[He notices the shifting, because of course he does. It's hard not to, aware as he is of Astarion. But much like before, the real meaning passes him by: he thinks Astarion squirms because it's a thrilling thing to imagine a woman like that, and who doesn't get a little excited over the thought? Certainly it isn't anything to do with Fenris, for why would it?]

I won't say no.

[Drawled out as he scoots closer to Astarion and reaches for the bottle, happily accepting his earned prize. It's little more than dregs now, sour and sharp, but he drinks it nonetheless, thrilling in the last little wave of drunkenness as it washes over him.]

What was the other . . . an account of all the times I've spread another's legs. I would argue you've heard it already— or do you need me to be more explicit, and tell you from start to finish each time I laid with Isabela?

[He tips his head and adds shamelessly:]

I would rather hear your favorite positions.

[Despite the fact it was a prize earned. Despite the fact that ordinarily Fenris wouldn't dream of asking for such a thing, worried about the memories it might bring up.]