[ You're good, Astarion. He isn't, he isn't. So long as he isn't good, so long as he isn't a hero, Astarion can live with himself and all the terrible things he's done, both in Cazador's name and just because he could. Astarion wants to twist away from Gale's kindness even as it cracks something open, a keening thing inside of him. His eyes squeeze shut, a hand pressed between Gale's shoulder blades as their hips slot together, a friction he can't stop himself from seeking out, arching up to meet him.
If Gale continues to unravel him like this, Astarion doesn't know what will be left. ]
Gale. [ On a stuttered breath, his cock stiffening with the hot-wet of Gale's mouth beneath his jaw, the knee between his thighs, the solid weight of his body. Him, here, not gone. Astarion pushes his free hand beneath the vee of his robes, clumsier than he likes to be, wanting to pull them open, palm searching for the beat of his heart. ] Gale, I --
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If Gale continues to unravel him like this, Astarion doesn't know what will be left. ]
Gale. [ On a stuttered breath, his cock stiffening with the hot-wet of Gale's mouth beneath his jaw, the knee between his thighs, the solid weight of his body. Him, here, not gone. Astarion pushes his free hand beneath the vee of his robes, clumsier than he likes to be, wanting to pull them open, palm searching for the beat of his heart. ] Gale, I --