[Trust Gale to take a single word and turn it into verse. A breathless laugh draws from Astarion's throat as he curls his fingers against the nape of his lover's neck. Despite the distraction, Gale is doing quite well on making good on his promise to treat Astarion properly tonight. Each touch sparks a new warmth in him, each one feeding the embers that curl deep in his belly. He wants Gale's touch on him, always.]

I wouldn't say that, dearest. You seem to have found a fine assortment of suitable words.

[He can't argue with Gale's actions, though. He gives a low groan, letting Gale feel the way it reverberates in his throat.]

Do you want to show me what else that clever mouth of yours can do?