[ They’re so far from Astarion’s halting confessions of singular, albeit uncertain, affection. This isn’t Gale’s first time taking such pleasurable orders, but it is a first on this plane. And there’s no questioning where they are, or who he might serve as he parts his legs. The night air caresses his steaming skin, water droplets still trickling down his chest, following the arc of his spine, catching in the hollow of his collarbone. The shock of true desire in Astarion’s eyes is a balm to his old wounds, even as — no, especially as — it becomes a blatant hunger. No one has ever looked at him like that. Gale would remember, if they had.

Good. His cock gives an interested twitch, and he considers calling the whole thing off (but the temptation to take himself in hand would be worse, unsupervised). The noise that slips through his teeth as Astarion manoeuvres him into place is a needy thing. ]

I’m beginning to think you are dangerous for me. [ Shifting his weight to one hand, calf muscle flexing against Astarion’s back, Gale recalibrates. He brings careful fingers to the perfect bow of Astarion’s lips, emboldened by every point of taction gifted to him before now. It’s easier than he thought, to push two fingers inside, pressing down on Astarion’s tongue before straying to graze the point of a fang. With a note of wonder, ] And not for any of the reasons you should be.

[ If Astarion didn’t have other plans, Gale could get lost in this, the plush of his mouth. ]

[ steady now, ] I’ll know long before. [ The tell-tale burn of the orb, threatening to immolate him, is one he knows well. It’s faraway from the present, tender ache, as Astarion decides to trust him with this. ] And I’ll tell you. You have my word. [ Gently, he retracts his fingers and lifts to slide them back through Astarion’s silvery hair. ]