mystracal | 🔮 exsanguinated (with @sangwhine)

I'm sure you do, but I think you'd rather enjoy just tearing her to pieces.

[A beat as he smiles, getting more gauze for Astarion's side.]

I... do like how protective you are of me. You shouldn't have to be, but- to know my lover cares for my safety is still a relative novelty. I'm certain you're the first.

Oh, I would have loved to turn her inside out.

[He seems all to excited at the thought. But Gale's next words give him pause. He's not quite thought of the way he acts when Gale's in danger as protective, per say. Certainly, he doesn't want to see Gale hurt, but it's felt more driven out of a selfish desire to keep what's his from harm. But that is protection in its own way, isn't it? It's a sort of care, of love.

He tilts his head, regarding Gale with a faint smile at that comment, reaching out to run a hand through his hair. Yet the smile fades as he talks, his words hitting on somthing deeper.]

I don't want to see you hurt, that's all. Honestly, that shouldn't be a novelty. For either of us, I suppose. But, all the same, I—I would lose myself, without you. I don't think my heart would ever forget you.

[Whether born from a selfish need to keep the wizard to himself or a newfound, protective desire to keep them together, Gale apparently sees Astarion's actions as the height of romance. He leans into Astarion's hand, grateful those are truly his hands, and lets his gaze land upon his lover's face.]

And my heart would shatter were you not there to keep it safe.

[He leans over Astarion as he finishes bandaging his side, and he can't help but steal a gentle kiss.]

I'll leave your arms to you so I may see what of mine they brought from the last camp. Assuming my chest is intact, I should have what I need for another test. I'll be gone for only a moment.

[Astarion returns the kiss, reaching for the gauze as Gale pulls away.]

I'll take care of myself, dear. Go on. It didn't seem that the pretender had gone through your things when I was there.

[Never mind the pillow he definitely ruined with his dagger, but that's not important right now. He'll busy himself with cleaning the less serious wounds on his arms, mostly just cleaning them up so they'll heal over once he can get his hands on a potion or some healing magic.]

[Gale's touch and gaze linger just a moment longer; even though he was the one assuring Astarion he'd be right back, he seems hesitant to leave. He finally makes himself, heading to find where his belongings have been set. He finds his chest across suite, next to what appears to be Astarion's - he'll thank Halsin for their placement later - and pushes it open, thankful to find all his belongings in there.

Well, save for one, something he had on him when he was knocked out. He'll have to go back to the old camp when he has a chance - he can't just leave it out there, not when it has so much worked wrapped up in it... and significance. He pushes it out of his mind for now, gathering his book with his notes, and a select couple of vials.

Back across the room he goes; he sets his collection on the table near the tub, sorting them out.]

We'll try something else this time. You'll drink this one —[he puts his hand on one of the vials, the more green of the two]— and I'll have the other.

[He holds up the second vial, a far more bluish color than the one he'd suggested for Astarion.]

As simple as that, is it?

[He takes the vial, examining it a bit more closely before bringing it up to take a sniff.]

And I'm trusting you that this one won't taste awful, will it?

It's only simple because I've put a lot of work into this, into perfecting the formula and distilling the essence to a powerful form.

[A sign this is definitely the real Gale: he is absolutely going to take credit for something he's proud of.]

As for the taste, that is going to sting on the way down. Mine is no better. But it should give you the resistance you need to drink from me, canceling out what toxin remains and leaving behind... well, I'm not sure of what that will taste like. Tolerable, hopefully.

[He removes the cork from his vial.]

I'll need to go ahead and drink mine now, give it a few minutes to get working.

Bottoms up, then.

[Astarion drinks his down. He does grimace at the sting, it's strange having something sting on the way down. Even the foulest blood that he was fed during his slavery never stung. But thankfully the feeling passes rather quickly, settling into a mild, tingling sensation. He gives a small shake of his head as he sets the vial aside.]

Well, that certainly is a unique flavor.

[He reaches for Gale now, drawing a hand through his hair, brushing a thumb over his cheek.]

How long do we wait?

Too long, in my opinion.

[He tilts his own vial into his mouth, and from the look of it, it does more than sting on the way down; his face scrunches beneath Astarion's hand as it churns in his gut, the concoction permeating his body. It's several seconds before he continues; he spends the entire time trembling, his fingers tightening on the glass vial.]

I'm likely to be feverish as the necrotic energy is —[he shudders, his eyes watering]— cleansed from my blood physically rather than magically, but I'll keep. I'll be back to myself in a few hours - unfortunately normal, which would be a death sentence for anyone else, but otherwise fine.

[He sets the vial aside, drawing closer to Astarion; his pulse quickens as he searches for Astarion's eyes.]

I want this to work.

I want it too, love.

[His hands cup Gale's face, pulling him in for a gentle, lingering kiss. The aftertaste of Gale's potion on his lips isn't pleasant, but for Astarion it's a welcome way to pass the short time until he can taste.]

Will I need to tend to you? Dote upon you after I feed?

[It's teasing, but there's an undercurrent of nerves that cuts through is words. He knows how disappointing this will be for Gale if it fails, how much Gale will blame himself for any failure. Astarion would like to avoid that all entirely, Gale doesn't need any more self-doubt burdening him at the moment. If he could just feed, taste Gale's blood without it poisoning him, then it would bolster them both after the ordeal they've endured today.]

[Gale leans into that kiss, and into Astarion's forehead afterwards; his skin is warmer already, though if it's the elixir to blame - or his love for Astarion - goes unsaid.]

I should be the one doting on you, feeding or not. You're the one with injuries. Aside from my capture, I'm in relatively good health. However, I will never turn down your attentions.

As unpleasant as it is, we both know that I've suffered far worse, dearest.

[He presses his forehead back against Gale's, stroking his fingers gently through his hair as he breathes deeply of Gale's scent, trying to see if he can't detect when the potion's worked its magic.]

Besides, you've already doted on me quite well.

All I did was bring us here and put a few bandages on you, Astarion. And given my lack of expertise in the fine art of medicine, I can't say it's my best work. Perhaps we should have looked around a bit more, seen if there were more suitable supplies for that wound on your shoulder.

[Gale continues to talk, but as he does, his scent shifts subtly: the smell of petrichor softens, and the undercurrent of decay it once covered vanishes entirely, replaced by an aroma that is simultaneously sharp and sweet. It's reminiscent of the electricity he so often commands and the cinnamon scent of pages in an old book, and though the smells of ink and parchment remain, those are likely a permanent feature of his skin and hair rather than the blood that runs within him.

The new aroma is stronger with every beat of his heart, so near the surface beneath those long cuts Orin left along him; the alchemical concoction keeps his blood purified for the time being. Notably, it is a far cry from his last attempt; perhaps splitting the solution between the two of them was the correct course after all.

He continues to talk - or rather, he never stopped, as his nerves wouldn't allow it.]

... And I have done my fair share of stitching, as Tara could tell you. Not just mending clothes, but to hide my fair share of injuries from my mother when necessary. You'd be surprised how sharp a shard of ice can be.

[The transformation has a noted effect on Astarion. He's listening to Gale at first, but as the scent transforms it draws his attention away from Gale's words. He can nearly feel his mouth watering at the appealing thought of what Gale's blood might taste like now. How full bodied it might be, like the fine wines that he's been unable to taste for hundreds of years.

He draws in a deep breath, luxuriating in the scent before turning his head to nose against Gale's throat, kissing over his pulse, teasing at it with his teeth. When he answers, it's with a low rumble, reverberating against Gale's skin.]

I can only imagine, darling.

[That shuts him up.]

Oh.

[Gale smiles tentatively, assuming that's a good sign and not just Astarion getting his hopes up. He lets his hands fall around Astarion's waist, his breath picking up, heartbeat hot on his veins.]

Should we... sit down for this?

I think it would be wise for us to get comfortable, yes.

[He leaves a nip, pulling away and drawing Gale up with him. He draws him away to the beds that have been designated as theirs. There's a pause before he finds a folding screen, placing it such that it affords them a small amount of privacy should the rest of their party return.]

[Oh, that nip is terribly enticing. Gale is all too happy to follow Astarion, wearing what is likely the same expression he had when believed it was Astarion luring him away from camp: his lips are curled in a smile, creasing his eyes in lovesick adoration.

With the way the beds are arranged, the screen offers them a surprising amount of privacy, as the sleeping quarters are set in pairs, a short wall separating two beds from two more. With Astarion's bed set in a corner and a half-wall behind Gale's - and now the screen in front of the entrance to the space - it's almost as though they have their own room, four walls and everything. Though perhaps not as private as the tents at their previous camps, it will be just as soundproof when it comes to any romantic activities they may indulge in - which is to say, not at all.

Good thing they're alone. As his only other experience in being bitten by a vampire was when Astarion's sibling nearly ripped his throat out, he's not sure how he'll take it. He's thought about it a number of times, is certain he'll enjoy it on account of Astarion's presence - as well as the sense of accomplishment he'll gain from having solved his blood problem, albeit temporarily. However, the thought that it won't be enough lingers in the back of his mind; it will be back to the proverbial drawing board if it isn't.

He pulls off his ruined tunic; the long cuts in it weren't doing him any favors, and he'd rather it not be in the way. Once it's gone, tossed to the side, he can't help but bring his hands back to Astarion, one cupping his cheek while the other rests on his shoulder.]

It's almost like sharing our tents. A space just for us.

A preview of times to come, hm?

[Astarion leans into the touch, turning to kiss Gale's palm, then his pulse. He catches Gale by his hips, pushing him down onto the bed in the corner before crawling over him with clear intent. His hands move slowly up Gale's stomach and chest before coming to rest on his shoulders.

All his earlier apprehensions have been replaced with eager anticipation. The blood he's lost and the new, appealing aroma coming off of Gale have pushed any worries he could have far to the back of his mind. All he wants now is to feed, to feel the heat of Gale's blood across his tongue, filling his mouth.

He leans in to catch Gale's lips in a quick, heated kiss before he lowers his lips to his neck, laving his tongue across the skin once before he sinks his teeth in. The first burst has a familiar flavor, that rich, heady flavor of the Weave in Gale's blood. But beyond that, it has the same earthen notes. The sharp bite of cinnamon coats his mouth in a way he's never felt before.

He nearly groans at the indulgence of it, lapping his tongue across the bites to hold himself back only long enough to make sure the astringent aftertaste won't rear its ugly head. It's only a few beats before his hunger overrides that better sense and he latches his lips back over the wounds, drinking greedily.]

[Gale catches the look in those ruby eyes as Astarion crawls over him, his pale hands cool against the heat of the wizard's skin. Gale is warm, warmer than usual - it seems he was right about the slight fever he'd endure from the concoction, but it's a small price to pay for the excitement he feels as he meets Astarion's gaze. There's a hunger there, both in the literal and figurative sense; he'd be apprehensive in other circumstances, or even a pinch frightened, but as Astarion presses a kiss to his lips, it's Gale who returns it with a ravenous appetite, wanting more.

It will wait; he closes his eyes as Astarion drags his tongue across his neck and over his pulse. Gale's arms wrap around his partner's back to draw him closer, one hand lacing into Astarion's silver hair as he gives a silent prayer to any deity who will listen: he wants this to work so badly.

The bite is colder than he'd expected, like ice injected directly into his veins. He gasps sharply, surprised, his fingers curling against Astarion's back, gripping his hair as his chest briefly rises to meet him; he then holds his breath to hear the vampire's reaction. A word of encouragement would be nice, as would silence that indicates it's not bad enough to complain about - anything but retching would be preferable.

It's as Astarion pulls away, licking at the punctures before latching on again, that Gale finally relaxes fully. His smile widens in relief, then unbridled joy as a laugh bubbles through him, rumbling all the way from his core to his throat. He tries to swallow it down so as not to disturb Astarion's meal, but he can't help the euphoria he feels in that moment as his breath picks up, his neck arching to give Astarion more. He did it.]

[Never in Astarion's many years did he ever think that someone would be driven to joyous laughter by the simple act of him feeding. But Gale's laugh warms him nearly as much as the blood spilling across his tongue. It means everything to him, that Gale can have this, that they both care share this. That Astarion can truly taste his lover for the first time, that Gale won't continue to think less of himself for the taint in his blood. He gives in and lets an answering moan pull from his throat as he continues to drink, a faint flush returning to his skin, his touch warming oh so slightly as his body restores itself.

He could drink from Gale forever and never be full, could never have enough of the taste that is so uniquely him. He drinks deep and greedily, one hand running down Gale's arm to find his hand, gripping it tight. He'll give Gale every reassurance that he needs that it's worked, that he is truly delicious.]

[That moan in reply and the squeeze to his hand are all the reassurance Gale needs, any lingering doubts chased completely from his mind. He presses a kiss to Astarion's shoulder, letting himself get lost in the plethora of novel sensations running through him; though he tries to focus on them, it's difficult when he's basking in the unmitigated delight of their triumph over the orb.

Gods, he's glad they can share in this - that he can provide for his partner, that Astarion might not need to hunt every night or be beholden to someone else for his meals, like their leader. His hand in Astarion's hair slides to rest at the nape of his neck, encouraging him to drink his fill.

Though the image of being food for a creature of the night would certainly be horrific to some, Gale has to admit it's a rather intimate affair in practice, especially when said creature is his lover. He groans quietly as he murmurs Astarion's name, reveling in the closeness of their bodies, the cadence of his heartbeat in time with Astarion's fervent swallows, the way Astarion's skin seems to be warmer by the second while his is cooling. Despite the sheen of sweat across Gale's forehead, he feels a chill. Maybe that's the fever again, but with how lightheaded he's becoming, he can't quite tell.]

[It could be the fever, it could be the blood loss. Thankfully Astarion is attentive enough to how his feeding might effect someone now that he's in the habit of feeding from their leader. Though the sensation and thrill of Gale's blood does push that from his mind for a long moment. He doesn't want to pull away, doesn't want to end this. But when Gale's body starts to shiver and shudder beneath him, he's able to exert his self-control enough to stop. His tongue runs across the wounds to help them close, and for one last taste of Gale's blood so he can savor it on his tongue.

He looks up to Gale once he's done, his cheeks flushed, lips still a dark red from Gale's blood. His hands seek out Gale's face, running through his hair and feeling his forehead just to confirm that he's not in any danger of passing out. When he speaks, his voice is low and rough, a deep satisfaction rumbling through him.]

Dearest Gale. My love.

[While not in danger of passing out, Gale is certainly pallid as Astarion pulls away, the shadows under his eyes just a little deeper, the violet tendrils reaching from the orb all the darker against his complexion. And yet, he smiles; he can't keep himself from smiling as he pulls his hand from the back of Astarion's head to his cheek, cradling it tenderly, his fingers brushing against the lobe of his pointed ear. It's so novel to see that color across his usually pale skin, endearing in a new way - it's as though Gale brought him back to life, however briefly.

And perhaps he has, in a sense. With his other hand, Gale pushes off the bed onto his elbow, just enough to bump his forehead against Astarion's in an affectionate nuzzle. He likes him so close.]

I'll assume the taste was more than acceptable.

[The noises Astarion made while drinking told him that much, but he wants to hear it from the vampire himself.]

[Astarion loves having Gale so close like this. Especially now that he's confirmed he hasn't drunk the other man dry. He responds to Gale's nuzzle by pressing a firm kiss to his lips, cupping the nape of Gale's neck in his hand.]

Darling, I would gladly drink nothing else for the rest of my days.

[He gives Gale another kiss, for good measure.]

You are the most brilliant wizard in all of the realms, Gale Dekarios. Gods, Hells, everything above and below. I am never letting you go far from me.

[Gale soaks that kiss in, tasting the bitter iron of his own blood. He leans back, pulling Astarion down with him.]

I am brilliant... [another softer, gentler kiss] ... but all the more so because I have you as a muse.

Edited 2023-12-07 07:07 (UTC)

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