[ The sentiment is so endearing that Astarion can't help but turn around and fist his fingers into the fabric of Iorveth's shirt, tugging him close so that he can press a kiss to his mouth. Fun. Iorveth prides himself on his sharp edges, but it's his soft ones that Astarion most adores. When he speaks gently, when the crease between his eyebrows fades, when he smiles. A surge of fondness courses through him with such an intensity that it's actually disgusting, but he doesn't have it in him to feel embarrassed.

When he pulls away, it's with a grin and eyes far too full of obvious affection. ]

I won't tell anyone that the big, bad freedom fighter had fun. I'd hate to ruin your sourpuss reputation.

[ Not that anyone would believe him if he told them that Iorveth sat at a table happily eating cakes made by an old lady who later gave him embroidery lessons. ]

Your hedonism [ —if one considers allowing himself some of the most basic pleasures of life 'hedonism'— ] will be our little secret.