though you'd made a pretty frog, mind.
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[ That is—
Adorable, actually. Is he somehow touched at the implication that Iorveth would still love him as a frog? Yes. Is that the worst realization he's ever had? Also yes. He sputters a little, clearly pleased at how cute Iorveth is being but mortified at how much it makes his heart melt. ]
You're so terribly in love with me. It's embarrassing.
[ It really is. Out of all the people in the world that Iorveth could love! He reaches out to adjust Iorveth's eyepatch on his face, letting his fingers graze over the skin more than is strictly necessary. ]
But I suppose you'd make a rather fetching frog, too.
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...After he gives Astarion a quick peck to his jaw. So much for not being embarrassing. ]
--Some might argue that I'd make a more fetching frog. [ Still not a fan of his own looks, though he mentions it with less bitterness around Astarion; he's learned by now that Astarion doesn't receive negative observations about Iorveth's appearance particularly well. ] I might as well be one, I wear so much green.
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You're a prince, my sweet, [ he says, fully delusional, ] not a frog.
[ With Astarion's rose-colored glasses on, Iorveth is a knight in shining armor, the man of his dreams, the most perfect and infuriating being in the world. ]
Although I wouldn't say no to a little more variety in your wardrobe. [ Very much facetious: ] Mm, what do you think of purple?
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I would reconsider 'forever' if you insist I spend the rest of eternity in purple.
[ As facetious as the suggestion, after a reciprocal tug to Astarion's earlobe. ]
...Which reminds me that we should speak about how we imagine 'forever' to play out, at some point. [ Astarion's least favorite thing: making the fuzzy edges of the future a little sharper. Iorveth packs the legally-procured items into his pack, then flicks the tip of Astarion's nose. ] A daunting task, to be sure.
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It's all very healthy. ]
I can't imagine what there is to discuss. We'll get married, make sensational love every day [ —the shopkeep grimaces— ] and be happy forever.
[ It's evident that this is the extent of the thought he's put into this. How are they going to support themselves? Where are they going to live? Are they going to adopt 2 dogs like Damris and Linus? (Gods, no.) ]
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But: ] I'm still a wanted elf, and you'll still be in danger from association for... [ A hum, under his breath. ] ...A century, yet. If complications up north persist.
[ Maybe not the best line of conversation to have in an apothecary. (The shopkeep looks visibly disturbed by 'wanted elf', which is Not Great.) Twining hands and forearms, Iorveth slowly leads Astarion back out into the twilight city, making sure to note if it looks like Astarion is having difficulty with the leg.
Once they're out of that specific earshot: ]
Damris has his ambitions already－ it reminded me that I wish to know if you have any of your own.
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Not so. When they step outside, Iorveth starts back up again, and Astarion looks visibly put out by the line of questioning. Ambitions! Freedom was ambitious enough. Having somebody who loves him was an impossible pipe dream. Doesn't Iorveth see that he's plenty ambitious? ]
Well, I once had the ambition to be the most powerful vampire in Baldur's Gate.
[ Just pointing out that if ambition is what Iorveth wants, he pretty much crushed the possibility of that.
An exasperated sigh: ] What, do you want me to attend wizard school and become an alchemist like him? Please.
[ Astarion only scoffs because he knows he wouldn't be good enough to accomplish such a thing. He's not really good at anything, save for maybe killing. ]
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He doesn't pull away, though. Might have, in the past. Their hands stay held, even if the grip loosens just a sliver. ]
I wish you to be whoever you wish to be, [ is his response, which is the flipside of the prideful way in which he always states that he's exactly who he needs himself to be; the logical next step after securing one's freedom. ] And if that involves ill-fitting wizard's robes and Gale's pretentious academy, I'd not say no.