[Gale lets Astarion fix his hair before he pulls the shirt on, careful about his neck. Bruises are starting to flourish across it, new ones building upon those Astarion had left there already.]
[That's why Astarion grabbed him a shirt with a higher collar. No need to show off his bruises anymore, and Astarion would prefer to not be constantly reminded of his family's attack. He reaches for the ties on the collar, helping to fasten it and smooth the fabric against Gale's neck.]
[Astarion rests his hands against Gale's shoulders, giving him a look that seems to say "you should know better, Gale" before gesturing a little to himself.]
I know what I look like in it from what I can see. But no, I've never seen the full effect.
Honestly, I don't know what my face looks like. I've forgotten it entirely.
[Gale is silent for a moment or two, but given the way his brow tightens and his chews on the inside of his bottom lip, it's evident the gears are turning behind his eyes. His gaze settles itself again on Astarion as he studies his pale features, recommitting them to memory.]
I can help with that. Here—
[He angles himself to sit directly across from Astarion, giving him one final look before he closes his eyes. He concentrates, picturing his partner in his mind - not just how he sees Astarion, but as he truly is, every hair, every feature. He's going for accuracy, not idealism.
Gale holds out a hand in front of him, letting his mind trace the contours of Astarion's face, from the way his lashes curve around those ruby eyes to that one crease he's so fond of. He's conjured Mystra's likeness countless times this way, but to replicate someone else is entirely new.
And undeniably exciting. His heart thrums with the orb in his chest as his hand glows, an image forming above it: recreated from illusory magic is a bust of Astarion himself, right down to his red eyes and roguish smile.]
[There's a moment of curious anticipation when Gale moves from where he's sitting. Astarion isn't sure what to expect, really. Something magic, obviously, he can tell that much from the raw magic begins to well in Gale's hands and the glow of his orb. But despite seeing Gale cast his cantrips and smaller illusions before, he hadn't expected this, hadn't even thought to consider it. His eyes go wide as the image takes form, completely captivated by it.]
You—I can't believe you.
[His voice is breathless with wonder, he reaches up, his fingers hovering above the image without touching as his other hand traces along his own skin in a mirror image. There he is. The face that was taken from him, stolen from him, returned again. The memory of it floods back to him, so much that he's forgotten about the curl of his hair, the way it twists around the tips of his ears, the soft shape of his lips and eyes.
It's the eyes that catch him the most, the color of them. He'd wondered at what color they must be, there are so many different shades of red, after all. It's honestly more stunning that he'd thought in his less than charitable moments. A soft, wondering smile grows on his lips. For all his vanity, his insistent, stubborn clinging to the fact that he must be beautiful, since he was before and there's certainly no way he would survive this long if his body wasn't somehow appealing, there's an indescribable difference in truly seeing it for himself.]
[Taking in Astarion's changing expression as he gazes upon himself for the first time in two centuries, Gale's heart sings; a grin of his own tugs at his mouth, one wide and painfully adoring. He lets Astarion continue looking, filling the void with his voice.]
I could do better with preparation, of course. Perhaps even produce an entire simulacrum, if necessary, though I think devising an enchantment for a mirror would be more practical - and economical, so long as the intended result is the same. Something that could replicate your image as it is, perhaps with a trigger word?
[Oh boy, his mind is turning now.]
However, I hope this gives you a mere taste of what I see when I look at you. How handsome you are. How wonderful.
[Trust Gale to be utterly incapable of staying quiet for even a moment. It draws Astarion's attention to him, even though he finds it hard to tear his eyes away from his own likeness, and his smile widens at the adoration he finds in Gale's eyes. He leans forward, catching Gale's face in his hands and kissing him very squarely on the lips.]
You, Gale of Waterdeep, are the most brilliant man I have ever known.
I do like the sound of gifts. It shall be part of our courtship.
[Far be it from Astarion to shy away from the feeling of power under his hand. He thumbs at Gale's cheek before dropping his hand to catch Gale by his elbow, tugging him lightly so they can both lie back down.]
[Gale settles back with Astarion, letting the illusory replica dissipate as he scoots closer. He lazily entwines a leg over Astarion's, enjoying the closeness even if it's not sexual in nature. As far as Gale is concerned, any touch at all from his lover keeps his heart warmed, no matter how small the gesture.]
I'm already planning several for you. Courting a famed wizard comes with such benefits, after all.
[The closeness and intimacy is much appreciated. Astarion is quite content to partake of Gale's warmth, finding his hand to entwine their fingers together as he rests his head against the cushions.]
Well, I will gladly welcome being lavished with your magical gifts.
[Gale pulls Astarion's hand to his lips to press a kiss to those cold fingers. He's lying next to the man with whom he's egregiously smitten, and he got to impress him with magic - not a bad night overall, so long as he ignores the attack, the part where his throat almost got ripped out, the fact that Astarion could have been kidnapped by the man who tortured him for two centuries, and when he killed the mood (again).
Oh, and he ruined a shirt. The night could have been better, he supposes.]
A shame you didn't start vying for my attention sooner. I could have been lavishing you with gifts this entire time.
[All things considered, the night could have gone so much worse in so many ways. To have Gale still with him, still happy, is what matters the most to Astarion. Plus he could get used to how Gale looks in his clothes. He toys a little with the hem of the collar on Gale's new shirt, considering it.]
You'll just have to make up for lost time. Once we're no longer risking life and limb every other day.
[Gale's smile widens, his eyes softening, cheeks reddening until he can't bear to look Astarion in the eyes any longer. He's painfully aware he looks like a lovesick puppy.
He bites the inside of his lip, thinking.]
I know I crossed a line earlier, asking you to turn your back on me, but... would it be all right now, with both of us clothed?
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How do I look?
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Perfect.
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I'm not sure it cuts quite the image on me as it does on you, but I trust your judgment.
[His brow knits.]
Though I suppose you haven't seen yourself in this one, have you?
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I know what I look like in it from what I can see. But no, I've never seen the full effect.
Honestly, I don't know what my face looks like. I've forgotten it entirely.
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I can help with that. Here—
[He angles himself to sit directly across from Astarion, giving him one final look before he closes his eyes. He concentrates, picturing his partner in his mind - not just how he sees Astarion, but as he truly is, every hair, every feature. He's going for accuracy, not idealism.
Gale holds out a hand in front of him, letting his mind trace the contours of Astarion's face, from the way his lashes curve around those ruby eyes to that one crease he's so fond of. He's conjured Mystra's likeness countless times this way, but to replicate someone else is entirely new.
And undeniably exciting. His heart thrums with the orb in his chest as his hand glows, an image forming above it: recreated from illusory magic is a bust of Astarion himself, right down to his red eyes and roguish smile.]
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You—I can't believe you.
[His voice is breathless with wonder, he reaches up, his fingers hovering above the image without touching as his other hand traces along his own skin in a mirror image. There he is. The face that was taken from him, stolen from him, returned again. The memory of it floods back to him, so much that he's forgotten about the curl of his hair, the way it twists around the tips of his ears, the soft shape of his lips and eyes.
It's the eyes that catch him the most, the color of them. He'd wondered at what color they must be, there are so many different shades of red, after all. It's honestly more stunning that he'd thought in his less than charitable moments. A soft, wondering smile grows on his lips. For all his vanity, his insistent, stubborn clinging to the fact that he must be beautiful, since he was before and there's certainly no way he would survive this long if his body wasn't somehow appealing, there's an indescribable difference in truly seeing it for himself.]
Gods, it's all there.
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I could do better with preparation, of course. Perhaps even produce an entire simulacrum, if necessary, though I think devising an enchantment for a mirror would be more practical - and economical, so long as the intended result is the same. Something that could replicate your image as it is, perhaps with a trigger word?
[Oh boy, his mind is turning now.]
However, I hope this gives you a mere taste of what I see when I look at you. How handsome you are. How wonderful.
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You, Gale of Waterdeep, are the most brilliant man I have ever known.
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All my brilliance would have no meaning were there no one to share it with, Astarion.
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[He kisses him again, just for good measure.]
I love you. Gods, you make me feel like a fool for how much I love you.
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[He finds one of Astarion's hands with his free one, clasping his fingers, holding it to his chest as though his touch would soothe the orb's ache.]
You understand a small part of why I'm so desperately in love with you. What you make me feel - what I would do to keep feeling that.
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I do understand it, dearest. You have given me back so much that I thought was lost. So much that was taken from me. I won't easily forget that.
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I'd give you back everything if I could. For what we cannot reclaim, we'll just have to make something new, won't we? Something of our own.
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[Far be it from Astarion to shy away from the feeling of power under his hand. He thumbs at Gale's cheek before dropping his hand to catch Gale by his elbow, tugging him lightly so they can both lie back down.]
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I'm already planning several for you. Courting a famed wizard comes with such benefits, after all.
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Well, I will gladly welcome being lavished with your magical gifts.
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Oh, and he ruined a shirt. The night could have been better, he supposes.]
A shame you didn't start vying for my attention sooner. I could have been lavishing you with gifts this entire time.
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You'll just have to make up for lost time. Once we're no longer risking life and limb every other day.
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[He watches as Astarion futzes with the collar of the shirt.]
If I didn't know any better, I'd say you like the look of this on me.
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[He brushes his hand across Gale's shoulder, just to feel the fabric, really.]
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Nothing wrong at all. It's not quite the cut I'm used to, but I'll trust your expert opinion.
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[He strokes Gale's cheek, softly affectionate.]
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He bites the inside of his lip, thinking.]
I know I crossed a line earlier, asking you to turn your back on me, but... would it be all right now, with both of us clothed?
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