[ Gale forces himself to meet Astarion’s gaze, projecting a quiet confidence. ]
You’re fine where you are. [ then, just in case Astarion doesn’t know: ] The writing stops before your lower back, so you can relax a bit more, if you wish. [ Winter in Waterdeep isn’t overly cold, unless a storm overtakes its enclaves, and the room itself is warm, likely enchanted with some form of temperature regulation. Still, being half-submerged could result in a chill, especially for someone cold-blooded.
Gale stands, returning to the bookshelves to pick up one of the empty journals (for decorative use only) and nab a quill (less decorative, with only half its ink remaining). Briefly, his mind wanders at how it’s meant to be used in a place like this.
A polite cough. ] I’ll, ah, just get comfortable.
[ As comfortable as Gale can manage, when Astarion is naked and vulnerable for two distinct, unrelated reasons. He has no intention of joining him in the bath, but he can’t crouch and draw at the same time, so needs must. Draping his cloak over the chair, Gale toes off his pointed shoes and bends to roll the legs of his trousers up to his calves. His shirtsleeves follow suit, neat folds to his elbow. All the while, he avoids Astarion’s eyes for as long as he can, knowing he’ll be looking at him rather intently for an extended period.
He ends up doubling back for the wine, glass and bottle both, before taking his seat at the edge of the bath. A helpless sigh. The water is lovely, loosening the knot in his chest. This much, he can do. ]
You’re in luck, you know. [ slow, testing the waters. No doubt Astarion assumes he’s in for another round of boasting. ] I once spent an entire semester of my academy days copying faded texts after a notable bout of mischief — so I’ve terribly neat handwriting.
no subject
You’re fine where you are. [ then, just in case Astarion doesn’t know: ] The writing stops before your lower back, so you can relax a bit more, if you wish. [ Winter in Waterdeep isn’t overly cold, unless a storm overtakes its enclaves, and the room itself is warm, likely enchanted with some form of temperature regulation. Still, being half-submerged could result in a chill, especially for someone cold-blooded.
Gale stands, returning to the bookshelves to pick up one of the empty journals (for decorative use only) and nab a quill (less decorative, with only half its ink remaining). Briefly, his mind wanders at how it’s meant to be used in a place like this.
A polite cough. ] I’ll, ah, just get comfortable.
[ As comfortable as Gale can manage, when Astarion is naked and vulnerable for two distinct, unrelated reasons. He has no intention of joining him in the bath, but he can’t crouch and draw at the same time, so needs must. Draping his cloak over the chair, Gale toes off his pointed shoes and bends to roll the legs of his trousers up to his calves. His shirtsleeves follow suit, neat folds to his elbow. All the while, he avoids Astarion’s eyes for as long as he can, knowing he’ll be looking at him rather intently for an extended period.
He ends up doubling back for the wine, glass and bottle both, before taking his seat at the edge of the bath. A helpless sigh. The water is lovely, loosening the knot in his chest. This much, he can do. ]
You’re in luck, you know. [ slow, testing the waters. No doubt Astarion assumes he’s in for another round of boasting. ] I once spent an entire semester of my academy days copying faded texts after a notable bout of mischief — so I’ve terribly neat handwriting.