Fenris looks over Astarion slowly, longingly. His eyes flicker over the scars, and some anger does awaken in his stomach, but that's for later. Maybe never. Fenris knows it isn't his business.

He kisses the nape of Astarion's neck instead, a silent thanks for such consideration, such honesty.

And then he gets to work, teasing Astarion's hole, his other hand snaking around to pet his stomach, his chest. Fenris kisses Astarion's shoulders, and whispers sweet and pointless attestations Astarion cannot even understand. "Mea amatus perfectus est," he breathes, "et venustus, et eleganus est..."