Gale chuckles at Astarion’s quip. “It certainly is alone time, just not in the way you would probably expect.” The suggestion wasn’t flirtatious or even suggestive, and instead was surprisingly intimate, tantric even, beneath its seams. He says it so casually that his words could be taken as a simple sentence with nothing else to it.
The wizard naturally enjoys the way Astarion shares his observations of the tent, the slightest swelling of his pride dancing beneath his skin. Though the acknowledgement of Gale’s ego dwindles as his thoughts trail the hand now teetering closer and closer along his midriff, his mind all but fizzling out as soon as Astarion is a breath away, the vampire’s voice ghosting his flesh as if it were the tantalizing caress of diligent fingers. Gale’s breath threatens to catch in his throat, eyes darting down to the man’s lips, that same desire he had in the forest a glint in his darkened gaze. The moment was fleeting, Gale immediately lulled back to reality as Astarion drew away, and he has to stifle the shudder that nearly overtakes him.
It was at that moment that Gale realized how starved he was. Of touch, of affection. He preferred not to linger on the thought.
He so desperately wanted to close that distance, but this was still so fresh, so new, and he didn’t want to push Astarion away. Gale knew that the vampire had a certain aversion to closeness, that he sought control in any given situation — all signs that Gale understood came from a piece of Astarion’s past that had him develop such mechanisms. He didn’t dare to ever ask for details, it wasn’t his place, no matter how curious he was. For now, he was satisfied with the bits and pieces that were necessary to share, that he had overheard from Astarion talking to the others, and what Gale could decipher by putting the pieces together.
Gale laughed as Astarion teased him for his book of choice, willing the pages to turn with a subtle twist of his wrist. “This is one of my favorites,” he begins, a sincere smile on his face as he admires the tome. “I would read this many nights back in my tower during my time of seclusion. It helped to escape into the world and story that rests in these pages.” His fingers trailed along the words, enjoying the feeling of worn parchment engraved with long-dried ink.
He took a moment to adjust himself, letting his legs extend out in front of him as he reclined against the plentiful amount of pillows. Still upright, Gale shifted the tome in his lap for Astarion to have a better view of its contents so they both could read. He dared then, allowing his left hand to gingerly slip along Astarion’s lower back, gathering both of them just a bit closer together.
“It tells the story of a fae prince turned dullahan, betrayed by his court and thrust into an adventure to find himself and the ones he loved…”
