[ Iorveth's laugh is the most wonderful sound ever. He wants to bottle it, keep it for a day when he's feeling glum. There's no possible way he could be upset while listening to the lovely noise of Iorveth's joy. He wraps his arms around Iorveth's shoulders, squeezing tight for a moment, overcome with affection. ]

You naughty, naughty boy.

[ As if Astarion cares. He much prefers the idea of Iorveth's mindspace being taken up with thoughts of him as opposed to memories of genocide and suffering. After a good long crushing embrace, he relinquishes his hold on Iorveth. ]

I'm sure other boutiques may still be open. Or, of course, we could hunt down some tattoo ink.