[ Astarion shifts onto his side so that he can run his fingers through Iorveth's still-damp hair, idly and affectionately playing with it. He'd meant it when he said that he enjoyed Iorveth's touch, in whatever form it takes; he craves being near him at all times, always longs to be connected at some point of contact. ]

You aren't clamoring to be productive?

[ Another snort. ]

Will wonders never cease?

[ Very uncharacteristic of him. As much as Astarion loves him in all of his overthinking and overplanning glory, he can't say he's mad about it. ]

I'll have to take advantage of you more often, if that's the outcome.