[ Iorveth's turn to be slightly sullen. Not because of anything Astarion has said or done, but because he is possessive when push comes to shove. He makes a vague sound against Astarion's hand, lips still pressed to cool skin. ]

You're clever. Quick. Striking. When you smile, you― [ A vague gesture, a vaguer half-sound. He decides not to finish that thought, because it'd say too much about himself. ] ―at any rate, some fool might try to press their luck.

[ Hmph. ]

It would make me pull you into a different room.