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[thirsted]

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ASTARION

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[corporeity]

[ It’s a wonder that after months of intent observations, copious mental notes, and advances in understanding, Astarion can surprise him. A new tone of voice, light as the sea breeze. A touch that doesn’t quite conform to any previous patterns, long fingers mapping his features, the topography of his still curved mouth. Gale, in turn, tips into his hand (the safest place in the manor, despite lacking the wards and spells that would make that an empirical truth). ]

Always.

[ The only response needed — or, indeed, manageable — under the blinding rays, the impossible warmth of his attention. Any other answer would seem boyish and inadequate.

He tries to kiss Astarion’s fingertips, then the center of his palm. Eager to prove his affection, when words have failed him. Precious, it turns out, is the exact right thing to say — but reversed, truer of Astarion, so light in his arms. Gale folds into him, beard brushing his cheek, as though even the smallest distance between them is
unacceptable. ]

[ with a happy sigh, ] How I love to share that word with you.

[ to keep and be kept, whether by thievery or any other mechanism. ]