[He doesn't recoil from that touch, though he would have with anyone else. Astarion's fingers glide over him so carefully, though, weaving between his marks and leaving only a pleasant tingling warmth in their aftermath. It quietly thrills him, just as the way they're talking does, and he does not linger on just why that is; only grins a little recklessly, his head tipping toward the party.]

Nothing so brutish, [his voice briefly affected, morphing in Astarion's own.] But we have been on our best behavior tonight, when all is said and done. Played the part of consorts perfectly— or at least, [he adds more honestly,] you have, and I have done well enough not marring it.

But consorts are meant to be noticed, are they not? Be daringly memorable?

[Another grin.]

Come dance with me, and let us scandalize every human in there.

[Because he's tired of how small this organization makes him feel, and this will piss off their superiors. Because he hates this country, and this party, and these humans; because he's so tired of ducking his head down and keeping himself safe and nonthreatening for no other reason than he has pointed ears. Because he's drunk and happy for the first time tonight, and he sees no reason not to keep that going.]

But only after you tell me your desire.