[As Astarion's thumb sweeps across his lips, Gale chases after it with a soft kiss and a murmured 'Yes.' He's so desperate to serve, a penitent man before the altar that is Astarion; if the orb on his chest, dimly illuminated despite its dormant state, were not enough of a sign of his devotion, the fact he's half-hard already surely is.
Gale is eager, maybe too much as he leans forward just enough to place his hand on his partner's foot, sliding up his ankle, his leg; he doesn't ask for permission to do so, never breaking eye contact, awaiting a reaction.]
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Gale is eager, maybe too much as he leans forward just enough to place his hand on his partner's foot, sliding up his ankle, his leg; he doesn't ask for permission to do so, never breaking eye contact, awaiting a reaction.]