Chapter Text
“I’m keeping my eye on you.”
That’s what Gale told Rhune, the morning after the drow sorcerer had slaughtered that unfortunate young tiefling woman in his sleep, dried smears of her blood still apparent against the stark white vitiligo that covered the entirety of both of his palms. Gale had intended those words as a threat, and a warning. But now, it felt like the utterance was a curse that had somehow backfired.
Because over the course of the past two tendays, through many misadventures and too many close calls to count, through nights spent camped beneath the stars or in the alien luminescence of the Underdark, Gale found that the path of his gaze trailed after Rhune far more often than not. Maybe he’d been too diligent in his surveillance. But honestly— unfortunately? Definitely unexpectedly— Gale liked what he saw. A lot. Perhaps too much.
It was madness, to be entertaining the notion of physical attraction to someone when the looming threat of ceremorphosis was still very much ever-present, to say nothing of the equally devastating threat that Gale and the malignant power he harbored in his chest posed. It was madness, too, to be entertaining such thoughts about a person— a man! That was new for him as well. But in any case, it was beyond ridiculous to want to be near a man who was capable of savagely murdering someone while he wasn’t fully conscious, let alone wanting to kiss him. And… other things.
It was pure, utter madness, but Gale found himself drawn to it all anyway, drawn to the danger, drawn to Rhune like a moth to open flame.
And it hardly surprised him that others in their group felt similarly. Rhune was tall, and broad, and impossibly handsome in a way that Gale felt like he should probably be more than a little jealous of, but was mostly awed by. And he happened to be in possession of the nicest rear end Gale had ever seen.
But there was more to it than just that. Rhune had become the unspoken leader in this unlikely journey of theirs, and with good reason. He was unflinching in battle to the point of recklessness, but also knew when to fall back and regroup if needed. He tended to prioritize their collective safety as much as he could get away with, preferring to talk or sometimes intimidate his way out of a confrontation. And when it came down to a fight he cared for them all as best as he could, frequently using his inherent magical abilities to distract from or provide cover for a hurt comrade.
Rhune had a sharp wit and often times an even sharper tongue, especially when he was poking fun about some quirk or perceived flaw that he’d picked up on, but there was an unexpected gentleness to him, too. Gale had observed it in the swift and practiced way he dressed another’s wounds when magical healing wasn’t available, in the way he would listen without interrupting if someone needed to speak with him about something important. He’d heard it in the soft, playful tone Rhune used to address the tiefling children in the Grove, even though they’d initially been afraid of him; heard it in the quivering anger of Rhune’s voice when he’d gone out of his way to stand up for those deep gnomes in the Underdark— even though he opposed a fellow drow, even though he wasn’t obligated to do so.
Gale had felt it in the tentative touch of Rhune’s palm against his chest when he’d finally opened up about the orb and shared that memory with him, felt thanks to their briefly linked minds how the other man’s hand shook not with fear, nor revulsion, but concern for Gale’s well-being. And he’d felt it a few hours afterwards, when in a show of mutual trust, Rhune had decided to speak a little more about the urges that plagued him while he was awake, and the horrible visions he had when he was resting.
The sorcerer had tensed up while he was speaking, nearly hunched over himself as the two sat together on a log near the fire, and Gale had reached out to touch his hand to the bare skin of Rhune’s shoulder without thinking too hard about it first. He’d intended it as a gesture of friendship and solidarity, a tangible reminder that neither of them were alone in all of this, and it occurred to him too-late that it might not be the best idea to potentially startle someone who was in the middle of divulging some of his more murderous fantasies. But instead of lashing out in any way, Rhune had relaxed as soon as Gale touched him, sitting up a little straighter and turning to look over at him, offering him a grateful smile that made Gale positively breathless every time he’d thought about it since.
Rhune wasn’t nice sometimes— all right, most of the time— but he was kind in a way that mattered. And it was clear that, even through the moments of bloodthirst that dogged his every step, he cared about his traveling companions, as well as the innocents they’d met along the way in their search for a cure.
So all of that to say, no, it wasn’t surprising to see Rhune and Astarion sneaking off into the woods together the most recent night both of them happened to be excluded from the watch rotation. Nor was it surprising to see them sauntering back into camp the next morning, very obviously in much better spirits than when they’d left the night before. Gale immediately noticed the deep blue-black of the bruise that marred the left side of Rhune’s tattooed neck, along with the two scabbed-over puncture wounds in the center of it that meant that Astarion had fed from the drow again. And because Rhune favored walking around in camp shirtless, wearing nothing but a rather snug-fitting pair of trousers and the black leather straps of an elaborate harness that did too thorough of a job at highlighting the heavily-scarred but still alluring musculature of his upper body, Gale could also see the trail of much smaller bruises that bloomed like night orchids against the dusky indigo of Rhune’s skin, leading from the wound on his neck, down and across the expanse of his broad chest, and over to the opposite collar bone.
Unbidden, the image of sharp fangs and full, pale lips slick with blood leaving love bites all over Rhune’s body as the sorcerer tilted his beautiful, white-haired head back in pure ecstasy sprang fully-formed and way too detailed into Gale’s mind, and he nearly dropped the cooking spoon he held in his hand into the pot of oatmeal he was preparing for breakfast. Though not even that was surprising— Gale’s imagination usually had a tendency to run amok about things he developed a keen interest in.
Rhune, apparently, now being the subject of such fascination.
No, the most surprising thing of all was the sudden pang of disappointment and subsequent cold stab of jealousy that felt like a fist squeezing too-tight around Gale’s heart a few minutes later, as he watched Astarion stand nearly on tiptoe to whisper something conspiratorially into one of Rhune’s pierced and pointed ears, making the drow laugh in a way that Gale had never heard from him. Rhune made to shove Astarion away from him playfully as he continued to laugh about whatever the secret joke was, but Astarion was too quick, nimbly sidestepping the reach of Rhune’s outstretched fingers, a wicked smile upon his porcelain face.
There was an ease to their interactions now where before there had been slight tension, an observable, newfound closeness and familiarity that Gale envied. No, more than envied, he realized. Coveted.
He wanted to have that with Rhune. He wanted to be the one Rhune snuck off into the woods with.
So why in all the nine hells was it with Astarion instead?
Rhune’s gaze tracked Astarion’s retreat from him almost hungrily before sweeping over in Gale’s direction where he still stood by the cook fire, obviously watching them.
Suddenly panicking, Gale wasn’t quick enough to look away, and when Rhune’s blood red eyes caught his, the sorcerer frowned, obviously concerned by whatever stricken expression he was wearing right now. “Are you all right, Gale?”
“Fine,” Gale answered immediately, though he could tell Rhune didn’t believe him, because the slight creases between his white brows deepened as he frowned further. “I’m perfectly fine.”
“Well… all right,” Rhune said. “I won’t press if you don’t want to talk.”
It was one of the rare cases where Gale didn’t want to talk, in fact. “Thank you. I… thank you,” he mumbled, and set about to finishing up cooking breakfast for the day, thankful for the distraction, and the excuse not to look at either of the two men.
That had been nearly five days ago, and Gale had thought that he was doing an acceptable job at concealing his ever-growing attraction, but apparently that wasn’t actually the case.
“Hey, Gale,” Karlach had said, the night before now. She was helping him clean up after dinner, scraping leftovers off plates into a bowl for Scratch to eat from before Gale magicked the stack of them clean. “Listen, Wyll and I were talking earlier, and we both think that you should just tell Rhune how you feel—”
“What?!” He practically yelped the word out, and almost dropped the little stone box in which he kept his precious store of Waterdhavian sea salt as he was putting it back into his pack of cooking supplies. “I— I don’t know what you mean,” he insisted, much more quietly. He crouched down and busied himself with rummaging around in the pack to avoid looking up at her as he spoke. “Rhune and I are just friends. Barely friends, I might add. Allies. Acquaintances.”
“Oh, c’mon man, drop the act,” she said, rolling her eyes. “It’s obvious you’re head over heels for him. And it’s obvious he likes you too.”
“Is it?” Gale’s heart leapt up into his throat at the idea. Well, he supposed it wasn’t completely beyond the realm of possibility; that moment more than a tenday ago now, when the two of them had been connected by the Weave, Gale had felt Rhune think about kissing him. Much more than merely thinking about it, honestly. Rhune had pictured kissing him fiercely, backing Gale up against a wall and pressing their bodies close together— which very well may have been the start of all this madness anyway, come to think of it.
But so much had happened since then, and now Astarion was involved…
Before he could think better of it, Gale said, “Very much hypothetically speaking, if one did indeed harbor feelings for Rhune, you’re saying that those feelings might have a chance at being reciprocated?”
“Uhh…” Karlach seemed to be struggling to follow along. “Sure. I think. Well, I know he’s got that thing going on with Fangs right now, but Shadowheart says that she thinks that’s just a fling, and—”
“I’m sorry,” Gale interrupted sourly. He stood up faster than he probably should have, and one of his hip joints popped. “But do the three of you make a habit of discussing the ins and outs of my nonexistent, purely hypothetical love life, or—?”
“I mean, we talk about more than just you and Rhune, if that’s what you’re asking.”
Gale sighed, defeated. “What a comfort that is.”
“You should just go for it,” Karlach said, either completely oblivious to his torment, or choosing to revel in it. Probably the former. Hopefully the former. “We all might die any day now. Should at least have some fun before that happens.”
“Thank you for your help, Karlach, I think I can take it from here,” Gale said quickly.
Karlach set the plate and fork she still held in her hands down. “Oh, uh. You sure?”
“Positive.”
“Right. Well then, see you later, soldier.” She took a step away and then spun about in place, bringing a hand up to cup around one side of her mouth as she very loudly stage-whispered, “Good luck.”
Luck had actually seemed to smile on them today. Talking their way into the goblin encampment that morning had been simple with Rhune there. Fighting their way back out of it was another matter altogether, but no one in their group had sustained any serious injuries in the ensuing battle, and they’d even managed to locate the missing Archdruid— still alive in a cell in the crumbling temple. It was exhausting, bloody work, but hearing the tiefling refugees’ cheers when they’d returned to the Grove an hour before dusk fell to tell them all the good news had bolstered nearly everyone’s spirits. And now that the sun had set, many of the tieflings were here visiting in their camp in order to celebrate.
As such, Rhune had moved his tent out of the way to leave more open, central space in which to dance or mingle, and it had ended up within a foot or two of Gale’s, tucked away at the very edge of their campsite almost as an afterthought.
Perhaps because Rhune intended not to use it very much, if at all, tonight?
Which wasn’t any of Gale’s business, of course. It wasn’t. It definitely wasn’t. Rhune was his own man— er, drow— and could spend time with whomever he wished, and in whatever capacity. Though thinking too much about it definitely put a bit of a damper on Gale’s celebratory mood.
And Gale hadn’t been trying to overhear Rhune’s brief exchange with Astarion when the vampire spawn had wandered over casually to speak with him while he was reassembling his tent before the party began in earnest. But he had. Not that it was Gale’s fault that they were speaking only a handful of feet away to begin with.
“Why bother with that at all?” Astarion asked, artfully draping an arm over one of the naked supports of Rhune’s tent. He sounded bored, but when he felt Gale’s gaze upon him he turned to look over at the wizard with a smug little smile, a calculated, almost predatory gleam in his eyes.
“With setting up my tent?” Rhune said. He was in the middle of spreading out one of the canvas panels and draped it over the back half of the low wooden frame. “Who the fuck else is going to do it for me? Are you volunteering?”
“Dear gods, no,” said Astarion, and he frowned in distaste. “But you could just leave it off altogether if you wanted to, darling. After all, there’s plenty of room in my tent for the both of us.”
Gale’s heart sank then. Plummeted, really, like a boulder through water. Of course it was going to end up this way. He’d been foolish to hope otherwise. He quickly looked away from Astarion and Rhune and set about busying himself with something— anything— so he could avoid hearing the next part of the conversation.
It didn’t work, though. And Rhune’s deep voice cut through him like a dagger when he told Astarion, “I’m sure there is. But I’m not interested in that tonight, if it’s all the same to you.”
Wait. What?
“Oh,” said Astarion. He pulled his arm away from the piece of wood he’d been leaning on and straightened up, his lips pursed in thought. He was also very clearly surprised by the turn of events, and sounded a little put out besides, not as full of himself as he’d been when he initially approached. Which shouldn’t have made Gale feel as happy as he did, but that was neither here nor there. “Well then. Suit yourself. I’ll await the next time with breathless anticipation.”
Rhune laughed a little bit at the wordplay, and stood up from where he’d been anchoring one of the corners of the tent canvas into the ground, idly brushing the dirt off the knees of his trousers. “Enjoy yourself tonight, Astarion.”
“And you, darling,” he said. As he turned to leave, he sliced his crimson gaze in Gale’s direction once more for a long moment, as if he were reassessing something.
Gale had to fight not to return the look with a smug little smile of his own. It was extremely petty, he knew. And it remained very much none of his business what Rhune and Astarion got up to when they were together. But it was hard to deny the overwhelming sense of relief at the fact that Rhune had, at least for tonight, rebuffed Astarion’s advances. And it was even harder still to feel appropriately guilty in regards to said relief.
Though all of that was briefly forgotten in favor of focusing on the celebration at hand. It was encouraging, to be surrounded by so many genuinely joyful people all at once. But unfortunately it was also overwhelming, and after about an hour of helping to dole out food and a little bit of mingling, Gale retreated off to the sidelines, seeking the relative safety of his tent.
He was surprised to see Rhune also making his way over to this area, until he remembered the last minute change in their usual sleeping arrangements. But he stopped in front of Gale’s tent all the same, and in his hands he carried a bottle of wine and two empty glasses. “I knew I would find you over here,” Rhune said, obviously pleased to see him.
“I’ve never been one for large gatherings, I’m afraid,” said Gale. Suddenly unsure about what he should do with his hands, he clasped them together in front of him.
“I don’t think I am either.” The sorcerer held up the bottle of wine he carried with him. “Would you like to share some with me?” he asked. “I convinced Mol to tell me where she’d squirreled away the good ones.”
Gale leaned forward to peer at the bottle and was surprised yet again to find that it was one of his favorites. He laughed a little at the coincidence, unclasping his hands because they were beginning to sweat, and mussing the fingers of one through his hair instead. “Shouldn’t we be concerned that a child is familiar enough with wine to know which bottles are superior?”
The expression that fell over Rhune’s face then indicated that it probably hadn’t even occurred to him. “Mm, perhaps,” he said, and flopped down quite gracelessly to sit upon the woven reed mat that lay at the entrance to Gale’s tent, setting the bottle and two glasses down beside him on the left, and patting his hand on the empty space that lay to the right. “It’s a party though, Gale.” He looked up with a sly grin, and as if to underscore his words, spoke the incantation for dancing lights and used a finger to direct the little luminary motes to drift lazily through the air and buzz around Gale’s head, encircling him like so many silver-blue fireflies.
“My point stands,” Gale said with a small smile that turned into a bit of a wince when he sat down on the ground beside Rhune and one of his knees creaked in protest. “Even if I don’t.”
Rhune laughed at the joke and went to uncork the bottle, pouring out two portions with a very heavy hand. “Mol’s not drinking them, she’s hoarding them away so she can swindle us all later when we’re drunk and wanting for more.” He raised one of the over-full glasses of wine in toast to the idea before passing the other to Gale. “And besides, we’re not her parents.”
“I suppose you’re right,” Gale said, before taking a sip of wine and savoring it.
Rhune pulled his lips away from the brim of his cup to grin at him again, a much broader and more obviously smug iteration of the playful look he’d given him before. “Is that so?” He sounded equal turns surprised and delighted to hear it. “I’ll remember you said that, wizard.”
Gale scoffed, and with his free hand he swatted away one of the animated motes of light as it resumed its circling of his head, belatedly trailing after him when he’d sat down on the ground. “It’s hardly the first time I’ve told you that,” said Gale, taking another sip of his wine.
“No, but I do enjoy it every time,” Rhune replied, his voice a low purr of contentment that made sudden warmth bloom inside Gale’s chest and sent a pleasurable shiver down his spine. The warm feeling descended slowly, meandering through him like one of the sorcerer’s dancing lights before it settled deep in his core, making its home there, burning softly within him even as the cantrip ran its course and the lights shimmering around him disappeared.
After a few long moments of companionable lull in the conversation, Rhune spoke again. “I’m surprised you of all people don’t have any stories from your childhood where you magicked yourself into your parents’ wine stores and turned it all into water, or something like that.”
Gale let out an indignant snort at the very thought. “I think my mother would have had a fit.”
“Summoning a magma mephit in the house was all right, though?” Rhune chuckled and shook his head before taking another long drink from his wine.
“I can’t speak on behalf of my mother or her priorities,” Gale said. “I do miss her terribly, though.” He looked down to contemplate the dark liquid gently sloshing around in his own glass, watching the flickering dance of the nearby torch flame reflected abstractly upon the surface of it and finding that the color reminded him too much of Rhune’s blood red eyes in firelight.
“Is she dead?” Rhune asked, with all the no-nonsense practicality of one inquiring about the weather.
“No, no. Perish the thought,” Gale told him. “As far as I’m aware, she’s doing perfectly well. I just… Haven’t had an opportunity to speak with her in a while, that’s all. And considering the distance, and our current lack of resources, contacting her via magical means is obviously out of the question.”
“You could write her a letter,” Rhune suggested with a shrug. “It may take a while, but better than nothing.”
Gale stared at him for a long moment, long enough that the drow turned his head to look over at him, puzzled.
“What?” said Rhune. “Did that truly never occur to you?”
“I— No. No, actually, it hadn’t.” And he felt extremely foolish about it.
Of course, the thought had occurred to him initially, those first few weeks where he’d locked himself away in his tower in Waterdeep. But he’d convinced himself that he needn’t worry her, and that the increased sense of isolation was a fairly decent way to punish himself for what he’d done. And after over a year, it’d just become a fact of some kind, or a state of immutable being; so long as the orb remained undealt with or uncured, any hope at a normal existence was untenable. And a normal existence included regular communication with one’s mother— at least to Gale.
And now, after everything else, his was currently the most abnormal existence that Gale could possibly imagine. He wondered what his mother would think of it all, whenever he finally got a chance to tell her about it.
If he ever got a chance to tell her about it.
Oh. Oh, no, he hadn’t meant for his thoughts to turn that way tonight; especially tonight, when they were busy celebrating the continued survival of the tiefling refugees, as well as their own. But turn that way they had, and now Gale wasn’t sure how to pull himself out of it.
“Typical wizard,” Rhune was laughing, poking fun at him as he was wont to do, oblivious. “If it doesn’t involve the sound of your own voice, you…” He trailed off then, seemingly startled by Gale’s somber expression. “Gale? Is something wrong?”
How best to answer that question? At this current moment, everything felt wrong. He knew it was hyperbole, and an extremely myopic view of things, to boot. But still. It was hard to shake the familiar weight of despair away, now that it had suddenly settled around his shoulders like a cloak.
Having someone to talk to about it was relatively new, though. Someone who wasn’t Tara, at any rate. And when he explained a little of his sudden melancholy, Rhune’s expression softened unexpectedly, and Gale was startled by the gentle yet commanding touch of the drow’s fingers at his chin, tilting his head up so that Gale could do little other than look directly at him.
“Would it help you to focus on the things that aren’t wrong?” said Rhune. He spoke quietly, his deep voice taking on a low, unhurried, soothing sort of quality to it, and his eyes shone with a certain something that Gale didn’t have the courage to put a name to. But those two details, as well as Rhune’s continued presence seated right beside him with his hand lingering on Gale’s chin, all worked in conjunction in such a way that caused Gale’s face and neck to flush crimson with heat and embarrassment, and his heart to skip a metaphorical beat, the warming ember of desire in his core suddenly coaxed into an outright flame.
“I…” He gulped, words failing him. Gods above, when had Rhune gotten so close to him? And he couldn’t even blame the sudden warmth in his belly— all over him, really— on the wine because he’d barely had any, but oh, oh, Gale could reach out and finally pull the other man into a kiss if he wanted…
And, Mystra have mercy on him, he dearly, dearly wanted to. But perhaps his heart skipping was a little less metaphorical than he’d thought, because as the two leaned in closer to each other, the half-visible mark on Gale’s chest flared light purple with no forewarning, startling both of them. Rhune dropped the hand that was still at Gale’s chin and pulled away from him with wide eyes, while Gale sat back and took a series of deep breaths in order to calm himself down.
That seemed to do the trick, because the orb’s glow faded a few incredibly tense seconds later. Gale heaved a long sigh of relief, and wordlessly brought his glass of wine up to his lips with trembling hands, drinking deeper from it than he probably should have.
When he finally mustered the courage to look at Rhune again, the drow sorcerer’s expression was unreadable, the sharp lines of his features and the uneven ripples of the burn scar that slashed across them looking all the more fearsome while only partially illuminated by the flickering light of the torch nearby. Gale could scarcely believe that this was the same person who’d regarded him with such warmth before, the same face that had leaned close to his, hoping for a kiss.
He had to fight the urge to lick at his own lips at the thought, and instead just pressed them together in a thin line. But perhaps he needn’t restrain himself so much, since Rhune seemed to also still be in the same headspace.
“So… I take it that kissing you isn’t in the cards for tonight,” the sorcerer said, to break the uneasy silence between them. It was in a similar tone to the flippant one he used when he was teasing someone, but there was more to it than that, an undercurrent of something that Gale didn’t have the presence of mind to try to identify at the moment.
He couldn’t see his own face right now, but he could feel the sudden rekindling heat of the blood in his cheeks and ears and neck in response to Rhune’s words. It was nigh indistinguishable from a bad sunburn, probably just as red, and Gale’s heartbeat quickened again, so much so that he was worried the mark would begin glowing anew. “No, I’m afraid not,” he said. He didn’t even bother to conceal his disappointment as he spoke. “My condition being what it is…” He trailed off, trying to summon the right words from the sudden scrambling everything in his mind. “It’s probably for the best that I not do anything too… er, exciting.” Much as he would like to.
“I understand,” said Rhune. He seemed disappointed as well, though Gale still couldn’t quite believe that, despite all the new (and old) evidence to the contrary. “Well… we could just keep talking? If you’d like.”
Gale shook his head. “No, no, much as I— I mean.” He took a deep breath and tried again. “Like you said earlier, it’s a party. You should go enjoy yourself. Don’t worry about me.”
“I am enjoying myself,” Rhune told him stubbornly, and reached over to grab the wine bottle, pouring more into his own glass even though it wasn’t even empty. “Good wine. Good company— for a wizard,” he amended with a little smirk and a wink that made Gale’s stomach feel like it was turning somersaults. Then he schooled his expression into one that was more serious as well as sincere, and he continued quietly, “It’s not for you to tell me if I should or shouldn’t worry about you, you know.”
Gale frowned; he didn’t even know why he was arguing this, only that he was, and he felt like he needed to. “Of course not, that wasn’t my intention. It’s just… well.” His gaze flickered uncertainly in the direction of Astarion’s tent set up on the other side of camp, where the vampire spawn in question stood, drinking directly from a bottle of wine as he spoke with the elven druid they’d rescued earlier that day. “It’s not as if you’re lacking for options, if you wanted to go enjoy yourself elsewhere.” Loath as he was to admit it.
“‘Lacking for…’” Rhune simply stared at him like he’d sprouted a second head. “What, are you talking about Astarion?”
He looked down and away from the pair of deep red eyes busy boring into him, before remembering he still had a glass of wine in his hands, and drank from it again.
When Gale didn’t say anything, Rhune sighed, and reached up a hand to rub at the rather large scar that ran up the back of his head, part of it exposed due to the close-cropped hair of his undercut, seemingly self-conscious. “If that’s what you’re referring to, then… you should know, that it probably won’t happen again. Probably,” he repeated, though it sounded like it was more to himself than anything else. He sighed again, longer than before. “I don’t even know how it happened in the first place, it just… happened.”
Gale didn’t know what to say to that, if anything. But he did feel a certain sense of relief, as well as the need to say something — he’d been the one to steer the conversation in this direction, after all. “I see.”
“You see?” Rhune frowned, still staring at him. “Is that seriously all you’re going to say?”
“I— I’m not entirely sure what else there is to say.”
He’d very nearly asked if all of this between them, the tension and the unspoken longing that had suddenly been yanked to the forefront as a result of their almost-kiss this evening— if that was another thing that had just “happened” . But he decided that was a thought and a doubt that was best left unvoiced.
Rhune shook his head all the same, the downward-facing crescent moon earrings that he wore in both lobes shaking slightly with the movement, and he swore under his breath. “You really want me to go, then? Leave you alone for now?” he asked, his expression once again unreadable, the impassive mask that he donned when dealing with people who were strangers to him. For some reason, that stung more than it probably would have if they’d gotten into yet another argument, or if he’d simply squashed Gale’s hopes outright.
No. Yes. Maybe? “That… may be for the best, yes,” Gale answered quietly. He needed to think, and lately, thinking while Rhune was nearby was rather difficult.
“Right.” Rhune set his glass of wine down on the ground first before slowly, reluctantly getting to his feet, stretching both of his arms high above his head with a low, involuntary groan. The drow already towered over him when they stood side by side, but from this angle where Gale still sat on the ground with his neck craned up to regard him, the sheer monstrous height and breadth of him nearly made Gale’s head spin.
Not to mention all of that bare skin… The path of Gale’s gaze found the start of the little vee the group of toned muscles just above Rhune’s hips made, the rest of it covered up by the waistband of his trousers, and Gale gulped again, trying not to think too much about it.
He couldn’t help but watch in appreciative silence as Rhune finished his stretching, and he lay the blame on the wine now warming his system when he forgot to look away before the other man caught him openly staring at him.
Rhune held his gaze as he casually leaned back down to pick up his glass but left the bottle where it still sat, forgotten. “Have a good night, Gale,” he said quietly. He grinned a little as he spoke, a warm, lingering sort of thing that made the latent heat in Gale’s cheeks as well as the rest of him intensify yet again.
“Yes, good night,” Gale said, doing his utmost not to sound too breathless or over-eager, though he wasn’t sure how successful he was in that regard.