[While not in danger of passing out, Gale is certainly pallid as Astarion pulls away, the shadows under his eyes just a little deeper, the violet tendrils reaching from the orb all the darker against his complexion. And yet, he smiles; he can't keep himself from smiling as he pulls his hand from the back of Astarion's head to his cheek, cradling it tenderly, his fingers brushing against the lobe of his pointed ear. It's so novel to see that color across his usually pale skin, endearing in a new way - it's as though Gale brought him back to life, however briefly.
And perhaps he has, in a sense. With his other hand, Gale pushes off the bed onto his elbow, just enough to bump his forehead against Astarion's in an affectionate nuzzle. He likes him so close.]
I'll assume the taste was more than acceptable.
[The noises Astarion made while drinking told him that much, but he wants to hear it from the vampire himself.]
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And perhaps he has, in a sense. With his other hand, Gale pushes off the bed onto his elbow, just enough to bump his forehead against Astarion's in an affectionate nuzzle. He likes him so close.]
I'll assume the taste was more than acceptable.
[The noises Astarion made while drinking told him that much, but he wants to hear it from the vampire himself.]