[ Gale looses an undignified hiss of breath, shoulders jolting up as Astarion leans over him. He supposes that he should be grateful that he’s still upright, when he felt as if a strong wind could bowl him over earlier.
In his addled state, Astarion’s invitation invokes how last night ended first — before he recalls his devil’s bargain. A crackle in the air draws his focus as he turns to meet Astarion, eyes quickly dropping to his throat. Oh. Dawning realisation, yawning hunger. It’s immediately clear that the arcane ache, not the blood-loss, slowed him today. ]
[ snappish, ] I’m not so insatiable. [ Oh, but he is, discretion forgotten. He reaches out on instinct, only stopping when his fingers brush Astarion’s cool skin to curl under the bright stone — overcome with the longing to consume, to devour. The orb shudders in his chest. It must be satisfied. Eyes glassy, he fantasises about yanking the necklace free of Astarion’s neck in his desperation (and of leveraging it to lean in for another kiss, like he failed to do last night).
In the end, he does neither, a tremor running down to the tips of his fingers. ]
Where’d you find this?
[ It’s a hushed, near reverent question. He can taste the Weave in his mouth as his thumb brushes over the set of the stone. The necklace is the fine work of a clever mage, infused with a spell of its own. A potent stopper for the cataclysm in his chest. A potential asset, if their other companions have spied it. ]
no subject
In his addled state, Astarion’s invitation invokes how last night ended first — before he recalls his devil’s bargain. A crackle in the air draws his focus as he turns to meet Astarion, eyes quickly dropping to his throat. Oh. Dawning realisation, yawning hunger. It’s immediately clear that the arcane ache, not the blood-loss, slowed him today. ]
[ snappish, ] I’m not so insatiable. [ Oh, but he is, discretion forgotten. He reaches out on instinct, only stopping when his fingers brush Astarion’s cool skin to curl under the bright stone — overcome with the longing to consume, to devour. The orb shudders in his chest. It must be satisfied. Eyes glassy, he fantasises about yanking the necklace free of Astarion’s neck in his desperation (and of leveraging it to lean in for another kiss, like he failed to do last night).
In the end, he does neither, a tremor running down to the tips of his fingers. ]
Where’d you find this?
[ It’s a hushed, near reverent question. He can taste the Weave in his mouth as his thumb brushes over the set of the stone. The necklace is the fine work of a clever mage, infused with a spell of its own. A potent stopper for the cataclysm in his chest. A potential asset, if their other companions have spied it. ]