[ For a brief moment, Gale thinks heโs managed to strike Astarion speechless for the right reasons. the tension in his back, the catch in his throat, and the hand, tentative at his wrist, disabuse him of the notion. Gale tips back immediately. It reminds him of how this started, with the feeling of Astarionโs wet lashes against his robes. Perhaps their disaffected rogue isnโt so unfeeling after all. ]
I โ yes, of course. [ Expression careful in its neutrality, though his eyes are his tell, as always (concern widening their set). He untangles his fingers from Astarionโs hair to drop back to his collar, a space thatโs touching without touching, the fabric wrinkling between his thumb and forefinger. Not disengaging entirely, for fear of conveying rejection in place of understanding. ]
However long you need. [ He allows Astarion to guide his wrist away before flipping his hand, fingertips grazing Astarionโs palm. ]
no subject
I โ yes, of course. [ Expression careful in its neutrality, though his eyes are his tell, as always (concern widening their set). He untangles his fingers from Astarionโs hair to drop back to his collar, a space thatโs touching without touching, the fabric wrinkling between his thumb and forefinger. Not disengaging entirely, for fear of conveying rejection in place of understanding. ]
However long you need. [ He allows Astarion to guide his wrist away before flipping his hand, fingertips grazing Astarionโs palm. ]