mystracal | 🔮 exsanguinated (with @sangwhine)

To have the power to turn someone myself? To create my own spawn?

[He frowns, then drops his hand into the water before climbing in.]

No. I want it off me.

[He sighs in quiet relief, letting Astarion get settled before he sets the cloth on his back, wiping away the traces of Cazador's demise.]

Think of it this way: any spawn you made would just get in the way of us. How am I to monopolize all your time if there's someone else in the picture?

[He dips the cloth again, wringing it.]

[When Astarion does settle, it's with his knees pulled to his chest, his arms loosely holding them in place. He rests his chin atop them, staring forward at the fabric of the tent.]

I don't think I want to imagine what it would be like.

I am here. I. I am free.

[Gale watches him, taking the washcloth down his shoulders, along his arms; the fabric comes back stained red, and into the water it goes.]

Yes you are, Astarion. Free and a wonder.

[After wringing, he gently grasps Astarion's arm, getting the blood off his hand. He gets the other hand while he's there before moving up his other arm.]

[Before Gale's touch leaves his hand, Astarion reaches out to grab his wrist. He stares down at it, pale skin with flecks of blood still in the creases of his fingers and nails against the clean, darker skin of Gale's hand.

He's free of Cazador. Free of the slavery that took so much from him. And what's more, he has Gale. He has love, faith, a man who cares enough to gently wash the remains of his former master from his skin. He blinks at the sight, his vision suddenly blurred. It's all too much.

He bows to press his forehead to the warmth of Gale's palm, eyes pinching shut as his shoulders start to shake.]

[Gale recognizes that touch, that need to stay close; he leans forward and slides his other hand around Astarion's cheek to the back of his neck, pulling him closer so that their foreheads can meet. The blind could see that Astarion needs time to process what has happened, what he has now, what future there will be for him as an eternal spawn - never to be a true vampire, but unable to ever return to the man he once was. Having to abandon everything he worked for and desired, left with an uncertain future and a hollow emptiness in its wake—

No, Gale doesn't know what it feels like. He can only relate to what are similar sorts of hurt. He has no words, nothing that can help in any real way - just the silent promise that he is there, no matter what Astarion needs.

He presses a kiss to Astarion's forehead before resting against him again.]

[It's the kiss that breaks the floodgates. A choked, inarticulate sob pulls from Astarion's throat as he grabs at Gale's shirt, pulling him closer so he can bury his face in the crook of his shoulder. He feels so small and pathetic in this moment, but there's nothing he wants more than to be held, and there's nothing he can do to stop the flood of tears staining Gale's shirt.]

[Gale pulls Astarion into his arms over the rim of the basin, one hand alighting on his back between his shoulders, the other wrapped in the silver locks of his blood-flecked hair. His shirt is immediately dampened from a mixture of water and tears, tinted red with the blood that's been washed from Astarion's frame. None of that matters. Nothing but Astarion matters in that moment.

He murmurs some words of encouragement and comfort. Though nothing can change what happened, nor what Astarion feels, it's all he can offer for the moment.]

Shhh. It's all right. I have you. I love you. I'm here with you.

[Astarion can't reply except with a whimpering cry. He clings to Gale, the weight of everything that's come to pass too much for him to hold to on his own. It's all overwhelming, too much all at once. Gale is the only thing that keeps him anchored, that grounds him. He tries to swallow against the tears, to find his voice again, but the sound he makes is another shaking sob.]

[With his heart aching on his lover's behalf, Gale holds Astarion for as long as he needs, rubbing soothing circles into his back as the vampire chokes and sobs against his shoulder. When he finally feels he can pull away, he doesn't go far, his hands remaining on Astarion's cheeks as he pulls back just enough for their eyes to meet. They are full of hope and sadness, but also love and warmth, sympathy and compassion carving into the rest of his features.

He'd insist Astarion get clean sooner so he could better comfort him, but it won't be soon enough, he things. He'll just have to close the gap himself.]

Here. A moment.

[With one hand still in Astarion's reach, he pulls off his boots and steps right into the basin himself, using magic to ensure it's big enough for them both. It's still a rather tight fit, but enough that he can sit down - and more importantly, that he can hold Astarion, should he want that. His clothes are plenty wet as it is.]

[Astarion's entire world feels fuzzy and out of focus once his tears are gone. His eyes burn. His throat is raw. His face is a mess, he's sure. But he doesn't want Gale to leave all the same. When Gale pulls away he reaches after him, his movements sluggish.]

Wait—

[The word is a fractured, broken thing. Not unlike Astarion himself. But once he realizes what Gale's doing he scoffs quietly, even as he rests himself against Gale's warmth again.]

Your robes are all wet, dearest.

They'll dry, I assure you. Besides, I know someone who might loan me some clothes for the night.

[He pulls Astarion closer, wrapping his arms around him; it feels better with them closer.]

[Astarion curls up to Gale, resting his head against Gale's chest to listen to the dual beat of the orb and his heart.]

Before long they'll all carry your scent.

[That heart beats just a big faster with Astarion near, the orb in tandem; he settles in, the still-warm water easing his muscles.]

And what scent is that? Describe it to me.

[His nose wrinkles as he sniffs, considering.]

Ink, parchment, a faint whiff of decay overlaid by petrichor.

[Though he could do without the 'whiff of decay,' he had a feeling that might be in there somewhere.]

That sounds accurate. And hopefully not all that unpleasant.

No. I've grown fond of it.

[His voice still sounds hoarse, the usually musical affect of his words undercut by a heavy weariness. He curls his hand in the fabric of Gale's shirt, his thumb running across the material.]

Good. I'm afraid you're stuck with me, so you'd have to get used to it otherwise.

[Gale kisses the top of Astarion's head once, then twice. That weariness is impossible to miss.]

[Astarion frowns, pushing himself up and turning just enough so he can look Gale in the eye.]

I am not stuck with you, Gale Dekarios. I chose you. And I would not have anyone else.

[Gale can't help but laugh - despite all the emotions he's had wearing on him over the course of the day, Astarion still manages to find a little more energy for determined defiance.]

And I couldn't be happier for it. You chose me, you chose to remain who you are and not ascend, and... and I...

[He pauses, hesitating as a consideration he's been avoiding floats back into his mind. His eyes fall, brow tightening.]

I can't choose the crown.

[It does bring a smile to Astarion's face to hear Gale's laughter, despite everything. Though it fades rather quickly with his next words. He reaches up to cup Gale's cheek in his hand, tilting his face back up to look at him properly.]

For us to remain as equals, you mean?

[His eyes flick to Astarion, the corner of his mouth curling in a rueful smile.]

Yes. For us to remain equals. If it came to a choice... I would choose you. I would choose you every time. Choose us.

[Astarion leans forward, kissing the crease in Gale's brow as if he could soothe it away so simply.]

You are more to me than any god could ever be. You don't need to be any more than you are now for me to love you, to want to stay with you.

[Gale bites his lip, feeling the weight of his own words now that they've been spoken aloud; they are all the more real for it.]

But I could be so much more for you. I could do so much good for this world. For you.

[And yet, there's an iota of doubt creeping into his tone, pulling at his lips so that his nose curls.]

[There's a beat as Astarion looks to him, studying Gale's expression.]

But what would be the cost, 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