[ It dawns on him, slowly, what a luxury it is to lie around and chat with someone after intimacy. To have someone stick around rather than be dragged off kicking and screaming to somewhere terrible. To press himself against Iorveth's body and feel safe, unashamed. Gods, he loves this man; he presses his mouth against Iorveth's wrist, letting the contact linger as he closes his eyes, inhaling the sweet scent of Iorveth's skin and feeling his pulse beat against Astarion's lips. ]

It's your touch, my love. Of course it will agree with me.

[ Unless it's like, fucking ugly, but he'll let Iorveth down gently later if that's the case. No point in dwelling on that now!!

He drags his teeth over Iorveth's wrist, light, playful. ]

I hated having to subsist on that— man. [ He hated a lot of things about that situation, but most of them aren't very romantic, so he keeps his mouth shut. ] It's only you I want on my tongue.