That is to say — [ an inevitable stumble here, flush climbing his throat and heating the skin beneath Astarion’s fine hand. ]
It wouldn’t surprise you to know I rarely stop thinking. [ A self-deprecating chuckle. His fingers drift to the nape of Astarion’s neck, curling in the short hairs there. Sometimes, from the way Astarion looks at him, Gale thinks ge might be able to hear his pulsing, twisting thoughts as they spiral out of control. ] I can’t. [ A flaw in his brilliant systems that predates the orb and Mystra both.] But when you drink from me, everything quiets.
[ His other hand flattens, a possessive pressure at the small of Astarion’s back. ]
And after, it — the marks. [ The ones he couldn’t stop touching the first time or the second, caught in the act while they trailed behind Tav. ] It’s proof of what happened. That it happened with you. [ Not Mystra, nor anyone else. His gaze swivels up, searching the lush canopy above them for purchase as he decides whether to embarrass himself further. His fingers drum against Astarion’s spine, stalling. ] It’s like you’ve staked your claim. [ Oh, god. Hastily — ] Or something like that.
[ Says the man who delighted in being called Chosen, who still wears the earring Mystra crafted from purest weave and bestowed upon him as a token. A mark, for all to see. ]
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corporeity) wrote2023-12-15 07:38 pm
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It wouldn’t surprise you to know I rarely stop thinking. [ A self-deprecating chuckle. His fingers drift to the nape of Astarion’s neck, curling in the short hairs there. Sometimes, from the way Astarion looks at him, Gale thinks ge might be able to hear his pulsing, twisting thoughts as they spiral out of control. ] I can’t. [ A flaw in his brilliant systems that predates the orb and Mystra both.] But when you drink from me, everything quiets.
[ His other hand flattens, a possessive pressure at the small of Astarion’s back. ]
And after, it — the marks. [ The ones he couldn’t stop touching the first time or the second, caught in the act while they trailed behind Tav. ] It’s proof of what happened. That it happened with you. [ Not Mystra, nor anyone else. His gaze swivels up, searching the lush canopy above them for purchase as he decides whether to embarrass himself further. His fingers drum against Astarion’s spine, stalling. ] It’s like you’ve staked your claim. [ Oh, god. Hastily — ] Or something like that.
[ Says the man who delighted in being called Chosen, who still wears the earring Mystra crafted from purest weave and bestowed upon him as a token. A mark, for all to see. ]