[There's a moment where Gale feels too bare, as though a vital piece of himself were missing and its loss were something to be ashamed of; he swallows the heaviness in his throat as he watches the earring fall to the floor, vanishing into the creases of the garments lying in the illusory grass beneath them, discarded just as they were.

His eyes flick back to Astarion, the weight in his chest subsiding as the vampire's voice draws him him. He can't help himself, leaning forward to place a kiss to the corner of Astarion's lips, then upon them in earnest; his smiles into the kiss, his skin warm enough to rival the bath.]

I trust you with my body, mortal and frail and fallible as it is. I trust you with my heart, a once-broken thing I believed beyond repair. I trust you, Astarion, the future Mr. Dekarios. Perhaps that power is what I want to see. A momentary imbalance in your favor.