mystracal: ({counterspell})
Gale of Waterdeep ([personal profile] mystracal) wrote 2024-08-03 07:46 am (UTC)

[Color blossoms all around them, both in the sky and among the illusory grass. Gem-like flowers crystallize from the taller stems, their petals as translucent as tinted glass, their facets glittering in the sun's rays; they mirror the stars still visible in the clouds of dawn, flickering lights peering through their vibrant hues.

Though the conjured world around them remains serene, a tempest builds in Gale as he loses himself in Astarion, in the irrepressible want and need. Words tumble from his lips as it swallows him whole: Astarion's name a half-dozen times, gentle whispers of adoration, sweet promises he would keep could he remember them through the haze of desire.]


Please—

[He murmurs, pleading, struggling to hold on as his body tenses and stills; he was so close already, and every second he has Astarion wrapped around him feels like wonderful agony.]

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