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Summary
A fetching color rises to his face. Of course they both know the answer already. Astarion waits for him to come to it.
“...I’ll not deny I have quite the active imagination,” he says at last, as if the words are something to be confessed. He sees that soft wanting there again. A hunger that hooks something hot and starving in his own gut. “There are quite a number of things I have… imagined. In great detail.”
OR
In the wake of Cazador’s death, Astarion discovers he isn’t the only one in need of a proper reintroduction to the pleasures of mortal love.