mystracal | 🔮 exsanguinated (with @sangwhine)

[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.

[Gale meets Astarion's eyes with a searching gaze, one equal parts somber and sympathetic; the fire he finds there stirs something within him, his brow tightening the longer he remains in its blaze. He feels frustration and anger strong enough to rival the orb broiling in his chest, as well as a desire for something new: vengeance. Though Gale has meant it every time he's insisted that he will help Astarion defeat Cazador, to take back his life, this is perhaps the first time he's felt outright ire at the circumstances, fury at the vampire lord on behalf of his friend, his partner - his lover.

Astarion was not Cazador's first victim, he's sure - nor will he be his last. Though he prefers nonviolence where possible, some individuals are simply reaping what they sow. It'd be for the greater good - for all of them, for the city - to put him down.

He could do it easily as god.]

One day, you won't be.

[His hand tightens on Astarion's; his nose wrinkles as he fights to contain his emotions.]

And I will do everything in my power to make sure of it. To ensure that happens. I promise you.

[It mollifies Astarion to see his rage reflected in Gale's eyes. Of anyone, he knows the wizard can truly understand him. Gale has been the subject of his own sort of tyranny, based at the hands of his own master. But together they can defy the circumstances that have defined them. They can be more, they can have their bloody revenge.

He squeezes Gale's hand in return, leaning in to capture his lips in a heated, wanting kiss.]

You are truly one of the best things to ever happen to me, dearest.

[Gale returns that kiss, though it is far softer, more chaste than Astarion's - even through his fervor, he's trying to be gentle, cognizant of his partner's comfort.]

I think the very same about you, my love.

[He presses his forehead to Astarion's, enjoying that closeness. He wants to be able to have that at any time they choose, no matter what goddesses and former masters might think.]

We've got a big day tomorrow. Let's relax while we can - nothing too intimate. I'll even wash your hair, if you'd like.

[He runs his hand through the strands at Astarion's temple - it's odd, seeing it draped all around his face, only the strongest curls able to bounce back from the moisture.]

[The press of Gale's forehead to his is what finally brings a sense of calm to Astarion. He can't quite say why, but it isn't a question that needs an answer. Only that his love of this man is a bastion to him, a place where he can find safety in more ways than one. He sags back into the heated water, rubbing his thumb across the back of Gale's hand.]

I would like that, yes. I can return the favor as well. You know how I love to care for your hair.

[Gale lets Astarion settle. the fire cooling in his chest. There will be time for anger later, he's sure of it.]

Then let's look our best. We have a goddess and your vampiric kin to meet tomorrow.

[He releases Astarion's hand briefly to go grab the tray of oils, not staying out too long. He sets it by the side of the basin, glad to return to its warm waters and the man awaiting him there.]

We will be so dashing that none would dare refuse us.

[He takes the moment when Gale slips away to recline indulgently against the side of the bath. His eyes follow Gale with an appreciative smile, one that belies the fact that he knows full well how modest Gale is when it comes to his naked body. But here he can appreciate his wizard in his entirety. He can take in all that Gale has to offer, knowing that it is his, knowing that he has been trusted with it.

When Gale returns to the waters, Astarion reaches to brush a hand through his hair, fingers trailing along the line of his jaw.]

Though it will be hard to improve upon how beautiful you already are.

[It's unfortunate that Gale seems preoccupied with the tray, as he might have enjoyed knowing Astarion was watching him, taking in his bare form. It's true that Gale tends to be shy when it comes to his body, knowing he's handsome, but never feeling like he quite measures up to his partner. When he's courted a literal goddess and now a vampire known for his incredible looks and charm, it's hard not to feel a little inadequate. But that body well and truly is Astarion's and Astarion's alone to see, to have - and in that regard, he's happy to provide, sharing himself in intimate moments reserved for only the two of them.]

I'm sure were there to be anyone who could improve my looks, it would be you.

[He takes his seat on the ledge and picks up one of the bottles of oil, giving it a tentative sniff. A sweet smell, not quite what he'd expect for Astarion. He tries another, and finds it has a more earthen aroma.

He gestures for Astarion to come closer, to lean against him.]

I don't suppose you have a preference, do you?

Edited 2023-10-15 05:39 (UTC)

[Astarion easily moves over to lean against him, sniffing at the bottles and draping an arm across Gale's shoulders. He can at least be comfortable with this sort of intimacy.]

A little bit of both would be best. Too much of either and I'll smell like a corpse.

[He smirks.]

A fairer smelling corpse than I'll leave, by any measure. That's assuming there's anything left of me but Netherese dust.

[He says that lightly, jokingly. He's not intending on exploding, if he can help it. He starts with the sweeter smell, pouring the oil into his hand before smoothing it into Astarion's hair, starting with his temples. While not as practiced as the vampire, he's a quick study, using his nails to work it into his scalp.]

You look quite different with your hair like this, you know.

[Oh, that's very nice. Astarion lets his eyes fall closed, leaning into Gale's touch. He's about to call Gale out for his self-sacrificial talk, but the comment on his hair gives him pause. He half-opens his eyes, looking up at Gale, searching his face for something.]

What does it look like?

[Gale pauses, looking at him in utter confusion.]

Wha— oh.

[A laugh escapes him - how easy it is to forget sometimes that Astarion doesn't have a reflection.]

It's not bad, I promise you. Just different. Those coifed curls that would've made you the finest sheep in the city hang quite a bit lower now, the water weighing them down.

[He keeps massaging, his hands moving along the back of Astarion's head, his fingers working through those curls. His smile remains.]

You can tell when it's like this that your hair's longer that you might think. It'd cover your eyes easily were you to let it.

[He brushes Astarion's bangs back, working the oil into the top of his scalp.]

I'd rather it didn't, if I'm honest.

[How does Gale manage to be so charming exactly when Astarion needs him to be? Not knowing what he looks like, especially in such an unfamiliar circumstance, sits uneasily with him, but seeing Gale's smile, hearing his laugh strangely puts him at ease. The press of Gale's fingers against his head, having him return the favor certainly doesn't hurt either.

When he answers, it's nearly a purr, his voice low and relaxed.]

I can't have that, can I? With my eyes covered, I wouldn't be able to look at you.

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