[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.
[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.
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.
[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.]
[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.
[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.]
[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.
[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.]
[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.]
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?
[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.
[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.
[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.]
[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.]
[Astarion savors the touch. Not yet skin to skin, but the warmth of Gale's hands still spreads through the cloth. Once Gale's got all the buttons and ties undone, he guides him under the fabric, he wants Gale to do the work, to be gentle with him.]
I have no doubt of it, my dearest. I know no mind more brilliant than yours. If it can be done, you will find a way to do it.
[Guided by Astarion, Gale slips his hands under the shirt, pushing the fabric off his shoulders and down his arms. As Astarion's pale skin comes into view, Gale brings his lips to his collarbone in a soft kiss; his eyes remain low, hiding both his adoration and a moment of private shame.]
Were I truly brilliant, I'd have had it done already.
[An even softer kiss, his lips barely brushing against Astarion's jaw as he pulls at his own shirt, preparing to bring it up and over his head.]
I think sometimes about the Crown. About what I could have given you with it.
[Astarion moves to assist Gale in pulling his shirt off, casting it aside into the illusory grass surrounding them. He catches Gale's chin in his hand before Gale can return to his worship of Astarion's body, though, guiding him up to meet Astarion's gaze. His gaze has a firmness to it, a cool certainty despite the adoration held there.]
You are brilliant. I won't hear you doubting it. And as much as I must admit that I'd adore the sight of you in that crown, the choice we made was the right one.
[He pauses, lips pursed into a tight line.]
This night would have been quite different if we didn't stand as equals.
[That sentiment puts some contrition in him; Gale smiles, his brow easing with an apologetic wrinkle]
I don't imagine we'd be here at all had things gone differently. I doubt Gale the God would have wanted to return to Waterdeep, to introduce his lover to his mother. I don't think there'd be a greater disappointment to her or Tara than if I'd chosen divinity over my heart.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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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.
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[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.
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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.
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And what do you think I'd do, were you to disappoint my mother?
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[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.
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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?
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Of course I do. But it--sometimes I can't see you. Sometimes it isn't you who's there with me.
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[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.]
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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.
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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.]
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[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?
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[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?
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[He does seem a little more heartened by the promise of strenuous activity to come.]
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[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.
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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.
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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.]
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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?
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[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.
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I have no doubt of it, my dearest. I know no mind more brilliant than yours. If it can be done, you will find a way to do it.
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Were I truly brilliant, I'd have had it done already.
[An even softer kiss, his lips barely brushing against Astarion's jaw as he pulls at his own shirt, preparing to bring it up and over his head.]
I think sometimes about the Crown. About what I could have given you with it.
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You are brilliant. I won't hear you doubting it. And as much as I must admit that I'd adore the sight of you in that crown, the choice we made was the right one.
[He pauses, lips pursed into a tight line.]
This night would have been quite different if we didn't stand as equals.
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I don't imagine we'd be here at all had things gone differently. I doubt Gale the God would have wanted to return to Waterdeep, to introduce his lover to his mother. I don't think there'd be a greater disappointment to her or Tara than if I'd chosen divinity over my heart.
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All the more reason why it's for the best that you denied the crown. I would never have had the pleasure of meeting your mother if you didn't.
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She clearly approved of you. I don't think she'd have done the same for a vampire lord.
[He slides out of his trousers before letting his hands linger at the top of Astarion's, awaiting permission.]
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[He gives a slight nod, he likes having Gale at his beck and call like this.]
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