[Bedroom talk is often a blurry area; things are often said in the heat of the moment to fan the flames, but even now, Gale is almost painfully sincere. He looks up along the long, lithe line of Astarion's body as the vampire makes himself comfortable against the pillows, pleased to see him at ease, a mischievous glint in his gaze as his smile quirks to one side.]
Let it not be forgotten that I am a man of great appetites.
[For far more than just the party's magic knick-knacks, he'll have it known.
With Astarion's shirt untucked, he bows his head to press an open kiss against the flat plane of his stomach, pushing his poet's shirt upwards so that it bunches around his ribs and gives Gale the freedom to move his palms and careful fingertips against bare skin as that heat begins to bloom beneath it. His tongue flicks against the spot just below Astarion's navel before he begins to work at his trousers, shifting to ease them down over his hips to reveal the smallclothes beneath, and once again he feels something stick in his throat as his pulse quickens, blood hot and racing in a way he'd nearly forgotten it could.]
There you are.
[He sits up on his knees so that he can more smoothly relieve Astarion of those ridiculously snug leather pants, carefully helping him out of them one leg at a time without faltering, possessing of an almost surprising confidence. He tosses them aside, haphazard, and his gaze hungrily rakes over Astarion's bared form, his breath short for a moment.
Truly, he is heart-stoppingly lovely.
He settles between the vampire's knees again, lowering his head to press a kiss against the inside of his thigh before reaching to gently hook his fingers beneath the waistband of his smallclothes.]
Tell me what you like as we go; I'll adapt accordingly.
[ A point of disconnect that Astarion won't be aware of for some time—the bedroom is a place for performance, for insincerities and playing to your role. It might not have always been that way for the elf, but it's all he's come to remember. He doesn't even consider that it could be otherwise, other than to the extent that they both may find some mutual pleasure for once.
But he will give Gale credit where is due, the man has a way with words. Certainly enough times to pull a genuine laugh out of Astarion from time to time, rather than just his usual merriment at a show of cruelty. As such, the twitch of his lips and the light in his eyes is honest amusement, a laugh thinly veiled with a sharp huff through his nose. ]
I always knew you were a greedy thing.
[ He's had mouths and all their accessories over every inch of his body, but the way that Gale kisses his stomach is so...different. Astarion knows he's on display, knows just the right way to keen and arch his back and present himself, but instead he tries to relax. His stomach muscles flutter as he watches, lifting his hips just enough to assist in the removal of his trousers, but offers no further help than that.
Astarion is rarely embarrassed in this setting. Objectively he is attractive enough for enough people to do what he does well. Yet he finds that he is, quietly, a little nervous that he may not add up to all the finer things that Gale has come to enjoy in his own life. Even before they got along as they do now, he pegged Gale for a man of taste. But his worries are quickly abated with the abject look of hunger in the wizard's eyes once he's just down to his smalls.
A smirk take his lips and Astarion brings a curled finger to his cheek as he allows some of his curls to fall to the side just so. It's a reliable look, one that exudes confidence but a lack of urgency. He hopes it still does the trick. The kiss to his thigh earns a pleased hum and Astarion as half a mind to pet Gale's hair approvingly—
—when the man surprises him again.
"Tell me what you like..."
It hits him. The answer should be obvious. Everyone knows what they like. What the body loves to respond to...except him.
"Tell me what you like as we go..."
He wants...not just instructions, but updates. Requests? Feedback...consent.
"I'll adapt accordingly."
And...he'll listen?
Astarion hopes he doesn't show the way his brain needs to stop to process that. He could swear his tadpole is similarly floored, but he knows that's ridiculous. So he quickly tries to make up for it, reaching out to move some of Gale's hair out of his face as means to distract from any unnecessary pauses in the flow of the moment. ]
Of course, darling. I'll tell you when you're doing well.
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Let it not be forgotten that I am a man of great appetites.
[For far more than just the party's magic knick-knacks, he'll have it known.
With Astarion's shirt untucked, he bows his head to press an open kiss against the flat plane of his stomach, pushing his poet's shirt upwards so that it bunches around his ribs and gives Gale the freedom to move his palms and careful fingertips against bare skin as that heat begins to bloom beneath it. His tongue flicks against the spot just below Astarion's navel before he begins to work at his trousers, shifting to ease them down over his hips to reveal the smallclothes beneath, and once again he feels something stick in his throat as his pulse quickens, blood hot and racing in a way he'd nearly forgotten it could.]
There you are.
[He sits up on his knees so that he can more smoothly relieve Astarion of those ridiculously snug leather pants, carefully helping him out of them one leg at a time without faltering, possessing of an almost surprising confidence. He tosses them aside, haphazard, and his gaze hungrily rakes over Astarion's bared form, his breath short for a moment.
Truly, he is heart-stoppingly lovely.
He settles between the vampire's knees again, lowering his head to press a kiss against the inside of his thigh before reaching to gently hook his fingers beneath the waistband of his smallclothes.]
Tell me what you like as we go; I'll adapt accordingly.
no subject
But he will give Gale credit where is due, the man has a way with words. Certainly enough times to pull a genuine laugh out of Astarion from time to time, rather than just his usual merriment at a show of cruelty. As such, the twitch of his lips and the light in his eyes is honest amusement, a laugh thinly veiled with a sharp huff through his nose. ]
I always knew you were a greedy thing.
[ He's had mouths and all their accessories over every inch of his body, but the way that Gale kisses his stomach is so...different. Astarion knows he's on display, knows just the right way to keen and arch his back and present himself, but instead he tries to relax. His stomach muscles flutter as he watches, lifting his hips just enough to assist in the removal of his trousers, but offers no further help than that.
Astarion is rarely embarrassed in this setting. Objectively he is attractive enough for enough people to do what he does well. Yet he finds that he is, quietly, a little nervous that he may not add up to all the finer things that Gale has come to enjoy in his own life. Even before they got along as they do now, he pegged Gale for a man of taste. But his worries are quickly abated with the abject look of hunger in the wizard's eyes once he's just down to his smalls.
A smirk take his lips and Astarion brings a curled finger to his cheek as he allows some of his curls to fall to the side just so. It's a reliable look, one that exudes confidence but a lack of urgency. He hopes it still does the trick. The kiss to his thigh earns a pleased hum and Astarion as half a mind to pet Gale's hair approvingly—
—when the man surprises him again.
"Tell me what you like..."
It hits him. The answer should be obvious. Everyone knows what they like. What the body loves to respond to...except him.
"Tell me what you like as we go..."
He wants...not just instructions, but updates. Requests? Feedback...consent.
"I'll adapt accordingly."
And...he'll listen?
Astarion hopes he doesn't show the way his brain needs to stop to process that. He could swear his tadpole is similarly floored, but he knows that's ridiculous. So he quickly tries to make up for it, reaching out to move some of Gale's hair out of his face as means to distract from any unnecessary pauses in the flow of the moment. ]
Of course, darling. I'll tell you when you're doing well.