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Summary
“I am not eager to throw myself upon another altar for naught but scraps in return.” Gale steels himself with a deep breath. He speaks his peace to the wilds and the cosmos rather than his lover's face. “And yet. Marble skin, silver tongue... eyes like Moonsea rubies. Oh, you cast a fine altar, Astarion.”
With two discerning appetites, a deal to keep each other fed is the one thing that ties Astarion and Gale together. But the proverbial collar slips all too easily around Gale's throat, the lead feels right in Astarion's unchained hands, and both men think they've bested the other in a game neither should be playing.
In any case. As the greats say in lanceboard: there is no shame in losing to a stronger foe.