[ As Gale moves to get drawing materials, Astarion gives himself a rest from his position, wading across the warm bath to examine the spread of oils and soaps, accompanied by a small wicker basket of purple rose petals. He uncaps the vials to sniff them, making faces at most before he settles on jasmine and cardamom, squeezing a dropper of it into the bath.
By the time he's finished perusing, Gale is dressing himself down. Astarion watches with only slightly veiled interest, gaze sweeping from the dark hairs on his calves to the flex of muscle in his forearms, his uncalloused hands. The blue-green rivers of his veins, just visible under his skin. ]
And I suppose it's lucky for you I'm good at holding still. [ Astarion tosses a handful of the rose petals in Gale's direction, and they drift to rest on top of the water. He wades a little closer to him, then turns to face the balcony again, rolling his neck, continuing slyly: ] How are you with figure studies?
no subject
By the time he's finished perusing, Gale is dressing himself down. Astarion watches with only slightly veiled interest, gaze sweeping from the dark hairs on his calves to the flex of muscle in his forearms, his uncalloused hands. The blue-green rivers of his veins, just visible under his skin. ]
And I suppose it's lucky for you I'm good at holding still. [ Astarion tosses a handful of the rose petals in Gale's direction, and they drift to rest on top of the water. He wades a little closer to him, then turns to face the balcony again, rolling his neck, continuing slyly: ] How are you with figure studies?