[ 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.
[He chuckles in response to the accusation, his breath rolling against the inside of Astarion's thigh; he is greedy, in his own way, with a taste for the finer things in life, though he has been known to enjoy its simplest pleasures, as well. Somehow, this feels like it may yet be a bit of both, though it seems a great risk to allow himself to get too much in his own head about it, knowing what he does about his tendency to overthink.
This is supposed to be fun, uncomplicated. They're meant to enjoy it for what it is, and now that he's well past any lingering nerves, he fully intends to do exactly that.
Touch, of course, is not the only way they're connected. Astarion's tadpole causes his own to stir, and he feels a sudden spike of surprise, disbelief even as Astarion reaches out to brush fingers against his hair, the feeling itself at odds with his words. It is so brief, so seamless, that at first Gale isn't certain where it had come from, except for the fact that he knows it wasn't from him.
He pauses just before he'd been about to relieve the other man of his smallclothes, resting his weight against one arm on the floor as he looks up the long, lean line of Astarion's body, gently raising a brow.]
Much appreciated. [His smile remains, even as he tries to parse that fleeting feeling.] Is this— alright?
[They are truly about to be at the point of no return, and there's a nagging at the back of his mind that pushes him to ask, to make sure.]
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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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This is supposed to be fun, uncomplicated. They're meant to enjoy it for what it is, and now that he's well past any lingering nerves, he fully intends to do exactly that.
Touch, of course, is not the only way they're connected. Astarion's tadpole causes his own to stir, and he feels a sudden spike of surprise, disbelief even as Astarion reaches out to brush fingers against his hair, the feeling itself at odds with his words. It is so brief, so seamless, that at first Gale isn't certain where it had come from, except for the fact that he knows it wasn't from him.
He pauses just before he'd been about to relieve the other man of his smallclothes, resting his weight against one arm on the floor as he looks up the long, lean line of Astarion's body, gently raising a brow.]
Much appreciated. [His smile remains, even as he tries to parse that fleeting feeling.] Is this— alright?
[They are truly about to be at the point of no return, and there's a nagging at the back of his mind that pushes him to ask, to make sure.]