mystracal | 🔮 exsanguinated (with @sangwhine)

[Astarion laughs, a breathless, heady sound. He turns his neck to offer more to Gale, well and fully fucking into the tight circle of his hand now. When he answers, his voice is half a moan, delighted and intoxicated.]

I think you did quite well with words before.

[His hand at Gale's spine draws down to the cleft of his ass, his palm smoothing over the curve of it so he can get a nice handful to squeeze]

But I promised--to make you sing.

I can stop anytime you want, my love. You only need say the word.

[But until then, he lets Astarion grope him along his backside, continuing his own journey up his neck with hot, eager kisses. He is deft for a mage, maneuvering his hand to grab his own erection, caressing them both in tandem.]

["My love," oh. That sends a shudder running down Astarion's spine that has nothing to do with Gale's hands or mouth on him. He reaches down with his free hand, closing his fingers over Gale's as he strokes. Gale isn't the only one with a deft hand here.]

I did want to taste you--ah, to see how unfortunately indiscreet you can be.

[Gale's hand tightens as Astarion's closes on it, his breath hitching as he starts to lose himself in sensation. He presses his forehead to Astarion's shoulder, his other hand sliding along his back, feeling the scars that lie there.]

We'll have to, ah. Maneuver a bit for that. And this feels so good at the moment, being right here.

It does feel very good.

[He gives a soft squeeze of his hand to emphasize the point.]

But tell me, dearest, is this all you want? Rutting into our hands until we burst like some desperate youths? I could--mmnh--I could give you so, so much more.

[Gale has to compose himself after that squeeze, and it gives him just long enough to reflect on Astarion's words. As eager as he is to please his partner - and that has always been Gale's prerogative when it comes to intimacy - he realizes that Astarion is itching to take control. Moreover, it's important he be allowed to do so.

Gale nods, releasing them, a smile on his lips as he slides away, one hand trailing to those bruises on his neck.]

All right, then. [He finds himself almost lost in those eyes again - gods, Astarion is beautiful, the barest amount of color dusting his pale face, his hair looser, heavier from the steam.] I'm yours, however you'll have me.

However I'll have you, hm?

[In the water it's easy to shift their positions, to reverse them so it's Gale pressed against the edge of the tub rather than Astarion. Astarion takes a moment to observe him, to take in the glow in his chest, the flush of his cheeks, the hazy outline of his body obscured beneath the water. He gives a grin, the tip of one fang pressing seductively into his lower lip.]

Well. I have always wanted to try this.

[Without any additional preamble, he ducks down beneath the surface of the water. His hands anchor to Gale's hips as he lowers himself to run his tongue and lips over the head of Gale's cock, mouthing at it before he sinks lower, taking him all in.]

[And here Gale thought he might sit on the edge of the bath, just above the ledge to make things convenient for Astarion - but no, he surprises Gale instead by ducking right under the water. The wizard can't help but laugh at his candor, a smile splitting across his face as the blurry shape of Astarion closes in on him—

Oh. That laughter dies right in his throat as Astarion grips his hips, replaced by a choked, needy whine as he's hit all at once by the sensation of the vampire's mouth teasing his cock. Gale's already erect from the earlier stroking, the skin hot and sensitive - he has to lean back, his hands barely catching the outer ledge of the bath to hold him steady.]

[Here's the wonderful thing about getting head from the undead: they don't need to breathe. Astarion stays beneath the water, hands kneading against Gale's thighs as his head bobs over the length of his cock. He's very well experienced with this, and it's immediately evident with the skillful motions of his lips and tongue against Gale's heated flesh. He lets Gale's head press to the back of his throat before he draws back, moving at a languid and indulgent pace despite how quickly he first took Gale in.]

[Astarion was not exaggerating on his ability to make Gale sing: it's not long before the first moan rattles its way out of the wizard's throat, a breathy, dry sound that speaks volumes of how he's feeling at that moment. Despite the privacy of their surroundings, he pulls his fist to his mouth, biting his knuckles in the hopes of keeping himself quiet.

It does him no good, as Astarion's second, slower pass pushes him further - another moan emerges from his throat, louder. He can't tell if it's the bath or the heat welling in his chest, but gods, is it hot in there. His grip on the outer ledge tightens, his fingers struggling for purchase as his toes curl beneath the water.

The grit of Astarion's tongue drags along his shaft, and Gale is forced to throw his head back as a heavier, wanton groan echoes from his chest. He stops biting his hand, sending it beneath the water instead to lace itself through Astarion's hair.]

[The one downside to doing this underwater is that Astarion can't hear the sounds Gale is making. At least not until he moans loud enough for it to penetrate even the surface of the water. There's a pleased smile curling on his lips as he leans back into the hand in his hair. He lets an echoing groan reverberate through his throat, knowing that Gale can feel it.]

[Yes, Astarion, he feels that. He feels it as it vibrates through his cock and into his groin, in his hips and spine and all the way up to his abdomen. The sensation rattles throughout the rest of him, manifesting as tremors in his hands and a lustful, desperate gasp. The light from the orb shines vibrantly above the water, illuminating the room in a violet glow, reflecting off the tiles to paint the walls in vivid patterns.

It only briefly occurs to him that as a vampire, Astarion doesn't need to come up for air - that he can simply stay down there until he's finished with Gale, who is utterly at his mercy until then. It's a thought that passes as quickly as it arrives, that brilliant mind of his immediately elsewhere as he fights - and fails - to silence himself once more.

He pulls in a few breaths, trying to center himself.]

Astaaahrion...

[He certainly won't stop until he's finished, but he doesn't quite want Gale to finish, per say. He slides one hand down until he's got Gale's balls cradled in his palm. He rolls them in his grip, gently caressing them before sliding him thumb up to put pressure just at the base of Gale's cock. It wouldn't do to have things end so soon.]

[Those breaths did little to help, pressure bubbling inside him. Gale's grip in Astarion's hair tightens; he forces himself to relax his fingers, not wanting to hurt him, unable to consider that he might just enjoy a little pain with his pleasure. He can ask later, when he can think through the thundering of his heart and the thrum of the orb.

Gale gnaws on his lower lip, feeling his hips start to buck of their own accord as he's overwhelmed with sensation, Astarion's hold over him leaving him aching. It's a far cry from bonding in the Weave - rather than feeling his lover's pleasure through the very essence that makes them, manipulating it to maximize the enjoyment of their coupling, Gale has no power here, is under Astarion's spell until the vampire sees fit to release him.

And yet, he doesn't feel trapped. Not threatened, not diminished, not an unequal in any way. Embarrassed at the noise he's making, certainly, but there's elation in his ecstasy, joy in knowing Astarion cares for him enough to want him to feel this way. For all his licentious moaning, he can't help but smile, too. He releases the ledge, only for his hand to find its way to Astarion's shoulder - he squeezes tightly, trying to convey even a modicum of he's experiencing.

Somehow, he's sure Astarion knows.]

[For all that he's done this sort of thing, Astarion is well aware of what it means when his partner is thoroughly enjoying themself. He also knows the tells when they're about to hit their limit. With the squeeze to his shoulder, he pulls up and off Gale's length, making sure to catch his lips on the head as he does. He emerges from the water, his lips bruised and red, hair plastered against his face. His hand releases his hold on Gale, bracing himself on the ledge, knees to either side of Gale's hips.

There's a sudden lurch in his throat as he looks up to Gale from this position. He's been on his knees so many times, and the shadow of it still isn't completely gone from him. He swallows hard against it, trying to chase it away. His body doesn't feel his own, his limbs feel heavy, his vision blurred by more than just the steam and haze. He draws in a tight, gasping breath, just enough so he can push out a single word.]

Gale...

[Through the haze of euphoria, Gale barely hears Astarion call his name, his eyes half-lidded as they land on the vampire before him, a lovesick smile still worn across his face. Gale can't help but admire his perfection, however influenced it may be by his utter adoration for the man: even with his hair slick and flattened from the water, his skin slightly pink from the temperature, his eyes wide and—

Gale sits up just a little straighter, blinking as he looks into those ruby eyes. Something is wrong - he doesn't know just what, but he recognizes that look of quiet alarm.]

Astarion—

[He leans forward, reaching for him. He sets one hand along his neck, his thumb tracing his jawline, his palm atop the bite scars that mar his pale skin; with the other, he cups Astarion's cheek, searching for his gaze all the while.]

Astarion?

[The gentle touch is enough to interrupt whatever gripped Astarion, to drag him back into the moment. But the disgust still lingers. He turns away from Gale's searching gaze, pressing his face into the hand at his cheek.]

I just--I need a moment.

[Why this? Why now? Astarion tries to grasp for the sensation he had even a few moments ago, when he was intoxicated by the sound and the feeling of Gale. It's gone though. In its place is his master's voice, berating and degrading him for what Cazador forced him to become. Here he is, nothing more than a harlot, a courtesan. Supplicating himself on his knees for a scrap of what? Safety? Comfort? Love? Impossible things he can never have.

He grabs at Gale's wrist, anchoring himself to the touch, trying to ground himself. He is here, in this terrible body, trained by rote to be pleasing to others, to draw them in with lips and tongue, with skilled touches and honeyed words. He shudders from the thought of it, pulling away from Gale, but keeping his wrist held. Was he so pathetic to think that he could have this? His eyes finally meet Gale's again. He's present in the moment once more, but all yearning and desire have left his gaze. He's wounded when he looks to Gale again, his expression strained with an unspoken plea for forgiveness.]

I can't.

[Gale's fingers curl as Astarion pulls away from him, but the grip on his wrist tells him all he needs to know. A series of raw emotions flit across his face: confusion, a hint of frustration, disappointment, but ultimately - acceptance.

He places his other hand on the one that grips his wrist.]

It's all right. I promised you, remember? That if we needed to stop, we would.

[Astarion doesn't miss that frustration and disappointment, perhaps because he's looking for it, perhaps because he feels it echoed in himself as soon as the disgust has given way. He ducks his head again, looking away to his own lack of reflection in the water, in the gloss of the tiles around them.]

You did say that, didn't you? You're a man of your word.

[His brows pinch together, a scowl over his face as his free hand sweeps across the water in a cutting gesture.]

And what am I? A man who can't perform the only thing I've ever been good at when it's all I want.

[Gale lets Astarion swipe at the water, but refuses to let go of his other hand, desperate to keep him there, to help him. He wants to understand. He tries for levity first, as usual.]

If you think this is the only thing you've ever been good at, you are sorely mistaken.

[He gives his wrist - and therefore Astarion's hand - the slightest tug, then draws himself closer. His tone is more sincere, solemn.]

Astarion, you're not who he made you to be. He will not define you anymore, no more than Mystra does me. It's not the same, I know, but...

[The rest goes unspoken: it's a similar sort of hurt.]

[Astarion's hand clenches and closes on empty air but he doesn't resist Gale's pull. Even if he still can't bring himself to look the other man in the eye again quite yet. The unspoken words hang between them before they're caught up in the maelstrom of guilt, disgust, and anger churning inside Astarion.]

Where do my other talents lie, then? What other skill of mine might please you in the same way?

[He swallows as his fingers dig into his palm with an intensity that leaves his hand trembling in Gale's grasp. A thought forms in his mind, coalescing within the turbulent center of his love for Gale, his hatred for Cazador, his own hurt and the ill-defined shape of the man that he is.]

If the way that I want to be so much as echos the thing he made me, am I left with no choice but to tear the page out and discard it like some crude palimpsest? I won't let him define me by denying me the chance to be what he took from me either.

Edited 2023-10-14 01:46 (UTC)

[Gale's brow furrows, his chest aching as he continues to hold onto Astarion's hand, as though he'd vanish if he let go. He's not entirely certain that he won't, should his anger swallow him. The wizard is quiet as he thinks, unsure of what to say.

Some wounds take time to heal, he reminds himself inwardly, more time than anyone wants to admit. He's had years to work on his, and they often feel fresh as the day his heart was shattered. Astarion has only just gotten his freedom, and with Cazador still alive, it's tentative at best.

What he needs is patience - something Gale struggles with, given his tendency toward hubris. Astarion has to realize he needs time to determine who he is outside of Cazador's enslavement, while Gale needs to understand that not every problem is one he can reasonably solve, no matter how badly he'd like to.

He pulls in a breath, pushing it through him.]

Do you think you have to please me like this, Astarion?

[Astarion notes the silence in answer to his first question. Yet the silence doesn't sting. It's only confirmation of what he knows about himself, a piece of the broken person he is that falls into place. It fits, it resonates. But just as much as it feels right, it tears at him, dragging its filth and jagged edges across everything it touches. Like closing skin over a dirty wound, letting grit and soil burn as he tries to knit himself back together.

He looks down to Gale's hand and his own, the anger still burning red inside him. But it isn't Gale who deserves his rage. Gale who helped him find this piece, broken as it is, and let him recognize it for what it is. He releases Gale's wrist only enough to close his hand around Gale's, holding tightly to him. There's a violence to his voice when he speaks, a darkness only found in mixing the pitch black of anger with the aching void of loss.]

You deserve it, that's why. You had your heart hung on a goddess with no concept of how to appreciate you within your physical form.

I want to show that to you. I know how it can feel. I want it to feel that way again. But every time, I lose my grasp on it. It slips away from me and it's no longer mine anymore.

[Gale is taken aback by that initial reasoning - that Astarion not only wants him to have such intimacy, but that he feels Gale deserves it, as Mystra couldn't be bothered with it.

And as much as Gale hates to admit it, Astarion is right: whatever the endeavor, if it didn't please Mystra, it often wasn't considered worth doing at all. Gale has lived by that notion for so long that her commanding him to die to earn her forgiveness was easy to accept, seeming almost reasonable. But it's that sentiment that drew Gale to Astarion in the first place, his insistence that the goddess had failed him in some way rather than the other way around - that she wasn't worthy of him.

Astarion has helped him see his worth, and he wants to return the favor. He wants to help Astarion reclaim his desires, to feel they're his rather than his master's.]

Perhaps, once Cazador is dead, you'll be able to reclaim those feelings, make them truly yours in a way they haven't been in so long. Until then, you must realize you've done more for me than Mystra ever did in all the time we were together. Not just here, tonight, but... every time I'm with you, no matter how we enjoy one another's company.

[Astarion gives a sigh, dramatic and drawn out. It all comes back to Cazador's death, as always. The way Cazador shattered the man he was and tainted the pieces that were left. Astarion has never felt more acutely aware of how much is missing, how much carries the stink of Cazador on it. If he carved away every bit of himself that Cazador shaped would there be anything left? He wants to kill him, more than anything, but even the ruins of something long dead can cast their own shadows. No, he needs more than Cazador's death. He needs the power that Cazador had to mold him. So he can make the world bend to his will.

He finally turns to face Gale and meet his gaze again, a cold fire burning in his eyes.]

I don't mean to imply that I doubt you, because nothing could be farther from the truth. But just because I've crossed the truly pathetic standard that she's set for what it means to love you doesn't mean that it's satisfactory.

Yet I've shown men I lured to their deaths a more pleasant evening than any we've shared together. Within my heart, I want to show you more than you could even imagine is possible between us, together. But it's poison. Every touch is poisoned. It sinks into my skin and festers there like rot.

I'm tired of being broken and afraid.

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