[Gale's indiscretions are a symphony to Astarion's ears. Each one leaves him wanting more, hungry for the next crescendo, the sound of their hips driving together a sharp staccato in the quite night air. He finds himself seeking the sweat that runs down Gale's neck with his lips, his tongue tracing the glow of the orbs power beneath the skin. It's not quite the same as his blood but it's certainly the next best thing, the salty musk rich on his tongue.
Yet unlike the wanton moans that he's so adept at letting spill from his lips in the throes of passion, with Gale he finds those sounds caught in his throat. In their place he whimpers, he whines. He finds himself breathing heavy and thick, his lips trying to make words against his lover's skin, to trace the shape of his name along his pulse, but each one is choked with his fervent desire. He feels overwhelmed, drawn tight like a bowstring as he pushes closer and closer to his climax.]
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Yet unlike the wanton moans that he's so adept at letting spill from his lips in the throes of passion, with Gale he finds those sounds caught in his throat. In their place he whimpers, he whines. He finds himself breathing heavy and thick, his lips trying to make words against his lover's skin, to trace the shape of his name along his pulse, but each one is choked with his fervent desire. He feels overwhelmed, drawn tight like a bowstring as he pushes closer and closer to his climax.]