Act resistant, he kept thinking to himself, eyes closed tightly and hands clenched. His jaw was tense and he was forcing himself not to let out dramatic cries of agony. Your arms were wrapped tightly around his waist and your face was pushed against his back, the two of you cuddled up in his tent on a particularly cold night. It was so cold that he'd suggested sharing a bedroll. He hadn't expected you to start smothering him in affection, or the sweet words you kept mumbling.

"I don't have half a need for your honeyed words," Astarion grumbled, shifting just slightly in your grasp. He felt your arm loosening and quickly secured one of his around it. No, no. Stay. He scorned you mentally. How could you not see that he really did like your affection and wasn't at all hating it? How dare you take his 'get off mes' seriously?

The audacity.

Astarion flipped over so he was facing you and held your face in one of his hands, his other arm going underneath the pillow you two were sharing, on account of yours going missing -he'd thrown it in the river and let it wash away, it was a disgusting ratty old thing anyway. A druid had gifted it to you, and he was half sure it had bed bugs- but what an unfortunate incident, now your faces were inches away and Astarion was just being tormented by your gentle eyes.

Oh the gods must have cursed him, putting him in the presence of someone was wonderful as you, mused Astarion as he leaned down to kiss your lips tenderly. What a horrible... disastrous curse to have you in his arms. His arms wrapped around your body and he buried his face in your neck, softly kissing it and humming a quiet tune. How ever will he manage?

"Why'd you stop whispering those things? Hmn? Just because I don't need them doesn't mean I don't want them. Hurry up before I grow bored and starved of attention."