mystracal | 🔮 exsanguinated (with @sangwhine)

Oh, certainly. I would expect nothing less from her.

[His words come with a contented sigh as he takes a moment to savor Gale's hand at his back. It's strange how such a small thing brings him so much comfort, but the warmth of Gale's hand on his skin puts his mind at ease.

Then, of course, there's the much more pressing heat of Gale's arousal against his thigh. He favors the wizard with a fond smile, moving a hand to curl around him.]

Now, we wouldn't want to disappoint our companions, would we?

Oh, I think we could disappoint a few of them. Jaheira, certainly. Lae'zel, perhaps. But Karlach? Never.

[A smile of his own stretches across his face at Astarion's touch.]

She's always been our staunchest supporter. Of yours in particular.

Lae'zel seems to only know satisfaction in the blood of her enemies. Which is honestly fine by me. But I am quite fond of our fiery devil.

[Though this topic of conversation seems to be straying from the matter at hand, as it were. He gives Gale a soft squeeze, slowly stroking over his length.]

Not as fond as I am of you, of course.

[That squeeze is plenty to distract Gale, his breath catching for half a second; his hand at Astarion's back curls, blunt nails dragging along his skin.

But it seems he's not lost his words yet.]

I would hope not. You do have, ah. Quite a hold on me.

Quite the hold.

[His eyes flutter half-closed with the pressure of Gale's fingers. In answer, he gives an appreciative squeeze, increasing the pace of his strokes.]

Now...how to show you the extent of my fondness?

[Gale shudders, biting his lower lip.]

Should I be treating you tonight? You are my savior, after all.

[And not just from Orin, but in all things. Astarion is the one who kept him from embarrassing himself in front of his mother, kept him safe from his siblings, helped him see a future where he doesn't pursue godhood because who he is is enough.]

[Astarion pauses, the question momentarily throwing him. It's a perfectly reasonable question, of course, but since their first few ill-fated attempts, it just hasn't occurred to him that Gale might still want to treat him, to indulge him. He's been so focused on reclaiming his own sense of self, his own ability to please the man he loves that he's not even thought that Gale would want to return the favor. No, more to the point he's convinced himself Gale had no interest in trying any more.

And yet, it's so obviously a poor assessment of Gale if he gives it any scrutiny. Gale who is stubborn in solving any problem life has thrown at him. Gale who loves him. Gale who wants to spend his life with Astarion.

He swallows, his expression softening along with his hold on Gale.]

I think that I would like that, yes.

[Having anticipated Astarion might decline, Gale finds himself a hair surprised when he does otherwise - visibly, but delightfully so. His smile warms even more.]

Then allow me.

[He leans off his elbow to kiss at Astarion's neck, his hand slipping around the pale muscles on his side to his back to guide him to lie on his stomach. Though prepared to change course if there's even a hint of protest — his comfort is what matters, after all — Gale takes it nice and slow, hoping that still retaining some degree of control will keep his partner's mind at ease.

He just wants to massage those shoulders and kiss those scars, if he's allowed. It's been a thought that hasn't left him, apparently.]

[Gale's visible delight does make this easier. Even if Gale's indulging him, he wants to know the wizard's getting something out of it.

Astarion stretches his neck in offering to Gale's lips, giving a breathy little moan of encouragement before he feels the hand at his side. He slips over on the bed without a thought, but as Gale urges him to his stomach he feels himself tense, his gaze quickly flicking to find his lover's eyes.]

Dearest—what did you have in mind?

[Ah, there's that hesitation. It's expected, so Gale keeps his voice gentle, encouraging.]

Just a massage, unless you'd like more. These hands are good for more than magic and cooking, you know.

I'd certainly like more, dear—

[He has to pause, to swallow against the panic he feels rising in his throat. His eyes flick away, lips pursed in a tight line, but he doesn't move, not yet.]

My back is hardly my most attractive feature. So why—what do you want?

[It's not the first time Gale's touch has strayed to Astarion's scars, or the first time they've drawn his focus. There must be something, some reason for it that Astarion can't see through the sharp memories of pain and feeling so powerless.]

Attractiveness has nothing to do with it, but trust me when I say that scars or not, your back is something I desire.

[He slides one leg over Astarion's to straddle him, careful and slow with his movements.]

I want to love all of you - every inch of you, every scar and flaw and piece of your past you'd rather not acknowledge. But most of all, especially right now, I want to rub some of the tension out of your shoulders.

[Astarion bites at his tongue to hold back the cutting remark on his lips. The tension is only there because of Gale, because of his insistence. But it isn't completely true. It's Cazador who's to blame, the one remembrance of him Astarion will never truly be rid of.

Instead he bows his head, pressing his forehead to his arms, still wound as tight as a spring. He can say no, he can tell Gale to stop. This was supposed to be about him, wasn't it? Gale wants to love him, to show his love. How has it all gone wrong so quickly.]

Don't touch them. Please.

[Gale's brow knits, but he acquiesces, nodding in the silence.]

As you wish.

[Chiding himself inwardly for pushing too far, he settles for his initial plan instead, folding his hands over Astarion's shoulders — carefully dodging his scars — to work out the tension he finds there. He's a man who has spent a lot of time cooking, kneading bread and meat when necessary; the principles work well enough on muscle, as well.]

[The muscle he finds there is perhaps a bit harder to work than a dough or cut of meat. Astarion's mind is gripped in a tumult and his body bears it out. The first bit of pressure draws a hissing breath from his lips that he tries to stifle into the bed. It's unpleasant with so much tension in his muscle. Gale's touch is warm, though. His hands warmer than Cazador's ever were. Perhaps if he can give that his focus. If he can draw his mind to the man he loves, who loves him, it can push away the awful memory of being held down so he wouldn't squirm, so each cut of jagged Infernal would be perfect.

It's Gale, he wants to shout at himself. Not Cazador. It's Gale. It's Gale's hands, Gale's weight, Gale's scent—]

Gale.

[The tension is impossible to miss, even with the bloodloss - more so is the tone with which Astarion says his name. Gale pauses, gnawing his lip. He starts to offer to change course, but holds his tongue, instead giving his partner control.]

What would you have me do? Tell me.

[Astarion startles at the sound of Gale's voice. The tempest of his own thoughts so loud he didn't realize he'd given one of them voice. He's utterly quiet, still for a painstakingly long moment before he squirms to turn himself, to get off his belly. When his gaze lifts to meet Gale's it's with a frustrated hurt that they're both all too familiar with now.]

Just—hold me, dearest.

[Gale shifts as Astarion turns over, easing away from him so he's not accidentally pinned in place. The last thing he wants to do is make the vampire feel trapped in any way, especially after the life he was forced into. He meets Astarion's frustrated gaze with a gentle, albeit somber one.]

Gladly.

[He lies on his side next to Astarion, slipping his arm over his pale lover and allowing him to arrange himself however he needs before pulling him close. Gale might not be able to love every inch of Astarion just yet — or possibly ever — but at least he can offer him warmth, sustenance, and safety. It's progress.]

[Thankfully, Astarion wastes no time in pressing himself to Gale's front. He tucks his face against the wizard's neck without a second thought, inhaling deeply, letting the scent ground him. It's such a foolish thing, how such a simple thing can put him at ease, but he knows well enough by now that love has made him a fool. He puts his arms around Gale, letting his palms rest at the small of Gale's back as a subtle suggestion.

After a moment he lets out a heavy breath, speaking without moving from where he's nuzzled against Gale's pulse.]

I think that I don't like it much when I can't see you, dear.

[Wrapping his arms around Astarion in turn, Gale can't complain about the change in position as the vampire presses himself to his neck, his pulse and the orb beating strongly between them. He pulls Astarion closer, pressing a kiss into his silver hair.]

What about it makes you uncomfortable? You needn't tell me if you don't want, but... I want to help, if there's any way I can.

[Astarion welcomes the kiss with a slight incline of his head, one hand moving to press over the beat of Gale's heart.]

It becomes too easy to put someone else in your place. To be drawn back into the past.

I see.

[That does make sense, terribly and dreadfully. Though Astarion knows good and well Gale would never hurt him, it's easy to get lost in memory, particularly the bad ones. In good news, unlike Cazador, the wizard has a heart to hear and feel, its beat steady beneath Astarion's hand.]

I'm sorry, my love. It wasn't my intention to make you uncomfortable, but it was my fault all the same.

[Many faux pas in his relationships are, Gale has found. He rests his head against Astarion's, idly wondering if a mirror would help before discarding that as a magnanimously stupid idea.]

Don't dwell on it, darling.

[It's said with a soft sigh as he shifts enough to look Gale in the eye, cupping his cheek in one hand.]

I'm sure you'll let yourself drown in a pit of self flagellation as quickly as I'd sink into the shadows of my past were it not for one another. You are still the most wonderful thing I've ever had. Ever. Don't forget that.

[Gale's gaze meets Astarion's, and he can't help but smile. He does as instructed and tries not to dwell on it for now.]

You're right. [A beat.] About the self-flagellation, though I'll take the title of 'Most Wonderful Thing You've Ever Had, Ever' as well. Since I'm not to be an archmage or a god, I'll be needing a new title.

[He leans against Astarion's hand; his skin remains feverish.]

I'll be happy to stay Gale Dekarios, of course... unless you'd rather I take your name.

I was already enjoying thinking of myself as 'The Future Mr. Dekarios,' love. As for mine...

[He pauses, a faint hint of a grimace marring the smile on his face as his gaze goes distant, trying to delve into the distant past.]

I don't think those of my name would care one way or another.

[The grimace turns to a frown with a slight shake of his head.]

I don't even know... They must have received word of my death after all these years.

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