[ Astarionโs sudden, brazen handling startles a soft sound from Galeโs throat. His pulse jumps and stutters. The bottle half-dropped, precarious between them. How much can Astarion glean from him with his enhanced senses? Far more than Gale can sense in return, surely, overwhelmed by the proximity. The strange intimacy of someone who reviles him nestling into the hollow of his throat, warm breath on his skin. His mouth โ his teeth โ closer than anyone has been in some time. A threat? He shivers. No, a curiosity, which is surely worse, since he shares the sentiment.
This is ridiculous. He ought to deliver Astarion another shock on principle. Instead, his fingers curl, just brushing the back of Astarionโs hand where it holds his pulse hostage. ]
Like ozone. [ Voice ticking up at the end of the word, questioning. Like the sharp sting of fresh air from the sea. Not the decay he was imagining. Quiet, then, more unsure than Astarion will have ever heard him: ]
Can you โ is there anything else? [ Like rot, pungent and terrible. Like death, advancing on his body. His other hand shifts higher, tightening on Astarionโs thigh. ]
no subject
This is ridiculous. He ought to deliver Astarion another shock on principle. Instead, his fingers curl, just brushing the back of Astarionโs hand where it holds his pulse hostage. ]
Like ozone. [ Voice ticking up at the end of the word, questioning. Like the sharp sting of fresh air from the sea. Not the decay he was imagining. Quiet, then, more unsure than Astarion will have ever heard him: ]
Can you โ is there anything else? [ Like rot, pungent and terrible. Like death, advancing on his body. His other hand shifts higher, tightening on Astarionโs thigh. ]