[ He'd like to keep pouting and sulking, offended by the way Iorveth tells him to listen like an unruly child, but he can't. Astarion is only a man, one who still turns to jelly in the face of genuine affection. He can't resist the smile that spreads across his face at the words, no matter how hard he tries. I love you. He'll never get used to it, nor will he ever grow tired of Iorveth saying it. ]

I do like hearing you say that.

[ An understatement. They're words he never thought he'd hear, not genuinely. Even setting aside the way Cazador broke down his self-esteem and convinced him he was an entirely unlovable wretch, when would he ever have had the opportunity to let someone get to know him? ]

I love you more, of course, [ he says, pinching Iorveth's ear in return. ]

I guess I've never— [ Loved someone before? Obviously. Liked them? Probably. ] Well, I've never really given a damn about anyone before. I hardly know what to do with you.