[That groan reverberates through the whole of Astarion's body. He's so used to putting on a show of enjoying himself, twisting the right way, faking his moans and sounds of pleasure. But the pleasure that Gale draws from him is something wholly different. It's not for show, not a performance. Astarion whimpers and presses his cheek into the pillow beneath him, putting his free hand to his mouth, biting at his knuckles as a sharp, pleading moan slips from his lips.]
no subject
Gale, gods, you--you're perfect, you're everything--hnngh.
[Words fail him again as his hips jerk at the touch to his ass, his entrance. He spreads his legs wider, inviting Gale in, asking for more.]