[ Astarion knows the steps to this dance so well, he doesn't miss a beat - just closes his fingers around Gale's wrist, then closes his eyes, drawing fore and middle finger further into his mouth.
Gale had shocked him in the river, electric current cutting bone-deep, and the taste of him holds some of that spark. The rot Gale has spoken of threads the aftertaste, but Astarion is a dead thing. There's rot within him too.
Astarion's fangs bracket both fingers, and he scrapes the point along them just enough to sting as he flattens his tongue and hollows his cheeks, creating suction, drawing them in nearly to the first knuckle.
He swallows, larynx bobbing as Gale's blood warms his throat, then slides his fingers from his mouth, slick with saliva and blood. ]
Hmm. [ Astarion looks up at Gale through his lashes again, pupils as dark as Gale's as he noses against his palm, nipping at the meat just below the first knuckle. Not yet delving into the wound itself. His voice rasps, ] Thinking of the sort of magic you could do with your fingers on my tongue.
[ Gale's dextrous hands, always flicking sigils into the air. The wound drips blood onto Astarion's armor, and Astarion suddenly wishes he could feel it on his skin, hips shifting beneath Gale's. ]
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Gale had shocked him in the river, electric current cutting bone-deep, and the taste of him holds some of that spark. The rot Gale has spoken of threads the aftertaste, but Astarion is a dead thing. There's rot within him too.
Astarion's fangs bracket both fingers, and he scrapes the point along them just enough to sting as he flattens his tongue and hollows his cheeks, creating suction, drawing them in nearly to the first knuckle.
He swallows, larynx bobbing as Gale's blood warms his throat, then slides his fingers from his mouth, slick with saliva and blood. ]
Hmm. [ Astarion looks up at Gale through his lashes again, pupils as dark as Gale's as he noses against his palm, nipping at the meat just below the first knuckle. Not yet delving into the wound itself. His voice rasps, ] Thinking of the sort of magic you could do with your fingers on my tongue.
[ Gale's dextrous hands, always flicking sigils into the air. The wound drips blood onto Astarion's armor, and Astarion suddenly wishes he could feel it on his skin, hips shifting beneath Gale's. ]