mystracal | 🔮 exsanguinated (with @sangwhine)

[Oh, that is new. It's so completely unlike anything Astarion's ever experienced, a startling frisson of pleasure dancing over his skin. He can't help but gasp at the sensation, a heady groan slipping from his throat as his fingers tangle in Gale's hair, deepening their kiss. His hips roll into the pressure of Gale's leg, eager and encouraging.]

[As that groan and gasp pass into Gale through their lips, he can't help but smile widely, brightly before being drawn back in. He wants Astarion to feel all he can offer outside the Weave, what tantalizing new experiences they could have should they bond through it like the deities they deserve to be.

And yet, he can't say he isn't enjoying just being grounded to the mortal realm, to the sensations his physical body has to offer - and be given in turn. Astarion is the first person he's been with since Mystra; he's forgotten what it's like to be loved, cherished in such a way. And he knows Astarion's history. He deserves better, and Gale is determined to give it to him, however he can.

His hand beneath Astarion's shirt presses to his chest, massaging the muscles there, fingers dancing briefly across his nipple. He keeps his thigh steady, letting Astarion roll against it - and he finds himself doing the same to Astarion's thigh between his own legs, heat building in his abdomen.]

[Even the briefest touch of Gale's fingers across Astarion's nipple is enough to startle a moan from him. He turns hungry in the kiss, pulling Gale to him like he means to devour him. It feels desperate, inelegant, but in the moment it's perfect. He knows he'll need to remove his shirt at some point in time, but he doesn't want to tear himself from Gale just yet.]

[Gale also finds himself reluctant to change anything, so enthralled by the heat between them, by that startled moan and the thrum of the orb in his chest. His tongue explores Astarion's mouth as though it would sate the lust that's overtaking him. When Gale thinks of his lover - of his ruby eyes hot and angry with primal, unbridled rage on his behalf - he's not sure anything can.

He finally has to pull away, his breath hitching as he murmurs Astarion's name, whispered between them as though it were a secret. Though one conjured hand remains in Astarion's hair, raking his scalp, another appears to grab his ass and give it a squeeze, then a third to run along the side of his hip, encouraging him to continue rocking against Gale's thigh; each hand is imbued with the same tingling magic as their creator, and seem to share in his wanton desire.]

[The addition of two more hands startles Astarion. He feels adrenaline surge through his veins for the space of a heartbeat, a weight settling in his throat that he quickly swallows away. His fingers dig in at the side of Gale's head as he quickly searches out Gale's eyes.]

Dearest—just your touch is enough.

[Astarion draws Gale's attention easily enough; his eyes are a tad unfocused, his breath punctuating his words.]

Sorry. I suppose I, um. [Embarrassment flashes across him.] I got carried away.

[He closes his eyes and concentrates, and the conjured hands dissipate; it's almost as if he has to focus to get rid of them rather than the other way around.]

There we go, just us. [He meets Astarion's gaze again, uncertainty on his lips.] Are you...?

[To answer, Astarion leans in, catching Gale's lips in a kiss. It's perhaps less heated than the one they shared before, but just as wanting.]

I didn't say stop.

Of course.

[He takes that first kiss as an answer and replies with a gentle one of his own, letting it linger. When they part, he presses his forehead to Astarion's, wanting the vampire to bask in his warmth, searching for ways for them to be ever-closer. His hand - his hand - goes back to roaming along Astarion's chest, tracing the contours of his abdomen before reaching the waist of his trousers.

And that's where he's careful, almost tentative; he slides his fingers along the garment teasingly, waiting for his partner to tell him to proceed.]

[Astarion reaches down, putting his hand over Gale's, leading it down to press over the swell of his erection as he rolls his hips into the contact. He gives a soft groan, his fingers flexing against Gale's wrist.]

Please, darling.

[Gale's smile returns, one bearing all the signs of a man utterly smitten: it touches his eyes, colors his entire expression, seeps into his very bones the moment it crosses him. His hand fondles that swell, caressing it, rolling it underneath his palm as he rocks in tandem against Astarion's thigh, encouraging his own erection before even removing their clothes. Astarion's body is perfect - far more so than his own, softer one - but Gale doesn't need it in sight to find him irresistible.

He makes his way down Astarion's neck once more; however, he's slow in his journey this time, pressing both tantalizing kisses and salacious confessions into his jawline, down his throat, to his shoulder. He pulls the neck of that fine shirt to rest unevenly, giving him more access to the vampire's collarbones.

He pulls away just long enough for words.]

Loath as I am to part from you, I believe it's time to remove that shirt. And maybe some other things.

We are overdressed, my dear.

[Astarion looks up at him, his lips bruised and flushed from their kissing. He doesn't need to breathe, but he draws in a breath regardless, trapped by Gale's gaze, the utter adoration in his eyes, before he shifts, dragging his shirt off with practiced ease.]

[As Astarion pulls off his shirt, Gale slips out of his shoes and kicks them off. He'd remove more, but that would require them to untangle their legs, and he's not sure he wants to be parted for that long. He can hardly contain himself as it is, especially with Astarion's bare chest waiting, his expression making Gale's heart flutter with delight.

His tongue darts between his lips, that hunger in him rising again, the mark on his chest brightly illuminated by desire. For a moment, all he can do is breathe and look upon Astarion in awe.]

I'm sure you've been told this countless times, but you really are unspeakably handsome.

Not often enough. And not so often from your lips.

[Astarion loves that look, it settles him, warming. Once his shirt is discarded, he reaches up to trace the glowing lines of the orb in Gale's chest.]

You are a sight yourself. The way you look at me. How I can see myself in your eyes.

[The orb pulses beneath Astarion's touch in time with Gale's heartbeat as though they were one and the same, the orb as much a part of him as he is of it. He leans forward over Astarion, his eyes locked on his lover, his hair framing his face as his chestnut locks fall all around it.]

And what do you see when you see yourself in my eyes?

[He pauses, brushing his knuckles over Gale's cheek, his touch trailing down along the line of his jaw.]

I see adoration. I see the tenderness in your heart. I see your love.

I feel all of that for you, and more.

[Gale's hazel eyes are nearly lost in the darkness, but Astarion can no doubt see them well enough to he he speaks the truth. His smile tugs at the corners of his mouth; it remains as he returns to Astarion's neck, grazing slowly down his throat, whispering into his skin.]

My devotion for you runs deeper than for any other being, any god or goddess. With you, I forget them. I don't need them.

[He takes his time to occasionally drag his teeth or leave a hot, bruising kiss along Astarion's chest. The way the color flourishes on him is enticing, intense.]

[Astarion gives a contented sigh in response. He keeps one hand cradling the back of Gale's head, while the other slides down over his side, resting at his hip. The heat, the attention Gale lavishes upon him is intoxicating. Without any pretense, knowing there's no expectation, nothing that comes beyond this aside from the adoration that he already has.]

Make me your world. Show me I'm all that you see.

With pleasure, my love.

[He leaves another mark along Astarion's chest, kisses his sternum, slides his hand along the vampires ribs; his fingers dig into the muscles and skin he finds there. Leaving tender nips and soft embraces as he travels across Astarion's torso, Gale seeks to memorize his every contour through his lips. As his hand slides around his back, Gale feels the scars there, his fingertips running along them - it gives him an idea.

Working his way back up to Astarion's neck, he pulls away just enough to leave room between them, his hand at Astarion's side giving him a gentle tug, as though encouraging him to turn over.]

Turn for me. Let me see your scars.

[There's a little resistance to that thought, tension threading through Astarion's shoulders, his grip tightening at Gale's hip. He trusts Gale, but even though he's borne them for two hundred years, the scars are something he prefers to not think on or acknowledge. Their connection to Cazador's ritual has hardly changed that. They're both a mark of shame and ownership as well as a potential tool to seize power and freedom.]

What—what are you thinking?

[That resistance is hard to miss, but Gale remains reassuring, offering his lover a gentle smile.]

I intend to put my lips all over them. Maybe leave a few marks of my own. I want to love every inch of you, Astarion.

[Astarion swallows as he considers it, his gaze studying Gale's expression. Reclaiming the scars has its appeal, but the thought of turning his back to Gale, pressing himself to the ground, exposed and vulenerable—he shakes his head, a short, quick movement, tearing his eyes away.]

No—not there. Not yet.

[Gale does a better job of keeping the disappointment from his face this time, reminding himself that it's not that Astarion doesn't trust him; those scars, his past, and the meaning behind them are a complicated, tangled mess, one Astarion will one day have to work his way through. All Gale can do is be there for him as he does, protecting him, making sure he feels safe enough to do so. He'd do anything to accomplish that.

He nods, more to himself than Astarion, before cupping the vampire's cheek in his hand, mirroring the gesture Astarion so often uses on him.]

Tell me where I should go, then. You decide.

I—a moment.

[The grip at the back of Gale's head moves to his shoulder, bracing. He doesn't want to push Gale away, doesn't want to end this. It hasn't been perfect so far, but it's been good, it's been what he wanted—but now the echo of Cazador's voice is in his ears, the nightmare that's haunted him for centuries. The sting of the knife, the way it burned when he cut over and over again.

Astarion squeezes his eyes shut against it, trying to block it out, push it away, bury it where it belongs, but stay here, present, with Gale in the end. He can feel himself started to drift, the sweet bruising touch of Gale's lips to his skin already fading into a cottony miasma of distance. He bites down on his lip, hard enough for his fangs to draw blood, hoping in some twisted way that the pain will help.]

Hells—just let me have this—

[Oh, Gale doesn't like that. He can kick himself for having caused this with his haste later; for now, he realizes he needs to do otherwise, to help Astarion through what trauma has gripped him so terribly that he draws his own blood. His hand slides from Astarion's cheek, trailing down to the side of his neck, his fingers coming to rest upon his bite scars while his thumb traces his jawline.]

Let's stop for now.

No—no, don't.

[His eyes open, and he tries to make them focus so he can see Gale's expression, meet his gaze. The static hum in his ears won't fade, but if he can't get rid of it, he can use it. His hand unfolds against Gale's shoulder, reaching up to curve around the back of his neck, fingers dragging through his hair. He feels his tongue dart out, licking up the blood on his lips. It's a practiced motion, one he's used hundreds of times before. His lips left parted, inviting, though he can barely feel them anymore, can barely make out what sort of look Gale has on his face now.]

Don't stop, dearest.

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject