He breathes him in, barely keeping up, luxuriating in the taste of the blood on his tongue. It isn't as shocking as it was before; it doesn't come with the reminder of the heat of the desert. It's something for them, something they share.

And, as always, his name sounds delightful on Astarion's tongue.

"Can't let that fucking happen," he mutters, intent now on getting the shirt from him.