[ Gods, Iorveth is such a freak. Astarion loves it, of course, and loves him. He arranges Iorveth's hair artfully over his forehead before moving down to cup Iorveth's jaw, thumb brushing against the sharp angle of it. The most beloved jawline in all of Faerûn, if not the whole world. ]

I wasn't certain if you were too spent to spare your blood.

[ He's hungry, obviously—always is—but he hadn't planned on partaking. Iorveth has already spoiled him, and besides, he knows that giving blood is likely exhausting. His own experience with it is limited, but he knows enough to know that one generally needs all of their blood. As selfish as he is, he can't find it in himself to be selfish with Iorveth.

Teasing: ] It would be understandable. I can be quite overwhelming to, ah, take in.