[ The best reaction he could realistically hope for, Astarion supposes. Still not quite as confident as he'd like. Iorveth is, in his opinion, the most perfect, beautiful, cunning creature on all of Toril. Yes, it's partially rose-colored glasses, but he also is simply magnificent. ]

You know, [ he says, lightly tracing the line of Iorveth's jaw. Sharp enough to cut himself on. He loves it. ] I couldn't even bear to imagine intimacy before you.

[ The mere thought had been repulsive. He'd thought he had something severely wrong with him that could never be fixed, an inability to even tolerate something that the rest of the world found pleasurable. ]

The first time I did, it was with the image of your lovely face in my mind.

[ A (hopefully) classier way of saying 'babe, you're so hot I touch myself to you'. He places a thumb over Iorveth's angular chin, affectionate. ]

You'll look even more striking once I've put a needle and ink to you.