"I don't," Alistair says, and his reply gives answer to both questions at once.
He shoves the lint back in his pocket, his hands balling into fists inside his pocket. Andraste, give me strength, he thinks, and he wonders how many others have asked the Maker's lover for help bedding a woman.
Alistair looks at her, and forces his gaze to remain at her, even as he sputters out his request.
"I want." He swallows. "I want to sleep with you."