🔮 exsanguinated (with @sangwhine)

[mystracal]

tfln | invitations | and there was only one bed | undermountain alurlyath | what could be | blood bond | the price of freedom
it wore his face | dinner with morena dekarios | rediscovery

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[mystracal]

[He grins in return; with his hands free of oil, he's content to trace Astarion's jawline with his fingers for a moment before he collects the wide-brimmed cup from the tray, dipping it into the water around them to give his hair a rinse.]

You can't tell me you've never truly smiled for anyone else. That nothing any of our companions has said to you sparked even a hint of mirth.

[sangwhine]

[Astarion closes his eyes to make the rinse easier, tilting into Gale's gentle touch against his jaw. To think that not more than a tenday ago the wizard was so shy and retreating when it came to his touch.]

Now, are we talking about a smile of amusement or my gaze full of love and adoration? Because while our companions are often well deserving of the former, I think we both know the latter belongs to you alone.

[He's teasing just a little, but the sentiment is genuine.]

[mystracal]

[Time moves quickly when emotions run high and one thinks each day might be his last; that goes doubly for a man with a bomb eating a hole in his chest. Gale gives Astarion's hair one rinse, then another, carefully pouring the warm water around his face and through his hair. He drags his fingers across Astarion's scalp, making sure the water gets all the way through.

He might be enjoying it just a little himself, as well.]

Well, that crease I so favor will be kept just between us, then. Our secret.

[sangwhine]

I think I quite like the sound of having a few secrets to share with you. It gives us a air of intrigue, don't you think?

[Astarion is immensely enjoying himself, thank you. He cracks one eye open once it's clear that Gale's just indulging himself, reaching to run his thumb across Gale's cheek, just beneath his left eye.]

[mystracal]

[Though the scar glows softly on his chest, the illumination hasn't quite reached the lines leading to his eye - yet as Astarion's finger crosses them, the barest light flits through them, as though encouraged by his touch. Even bearing the orb and without the favor of his goddess, this man is utterly made of magic; it courses through him at all times, more tied to him in body and soul than even he realizes.]

I'm inclined to agree. Secrets just for the two of us, and no one else. Ours alone.

[sangwhine]

[Astarion chases that light down Gale's neck to his chest with his fingertips. He's only in touch with the Weave by way of his elven ancestry, but he can still feel the power running beneath Gale's skin. A faint vibration under his touch, a warmth different from the warmth of flesh and blood. It's very appealing in its own way. He presses his palm against the glow of the orb, just to feel it.]

Ours, yes.

[mystracal]

[Gale's skin tingles as Astarion traces the lines down his chest, the hairs on the back of his neck standing on end despite the heat of the bath. The orb pulses under his pale palm; it stays in rhythm with Gale's heartbeat, for now.]

A secret then, just for you. To make up for my knowledge of your singular wrinkle.

[His fingers linger at the edge of Astarion's jaw.]

Before we met Elminster on the road, before I was given Mystra's charm to keep the orb sated... I couldn't have had this, no matter how badly I wanted it. Any undue stress, aggravation, or even excitement would put me in a state like you saw earlier tonight. I had to keep my composure, lest I risk catastrophic destabilization.

[His eyes tighten with private remorse.]

I stayed far from cities and people not merely because I was a danger to them, but because they were, in turn, a danger to me.

[sangwhine]

So it wasn't just heartbreak from losing your Mystra that turned you to a recluse?

[Astarion turns, pressing a kiss to Gale's fingertips.]

I suppose I do have one thing to thank her for then.

[mystracal]

[That chases the lingering sorrow from his long isolation away; he smiles softly, fondly.]

I'll send her your regards tomorrow, should she notice the color you put upon my neck.

[sangwhine]

I do hope she does. I've never made a goddess jealous before.

[mystracal]

Me either, frankly. Intrigued, enraptured, disappointed, and displeased, certainly - but not jealous.

[sangwhine]

Something new for us to experience together, then.

[He slips closer, running his fingers through Gale's hair to draw him into a kiss.]

[mystracal]

[Gods, he's going to get lost in those eyes again. He might have been brief in his earlier description of them, but he could write volumes if given enough time.]

For us, yes.

[He presses a kiss to Astarion's lips, trying not to linger too long. He fully intends to hold Astarion to getting one of those every day for the rest of his life, especially when there's not telling just how short said life might be. When they part, he doesn't pull too far away.]

My turn. The sweeter scent, if you would.

[sangwhine]

Of course, my dearest.

[Astarion reaches for the oil, twisting a lock of Gale's hair about his finger on his free hand as he does. He tilts his head to drop a kiss to the hair wound about his finger before releasing it and setting about spreading the oil across his hands.]

You shall be the sweetest wizard of the entire Sword Coast.

[mystracal]

Ah, I can see myself standing before Mystra now, a new man with a new title. 'Gale of Waterdeep: Wizard Wonder, Vampire Devotee, Sweetest Scented in all the Sword Coast.' I'm certain she'll be quite impressed. Maybe even jealous.

[sangwhine]

Who wouldn't be envious of such a title?

[Astarion runs his hands through Gale's hair, fingers carding against his head, massaging lightly as he goes along.]

Gale Dekarios, most beloved and talented master of the arcane.

[mystracal]

[Oh no. He's trying his best to stay still as Astarion works the oil into his hair, but it's clear he wants to melt right then and there, his eyes closing, neck arching as he leans into it.]

Maybe I will go back to my full name once I have the crown. No need for an elaborate title when you're a god - though I do like the sound of 'most beloved.'

[sangwhine]

Only most beloved by me, my darling.

[Astarion did expect a little wizard melting to happen, which is why he's got both hands to cradle Gale's head between them in case he gets a little too relaxed.]

That does beg the question, just what would you be the god of?

[mystracal]

I'm not quite sure yet. Perhaps magic itself.

[Certainly not the god of strong backs, as his is feeling rather weak at the second as a tingle runs down his spine.]

If nothing else, I will be a god who helps people. Who doesn't let mortals suffer while they hide in the Outer Planes, allowing it to happen.

[sangwhine]

A god who would answer if he heard a plea of a lonely vampire spawn, hm?

[His tone slips into something more somber. Astarion's never put much stake in gods, after all, so it's an interesting thing to think he might be sleeping with one soon.]

[mystracal]

[Gale opens his eyes, catching that shift in tone.]

Of course. Were someone in need of help, asking for it, calling to me, I would grant it to them. What point is there in having such power if I refuse to use it?

[sangwhine]

[Astarion gives him a smile that's rather unlike anything Gale's seen from him before, something very soft, a sadness touching it that rarely shows through the careful mask he usually keeps up.]

That would make you a damn sight better than any of the gods I know.

[mystracal]

[He wants to reach out to take Astarion's hands, to entwine their fingers as though to remind him that he is no longer alone in this world, but the concerned look Gale gives the vampire will have to suffice.]

Did they not answer you?

[Of course not, but his heart still demands he ask.]

[sangwhine]

[Astarion gives a sigh, leaning in to rest his forehead against Gale's.]

No. Not a single one. I called to every god I knew and was met with silence and torment.

[mystracal]

[Gale leans forward to meet him, his jaw tightening, brow knitting.]

Centuries of it.

[Even monsters like Ketheric Thorm had a god answer him. The image of Astarion enduring year after year of torture at the hands of his master, unable to escape, to control himself, to have any agency, all while the gods ignored him... it makes Gale's stomach turn.]

You must understand why I want that crown so badly, why the very thought of it consumes me. What I could do with it, Astarion!