A fine decision: whatever thready discontentment still left clinging to the air dissipates in the wake of that playful shift, as Astarion cuts a direct path towards his partner in exile, painted with false pity.

"Sadly, no."

Arms bracketing either side of him across the mattress, leaning forward to scuff his teeth across the base of Fenris' neck— just where the swoop of pale markings gives way to bare, unmarred skin.

"But I hear the perks are to die for."