["We," there's the word. Between Gale's words and the arresting quality of his gaze, Astarion finds himself drawn in, drawn back. He blinks, his eyes coming into focus, and it's only through sheer force of will that he keeps the feeling of disgust and self-loathing from his face as he takes in the sincerity, the concern in Gale's eyes.
He lets his hand fall away from Gale's arm, suddenly feeling overexposed with his shirt off, his pants already worked part of the way down his hips. His lips draw to a thin line as his mind races, trying to fish words out of a blur of static and raw hurt.
When he finds them, they're quiet, less a whisper and more a soft murmur, meant for Gale's ears only.]
You could have taken what you wanted. I—would have allowed it.
no subject
He lets his hand fall away from Gale's arm, suddenly feeling overexposed with his shirt off, his pants already worked part of the way down his hips. His lips draw to a thin line as his mind races, trying to fish words out of a blur of static and raw hurt.
When he finds them, they're quiet, less a whisper and more a soft murmur, meant for Gale's ears only.]
You could have taken what you wanted. I—would have allowed it.