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Summary
It wasn't all bad, he had supposed, Wyll was easy to read. Astarion could endear himself to him and ensure his spot within their little group in case things ever went arse-up. All it would take was a bit of flattery and wandering eyes… But no. Because nothing in this situation could be simple, Wyll was practically a stone wall. Astarion could bat his eyelashes, jut out his hip, and lower his voice to the most sensual timbre, but Wyll would only laugh and wave away his advances. It was beyond infuriating-and even humiliating-to have his one reliable means of self preservation outright ignored.