[Even the ever-analytical, overthinking Gale Dekarios doesn't ponder the potential details too long as he lets himself be swept up in Astarion's touch. The hand in his hair is encouraging, his own slipping to Astarion's forearms to pull him closer, his fingers dancing across the distance as a breeze hits them both—
And unfortunately, said breeze riles something in the trees; it skitters away, and the ensuing noise of rustling branches and disturbed foliage draws Gale's attention away from Astarion. His body tenses, fingers tightening on Astarion as his pulse quickens, his eyes darting, searching all around them.
He catches himself only a couple of seconds later, but it's enough to make his momentary panic obvious. He swallows; his throat feels tight, thick as he tries to recompose himself, to make light of his trepidation.]
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And unfortunately, said breeze riles something in the trees; it skitters away, and the ensuing noise of rustling branches and disturbed foliage draws Gale's attention away from Astarion. His body tenses, fingers tightening on Astarion as his pulse quickens, his eyes darting, searching all around them.
He catches himself only a couple of seconds later, but it's enough to make his momentary panic obvious. He swallows; his throat feels tight, thick as he tries to recompose himself, to make light of his trepidation.]
Perhaps we, ah. Ought not tarry here.