[ Ridiculous. Iorveth's heart does something stupid in his chest, a flutter-jolt that makes his next breath catch in the back of his throat. ]

Only you could.

[ Care for someone like him, Iorveth means. Astarion, sharp and shrewd and utterly without a plan, with self-destructive self-preservation instincts and a jaded outlook on life only matched by the boundless potential of his big heart. Astarion is a mess, a walking contradiction, a terrible judge of character.

Gods, Iorveth is smitten. "You shouldn't have hitched your wagon to this horse", he wants to say, but he can't. Instead, he kisses Astarion's palm, and doesn't mind at all that there's no pulse under pale skin. ]

A good thing, that I only want to be cared for by you. [ He means this sincerely; he's never wanted to be perceived as someone who needs a kind touch or any measure of care. Even now, he'll only accept it from Astarion: he murmurs I trust you in Aen Seidhe, and lets go. ] ...No more out of you, unless you want to be pinned to the bed again.

[ Poor Gale is just waiting for these two to leave. Iorveth, unfortunately, has not spared a micromoment of thought for the wizard's predicament. ]