mystracal | 🔮 exsanguinated (with @sangwhine)

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)

[Astarion crawls over him, kneading at the nape of his neck while the other moves to fondle his chest, playfully.]

Mmh, I am an inspiration, aren't I? Your inspiration.

[He slots a knee between Gale's legs, pressing down. Gale's blood has certainly got him feeling feisty.]

My inspiration.

[He sighs at that knee between his legs, his hips rocking gently against it.]

My love. I want to give you so much more.

Darling, you've given me your heart, your blood, your body, your company, and the promise if your magic as well. What more of you is there to give?

[He sits back just a little, running his hands down Gale's chest. His eyes follow the gesture, giving the wizard a very appreciative eye rake.]

[Gale watches as Astarion looks him over, those ruby eyes drawing over him as though his body - for its softness and scars and all its human flaws - were a beautiful treasure to be kept, coveted. Astarion looks at him in a way Mystra never would, that no lover ever had: as though he's not just his magic and mind, but so much more. Mystra had asked Gale to die for her forgiveness, to detonate himself and leave nothing behind but a cloud of Netherese dust and a crater; Astarion wouldn't let harm come to him even if it meant charging into the temple of the Lord of Murder himself.

He'd been a plaything for Mystra; for Astarion, he is a partner. Someone for whom he willing to sacrifice ascension for them to remain equals. Astarion loves all Gale has to offer, the good, the bad, and even the uncertain. To have his devotion reciprocated means more to Gale than he can put into words.

He takes one of Astarion's hands, his hips still, but his heart thundering in his chest.]

My future. One for us, once this is all over.

Edited 2023-12-08 09:29 (UTC)

Dearest, I thought that was already part of it all?

[His immediate response is flippant, flirtatious, but it's a moment later that he feels the beat of Gale's heart beneath his touch. This is something else. Something beyond the promises they've whispered to each other in the privacy of their tents or when wound up in one another. He can see and feel the nervous thrum in Gale's blood at the thought of what's on offer and he can't deny that the thought hasn't crossed his mind as well. But he's never let it linger for as many times as he's had the thought. After all, who would promise their life to a vampire spawn? Who could want Astarion for more than the rake that he plays more often than not?

But Gale has proven time and time again that he's willing to do just that. That he sees Astarion for who he truly is, the man he can be beneath every defense that he's built for himself over centuries of torment.

He squeezes Gale's hand with his, lacing their fingers together to press their joined hands gently over the heavy beat of Gale's heart. When his gaze meets Gale it's equal parts nervous and anticipatory, one fang gently indenting against his lips in a coy smile.]

Unless there's more on offer...?

[Knowing good and well that Astarion can feel his heartbeat, Gale hopes he knows what future plans he has in mind, thinking that might help ease his nerves; it doesn't, but he presses forward., squeezing Astarion's hand for reassurance.]

I'd thought I would have this planned out eventually. [His smile crooks unevenly.] When Orin lured me from the camp like the besotted, stupid man I am, I thought it might be the right time. I even had something for you, which is probably now lying on the ground where she rendered me unconscious. I know we've not known each other terribly long, and the circumstances that brought us together have been trying at the very, very least, and maybe once this is all over, we'll find we've not got as much in common as we believed, but...

[He's rambling, and he knows it. He licks the dryness from his lips, swallowing the knot forming in his throat.]

I've never been so sure of wanting anything more in my life. Anyone more. I love you, and if you would, once it's all said and done, I want you to accompany me back to Waterdeep. [A beat as he finally gets to the point:] I want you to marry me, Astarion.

Edited 2023-12-08 21:04 (UTC)

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