[Astarion's breath catches when Gale's teeth catch his fingertips before he offers softer attention to his wrist, his palm. All very important parts of a rogue if he's to do his job well - and he is very good. But it's not the only thing he's good at. He leans closer, his lips brushing just beneath Gale's earlobe before his teeth come out to play, gently teasing.]

Mm, you. The man behind all those anecdotes and near-lectures. [Astarion smiles, looking utterly self-indulgent despite the fact that they are on the cold ground only gods know where.] I knew there had to be more to you. Even if you brushed me off.

[Astarion's gaze drifts lower and his hand follows until his fingers brush over the dark, wispy lines curving up toward Gale's neck like smoke. Neither of them can really hide the worst parts of themselves, as it were, when they are left so bare. He finds himself wondering if it hurts and decides not to ask. Not now, not here. Perhaps not ever. Not when Gale is pleasantly breathless with warm cheeks. Not when he seems to be enjoying himself with this distraction.]

I suppose we all have hidden depths.