[ Astarion half-expects Gale to spook, or at the very least demand to know what he's doing. Instead, he stills, and blushes beautifully; and Astarion does consider kissing him, for a moment, his gaze lingering on Gale's parted lips, the hitch of his breath. ]

We might as well get comfortable with each other, if we're to be courting. [ Astarion settles to sit on the step below Gale, leaning close enough to see the drawing properly.

He can't speak to its accuracy, obviously, but the shape of it is - awful. It's awful, and it's a part of him. He reaches to touch the paper, then remembers his wet hands and retreats, not quite curling in on himself. Softly, ] Hideous. Not a commentary on your skills, of course.