[ No pushback at all about Astarion staying. As much as Iorveth likes to give Astarion space to decompress when necessary, he also likes seeing silver in his peripheral: he can't help but smile briefly to himself when he spots Astarion draping onto furniture like an oversized cat.

Quelling the temptation to gravitate towards that lounging form, Iorveth does as suggested, and keeps his hands busy. A brief trip to the other room with his pack later, he starts binding Damris with a bit of climbing rope he'd kept in his survival kit, and deftly secures long arms behind the small of the tiefling's back, then works to frog-tie long, long legs so that the ankles are bound securely to the thighs. It requires a fair bit of finessing and the threat of horns poking out his eye again, but Iorveth works with meticulous efficiency.

While that's happening: ] I'm aware that my sweet cat is the exception, not the rule.

[ A soft huff, as Damris lists against his front. His face does sway uncomfortably close to his neck, but he seems very much knocked out. ]

Though, speaking of. I need you to disinfect my finger later. [ Brandishing the index that Damris licked. Iorveth shudders. ]