[Guided by Astarion, Gale slips his hands under the shirt, pushing the fabric off his shoulders and down his arms. As Astarion's pale skin comes into view, Gale brings his lips to his collarbone in a soft kiss; his eyes remain low, hiding both his adoration and a moment of private shame.]

Were I truly brilliant, I'd have had it done already.

[An even softer kiss, his lips barely brushing against Astarion's jaw as he pulls at his own shirt, preparing to bring it up and over his head.]

I think sometimes about the Crown. About what I could have given you with it.