[Astarion groans at the first hot press of Gale's cock into his body. Even though he's had it more frequently as of late, it's still a marvel every time. The thick heat radiating inside of him, the sharp scent of Gale's arousal flooding his senses, and knowing that Gale desires him because he's loved, because he's wanted and needed, is near overwhelming. He nearly forgets himself, clinging tightly to Gale's hair, his heels dragging over Gale's lower back to urge him on.
His eyes open to the sunlight above. He can't remember when he closed them, but the sight is blurred now with tears at the edges of his vision and a pleading moan drawing from his throat. There might have been some quip on his lips, some flirtation over how Gale could think of him like this at the dinner table, in the presence of Tara and his own mother, but it's long forgotten. Instead, he draws a breath to push words out, his voice thick with lust.]
no subject
His eyes open to the sunlight above. He can't remember when he closed them, but the sight is blurred now with tears at the edges of his vision and a pleading moan drawing from his throat. There might have been some quip on his lips, some flirtation over how Gale could think of him like this at the dinner table, in the presence of Tara and his own mother, but it's long forgotten. Instead, he draws a breath to push words out, his voice thick with lust.]
Gods—every time, you are perfection.