[ Oh, now he's gone and done it. Iorveth sees small, fuzzy imaginary ears droop, and it makes him frown as much as he'll allow with his fingers tangled in Astarion's. ]

The problem is, [ he says, enunciating each word with purposeful clarity, ] that the spirit and body are too willing. If you rewarded my cock every time it so much as twitched around you, we'd get nothing done.

[ Which, yeah, sounds pretty precious, all things considered. A frustrated half-growl, and Iorveth reaches down to touch himself over the obstruction of his trousers. Despite everything, the semi has persisted (ridiculous). ]

Gods, [ he hisses. ] If you knew half the things I've done to you in my head.

[ Iorveth doesn't finish that sentence; his tadpole wriggles in his skull, almost as if to laugh at his predicament. ]