[Gale also finds himself reluctant to change anything, so enthralled by the heat between them, by that startled moan and the thrum of the orb in his chest. His tongue explores Astarion's mouth as though it would sate the lust that's overtaking him. When Gale thinks of his lover - of his ruby eyes hot and angry with primal, unbridled rage on his behalf - he's not sure anything can.
He finally has to pull away, his breath hitching as he murmurs Astarion's name, whispered between them as though it were a secret. Though one conjured hand remains in Astarion's hair, raking his scalp, another appears to grab his ass and give it a squeeze, then a third to run along the side of his hip, encouraging him to continue rocking against Gale's thigh; each hand is imbued with the same tingling magic as their creator, and seem to share in his wanton desire.]
no subject
He finally has to pull away, his breath hitching as he murmurs Astarion's name, whispered between them as though it were a secret. Though one conjured hand remains in Astarion's hair, raking his scalp, another appears to grab his ass and give it a squeeze, then a third to run along the side of his hip, encouraging him to continue rocking against Gale's thigh; each hand is imbued with the same tingling magic as their creator, and seem to share in his wanton desire.]