[ Astarion slips out of the water himself, dripping little trickles of violet water on the tile. Oh, well. It's appropriate for this place's aesthetic, he thinks. Another thing he thinks: Iorveth is a fucking idiot. Astarion approaches him while he's still picking up the robe, hands on his shoulders to manhandle him toward the bedroom. ]

For someone who yaps on and on about seeing things clearly, you don't see very well.

[ It's affectionate, mostly. He adores Iorveth, but it does irritate him a little to feel coddled in a way that he never asked for. Isn't it obvious? He holds Iorveth's hand every chance he gets. ]

I despise other people's touch. You aren't other people.