[And what a reward it is, that laugh. It's bracing, yet drags Astarion down into the warmth of shared, absurd moment with no hesitation, grinning and laughing a little in kind.]

I wouldn't dream of it. You're too important for me to risk it.

[Too important to him. For a myriad of reasons starting to split off from the main one: a source of blood, a source of protection.

But Astarion is tired, now, of second-guessing the things he says, the things he muses silently to himself. No, right now, he will drive home the point that this warlock is important to him because of the warm blood flowing through his veins, and he leans in, looking at him with dark, crimson eyes.]

You taste too good for me to lose you over a misguided tentacle. [what a sentence] Think you could... invite me for another bite tonight?