[Oh, that little shift, and though his eyes flick up to catch Astarion's gaze, he doesn't make a move to stop him. There's something a little wonderful about the playfully intimate mood that's come upon them both— and so long as that continues, he'd be as happy to keep talking as he would be to start another round. But, ah . . . something quieter this time, though. Something softer than all the competitive aggression of the past, more tender and honest than their bullish posturing. He is not so soppy as to think something like making love, but at the same time . . .

Something sweet, Fenris thinks, and, using the grip he has in his hair, tips Astarion's head back so he might lay a scolding nip just against his pulsepoint. Something real, now that the playing field has finally evened out.

But all that talk of last night jogs his memory, and he aims an amused smile up at his noble as he draws back.]

So you were jealous of Karlach last night.

[Of course he was, if he was trying to make Fenris feel the same. And it's mean, maybe, to keep that tight grip in his hair, but he wants to see if he'll fluster again.]

I did not realize until you had left . . . she is a friend, and an old one. We have worked together many times, for my old master had many dealings with hers. But not a rival for your affections . . . was it you or your friends who came up with such an idea in the first place?