[ He may be a cheater, but he did mean what he said. Astarion doesn't deign to acknowledge the bluff, as overconfident as only a card sharp can be, only retorting, sweet as always, ] Not to me, you buffoon.

[ If Iorveth were resistible to him, it would be easier; he wouldn't make such a fool of himself acting like a twitterpated schoolgirl. He can't resist the tanned, calloused skin of Iorveth's hands, can't resist his smile or even—ugh—his ever-present scowl, can't resist that far too rustic tattoo of his. He even finds Iorveth striking when he's wearing that ugly headscarf, although he'd prefer to burn that thing. ]

Mmm, [ he hums, looking down at his cards. ] I've a new favor in mind. When I win, you'll let me tell you all about how enticing you are, and you'll believe it.

[ Whatever is within Iorveth's power to give, he'd said. He smiles pleasantly from behind his cards. ]