[ The electricity runs agonising rivulets down his spine, a pained hiss splitting his mouth. He grasps for an anchor, blunt nails scrabbling for purchase on Astarion’s bare back. Gods below, when did he get so close? Blood-salt-spray on his cheek, red-moon eyes filling his vision.
One arm falls to seek purchase in the rocky silt and keep his head from going under again. His breath comes in shuddering gasps, chest rising and falling beneath the heavy dampness of his clothes. He feels them tighten as Astarion’s fist twists the thick fabric.
There he is, beautiful and terrible. Fangs bared. Honest, for once. Gale wonders if he’d dare bite into his jugular. If he did, would it hurt the same as the bile in his veins, or could it drown out the neverending burn by sapping the poison? He tries and fails to shift his pinned leg, aware of the blood-strong weight in Astarion’s limbs. Even above the crashing waves, he can hear the rush of blood to his ears, staining his cheeks, hot against the cool droplets flowing from Astarion’s hair. It floods his body, coursing through every limb, drawing lower and lower.
His heart races in turn, a new fear in his heart. On instinct, Gale brings a hand to bracelet his wrist, the threat of mutual detonation now at the forefront of his mind. ]
You — [ Gale’s private conversation with Tav, admiring and jealous and derisive. Astarion was listening by way of elven hearing, roguish subterfuge or ilithid invasion. He jerks his head so sudden and sharp that their noses crash together, exhale pained. Calm yourself. ]
Far more than I like the way you lie ever so prettily. [ Tongue carrying on without consulting his mind, bright eyes undimmed by the threat of proximity. ] Did you enjoy skulking about my tent last night?
[ His tongue darts out to swipe over his lower lip, too dry in the morning air. How long had Astarion been there? Has he listened to Gale before? He’s certainly paid attention prior to this evening, given his uncanny rendition of Gale’s late-night pining. ]
no subject
One arm falls to seek purchase in the rocky silt and keep his head from going under again. His breath comes in shuddering gasps, chest rising and falling beneath the heavy dampness of his clothes. He feels them tighten as Astarion’s fist twists the thick fabric.
There he is, beautiful and terrible. Fangs bared. Honest, for once. Gale wonders if he’d dare bite into his jugular. If he did, would it hurt the same as the bile in his veins, or could it drown out the neverending burn by sapping the poison? He tries and fails to shift his pinned leg, aware of the blood-strong weight in Astarion’s limbs. Even above the crashing waves, he can hear the rush of blood to his ears, staining his cheeks, hot against the cool droplets flowing from Astarion’s hair. It floods his body, coursing through every limb, drawing lower and lower.
His heart races in turn, a new fear in his heart. On instinct, Gale brings a hand to bracelet his wrist, the threat of mutual detonation now at the forefront of his mind. ]
You — [ Gale’s private conversation with Tav, admiring and jealous and derisive. Astarion was listening by way of elven hearing, roguish subterfuge or ilithid invasion. He jerks his head so sudden and sharp that their noses crash together, exhale pained. Calm yourself. ]
Far more than I like the way you lie ever so prettily. [ Tongue carrying on without consulting his mind, bright eyes undimmed by the threat of proximity. ] Did you enjoy skulking about my tent last night?
[ His tongue darts out to swipe over his lower lip, too dry in the morning air. How long had Astarion been there? Has he listened to Gale before? He’s certainly paid attention prior to this evening, given his uncanny rendition of Gale’s late-night pining. ]