[As he's taking in the room itself, Gale feels the robe slip from his shoulders; his ears burn from the anticipation. It's nothing Astarion hasn't seen before, he reminds himself - nothing he hadn't intended to see earlier in the evening, before Gale so thoroughly killed the mood.

... and there's nothing he won't see eventually. He likes that thought.]

I'm not sure what I imagined when you suggested a bathhouse, but it was nothing this lavish.

[He half-turns, giving Astarion a smile.]

But I should have suspected. You are a man of refined taste, after all.