🔮 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]

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!

[sangwhine]

Dearest, you needn't explain yourself to me. There are certain things one can only achieve with power. And what power is greater than that of a god?

[There is so much laden in those words. Centuries of hurt, anger, resentment at being so powerless, and the undeniable lust for power of his own, to become greater than the thing that hurt him. He smiles, rubbing his thumbs across Gale's temples, trying a little to bring him back to that relaxed, pliable state he was in before.]

Just think of what we can become. You, a god, and myself, a master of the undead the likes of which this world has never seen.

[mystracal]

[The tension in his brow remains as Astarion draws him back, but his jaw relaxes.]

We. I do like that. You'll be a vampire lord and lover to the sweetest-scented god in all the Realms.

[sangwhine]

They will write ballads about us. Tales for the ages.

[mystracal]

[Gale leans further into Astarion's touch.]

Good ballads, hopefully. Though it does make me wonder what kind of vampire lord I'll be lover to.

[sangwhine]

[There's a crease to Astarion's brow at the question, his hands continuing their work with Gale's hair.]

What do you mean? I'm right here, aren't I?

[mystracal]

That you are, but I've yet to hear a ballad about a kind vampire lord. It's the sort of tale no one has told - yet.

[sangwhine]

My dear, is kindness a word that you would use to describe me? In general, I mean.

[mystracal]

Toward me.

[But that does beg a question Gale, so love-struck, perhaps hadn't considered before.]

Though I suppose others would describe you quite differently.

[sangwhine]

[Astarion traces Gale's jaw with one hand, putting two fingers under his chin to tilt it up.]

You're different. No one else is like you. No one else ever cared like you do. They don't deserve the same kindness.

[mystracal]

[His eyes meet Astarion's, uncertainty coloring them.]

You will be different than Cazador though, certainly.

[... Surely?]