[ The kiss is sweet. Astarion needn't search for another word for it, doesn't think of anything else in the moment but Gale, the thorny mass that has wound itself around any conception of intimacy in his head dissipating for a singular beat as he allows himself to want, to be wanted. He feels dizzy, almost, sensation overriding the myriad calculations that have characterized most intimate moments before this as he tilts his head into Gale's hand, meets his eyes with affection clear in his own. ]
Naughty.
[ Just as breathless, carried on a laugh. ]
I ought to have made you wait.
[ But there's no real heat or intention behind his words, just a gentle sort of teasing. It feels, almost, like stretching out the tiny shred of certainty he feels like so much dough over a larger plate — letting it fill him up, closing up the gaps so there's no room for anything else right now, even if fear or doubt set their claws in him later. Right now, there's just this.
This, as in the kiss Astarion presses to Gale's lips in return, confidence begetting more of the giddy same as his fingers curl in Gale's sleeve. He's almost shy when he pulls back, as though taken aback by his own desire. ]
Nothing more until midnight! [ Though he wavers on the spot, uncertain if he really wants to pull away. ] For the sake of tradition.
no subject
Naughty.
[ Just as breathless, carried on a laugh. ]
I ought to have made you wait.
[ But there's no real heat or intention behind his words, just a gentle sort of teasing. It feels, almost, like stretching out the tiny shred of certainty he feels like so much dough over a larger plate — letting it fill him up, closing up the gaps so there's no room for anything else right now, even if fear or doubt set their claws in him later. Right now, there's just this.
This, as in the kiss Astarion presses to Gale's lips in return, confidence begetting more of the giddy same as his fingers curl in Gale's sleeve. He's almost shy when he pulls back, as though taken aback by his own desire. ]
Nothing more until midnight! [ Though he wavers on the spot, uncertain if he really wants to pull away. ] For the sake of tradition.