[While consistently confident that he's handsome, Gale has seen the others at camp, and it's hard not to feel a little insecure when compared to Astarion's lithe muscle, Halsin's bulk, Wyll's heroic posture and grace. He's historically avoided bathing with his companions, always undressing in the privacy of his closed tent; his camp clothing is comfortable and lush, not tight and revealing of the body underneath. Aware that his mind and intellect are his truth strengths, he's always endeavored to showcase them when given the chance.
But as Gale finishes drying his hair, the damp strands falling all around his face, he catches the way Astarion looks at him - like he's something to be treasured, like every part of him is worthy of worship. That's a look not earned by Gale's magic, but given to his body, to Gale himself. Mystra never looked at him in such a way, certainly not in regards to his physical form.]
Gods, don't look at me like that.
[He laughs as he gives Astarion a smile, somewhere between sheepish and smitten, before continuing to dry off.]
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But as Gale finishes drying his hair, the damp strands falling all around his face, he catches the way Astarion looks at him - like he's something to be treasured, like every part of him is worthy of worship. That's a look not earned by Gale's magic, but given to his body, to Gale himself. Mystra never looked at him in such a way, certainly not in regards to his physical form.]
Gods, don't look at me like that.
[He laughs as he gives Astarion a smile, somewhere between sheepish and smitten, before continuing to dry off.]