[Astarion notices that pause, the hint of red. It's like a dangling purse string begging to be cut. There's no need for him to know what Gale thought it might have been, but for it to be something that had Gale act against his better judgement itches at him. He wants to know.
He turns his gaze to Gale's hands as they work over his chest and shoulder, affording the man some semblance of privacy while he pries.]
no subject
He turns his gaze to Gale's hands as they work over his chest and shoulder, affording the man some semblance of privacy while he pries.]
Dearest, you can tell me what it was.