[ Astarion leans his temple against Iorveth's, a desire to be as close to Iorveth's perplexing mind as he can possibly be. Sometimes, he feels as if he understands Iorveth wholly and totally, and other times it's as if he might as well be speaking a different language. It's like suggesting that someone wait a few centuries to decide if they'd like one million gold in their pockets or if they'd like to be kicked in the head instead — a preposterous choice. ]

Yes, I'm practically robbing the cradle, aren't I?

[ Affectionate, even when Iorveth is irritating him a little with this idea of waiting and thinking things through. Iorveth is still closer in age to him than nearly anyone else they'd travelled with. Gods, Lae'zel had been a baby. ]

But, my love, I don't need a few centuries to confirm what I already know. Immortality would be torment without you by my side.

[ He supposes he could just walk cloakless into the sun after Iorveth dies, but. He has a feeling that idea might not go over too well. Astarion draws back, then, so that he can study Iorveth's face. ]

Darling, you would tell me if you didn't want this, wouldn't you?