[It's an interesting turn for Astarion to be the one to stretch his neck in offering, but not an unwelcome one. Gale's lips are hot like a brand against his skin, and he wants to be marked. He offers a soft sigh in answer to Gale's moans, the whisper of his name. His fingers trace up the line of his lover's spine, indulging in the soft divots of his flesh.]
no subject
You are exquisite, love.