[ Her comment, along with the prod of her foot, is enough to pry a tsk from Astarion, along with a skeptical raise of one eyebrow as he shifts to lie on his side, head propped up on his hand. (The movement brings him a little closer than he had been before — affirmation as to her instinct to let him take things on his own time.) ]

Perhaps it's excitement, [ he says smoothly, though still lightly enough to be showing a little of his hand. ] I seem you recall you promised me the privilege of choosing my own reward, if I remained on good behavior.

[ But she knows as well as he does that titillation isn't the reason why he's on tenterhooks. He pauses, the line of his mouth briefly twisting as he considers what to say next. It feels less necessary to play coy, somehow, when not shrouded in darkness. And as his lips curl, the rest of his expression seems to unfold, his gaze losing its usual hooded quality to reveal something more open— something younger than his years. ]

I've never had the pleasure of— continuing a courtship, shall we say, [ he offers, his tone calculatedly nonchalant, following a pause. ] Even if I'd wanted to, before, it was hardly in the cards. Nothing was mine. [ Then, a quick amendment: ] Nothing was for me.

[ Another pause. This isn't really a conversation he wants to have — not just for how closely he guards his secrets, but for making this more about him when she's in the middle of such a maelstrom. ]

I guess the point is that I can be nervous, around you. I know you won't flagellate me for it — beyond telling me I'm acting like a fool.

[ He rolls onto his back, then, checking for the basket (resetting the distance between them, having shown a little of his hand). ]

—Can I tempt you with a drink?