[Kanan is so dangerously close to being bitten. Not on the neck, of course— because only an uncivilized, rabid elf would do something so unhinged. Probably something contagious Fenris got from Elise even, Astarion thinks— before he winces at that knot's tender resistance giving way, leaving behind a few white locks shaped like odd zig-zag crinkles, forgetting his anger in place of another sore sensation.

But he doesn't stop his sulking. And he doesn't pull his burning stare away from Kanan, either. As much in the dog house now as he was when telling a small, pudgy-fingered child he couldn't have dessert early.]

I take this seriously, Kanan, that's why it's different! I'm not going to be washing dishes or scrubbing floors when I'm eighty unless I royally fuck up— which at this rate—

[Helplessly he huffs. He puffs. He throws his hands into the air near shoulder height before they collapse back down into his lap.]

How in the world did he manage to kiss someone else first....

[A beat, small.]

....and why did it have to be her?

[Maybe. Maybe he has thought about it before.]