[ Astarion watches him, looking more the jungle cat than when he first emerged from the forest. A hunterās gaze on ā the bottle, surely. Not his throat. Thereād be no reason for it, after feasting on Tav. Then again, thereās something wanting about Astarion. For all he plays the careless rake, he canāt be satisfied, tucked under the thumb of a vampire lord.
While Gale isnāt privy to the details, he witnessed the confrontation with the Gur in Ethelās swamp and eavesdropped on the subsequent hissed exchange. A master in Baldurās Gate, setting hunters on his tail. It bodes ill, though Gale can hardly judge or complain. Presently, Tav is complicit in his draining of precious resources, but she knows nothing of the true danger lurking behind his ribs.
Astarionās second jeer sneaks past his light armour, all the deadlier for striking true. His posture stiffens. The alcoholic burn in his throat and ache in his chest urge him onward, unthinking. A brilliant flush rises from his throat to his cheeks, equal parts irritation and embarrassment. Why should he hold his tongue when Astarionās is given to wickedness? ]
Do the mechanics of my dalliances interest you so? [ chin raised in challenge, eyes following his perfect curls to their stopping point, at the nape of his elegant neck. An expanse of pale skin below, marred by something unintelligible in the brightening light. Gale allows himself to look lower, for want of a less compelling (or god-forbid, sympathy-inducing) view, eying the slight swell of Astarionās hip in his too-tight trousers. Impractical as every other aspect of this infuriating man.
Head thrown back, Gale polishes off the bottle and lowers it between his legs to perch on the sand. In his haste, he nearly misses the strain in Astarionās voice, as taut as the line of his vertebrae. Nearly. ]
Sated and contented are rather different things, I find. [ sharply, ] When she fucked me, I certainly wasnāt running off after.
[ As either Tav or Astarion have decided to do, after a fleeting night of pleasure. An indictment of their apparent bond. Chosen for now isnāt chosen forever, after all. He would know. ]
no subject
While Gale isnāt privy to the details, he witnessed the confrontation with the Gur in Ethelās swamp and eavesdropped on the subsequent hissed exchange. A master in Baldurās Gate, setting hunters on his tail. It bodes ill, though Gale can hardly judge or complain. Presently, Tav is complicit in his draining of precious resources, but she knows nothing of the true danger lurking behind his ribs.
Astarionās second jeer sneaks past his light armour, all the deadlier for striking true. His posture stiffens. The alcoholic burn in his throat and ache in his chest urge him onward, unthinking. A brilliant flush rises from his throat to his cheeks, equal parts irritation and embarrassment. Why should he hold his tongue when Astarionās is given to wickedness? ]
Do the mechanics of my dalliances interest you so? [ chin raised in challenge, eyes following his perfect curls to their stopping point, at the nape of his elegant neck. An expanse of pale skin below, marred by something unintelligible in the brightening light. Gale allows himself to look lower, for want of a less compelling (or god-forbid, sympathy-inducing) view, eying the slight swell of Astarionās hip in his too-tight trousers. Impractical as every other aspect of this infuriating man.
Head thrown back, Gale polishes off the bottle and lowers it between his legs to perch on the sand. In his haste, he nearly misses the strain in Astarionās voice, as taut as the line of his vertebrae. Nearly. ]
Sated and contented are rather different things, I find. [ sharply, ] When she fucked me, I certainly wasnāt running off after.
[ As either Tav or Astarion have decided to do, after a fleeting night of pleasure. An indictment of their apparent bond. Chosen for now isnāt chosen forever, after all. He would know. ]