[ The biggest hypocrite in the world: Astarion would be gravely offended if Reginald focused on nearly anyone else during his time of need, but because it's Iorveth, he's actually gravely offended that Reginald doesn't give proper attention to his most precious, specialest boy in the whole world. He scowls at the pushing aside, although he doesn't have much time to be irritated, because the cleric works incredibly fast. An expert at his craft, indeed.

More accurately, it feels like being dunked into cold water. Astarion shivers at the sensation before it abruptly dissipates, and he begins to feel the return of those unnameable, intrinsic parts of himself that had felt stolen away. (Not like it really matters. His soul is never going to see any use.)

He bristles at the tug on his pant leg, pushing himself up so that he's vertical once more. ]

Don't wrinkle that. [ In actuality, he just can't stand the feeling of someone who isn't Iorveth trying to undress him. It's been a very long time since he felt it now, but the reaction is still just as visceral. ] —Gale, go. [ A wave of his hand. ] You wouldn't want to become overcome with wild lust and ruin our friendship, hm?

[ Gale sputters and gawks, clearly flustered by the mere implication, but he seems to get the picture. As he walks out, Astarion can hear him grumbling something along the lines of, "...think very highly of yourself..." ]

Darling. [ To Iorveth. ] Help me, if you would.

[ A less pathetic way of saying that he'd prefer Iorveth to stay for this, actually. Reginald seems nice enough, but he'd rather not be alone and pantsless in a room with a stranger. ]