[ Despite the heat, Gale shivers as Astarion touches the dual marks at his throat, the way he’s been doing for days. Undeniable proof that something happened between them, every time he applies pressure to the tender bruises. His heart leaps into his throat, pulse quickening enough that he can only hope that the idea of vampires noticing such things is utter fiction. Gale can’t look away from him, transfixed by this new, somewhat worrying expression.
As soon as Astarion says but, Gale braces for a rejection. Having pushed for too much, too fast — it’s to be expected. Then there’s a shift in the air (or maybe that’s terrain changing beneath his feet), a seriousness that even Gale’s bloated ego doubts pertains to him. His mind snaps into focus, grasping at every word to contextualise it.
Astarion has spoken about Cazador before — at times blunt and at others, oblique. He’s said enough for Gale to construct an unerringly cruel picture of the man. Even so, the idea of Astarion dangled as a lure, in mind and body, stuns him. Something he knew to be true that he hadn’t comprehended in full. His stomach turns, conflict visible in his the purse of his mouth and downturned eyes.
I do want something with you, changes the tenor of this already-surreal conversation again, building to a brighter note than he anticipated. ]
I do want to. [ replied sudden and sure. Gale reaches out, fingers brushing Astarion’s before he takes one hand in both of his own. His voice lowers, like this is an admission just for them, even with the privacy afforded by the spring. ] And I haven’t wanted anything with anyone in quite some time.
[ Not since Mystra cast him out. He’s certain that Astarion (and everyone in their troupe) assumes as much, but it still feels significant to admit aloud. He squeezes Astarion’s hand, and his lips turn up a little. ]
If you want for anything, I should be so lucky to give it to you. [ He said that before, didn’t he? Strange, to think he meant it then and means it now. ] And if you don’t know what you want, then — well, I’m not sure I do, either, so we can figure that out together. [ A little abashed. His tongue darts out to wet his lower lip. ] Slowly.
[ Not his forte, in matters of affection, but he’s a quick study. ]
no subject
As soon as Astarion says but, Gale braces for a rejection. Having pushed for too much, too fast — it’s to be expected. Then there’s a shift in the air (or maybe that’s terrain changing beneath his feet), a seriousness that even Gale’s bloated ego doubts pertains to him. His mind snaps into focus, grasping at every word to contextualise it.
Astarion has spoken about Cazador before — at times blunt and at others, oblique. He’s said enough for Gale to construct an unerringly cruel picture of the man. Even so, the idea of Astarion dangled as a lure, in mind and body, stuns him. Something he knew to be true that he hadn’t comprehended in full. His stomach turns, conflict visible in his the purse of his mouth and downturned eyes.
I do want something with you, changes the tenor of this already-surreal conversation again, building to a brighter note than he anticipated. ]
I do want to. [ replied sudden and sure. Gale reaches out, fingers brushing Astarion’s before he takes one hand in both of his own. His voice lowers, like this is an admission just for them, even with the privacy afforded by the spring. ] And I haven’t wanted anything with anyone in quite some time.
[ Not since Mystra cast him out. He’s certain that Astarion (and everyone in their troupe) assumes as much, but it still feels significant to admit aloud. He squeezes Astarion’s hand, and his lips turn up a little. ]
If you want for anything, I should be so lucky to give it to you. [ He said that before, didn’t he? Strange, to think he meant it then and means it now. ] And if you don’t know what you want, then — well, I’m not sure I do, either, so we can figure that out together. [ A little abashed. His tongue darts out to wet his lower lip. ] Slowly.
[ Not his forte, in matters of affection, but he’s a quick study. ]