[ Astarion is so used to preening at the first hint of praise, and Gale is deliciously eager to dole it out. Nor is praise during sex anything new, but it is newly vulnerable, in a way. It's not so much that Astarion shies from being called remarkable in this moment than he doesn't quite know what to do with it, coming from someone who is beginning to actually know him beyond the shimmering surface.
Gale's breath at the tender spot behind his ear, the heat of his body make desire bloom deeper in Astarion, pressing back against him even as he lifts his hips to seek Gale's hand. ]
Yes. [ On a fluttering breath, his fingers disentangling from Gale's long enough to ease open the laces of his pants. Astarion isn't shy about his body; but being on display, gauging what people wanted from him was so different from this. What Astarion desires has never mattered. There's a precipice of overwhelm just in being asked.
Astarion tips his head enough to see Gale's face, grounding in that familiarity as he guides his hand to the waist of his underwear. ]
Can't begin to imagine what giving is like on the plane you're used to.
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Gale's breath at the tender spot behind his ear, the heat of his body make desire bloom deeper in Astarion, pressing back against him even as he lifts his hips to seek Gale's hand. ]
Yes. [ On a fluttering breath, his fingers disentangling from Gale's long enough to ease open the laces of his pants. Astarion isn't shy about his body; but being on display, gauging what people wanted from him was so different from this. What Astarion desires has never mattered. There's a precipice of overwhelm just in being asked.
Astarion tips his head enough to see Gale's face, grounding in that familiarity as he guides his hand to the waist of his underwear. ]
Can't begin to imagine what giving is like on the plane you're used to.