[Gale wants to keep it concise; given he's barely maintaining his composure as it is, he should keep it concise. However, is what is a typically Gale fashion, he explains:]

There's pressure. Not entirely uncomfortable as much as... anticipatory. Like watching- a wave prepare to crest against the shore.

[He moves his hips against Astarion's hand, sucking in a breath as he adjusts; when he exhales, it's punctuated, stuttering - and yet, his lips curl in a smile.]

To know I am in- [a small gasp, his arms trembling] -am in your capable hands and- [and another] -and that you- gods.