[ Bemused and charmed all at once, he laughs through saying, ] You are drunk.

[ As if snuggling against Astarion's neck and downing his drink wasn't proof enough. The last time Iorveth drank this much, it was because Astarion goaded him into it. The small, rational voice in his brain suggests that perhaps he question why Iorveth has decided to get day-drunk now of all times, but the impulsive, illogical voice screams loud enough to drown it out. Of course it's a bad idea, one that possibly won't even work, but it's endearing, too. And rather stirring, thinking about pressing himself up against Iorveth while he's pliant and a little helpless. ]

I— I can't be held responsible if your legs turn to jelly and you can't make the walk to the circus, you know.

[ If Iorveth isn't being reasonable, it feels as if Astarion should at least give reason lip-service, if nothing else. ]

Or if I drink all of your blood and leave only wine behind.

[ Which seems unlikely, but his medical knowledge begins and ends at the locations of the best veins and arteries from which to take his fill. For all he knows, it could happen. ]