[Who's swaying? No one's swaying, certainly not these two, the world spinning a little and everything coming at a bit of a distance . . . they're fine. It's fine. He takes the other dagger, hefting it, trying to remember how to hold himself. He's been trained on nearly every kind of weapon at one point or another, but daggers were never his strong suit.

Lucky, then, he's distracted by that absolutely idiotic grin. It's so clearly meant to be charming, and honestly, in other contexts, it probably would be! Fenris can admit that. He can admit that Astarion is, ah, attractive, that there's something appealing about those sharpened teeth and glinting eyes, but oh, not when they're both so clearly intoxicated.

Fenris grins, realizes what he's doing half a second later, and glances away, trying to bite it back. Please . . .]

Deal.

[Stay the night, not spread your legs and get on your back. He'll take advantage of that later, if he ends up losing this fight. (And really: he'll stay either way, so long as Astarion won't make a fuss over it. Fenris is going to have to face his mansion sooner or later, but oh, let him put it off for another day. Let him stave off those ghosts as much as he can, though he knows he'll have to face them soon).]

Up on the rooftops? I doubt the guards will care, so long as we stay quiet.

You can stay quiet, can you not?

[It's a joke, a flash of a tease that's swiftly moved past as he adds:]

Or we could make the trek up to Hightown. I leave the choice to you.

[But give him that port, please, don't be greedy, let him have another sip.]