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It was your new goal to show Astarion all the gentle ways of love - consent and kindness and giving with no mal intent. He deserved it, even if he didn't think so.
It was slow-going at first. Late at night, sitting by the dying fire, you asked to hold his hand. He'd raised his eyebrow and made some snarky comment, but he still held his hand out for you. You pretended you didn't hear the way his breath hitched when you lightly traced his veins and knuckles. You didn't even really hold his hand; you supported your hand underneath his and felt along his skin with the other, but he was still so entranced.
The next day, while stumbling through rough undergrowth, he grabbed your hand. To keep you from falling flat on your face, he'd said. But once you were steady on your feet, he didn't let go. You didn't press the issue. You simply gave his hand a squeeze and continued on the path together.
Kissing was even harder to soften. It felt like too heavy a subject to bring up in any conversation. So you began once more at his hands.
Late at night, laying together after he drank from you, delightfully lightheaded and tired, you brought his hand to your lips. You didn't even think about it beforehand. All you knew was you wanted to share your appreciation with him, tell him how grateful you were to have his trust like this. You wished you'd been present enough to watch as his eyes stared in awe at your lips as they trailed kisses along his palm to his wrist. You'd even moved his hand so his palm cradled your cheek and leaned into it, before sleep lured you away. Astarion wished he could have stayed there all night, holding your cheek and watching as your eyes shifted beneath your lids, but all too soon the time came for him to leave and find more filling prey.
And while kissing was still too hard to talk about, no extra attention was brought to the way you'd both kiss the other's palms and wrists.