[ Oh, right. Other people exist. In the high of his happiness, he'd forgotten.

A flash of embarrassment runs through him, because he knows deep down that his behavior is only a few steps removed from calling Iorveth schmoopie. More than that, though, he feels strangely but entirely justified. He's certain he's unlocked a new level of feeling heretofore unknown. If the others had ever felt such fondness, they'd be saccharine, too. He pities them, really. ]

If you'd rather, [ he calls, ] we could be salacious instead.

[ "Please don't," comes Shadowheart's reply. He can picture her wrinkled nose and downturned mouth without even looking at her.

Another kiss pressed to Iorveth's face, this time to the tip of his aquiline nose, before Astarion peels himself away to perch on the edge of the bed and rummage through his freshly-laundered clothing for a shirt. Iorveth might be the type to wander the city streets shirtless, but Astarion is sure the infernal on his back would cause a commotion. ]

It's jealousy, of course. I can hardly blame her. The gith wouldn't know affection if it hit them over the head.