[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.]
[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.]
[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.]
[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.]
[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.]
[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.]
[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.]
[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.]
[Gale hesitates. He wants to trust Astarion, wants to trust he will tell him when to stop; however, there's something about his expression, the haze in his eyes, that leaves the wizard distinctly uncomfortable. He weighs in his mind what would be the correct choice, trying to think through the heat and the arousal, thinking himself in circles in the span of a few seconds.
Ultimately, he chooses that trust, knowing how important it is to Astarion to be trusted. Just a little more, and if he can't draw Astarion back, they'll stop.
Gale is gentle as he presses a kiss to Astarion's injured lips, his hand on Astarion's neck moving to caress his jaw, the lobe of his ear. He's careful not to lose himself this time, taking note of how Astarion reacts, ready to pull back at a moment's notice.]
[It may not be what Gale wants, or what Astarion truly wants either, but the pleasant side effect of his years and years of practice in seduction means that when he does distance himself from it, when he lets instinct take control, he is very good at what he does. He meets Gale in the kiss, matching his pace before gently coaxing it deeper, urging Gale to taste him, to take more. His nails drag against the nape of Gale's neck with just the right amount of pressure. The hand at Gale's hip moves to the small of his back, urging him to close the distance that separates their bodies.]
[Astarion pulls him in deeper, and Gale obliges, his breath heavier as he feels the vampire's nails rake against his neck. He allows himself to taste Astarion, to kiss him more passionately, greedily; he lowers himself carefully at the touch to his back, fighting the urge to grind against his lover as the orb shimmers between them.
He pulls back only briefly before going again, murmuring Astarion's name as he kisses at his jawline.]
[Astarion tilts his head for Gale, answering him with Gale's name whispered on a sigh. Gale may have his hesitations about grinding into him, but Astarion has none at the moment. He gives a lazy roll of his hips up against Gale's body once he moves closer, just so Gale can feel his arousal. The pressure at Gale's back moves lower, Astarion's palm sliding easily over the curve of his ass.]
[Gods, the heat radiating off his own face is unbearable. Gale breathes in Astarion's skin, that hand on his backside encouraging him. With his free hand, he reaches for the waist of Astarion's trousers again, pushing them downward, testing how much give they have.
He licks his lips, pressing the bridge of his nose to Astarion's neck as he whispers into the muscle he finds there.]
[Astarion lifts his hips just a little more to aid Gale in slipping his pants down and closer to off. The hand at Gale's ass gives a soft squeeze, he'll want these off too before long. It takes a moment, perhaps a beat too long, before he responds when Gale speaks. He turns, nosing against Gale's hair, his voice a low and sultry purr.]
It's more than all right, darling. Go on. Touch me.
[That squeeze makes him gasp, that roll lodging the air in his throat. Gale is red in the face, sweat glistening on his skin, the orb humming with undeniable arousal that speaks volumes of how he's feeling below the belt...
And yet, he stops. He didn't like that pause, the practice tone of the purr in his ear. Yes, it's Astarion, but it's not the Astarion he wants. Rather than the man he loves, the one who roared in rage and lashed out at his siblings with a fire that could rival the sun, he sounds too close to who he was when he was initially trying to seduce Gale, all honeyed words with no true feeling behind them.
Gale leans back to sit on his heels, his hand coming to rest on Astarion's knee.]
[Astarion blinks, momentarily dumbfounded by the change in Gale's demeanor. His eyes still have the same hazy, faraway look to them as he puts his hand over Gale's, fingers drawing up and along his arm.]
We don't have to stop, my dear. You want this, don't you? I know I've kept you waiting.
["We," there's the word. Between Gale's words and the arresting quality of his gaze, Astarion finds himself drawn in, drawn back. He blinks, his eyes coming into focus, and it's only through sheer force of will that he keeps the feeling of disgust and self-loathing from his face as he takes in the sincerity, the concern in Gale's eyes.
He lets his hand fall away from Gale's arm, suddenly feeling overexposed with his shirt off, his pants already worked part of the way down his hips. His lips draw to a thin line as his mind races, trying to fish words out of a blur of static and raw hurt.
When he finds them, they're quiet, less a whisper and more a soft murmur, meant for Gale's ears only.]
You could have taken what you wanted. I—would have allowed it.
[Gale sighs quietly; there's a short-lived moment of relief that washes over him as he sees the Astarion he loves return, only to be replaced with sober remorse.]
I know.
[He keeps his hand on Astarion's knee, wanting that contact between them, no matter how minimal. His volume matches Astarion's, as though the whole camp would hear them.]
But do you think I would want that? To take when you have had so much taken from you already without a single thought given to how you felt? To what you wanted?
[Though grateful for the accuracy of Astarion's assessment, Gale can't help the ache he feels on the vampire's behalf. The others may tease the wizard about his awkward flirtations from time to time, but when he gives his heart to another, he does not intend to take it back. Yes, even if they never have a single night of passion - of making love like mortals, of ravishing one another until their bodies ache with ecstasy and exhaustion - Gale will still love Astarion wholeheartedly. He's not sure he could do otherwise.
But Gale has seen how worthless Astarion feels in his inability to perform for the one person he wants to perform for. He can relate to that, to having his entire value as a person tied up in a single skill. People only wanted Astarion for his body, and as for Gale...]
And you would love me even if I had not a drop of magic at my command. You have my heart, Astarion, for as long as you'll have me.
[He extracts himself from between his lover's legs, turning to lie on his back beside Astarion so he, too, can stare at the ceiling. It offers him no more answers than it did his partner.]
[It's at least more comfortable for Astarion without Gale between his legs. He shifts where he lies, re-adjusting his pants and reaching for his discarded shirt. He feels pathetic, broken, and perhaps beyond repair considering how many times he's cut himself on the jagged edges left by Cazador. Yet acknowledging the fact only leaves him hollow, as if he has no choice but to accept that this will be his future.]
I don't know if it's quite the same comparison, considering most don't have an expectation for cantrips in the bedroom in a loving relationship.
[Astarion sits up as he slips his shirt back on, looking down at Gale without making eye contact for a moment before he reaches out to gently take Gale's hand in his.]
I am grateful. That you want this. That you've shown me patience.
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Make me your world. Show me I'm all that you see.
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[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.
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What—what are you thinking?
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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.
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No—not there. Not yet.
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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.
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[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—
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Let's stop for now.
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[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.
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Ultimately, he chooses that trust, knowing how important it is to Astarion to be trusted. Just a little more, and if he can't draw Astarion back, they'll stop.
Gale is gentle as he presses a kiss to Astarion's injured lips, his hand on Astarion's neck moving to caress his jaw, the lobe of his ear. He's careful not to lose himself this time, taking note of how Astarion reacts, ready to pull back at a moment's notice.]
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He pulls back only briefly before going again, murmuring Astarion's name as he kisses at his jawline.]
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He licks his lips, pressing the bridge of his nose to Astarion's neck as he whispers into the muscle he finds there.]
Is this all right?
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It's more than all right, darling. Go on. Touch me.
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And yet, he stops. He didn't like that pause, the practice tone of the purr in his ear. Yes, it's Astarion, but it's not the Astarion he wants. Rather than the man he loves, the one who roared in rage and lashed out at his siblings with a fire that could rival the sun, he sounds too close to who he was when he was initially trying to seduce Gale, all honeyed words with no true feeling behind them.
Gale leans back to sit on his heels, his hand coming to rest on Astarion's knee.]
We should stop.
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We don't have to stop, my dear. You want this, don't you? I know I've kept you waiting.
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[His nose wrinkles as he bites back an unspoken emotion, keeping his tone even, soft, sincere as he searches Astarion's eyes.]
I know I have an unfortunately documented history of impatience, but... I'm not the only one in this relationship. We should want this. Not just me.
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He lets his hand fall away from Gale's arm, suddenly feeling overexposed with his shirt off, his pants already worked part of the way down his hips. His lips draw to a thin line as his mind races, trying to fish words out of a blur of static and raw hurt.
When he finds them, they're quiet, less a whisper and more a soft murmur, meant for Gale's ears only.]
You could have taken what you wanted. I—would have allowed it.
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I know.
[He keeps his hand on Astarion's knee, wanting that contact between them, no matter how minimal. His volume matches Astarion's, as though the whole camp would hear them.]
But do you think I would want that? To take when you have had so much taken from you already without a single thought given to how you felt? To what you wanted?
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[He lets his head fall back onto the pillows, looking up to the canvas ceiling of his tent, as if it holds answers, or maybe some sort of escape.]
If we never have this, never have sex, never share a night of passion. You would still love me, all the same.
[It isn't a question, more a statement of something he knows to be true. But the way he says it still rings of a deep, festering hurt.]
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But Gale has seen how worthless Astarion feels in his inability to perform for the one person he wants to perform for. He can relate to that, to having his entire value as a person tied up in a single skill. People only wanted Astarion for his body, and as for Gale...]
And you would love me even if I had not a drop of magic at my command. You have my heart, Astarion, for as long as you'll have me.
[He extracts himself from between his lover's legs, turning to lie on his back beside Astarion so he, too, can stare at the ceiling. It offers him no more answers than it did his partner.]
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I don't know if it's quite the same comparison, considering most don't have an expectation for cantrips in the bedroom in a loving relationship.
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Perhaps not, but magic is the only reason anyone has ever considered me in the first place.
[That goes for Mystra and those who came before - it's one of the perils of being a prodigy.]
And my heart alone would not be enough for most. You, too, are different.
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I am grateful. That you want this. That you've shown me patience.
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