water down what I call being grateful (слэш)

Casmir laughs softly, Astarion’s flirting washing over him and rolling off like water against silken feathers. He had realized early that it was a careful mask, Astarion’s face like the perfect porcelain of a doll and his eyes just as dead. Casmir has to wonder how no one else had noticed before—and then realizes that they likely hadn’t wanted to. Astarion was beautiful and his words were honeyed and dripping sweetness, anything with a pulse would likely weep to have his attentions turned on them.
But Casmir could see behind it every once in a while, finding something much quieter and more precious than what Astarion put on like a veneer of glitter and gold.
 
(Or, Casmir likes doing kind things for Astarion. Astarion doesn't know how to deal with that.)