[They stay together by way of hungering kisses as Gale rocks into Astarion's hand, more desperate, wanton cries breathed against his fangs and tongue; he rocks steadily, faster, his legs trembling, hands scraping against pale skin as seconds pass into minutes. He feels heat in his abdomen, burning all the way from his face, sparks of magic running down his spine.
Under normal circumstances, Gale might consider this to be a rather salacious endeavor, especially compared to their earlier intimacy: the two of them having an impromptu hand-fucking on a conjured couch after a very eventful day isn't exactly the height of romance. However, he can't help himself when he's safe in the company of Astarion: a man who wants him as he is, cherishes him, ravishes him. He may never be a god, but Astarion would want him all the same, even in his imperfect, flawed, currently poisonous body.
And if that isn't romantic, then Gale should reconsider his definition of the word.
The rhythm becomes uneven, uncontrolled until he can no longer contain himself. As Gale pulls back to take a breath, his body tenses - he bites his lip as he climaxes, stars dotting his vision, manifesting themselves around the tent via wild, instinctive magic. He rides that euphoria down, his hips jerking weakly as he catches his breath.]
By Mystra, I didn't... know I had that in me.
[He shivers, the onset of exhaustion quicker this time. Chances are high Wyll is taking the morning's cooking duties, as well.]
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Under normal circumstances, Gale might consider this to be a rather salacious endeavor, especially compared to their earlier intimacy: the two of them having an impromptu hand-fucking on a conjured couch after a very eventful day isn't exactly the height of romance. However, he can't help himself when he's safe in the company of Astarion: a man who wants him as he is, cherishes him, ravishes him. He may never be a god, but Astarion would want him all the same, even in his imperfect, flawed, currently poisonous body.
And if that isn't romantic, then Gale should reconsider his definition of the word.
The rhythm becomes uneven, uncontrolled until he can no longer contain himself. As Gale pulls back to take a breath, his body tenses - he bites his lip as he climaxes, stars dotting his vision, manifesting themselves around the tent via wild, instinctive magic. He rides that euphoria down, his hips jerking weakly as he catches his breath.]
By Mystra, I didn't... know I had that in me.
[He shivers, the onset of exhaustion quicker this time. Chances are high Wyll is taking the morning's cooking duties, as well.]