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Fingers thoughtlessly tap at his scar, trying to take his mind off his persistent erection. Gale knows he shouldn’t. He knows. It’s a habitual response, born from repeated previous encounters. And not to mention the boundaries he’d be crossing.
He shouldn’t...
Gale takes a deep breath, hanging his head as the warm water rained down on him. It would be terribly inappropriate. Astarion was his friend! Not to mention downstairs, with Amy and Wyll and Karlach, right now. “Fuck, Gale,” he groans, closing his eyes and trying to will his hard-on into compliance. He was not going to masturbate. Gale was going to ignore this fear-adrenaline induced erection. He was going to shower, put himself together and put on his heart monitor, all before rejoining everyone downstairs. It was a simple plan. Gale just had to see it through and all would be as it should.
It was a simple plan.
Gale made it through a purely practical scrubbing of his body, his fingers never lingering no matter how strong his desire flared. It’s when he was washing his hair that his simple plan slips out of his grasp and down the drain.
Having his eyes shut is natural; it’s a defense against the shampoo suds. The downside is that it’s all too easy for imaginations to wander behind closed eyelids.
The hands carding though his hair are pale. Gale leans his head back into the touch, under the stream of warmth. It’s not the smartest move, as it opens his neck and chest for the exploration of chilled hands. His own hands follow the path of imagined-fingers, once again tracing over the scar. His cock throbs, his arousal demanding attention, and Gale’s eyes open.
Shame begins to creep in, knowing he was thinking of Astarion just moments ago. Imagining Astarion here, sharing this shower with him... Naked.
“Get a hold of yourself, Dekarios.” Of course, he tries to go back to his simple plan. Scrub, rinse, leave. But the lust in his veins wouldn’t settle. Not without an offering.
A rush of pleasure runs up his spine when Gale wraps a hand around his neglected erection. As his eyes flutter shut, he sees drenched silver curls and a dangerous smile. Gale’s heart stutters and he sucks in a breath. He quickly tries to turn his thoughts off, to think of the pleasurable slide of skin on skin. Gale already caved in to masturbating. He couldn’t, in good faith, get off while thinking of Astarion.
It was an intoxicating idea, though. A private fantasy.
Astarion’s hand is cold where he touches Gale, who’s head has hit the wall of the shower. Gale chances to look at the other man, and immediately moans low in his throat. Astarion was handsome always, but in this moment, there’s a vulnerability that Gale had seen glimpses of, that he wants more of from the blond. (He wants so much more of Astarion.)
His strokes are slow, at least at first. He’s trying to ignore the shameful fantasies of Astarion. Gale tries thinking of other attractive men, women, anyone. His traitorous mind is set on Astarion, however.
When it’s clear that fantasies won’t tempt Gale, his mind offers memories. Practices and skates when they were bound by necessity to be close, but also everything in between and beyond.
Thursday nights, the debut party. God, when Astarion caught him writing in the kitchen.
Gale’s hand picks up speed with each memory. Perhaps it is worse that he knows how gentle Astarion can be. The danger isn’t Astarion, but how close Astarion is. Not that Astarion isn’t dangerous. He is. Dangerous in a beautiful way that Gale craves rather than fears.
Gale knows he’s close. He can feel it. It’s in the way he slumps against the wall and presses his lips shut to keep his moans muffled beneath the shower stream.
All too soon and not soon enough, Gale is coming into his hand. He gasps heavy breaths through the steam. His body is stated, finally. It allows him to actually focus on his shower and get clean. He needed to. Not only did he need to meet with everyone downstairs, but if Gale didn’t focus on his immediate actions he would slip into the darker thoughts lingering at the edges of his mind. The thoughts that reminded him of all the boundaries he just crossed.
“Fuck.”