[This close, it's impossible to miss Gale's hesitation, his uncertainty. He doesn't want to break their play, but it still sits wrong. He's all too familiar with the desire to serve, to mask, to quickly cover any distress so the illusion can persist. He sees himself in Gale in this moment, and not the best parts of him.

He reaches up to take Gale's chin in his hand, tilting his head up so that their gazes meet. There's a heartbeat's worth of a pause as ruby eyes search the creases of his wizard's brow, the tension at the corners of his eyes. Astarion may not have the insight that the tadpole granted him into his lover's heart anymore, but he knows Gale all the same. There's something hiding inside his eyes, and Astarion wants to see it laid bare. They're both beyond hiding from one another.

He leans in for another kiss, seeking to soothe some of Gale's worry, but as he draws away he catches Gale's lip with a fang. He drags at the tender skin, pressing hard enough to draw a small trickle of blood.]

You ought to know better than to keep things from me, dearest. Your devotion is welcome, but your deceit is not.

[He pauses a moment, reordering his thoughts into the persona of this little play, the indulgent divine. It settles more comfortably than before, shifting to better fit their jagged edges. A little smirk creeps across his face, perhaps it's easier this way.]

I know your worship has been discarded before, that others fail to see your devotion for what it is. But I see you, Gale Dekarios. And I will treat what's mine with proper care. So, let's have it once more.

Should I use a heavy hand with you, pet? Is that how you wish to be cared for?