[The gentle touch is enough to interrupt whatever gripped Astarion, to drag him back into the moment. But the disgust still lingers. He turns away from Gale's searching gaze, pressing his face into the hand at his cheek.]
I just--I need a moment.
[Why this? Why now? Astarion tries to grasp for the sensation he had even a few moments ago, when he was intoxicated by the sound and the feeling of Gale. It's gone though. In its place is his master's voice, berating and degrading him for what Cazador forced him to become. Here he is, nothing more than a harlot, a courtesan. Supplicating himself on his knees for a scrap of what? Safety? Comfort? Love? Impossible things he can never have.
He grabs at Gale's wrist, anchoring himself to the touch, trying to ground himself. He is here, in this terrible body, trained by rote to be pleasing to others, to draw them in with lips and tongue, with skilled touches and honeyed words. He shudders from the thought of it, pulling away from Gale, but keeping his wrist held. Was he so pathetic to think that he could have this? His eyes finally meet Gale's again. He's present in the moment once more, but all yearning and desire have left his gaze. He's wounded when he looks to Gale again, his expression strained with an unspoken plea for forgiveness.]
no subject
I just--I need a moment.
[Why this? Why now? Astarion tries to grasp for the sensation he had even a few moments ago, when he was intoxicated by the sound and the feeling of Gale. It's gone though. In its place is his master's voice, berating and degrading him for what Cazador forced him to become. Here he is, nothing more than a harlot, a courtesan. Supplicating himself on his knees for a scrap of what? Safety? Comfort? Love? Impossible things he can never have.
He grabs at Gale's wrist, anchoring himself to the touch, trying to ground himself. He is here, in this terrible body, trained by rote to be pleasing to others, to draw them in with lips and tongue, with skilled touches and honeyed words. He shudders from the thought of it, pulling away from Gale, but keeping his wrist held. Was he so pathetic to think that he could have this? His eyes finally meet Gale's again. He's present in the moment once more, but all yearning and desire have left his gaze. He's wounded when he looks to Gale again, his expression strained with an unspoken plea for forgiveness.]
I can't.