[ Iorveth needn't be contrite. Admittedly, Astarion doesn't feel his most lively today, either. (Another trance subject to the hag's pestering probably won't do him much good, but whatever. He didn't rest well for two hundred years. A few days can't possibly handicap him too badly.) He turns his head enough to press his mouth against the skin of Iorveth's neck, sweet like a dog nosing someone it's fond of. ]

Time is of the essence, but it won't kill us to take one night off.

[ Hopefully not famous last words. ]

You know I don't mind doting on you while you're helpless.

[ 'Helpless' is a very inaccurate term to describe Iorveth ever, but Astarion is allowed to have his fantasy. Ooh, what a sexy, vulnerable man, subject to his whims. ]

...Or, if you prefer, I suppose [ —said with great reluctance— ] that once the sun goes down, I can do some of that reconnaissance you're always talking about.