🔮 exsanguinated (with @sangwhine)

[mystracal]

tfln | invitations | and there was only one bed | undermountain alurlyath | what could be | blood bond | the price of freedom
it wore his face | dinner with morena dekarios | rediscovery

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[mystracal]

[Gale looks a moment too long at those beautiful fangs, almost tripping over his own feet as he keeps climbing. Ignore that, Astarion - he's just painfully, stupidly besotted. He keeps going, making sure to put one foot in front of the other this time.]

I'm sure there are plenty of activities we could indulge in on such a piece. Not just reading or studying, of course.

[sangwhine]

Gale Dekarios, you rake.

[He steps up, putting a hand to Gale's back so he doesn't trip all over himself.]

I was hoping you'd help me break it in, when the time comes.

[mystracal]

[He smiles brighter at Astarion's hand on his back, even if it is a sly grin. He wouldn't dare let his mother hear this kind of talk over polite dinner.]

Of course, though it'll have to be a sturdy piece to live up to our exacting needs.

[sangwhine]

I'll make certain of it, dearest.

[He drops his hand give Gale's ass a light swat.]

[mystracal]

[Oh, that gets a laugh out of him. He curses the stairs for keeping him from turning on Astarion, his hand on the railing as he keeps his relative composure.]

None of that until we're in the bedroom and out of these clothes. And you've been fed.

[sangwhine]

You'd better hasten your steps then, my love. Although I'm certain your mother's cooking was delicious, I'd much rather have the taste of you on my lips.

[mystracal]

[Astarion doesn't need to tell him twice; Gale picks up the pace, allowing them to reach the upper floors in no time. He pushes open the door to the master suite, the space just as they left it before dinner: there are a few sets of jackets and pants tossed across the bed haphazardly, all choices decided against as Gale paced across the carpet and talked himself into a tizzy; some shirts hang over the folding screen near the wall, not a single one of them as fine as Astarion's usual wardrobe requires; two pairs of well-made, formal shoes wait beside the bed, both bought for the occasion before being passed over in favor of an older pair with gold embroidery.

Gale heads for the wardrobe first, hanging up his coat before he undoes his tie and starts working on the laces of his shirt.]

I was worried about you, you know. I wasn't sure how well you'd take having to swallow down food you can't even taste.

[sangwhine]

[Astarion steps in after him, going instead to the clothes that are left strewn about with their hasty departure. He's carefully picking them up and folding them, making sure there won't be any creases left from their time spent on the floor.]

I've endured far more unpleasant experiences in my time, my dear. And for far less important reasons. It was hardly noticeable by the end of it.

[mystracal]

Still, that you would do all that for me — and just to impress my mother — is a kindness I've rarely been afforded. Especially in the past.

[He takes the time to roll his tie before he slides out of his shirt, replacing it with a grey, linen tunic. He pauses has he undoes his dress pants.]

You did seem... alarmed a time or two. Particularly with her surprise over our hasty engagement.

[sangwhine]

[Ah, he should have expected this turn in the conversation. That it would come back to this. His hands curl in the fabric of the shirt he's holding, gripping it tight with his back turned to Gale.]

I told you, dearest. I was somewhere else.

[He pauses, but he knows that isn't the answer Gale wants, that it won't satisfy him. Suddenly, he's wound too tight, feeling every bit like one misstep will land him in a trap.

But no, Gale isn't like that. Gale cares for him, loves him. He pushes a breath out, rough and noisy.]

I was—expecting the knife. The one that wasn't there. I thought that I'd be punished for failing you. For disappointing her.

[mystracal]

[Gale's brow furrows, his eyes laced with concern as he looks Astarion's way.]

And what do you think I'd do, were you to disappoint my mother?

[sangwhine]

Oh, rip out my spine, perhaps? Tear my nails out one by one. Carve the flesh from my bone until I made a pretty picture like your mother's roast--

[He cuts himself off, the sudden tear of the fabric in his hands snapping him out of it. He has the shirt in a white knuckled grip. It's ruined now. Or at least it'll need to be mended. A faint breath escapes his lips as he runs his fingers gently over where he's torn the seam apart.]

...I can go on, dearest. But I don't think you want to hear it.

[mystracal]

[Gale leaves his pants for the moment, crossing the space to put himself at Astarion's side; he puts a hand atop his pale fingers on the fabric, his deep eyes searching for his lover's gaze.]

I don't need to hear it, and you don't need to relive such harrowing events.

[He pauses, chewing his lip, wishing there was more he could do. Gods, he hates that feeling of powerlessness.]

You know I'd never hurt you, don't you?

[sangwhine]

[Astarion can't quite bring himself to meet Gale's gaze yet, but he does turn his hand to hold to Gale's. His fingers twist to weave together, holding tight to the warmth of the touch.]

Of course I do. But it--sometimes I can't see you. Sometimes it isn't you who's there with me.

[mystracal]

Astarion...

[Taking a breath doesn't help settle Gale's stomach as Astarion explains what happens, gives the barest hint as to what he goes through so often. Cazador is as dead as can be, but it may take years, centuries, well beyond Gale's lifetime for the wounds to heal - if they ever will.

That makes his own heart ache, the pang strong enough to stir even the dormant orb. He pulls Astarion to him, ruined shirt and all, his arm wrapping around him in an embrace.]

[sangwhine]

[Astarion is still for a heartbeat before he turns to fold into the embrace. It's still new for him, this kind of comfort. He doesn't quite know what to do with it. He's almost afraid of how much he craves it, how fragile it makes him feel.

But Gale's arms are warm, Gale's heart beats a welcome pulse, and he can breathe in the scent that's so distinctly Gale's. He loves him, more than anything.

The shirt forgotten, he presses his cheek to Gale's temple, murmuring quietly.]

This isn't quite what I had in mind when I asked you to dote on me.

[mystracal]

[Gale smiles ruefully against Astarion's neck. He knows the hug was sudden, and given Astarion's history, perhaps he should have made sure the gesture was welcomed beforehand, but he couldn't help himself. His emotions and nerves have been running high tonight.]

It isn't what I initially imagined, but the night is young yet - for us, at least.

[He pulls back just enough to kiss Astarion's temple, one hand running into his silver curls as he stretches his neck to one side. First things first.]

[sangwhine]

There is much more ahead for us.

[In more ways than one. Astarion's eyes slip closed to relish the touch to his hair, opening only when he hears the beat of Gale's heart increase tempo in anticipation. He can't help but smile, ducking to nuzzle against the line of Gale's jaw just below his ear.]

More for me first, hm?

[mystracal]

I'm not about to let you engage in anything strenuous on an empty stomach.

[Gale's pulse picks up with Astarion against him; if there is one thing he wants to do tonight, it's take Astarion's mind away from the horrors of his memories, to assure him that he's safe, wanted, adored, worshiped. He turns his fingers in Astarion's hair, wrapping a lock around his pointer.]

Should we try without the elixir first? See if the dormancy of the orb is having an effect, as we suspected?

[sangwhine]

If it's all the same to you, my love, perhaps save it for another night. I think I've had enough unpleasant tastes in my mouth for the day.

[He does seem a little more heartened by the promise of strenuous activity to come.]

[mystracal]

As you wish.

[Unfurling Astarion's hair from his fingers, Gale lets one hand trail to grasp his partner's, giving it a gentle squeeze.]

What would you like, then? An illusory field, the sun shining down upon us as we bask in one another's company? A massage in the tub, the water reflecting the stars above us as I remind you of all you mean to me? Something simple and carnal, embracing our physical bodies and all that entails? Tell me, and it will be yours.

[sangwhine]

[Gods, Astarion loves this man. He trails his fingertips along Gale's jaw, considering.]

Perhaps the first and second together? Followed by the third. A lovely soak in the water with a sunrise of your making stretching over us sounds lovely.

[mystracal]

[He leans into that touch, a smile unfurling across him.]

Allow me, then.

[With his hand still clasped around Astarion's, he leads them to the adjacent washroom, mage hands forming before them to gather towels and fill the recessed bath with warm, welcoming water. Gathering the Weave at his fingertips, Gale gestures broadly to the room, painting an illusion strong enough to fool even the most hardy of minds. Beneath their feet, the stone floor becomes plush grass kissed by the morning dew; the ceiling shifts and expands to give way to a vast sky, the stars still visible as the first rays of the sun haven't yet breached the horizon. What bottles once sat before the mirror - potions, lotions, antitoxins, and oils - now rest atop of a nearby boulder, well within reach in case they're needed, but not so obtrusive as to ruin the image he crafts around them.

The cool air prickles at Gale's skin, and though he knows it all to be unreal, he feels goosebumps all the same. Gale Dekarios never does anything in half-measures, certainly not when he aims to impress.]

[sangwhine]

[For as many times as Astarion's seen Gale work with the Weave, he's still impressed when the man pulls off something so grand like it's nothing. As easy as breathing.

Astarion closes his eyes and takes a breath so he can smell the fresh dirt and grass, feel the moisture in the air. The faint tickling of warmth on his skin from the illusory sun on the horizon feels so real that he can believe it, just for this moment.

He would never be allowed something like this under Cazador. He has this because he's safe, because he's free, because he's loved. His hand tightens on Gale's in a pulse, reassuring himself of the man's presence at his side.

His eyes only open once they've neared the edge of the tub, the faint steam rising from the top of the water a welcome promise of things to come. He draws Gale's hand in, kissing the back of his knuckles before guiding him to the fastenings of Astarion's shirt.]

I think that I'm overdressed, don't you?

[mystracal]

As am I.

[His fingers slide across the fastenings, undoing them one by one - he makes a show of it, going slowly, gently. It allows his mind time to turn.]

One day, hopefully soon, you'll see the sun again. The true sun. I will give it back to you, Astarion.