[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.]
[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—]
[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.]
[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.]
[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.
[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.]
[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.
Surely. I cannot imagine what my mother and Tara would do were I to suddenly vanish without a word.
[Recalling how Astarion took it last time when asked about his own mother, Gale treads carefully. Then again, the circumstances — and their entire relationship to one another — are very different than they were then.
He brushes the backs of his knuckles against Astarion's hair, putting some of it back into place. Gale might still be irritated with himself for ruining the moment, his pulse finally calming, but this is nice, the kind of intimacy he wouldn't trade for anything. That he can be such a comfort, useful to his partner —
Gale does his best not to see his worth in what he can offer, but old habits die hard.]
Have you considered sending word to them? Now that you're free?
[It is nice, simply lying together, letting himself soak in the warmth of Gale's skin against his. He brushes his fingers through Gale's hair in a mirror to Gale's touch. It's soothing, grounding. He watches the dark strands slip through pale fingers as he turns over the thought of reaching out to his family.
His relationship with them was fraught even before his death, but to them he was no more than an adolescent. Running off to Baldur's Gate to charm his way into the workings of the city was seen as nothing more than youthful rebellion, and he never overcame how much he resented the thought.
Because then there was Cazador. Astarion's death so many miles away from anyone who shared his name. And centuries spent with the cold certainty that he'd never lay eyes upon them again.]
I—the thought hadn't crossed my mind. Hearing from your lost child after so long. I doubt they'd believe me even if I stood before them.
And even if you did, there's no telling how they might feel about a vampire in their family. Unless, of course, the more scandalous story would be that you're marrying a human.
[He offers Astarion a grin, hoping to bring his spirits up, to keep the mood light. He knows how old-fashioned some families can be when it comes to the shorter-lived peoples.]
I imagine most who aren't full-blooded elves are, unfortunately.
[That cousin lived longer than Gale might. He's doing his best not to think too hard on his mortality, especially on a day when he very well might have died, had his friends — had Astarion — not rescued him.
He pushes just a little more, reassuring Astarion that he's safe with a soft kiss to his forehead.]
What else can you tell me about your family? Or rather, what do you care to remember?
[The kiss distracts him a moment, with as deep as he was in his memories. He blinks, looking up to meet Gale's gaze before giving a soft sigh.]
Only bits and pieces, dear. It's not a matter of caring, either, it's what's remained after being buried so long.
[He tilts his head, tracing his fingertips across Gale's cheek, the line of his jaw, letting himself get lost in the features of his lover's face as he speaks.]
I was born in an elven city. Evereska, I think? An only child. My parents are a blur. Except the look that my mother gave me when I told her that I was leaving to live among the humans. Before I had my true name. I—didn't want to be treated as a child anymore.
[Having spent more of his time studying magic than people, Gale nearly forgot about elves and their true names, something not given until they were already at the end of a human lifespan.
He lets Astarion trace his features, bringing his own arm to rest draped over the vampire's side.]
I cannot imagine you with a different name. Astarion suits you.
[He smirks to himself.]
Though 'Astarion Dekarios' does have a nice ring to it.
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Just a massage, unless you'd like more. These hands are good for more than magic and cooking, you know.
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[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.]
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[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.
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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.
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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.]
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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.
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What would you have me do? Tell me.
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Just—hold me, dearest.
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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.]
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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.
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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.
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It becomes too easy to put someone else in your place. To be drawn back into the past.
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[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.]
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[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.
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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.
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[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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[Recalling how Astarion took it last time when asked about his own mother, Gale treads carefully. Then again, the circumstances — and their entire relationship to one another — are very different than they were then.
He brushes the backs of his knuckles against Astarion's hair, putting some of it back into place. Gale might still be irritated with himself for ruining the moment, his pulse finally calming, but this is nice, the kind of intimacy he wouldn't trade for anything. That he can be such a comfort, useful to his partner —
Gale does his best not to see his worth in what he can offer, but old habits die hard.]
Have you considered sending word to them? Now that you're free?
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His relationship with them was fraught even before his death, but to them he was no more than an adolescent. Running off to Baldur's Gate to charm his way into the workings of the city was seen as nothing more than youthful rebellion, and he never overcame how much he resented the thought.
Because then there was Cazador. Astarion's death so many miles away from anyone who shared his name. And centuries spent with the cold certainty that he'd never lay eyes upon them again.]
I—the thought hadn't crossed my mind. Hearing from your lost child after so long. I doubt they'd believe me even if I stood before them.
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[He offers Astarion a grin, hoping to bring his spirits up, to keep the mood light. He knows how old-fashioned some families can be when it comes to the shorter-lived peoples.]
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[He pauses, his brow creasing as he digs at memories long since buried.]
They—were fond of humans. There was someone—a cousin? Who was a half-elf. With a charming Harper for a mother. Gods, she's long dead.
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[That cousin lived longer than Gale might. He's doing his best not to think too hard on his mortality, especially on a day when he very well might have died, had his friends — had Astarion — not rescued him.
He pushes just a little more, reassuring Astarion that he's safe with a soft kiss to his forehead.]
What else can you tell me about your family? Or rather, what do you care to remember?
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Only bits and pieces, dear. It's not a matter of caring, either, it's what's remained after being buried so long.
[He tilts his head, tracing his fingertips across Gale's cheek, the line of his jaw, letting himself get lost in the features of his lover's face as he speaks.]
I was born in an elven city. Evereska, I think? An only child. My parents are a blur. Except the look that my mother gave me when I told her that I was leaving to live among the humans. Before I had my true name. I—didn't want to be treated as a child anymore.
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He lets Astarion trace his features, bringing his own arm to rest draped over the vampire's side.]
I cannot imagine you with a different name. Astarion suits you.
[He smirks to himself.]
Though 'Astarion Dekarios' does have a nice ring to it.
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I do like the sound of it. Letting you stake your claim on me. Being yours.
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[He tilts his head just a smidge, ready to close that gap.]
I am, however, happy to leave my mark on you, as you have on me.
[He leans into that kiss, pulling Astarion as close as he can, wanting to feel the chill of his body against his own feverish warmth.]
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