[Gods, that groan does things to him. Gale would love to describe such 'things,' assigning positive attributes to the sensations and reactions he's experiencing throughout his body while describing in full detail how they make him feel emotionally, but between the lovesick haze, the increasing thunder from his heart, and that knee brushing against his arousal, he can barely string words together. He certainly tries, though.]
Astarion—
[Just the name will have to do; he closes his lips, stifling another moan that attempts to escape, cutting it short. As Astarion's hands press against his soft chest, Gale feels the hairs there stand on end, the scar of the orb aglow in the space between them. He tries words a second time:]
No one has... ever made me feel like this. Like you do.
no subject
Astarion—
[Just the name will have to do; he closes his lips, stifling another moan that attempts to escape, cutting it short. As Astarion's hands press against his soft chest, Gale feels the hairs there stand on end, the scar of the orb aglow in the space between them. He tries words a second time:]
No one has... ever made me feel like this. Like you do.