[Gale could have remained in that kiss forever, but he lets Astarion trail southward, the orb in his chest brighter with every kiss left upon his chest. The lines ignite along his neck, the magic touching his jawline. As he watches Astarion with a look somewhere between ardor and adoration, color blazes across his face, illuminated by the glow from his chest.]
I don't think I'll ever tire of you saying that.
[He hand slides into Astarion's hair once more, fingers curling with delight as he breathes in, his chest rising to meet his lover's lips. As much as he wants to feel more of Astarion's skin against his, he knows he must be patient - he refuses to make demands, to push him too far just yet. This is about his comfort.
As for Gale, he's just happy to be loved, no matter what form it may take.]
no subject
I don't think I'll ever tire of you saying that.
[He hand slides into Astarion's hair once more, fingers curling with delight as he breathes in, his chest rising to meet his lover's lips. As much as he wants to feel more of Astarion's skin against his, he knows he must be patient - he refuses to make demands, to push him too far just yet. This is about his comfort.
As for Gale, he's just happy to be loved, no matter what form it may take.]