[ Astarion's grateful he shucked his own shirt before getting in the water, though he's aware of how much his leather chafes now that the shocks have ebbed, feeling coming back to fingers and toes.

It's not the wash he'd wanted, but something about it feels cleansing despite the silt between his toes, the river bed kicked up from their scuffle. It begins to settle around Gale beneath the surface, flecks of mica shimmering in the dawn light, his clothing looking heavy enough to pull him under if Astarion didn't have a firm grip on his tunic.

He's also panting, pink-cheeked, warm human fingers closing around his wrist and scrabbling at his back. Astarion may have just fed, but he's keenly aware of the quickened beat of Gale's heart, his own pupils going dark as he inhales his scent under that of the river. There's a crackle of ozone around them both, and he catches the wine on Gale's breath so close to his cheek as he tips his head, expression evening again. ]

I skulk around everyone's tents. You're not so special. [ It's only a half-truth; Astarion has been focused on Gale, in his courting of Tav. He shifts his weight, bearing down on Gale at the hip so he can't easily buck him off. ] And I'm far from the only liar in our little band of heroes.