That, [he begins, his voice pitched low and his eyes locked on Astarion,] depends very much on what you mean.

[It takes every ounce of willpower for him not to moan like a bitch in heat for the slow, slick slide of Astarion's thumb. Yes please yes, and it comes out in other ways: his mouth parting ever so slightly as his head tips down just far enough to suggest that he wants nothing so much as to take that sinful digit between his lips.]

You will not find me in any temple . . . but ask me to worship your cock and I'll become more devoted than any acolyte. [His head tips, his lips wrapping for the briefest moment around the swell of his thumb.] I'll drop to my knees and offer you as many prayers as it takes to earn your favor, until you deign to release me from your service . . .