[ Despite the bone-deep exhaustion, Astarion smiles. It's immature and silly and so unwarranted, but he loves that Iorveth would be bothered if he enjoyed the taste of someone else's blood more than his. Astarion is so prone to petty jealousy, and it sometimes feels like he's the only one of them who is; it feels good to know that he isn't entirely alone in his feelings.

Slowly, he lets his legs dangle off of the mattress, slouching but determined to go out and find himself a meal (and, after that, steal from a hag and survive to tell the story). ]

I'll wish it was your blood the entire time.

[ True. The experience of drinking from Iorveth is far more pleasant. Even beyond the obvious benefits of having a willing donor, it feels— special. Intimate. Knowing that the thing that gives Iorveth life is on his tongue gives him the shivers every time. ]

I'm sure it won't take too long. It can't be too difficult to find some reprobate no one will miss.