[ Iorveth's next eyeroll isn't subtle, but offset by his similarly-unsubtle smirk. Crazy, how many lines Astarion has rolling around in his underutilized (affectionate) brain, and the confidence with which he says them. ]

Frankly, I'd rather taste you.

[ Not a line, just the truth. He glances down, upright to Astarion's horizontal, pressing a palm to Astarion's thigh. ]

Perhaps when you're not covered in human blood. And in the absence of an old gnome and her score of cats.

[ And like, when his shoulder isn't fucked and a group of Fists aren't trying to hang them by their necks. Life is so hard, all the time. ]

Consider yourself fortunate that we've not had an entire day to ourselves.