[ A possessiveness coils through Astarion as Gale comes for him -- for him, because of him. When it came to his victims, Astarion never lingered in the afterglow: always cleaned himself up and moved on to the more grim stage of their entanglements.
The moment Gale comes, Astarion holds a hand steady at his hip and lifts the dirtied one to his mouth, meeting his gaze through lowered lashes as he licks his fingers clean, echoing Gale in a murmur: ] Perfect.
[ And then he dips his head to Gale's chest and stomach, tongue laving everywhere Gale's made a mess of himself; dragging over his navel, teeth grazing a nipple. A mean thing to do when he's likely extra sensitive after he's just come, but Astarion's never been nice. ]
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The moment Gale comes, Astarion holds a hand steady at his hip and lifts the dirtied one to his mouth, meeting his gaze through lowered lashes as he licks his fingers clean, echoing Gale in a murmur: ] Perfect.
[ And then he dips his head to Gale's chest and stomach, tongue laving everywhere Gale's made a mess of himself; dragging over his navel, teeth grazing a nipple. A mean thing to do when he's likely extra sensitive after he's just come, but Astarion's never been nice. ]