[ Itβs perfect, youβre perfect rings in his ears, a recursive loop that denies all logic and sense. The look on his face is almost wounded by the compliment β by the steadiness in Astarionβs voice that heβs come to know as sincerity. However much heβd like to shy away from it, Astarion is here. Gale may be so much less than the man he was before (a chosen, an archmage), but Astarion acts as though he still might be enough.
Gale follows him. There was never a chance heβd do otherwise. ]
Here? [ Beside Astarion now, leaning in to press a kiss under his jaw and a hand to his chest, guiding him back. All vibrato, like a laugh about to bubble over. ] Or here? [ Another kiss to his cheek as Gale slips a leg between his, knee digging into the bedspread. Tangling their limbs more than anything else. His hands curl into the blankets, holding his weight aloft when he ducks his head, as if he means to kiss him properly, their noses brushing β ]
Mm, no, here. [ A slight tip to the side lands a chaste kiss around the corner his mouth. In sotto voce, ] You must be more specific, Astarion.
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Gale follows him. There was never a chance heβd do otherwise. ]
Here? [ Beside Astarion now, leaning in to press a kiss under his jaw and a hand to his chest, guiding him back. All vibrato, like a laugh about to bubble over. ] Or here? [ Another kiss to his cheek as Gale slips a leg between his, knee digging into the bedspread. Tangling their limbs more than anything else. His hands curl into the blankets, holding his weight aloft when he ducks his head, as if he means to kiss him properly, their noses brushing β ]
Mm, no, here. [ A slight tip to the side lands a chaste kiss around the corner his mouth. In sotto voce, ] You must be more specific, Astarion.