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[corporeity]

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[corporeity]

Quite right.
Then I’ll have my favourite companions on either side of me.

[thirsted]

[ ]

Charmer.

Try not to cry.

[corporeity]

But I’m so very proud of you.

[thirsted]

[ ew ... haha ... ]

Proud? For what? And if you say "for making an effort to be social," I'll consign you to the back row.

[corporeity]

Hm. How about “for planning such a lovely evening for our friends”? It’s nice to have things to look forward to.

[thirsted]

I suppose I'll let it slide.
But you're not wrong — at least I know this will go off without a catch.

[ Unless the DVD player or projector break, but he won't speak that into existence. ]

[corporeity]

Generous of you.
Do let me know if you need assistance with anything, or if you’ve thoughts on what I should wear, on your big night.

[thirsted]

Nothing, ideally, but for the sake of polite company ... something handsome, so I can show you off, and something soft, for when my head inevitably finds your shoulder.

[corporeity]

[ 😳 to 😍 ]

Well!
The shirt you liked the other day, perhaps. And that jacket, for something soft.

[ brain a little broken by that one-two combo of nothing and show you off show you off show you off — ]

❤️❤️❤️

[thirsted]

[ A private smile. The shirt you like the other day. He likes that Gale remembers things like that. ]

I trust you'll help me pick something to match.

[ wait— ]

💞

[ Astarion looks at the little pink hearts on his screen for a moment before— not so much changing his mind as adding, as though trying each on for size: ]

♥️

[corporeity]

It would be my pleasure.
🥰

[ that one is how he imagines he looks every day, in astarion’s company. ]

[thirsted]

Ah, that one's rather sweet, isn't it?

😘
I imagine this is how I seemed to you, when we first met.

[corporeity]

😳
A little.

You flustered me rather early on, if you recall — though it took you some time to accurately pinpoint the object of my “sad hopeless pining.” ☺️

[thirsted]

🫣
I’ll admit, I misjudged you. Or perhaps I misjudged myself.
You’re supposed to be the clever one between us, besides.

[corporeity]

[ Perhaps I misjudged myself. He knows the feeling. ]

Now, now, you can’t expect me to be clever around you.
Well, not as clever as I usually am.
😍😍😍

[thirsted]

Perhaps not. 🤭
But still cleverer than most. 🥰

[corporeity]

Flatterer.
Though I’ll admit I’m clever enough to ask: Am I allowed to kiss you in front of all of our friends?

[thirsted]

Oh, my darling. You don't have to ask.
But I'm glad you did.

[corporeity]

Then I’ll ask again tonight.
I do so like to hear you say yes.

[thirsted]

You know, I've said it so many times before, but never with the same blush of excitement I feel with you.
That is to say, I plan to say it over and over again, until we both lose count.

[corporeity]

And even after that, I hope.

[ he rereads it, thumb swiping up the screen. ]

Gosh, you have me flushed in the shop.

[thirsted]

On the one day I decide not to accompany you to work. How cruel!
I've half a mind to remedy that, though the other thinks of how I could greet you when you return home.

[corporeity]

[ after about 20 distinct fantasies — ]

I couldn’t tell you what I’d prefer if I thought about it for hours.
But, perhaps, if something of mine appealed to you…

[ He’s worn less of Gale’s belongings as spring supplants winter, leaving Gale to ponder exactly how much he savoured it. Astarion, all wrapped up in him, even while spending time with another — ]

[thirsted]

Now there's a thought.

[ And that text is it, for a while, until—

—at intervals, the minutes in between presumably spent putting each outfit together, Astarion sends along a series of photos: pieces from Gale's wardrobe, carefully selected and placed on their bed (for lack of properly being able to photograph himself), at first laid out smooth, still on the hanger, then — by the third picture — posed, the fold of an arm mimicking a hand behind the head, the pants legs crossed. One of Gale's cream-colored shirts, paired with Astarion's black trousers (which, hadn't he been wearing those this morning); one of Gale's polos and a pair of his slacks. Nothing too racy, save for the sixth (and for the moment, final) photo, which features another curated look — and a pair of Gale's underwear, peeking out from underneath. ]

[corporeity]

[ For the duration of Astarion’s silence, Gale returns to his (unpaid) work. Shelving here, tweaking a display there. The first picture stops him in his tracks, looking down in initial confusion, then blushing understanding. He clips himself on the corner of their potions’ table upon recognising the trousers Astarion had almost certainly been wearing when he left, instead splayed on their bed. Unable to keep himself from thinking of — well — every inch of pale skin Astarion has allowed him to regard and touch, of late.

And it’s cute, besides, which is surely not a word many would apply to a centuries-old vampire. Gale can think of no other descriptor for the effort. The silly little poses arranged for their amusement alone.

By the time he straightens all the bottles, the final photo has pinged his phone. ]

Wow 😳
It would be terribly useless of me to say they’d all suit you, wouldn’t it?
And yet it would be true.

The first and the last stand out, though I’m afraid I’ll be tempted to swiftly undress you, in either case.