[ Astarion watches with a frown until the sweet scent of Iorveth's fresh blood mixes with the sharp smell of poison. The aroma of Iorveth's blood usually makes him feel hungry, but the knowledge that it's on Damris's tongue makes him want to throw up, and he has to swallow down the bile crawling in his throat. It's not the sort of feeling Iorveth would encourage him to have, he imagines.
His gaze drops, too displeased to keep watching, and he snatches the bottle from Iorveth's hand, droplets of poison spilling out onto the floor before he shoves the mouth of the bottle between Damris's pretty parted lips. ]
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His gaze drops, too displeased to keep watching, and he snatches the bottle from Iorveth's hand, droplets of poison spilling out onto the floor before he shoves the mouth of the bottle between Damris's pretty parted lips. ]
Oh, you're thirsty? Then drink.