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“He’ll be good for us. Won’t you, pet?” It feels wrong from the moment it crosses Astarion’s lips without a thought. Wyll, before relaxed pressed between him and Karlach, flinches.
Flinches like he’s trying to hide it. Astarion knows that move too well.
“I’m sorry,” he mumbles against Wyll’s throat, instinctively seeking the steady thump of his pulse.
“Adding more reasons to kill her to the list,” Karlach says, darkly. She bumps Wyll’s forehead with hers. “With us, soldier?”
“With you,” he says, and Astarion believes him when he tangles their hands together and brings them both to Karlach’s own.