[ Stifling the semi-frown that threatens to tug at his lips ("has it actually sunk in that I'd hate it if you felt like you have to be performative"), Iorveth accepts the peck and decides to leave it at that. He'll let himself be more annoyed if he still hasn't gotten through to Astarion in a few decades' time.

Anyway. Iorveth still kind of wants to tell Gale to fuck off and then spend the rest of the dwindling day kissing every inch of Astarion's body, but since he's been reminded that they have things to do: ] Too beautiful. There's no chance that whatever deranged individual we'll cross paths with today will appreciate your looks.

[ Like, it'd be nice if their enemies set down their arms simply because Astarion is too pretty to quarrel with, but Iorveth has also demonstrated in the past that that isn't the case. He lets go of Astarion grudgingly, adjusting one last curl so that it artfully frames Astarion's pretty ear, and gets up on his feet to change into a pair of trousers that look a little less slept in. ]

I suggest wearing something that you wouldn't mind getting blood on.