[ As Astarion shifts up and around, Gale grips his waist, supporting him. Any sliver of doubt disappears the moment Astarion takes his face in his hands, certainty in his touch. The earnestness of his thanks makes Galeβs chest rise abruptly, cheeks already heated with arousal when the sight of Astarion (unravelled, debauched) renews his flush.
He quiets, then, letting Astarion get his bearings. Only the kiss to the netherese vein marring his face pulls a startled sound loose. Every tendril of the blight burns, like skin rubbed raw. His eyes slip closed as he gives into the feeling of Astarion soothing him in turn. ]
Youβre very welcome. [ voice low and scratchy, like he ought to clear his throat. ]
no subject
He quiets, then, letting Astarion get his bearings. Only the kiss to the netherese vein marring his face pulls a startled sound loose. Every tendril of the blight burns, like skin rubbed raw. His eyes slip closed as he gives into the feeling of Astarion soothing him in turn. ]
Youβre very welcome. [ voice low and scratchy, like he ought to clear his throat. ]