[ Gods, he is beautiful. It's an unbidden thought that should dissipate easily enough, but instead catches in his throat just as Gale's earring catches the light, the bruise Astarion left the other night faded to the blue-green color of veins beneath skin. ]
Not much is mine. [ After a cleared throat, peeling out of his underwear and slipping into the warm green water. Astarion is losing his touch; normally he'd make a show of it, call attention to the way Gale's cheeks went pink, stretch his muscles under this flattering lamp-glow luminescence. It's not that he's ungraceful, but he feels figuratively stripped down after their last encounter and the subsequent space between, not quite up to the task of performing the rake.
Shadowheart patched them up well enough, but he still won't fully heal until he's rested, and Astarion feels the sting of an open slice on his ribs as it hits the water, aware also of a cut on his cheekbone. He'll have a better sense of the lay of the land once he cleans the rest away.
He didn't think to bring his own soap, but much of the blood lifts from his skin with a gentle sweep of cupped hands through the water, turning it pink around him. It's a task that keeps him from staring openly at Gale, for the moment. ]
Talking didn't get us far, no. [ After he's plunged his head beneath the water and re-emerged, slicked his hair back out of his eyes and blinked the water from his lashes, his feet bringing him a few steps closer to Gale. Normally the carnage would have sated something in Astarion, but it did little for him today. ]
It does mean I found you something, though. For later.
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Not much is mine. [ After a cleared throat, peeling out of his underwear and slipping into the warm green water. Astarion is losing his touch; normally he'd make a show of it, call attention to the way Gale's cheeks went pink, stretch his muscles under this flattering lamp-glow luminescence. It's not that he's ungraceful, but he feels figuratively stripped down after their last encounter and the subsequent space between, not quite up to the task of performing the rake.
Shadowheart patched them up well enough, but he still won't fully heal until he's rested, and Astarion feels the sting of an open slice on his ribs as it hits the water, aware also of a cut on his cheekbone. He'll have a better sense of the lay of the land once he cleans the rest away.
He didn't think to bring his own soap, but much of the blood lifts from his skin with a gentle sweep of cupped hands through the water, turning it pink around him. It's a task that keeps him from staring openly at Gale, for the moment. ]
Talking didn't get us far, no. [ After he's plunged his head beneath the water and re-emerged, slicked his hair back out of his eyes and blinked the water from his lashes, his feet bringing him a few steps closer to Gale. Normally the carnage would have sated something in Astarion, but it did little for him today. ]
It does mean I found you something, though. For later.