Then that’s what we’ll do. [ Gale unhooks one hand to lift it between them, cupping Astarion’s jaw gently. Uncalloused fingers smooth over the apple of his cheek. ]

[ seriously, ] If we were in Waterdeep, I’d have taken the time to court you properly. Or I’d have tried, at least. [ Perhaps Astarion would have hated that, the possibility of artifice too great in an old-fashioned ritual. Or maybe he would have liked the careful build, its guiding steps — the presents, he’s certain would be appreciated, eyes crinkling at his private joke. ] My mother — and Tara — would be appalled that I’ve forgotten my manners, in the matter of you.

[ Gale hushes a spell under his breath, watching intently as the small cut knits itself back together under the arc his thumb. A hum of satisfaction, then, as if he’s been thinking about doing that since he spotted the shallow slash. ]

Ah, there you are. [ Rumbled low in his throat, equal parts fondness and self-satisfaction in the curve of his mouth. It would be too easy to kiss him, to push, but Gale only returns his wayward hand to the clasp of their fingers, lifting the back of Astarion’s hand to his mouth, a reverent kiss to his knuckles. ]