[With Astarion's nails digging into his jaw, Gale struggles to keep his smile from evening out into something entirely too sincere: confirmation escapes him in a whisper, this fiction they're weaving quickly driving the wizard toward unadulterated bliss.

For a man who prides himself on his mind, despite his proclivity to think too much, Gale finds himself happy to be relieved of that duty these days, particularly in the bedroom. There's no guesswork in what his partner wants when it's spoken outright, no grand but misguided gestures that could, at a moment's notice, send everything spiraling out of his control. He learned to second-guess himself after her, lost the confidence he'd once had in abundance. It's abandonment he fears; he wants the love he gives to be returned in equal measure.

And he is. Even if Gale didn't feel it in Astarion's gaze or hear it in his voice, he would know he is. Astarion might have given up his Ascension, but he doesn't need it to hold complete power over Gale in this moment. And as for Gale, he needn't worry about what is being kept from him as he had with Mystra because he gives himself to Astarion's control freely. They're not goddess and man, nor master and slave, but two broken shapes coming together to make a whole.]

Yes.

[He whispers it again after a breath, his heart hammering in his chest; he brings his hand to rest on Astarion's wrist, the other on Astarion's thigh moving inward, his fingers brushing against the base of his cock.]

I spent so long praying to someone undeserving. Believing I'd lost my purpose. Give me one, for I am yours. Let me worship you.