[ It's good thing Iorveth does clarify further. Astarion can't stand the idea of having to be accommodated, even if it's true. Clearly, he's enjoyed himself both ways--and every other possible way--but he couldn't have handled the discomfort, the memories. Not that first time, when the mere thought of intimacy still made his chest tighten in anxiety. ]

Well, I'm feeling magnanimous. I could help you practice.

[ He pets Iorveth's hair, affectionate. Sometimes, he likes to imagine Iorveth with long locks plaited in those ridiculous wood elf braids. Ridiculous, because he doesn't care for that sort of Halsin-y style at all, but there's something about the thought of it on Iorveth. Like imagining a version of him before the world hardened him. ]

Do you happen to have that bottle of bath oil you stole from Gale's bathroom cabinets?

[ Casually. ]