I wasn't worried, [ he huffs defensively, although the sentiment gets cut off by the sensation of Iorveth's warm lips against his, and he suddenly feels powerless to protest. ] I was just... [ He racks his brain for a suitable synonym. ] Concerned.

[ Entirely different.

He slips an arm under Iorveth's, snaking around to splay out between his shoulder blades. His fingers are undoubtedly cold, he thinks as he feels the pleasant heat of Iorveth's living body, but he doesn't withdraw again. Foolish Iorveth, hitching his wagon to a dead man's. Astarion is happy to take advantage of his foolishness. ]

Trance now. We've a busy night ahead of us.

[ Not a busy day, not anymore. ]

I've courtesans to woo, and you have... someone to flog, surely.

[ Their two respective strengths. ]