What? No! He's a metal machine. Fabric would get caught in all of this joints and either break him or he's tear apart every pair od pants.

[He must take this joke of an idea seriously.]

As difficult as it is to imagine, there was a time when my face was smooth. [He's struck by the urge to stroke Astarion's cheek was saying this, but in the dark, he can only guess by the location of his voice. His fingers crash into Astarion's chin, which then recover to pat a spot just under his jaw.

Good enough.] Like yours.