[ Telling Astarion that he's a glutton for punishment seems like a bad idea, since Astarion has had two hundred miserable years of being relentlessly punished for no reason at all, so Iorveth refrains. Still, the thought of Astarion wanting attention, even if it wasn't the attention he strictly wanted, makes Iorveth's heart clench a little.

Another thing he doesn't say: "you should've said so". He knows he wouldn't have believed it, and he knows Astarion would have rather had his throat slit than say something so liable to be turned down at the time. ]

I did more than scowl, [ he argues, just for the sake of it. ] I jeered, occasionally. Walked away more than a few times.

[ Hard to think of doing the last one now. One hand slips up the back of Astarion's loose pajama top under the shroud of the cloak, fingers splayed, raking up along Astarion's spine. His skin feels warmer than usual, and that itch under Iorveth's skin gets a little harder to ignore. ]

My pride got in the way of my wanting, I suppose. But in all certainty, I wanted you. [ A low chuckle, almost in disbelief. ] Even now, I want you as desperately as I did then. A feeling I doubt will ever fade.