[ Everyone thinks the scowling wood elf is the prude of the group until he gets comfortable with someone and starts talking about cock rings. He really has no right to talk shit about Halsin, but the difference between himself and the druid, in Iorveth's opinion, is that he at least knows who to proposition. Honestly still reeling about Halsin's offer for a threesome, however many months later. What the fuck, actually.

Anyway. Iorveth turns around on Astarion's lap, where he's ostensibly perched, to be face to scarred face; frustrated by his limited peripheral vision, and wanting to get Astarion out of his blind spot. He's too lovely not to appreciate fully. ]

Me enjoying myself and you needing something aren't mutually exclusive. [ Not to be annoying, but to make a point (which is probably annoying). ] Example: you need to drink, and I enjoy your teeth.

[ Like, way too much. Speaking of, though, Iorveth reaches for his mostly-empty wineglass, takes a sip, and leans forward again to press his wine-stained mouth to Astarion's. Lazy, warm. Once their lips part: ]

But I suppose I should speak more plainly. I like being full of you. I was just... [ Another vague handwave. ] Out of practice.