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Summary
“You were so fucking close today, weren’t you? Don’t think I didn’t see it.” And the innuendo is not lost in any sort of irony, whispered into his ears as it is now. Astarion twists his wrist and lazily pumps himself with each syllable. Being as close as they are, water deflects off of him and onto Gale, aided by the angles and planes of his chest. “Just shy of grasping that personal best record, hmm—a stroke or two behind the finish line? How exhausting for you.”
But the embedded indignation softens then, held within a breath. He stops his ministrations—just holds him, squeezes. Says something innocent, as if Gale won’t hear him:
“My little star pupil.”
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an indoor cycling au, in which professor dekarios bites off more than he can chew at his local cycling studio, SoulCoin