[Permission granted, Gale leans a little closer as he carefully undoes the buttons of Astarion's pants, his fingers ghosting just past the waist to the bare skin beneath; he refrains from kissing Astarion again just yet as he pushes the garment past his hips, keeping himself barely a breath away.]
Mmm. So while I might think on the Crown and what I could do for you with it, I agree that the choices we made were for the best, for both of us. But that won't stop me from wanting to give you more. To give you everything.
[Astarion lets out a soft breath, threading his hand through Gale's hair as he puts one hand to his hip. Those are the only two points of contact, but it somehow feels all the more intimate because of that.]
Gale, dearest, the only way you could give me more would be to let me own you completely.
[That confession slips from him before he realizes it, words escaping through the desirous haze; his brow tightens not a second later, his eyes finding their way back to Astarion's face as earnest sincerity replaces any playfulness upon him. He puts a hand on the one at his hip, bringing it up to the side of his jaw, then to his ear, to the shining silver hanging there.
He'd once devoted his entire self to Mystra. He felt he might never recover from the heartbreak when she cast him out, ignored his prayers, allowed the silence left in her wake to be filled by the agonizing, ravenous howl of the orb. As he considered her offer for 'forgiveness,' he knew she'd always own some part of him - not just because she was the embodiment of the very magic he commands, but because so much of himself was a reflection of her long influence upon him.
Even as he reddens, hands hovering over the symbol of her that has adorned that ear for years now, Gale wonders if he can give everything he is to Astarion. Gods, does he ever want to.]
[Astarion understands the weight of the gesture without the need for words. Even before the night's discussion, the mark of Mystra still left on Gale was something he'd prefer to see done away with. Gale owes nothing to her except his magic. Everything about him that is mortal, that makes him the man he is, has no right to bear her symbol.
With deft fingers, Astarion slips the earring free, his touch a whisper against Gale's skin. Once it's loose, he holds it for a moment, sharp star points pressing into the pads of his fingers, before letting it drop to the pile of clothes gathered at their feet.
When he speaks it's in a low voice, thick with desire and a small tremor of trepidation.]
Be careful what you offer, Gale Dekarios. You know what power can do to a man.
[There's a moment where Gale feels too bare, as though a vital piece of himself were missing and its loss were something to be ashamed of; he swallows the heaviness in his throat as he watches the earring fall to the floor, vanishing into the creases of the garments lying in the illusory grass beneath them, discarded just as they were.
His eyes flick back to Astarion, the weight in his chest subsiding as the vampire's voice draws him him. He can't help himself, leaning forward to place a kiss to the corner of Astarion's lips, then upon them in earnest; his smiles into the kiss, his skin warm enough to rival the bath.]
I trust you with my body, mortal and frail and fallible as it is. I trust you with my heart, a once-broken thing I believed beyond repair. I trust you, Astarion, the future Mr. Dekarios. Perhaps that power is what I want to see. A momentary imbalance in your favor.
[With the warmth of Gale's lips on his and the illusory sun at his back, Astarion feels nearly alive again. The things this man, his man, does to him, says to him are more intoxicating than the strongest drug. He chases the kiss, curling his hand around the back of Gale's neck to hold him in.
When it breaks he meets Gale's gaze, that warmth stoking to a fire in his red eyes. He runs a tongue across his lips, tasting the lingering heat.]
I--like the sound of that. Tipping the scales in my favor.
[The hand at Gale's ear moves back along his jaw, catching his chin in a firm grip.]
[Gale's hazel eyes lock onto the ruby ones before him, his smile wider as Astarion takes his chin; within his chest, his heart beats just a little faster with excitement.]
Always. Anything I can give you is yours, including my very self.
[Oh, now that is heady. Astarion can taste Gale's excitement on the air. It's near overwhelming, freezing him in place for a moment as he soaks it in. Gale is his in a way few things have been for the past centuries.
Lust surges in him and he leans in to crush his lips to Gale's, bruising and possessive, as if he can stake his claim with lips and teeth alone.]
[In previous relationships — particularly with Mystra — Gale never thought too hard on what he liked, what he wanted; so long as he was pleasing his partner, servicing them in some way, he felt he was useful, wanted. That was what made him happy.
Oh, but the heated, passionate kiss Astarion places upon him, so hungry, bruising, aggressive in a way he's unaccustomed to - Gale undeniably likes that. He's wanted not because he's useful, but because he's treasured, possessed. He's loved, too loved to be discarded.
Of course, he'd thought that with Mystra; however, Mystra never kissed him like this. It's almost too much.
The emotional want combined with the physical thrill of Astarion pushing against him is a potent combination; Gale lights up, his cheeks flush as he feels his pulse race. He returns the kiss in kind, his fingers threading through Astarion's curls as he breathes him in before the breaking dawn.]
[Astarion is greedy in this kiss in a way he hasn't been in recent memory. His grip on Gale's jaw tightens as he angles his lips to deepen it, devouring all of Gale that he can. That racing pulse thunders in his ears loud enough that it could be his own, but it is his own, in a way. He kisses until he knows that Gale must be breathless, then lingers a moment longer before pulling away with a drag of teeth against his lips.
His eyes open to take in the effect it must have on Gale, to watch the flush rise in his face, to see the bright red of his kiss-bruised lips. He commits each one to memory before lifting his gaze to meet Gale's eyes, a smoldering heat burning in his eyes.]
[Gale's not sure he's ever seen Astarion like this, the look in his eyes a far cry from the earlier days of their relationship, when intimacy had been a distant dream. The wizard recalls the haze that would come over those gorgeous ruby eyes as he struggled to reconcile his desires through his trauma; the years of abuse and torture, his body being used by Cazador had plagued Astarion no matter how badly he wished otherwise. He'd offered himself to Gale once — to be used — falling into old habits because he thought that was what his lover wanted from him.
Gale hadn't, of course - he couldn't imagine forcing anything upon Astarion, not without his clear consent. Now, they're reveling in his freedom, both of them finding new ways to express their longing for one another. There's no haze as Astarion commands him: only a fire burning in his red eyes, one that Gale is all too eager to embrace.
His gaze remains on Astarion, eyes taking in that flame as he kneels; he bites his lip in anticipation, wishing it were Astarion's teeth biting him still.]
[Perish the thought of looking away, Astarion doesn't want to miss a moment of seeing Gale like this. The devotion, the love in his eyes is entrancing, and knowing it's his to have, to savor, just makes it better. It soothes something within him in a way that sends a warm shiver curling up his spine. To think that only hours ago he had been worried that Gale might hurt him, might punish him, only to have Gale kneeling before him now in devotion. How could he doubt a man so wholly devoted to him?
He curls his hand to cup Gale's chin, sweeping his thumb across Gale's lower lip to coax it open. His wizard does have a clever mouth, and that mouth is his to use as he sees fit.]
[As Astarion's thumb sweeps across his lips, Gale chases after it with a soft kiss and a murmured 'Yes.' He's so desperate to serve, a penitent man before the altar that is Astarion; if the orb on his chest, dimly illuminated despite its dormant state, were not enough of a sign of his devotion, the fact he's half-hard already surely is.
Gale is eager, maybe too much as he leans forward just enough to place his hand on his partner's foot, sliding up his ankle, his leg; he doesn't ask for permission to do so, never breaking eye contact, awaiting a reaction.]
[The touch isn't unwelcome, certainly. It brings a grin to Astarion's lips, his thumb slipping into Gale's mouth, pressing softly against his tongue. How eagerly Gale wants him, wants to offer himself. Astarion extends his leg slightly, his hip cocked in a way that shows his growing interest in having Gale at his feet.]
[With his tongue held captive, Gale cannot speak; he lets action speak for him. He closes his mouth around Astarion's thumb first in a kiss before teasing the digit with his tongue: a hint of things to come. He slides his hand up the extended leg, grasping at Astarion's calf, his fingers massaging until his nails rake the muscle beneath.
Feeling color spreading across his face and down his neck, he stifles a needy sound - not yet, he tells himself.]
[Even without words Gale is eloquent in his suggestions. Astarion gives a pleased shiver as Gale's touch soothes tension from his calf. His thumb presses harder against Gale's tongue a moment before he twists his grip and presses two more fingers into his mouth. It's tantalizing, the tease, the promise of things to come, and knowing Astarion is in complete control.]
Let's have a demonstration, hm? If you're good, I'll give you what you want.
[That twist of Astarion's fingers draws a gasp of surprise from Gale; his teeth scrape against his knuckles, and with his lips occupied and unable to form words, that whine the wizard had been holding back escapes him. He feels like a wanton, licentious thing, hungrier and more lustful than he thinks he's ever been, even when he shared a bed with a goddess. He's red all the way down to his torso and around the mark of the orb, in a position that would render someone of his particular vocation relatively useless. The verbal components of most spells are just as important as the somatic, after all.
But here he is, wordlessly begging at Astarion's feet as he caters to this newfound oral fixation — no, it's not even that. The act itself isn't so important as his own desire to serve, to provide - and to be loved for it. He's getting wildly aroused by the very thought of Astarion commanding him, having him, possessing him. It's comfortingly familiar in the worst ways, and would be a dangerous practice in the wrong hands, something less like love and more like obsession; however, with Astarion, the man who gave up Ascension so they could be equals... it's terribly exciting. The illusion of peril is there, lying atop a foundation of safety and trust.
And that's the most arousing thought of all. Perhaps that's not the healthiest mindset, but it's what Gale knows and — sometimes, despite himself — craves. He sucks on those fingers in his mouth, his hand on Astarion's leg sliding up his thigh as he begs for more - more praise, more attention, more contact.]
[Gale is a gift like this, a blessing. If Astarion still had breath in his lungs it would be caught at the sight of how needy he is, how debauched. Even from something as simple as Astarion's fingers in his mouth. For the thousands of people Astarion has seen in such compromising situations, the devotion in Gale's eyes, the way he nearly seems to worship at Astarion's feet, changes everything.
He isn't a puppet with his strings pulled to coerce him into a poor imitation of lust and pleasure. Here he is the one holding the strings, the power. He knows with white hot certainty that he could ask anything of Gale in this moment and it would be given, willingly. A former Chosen, an archmage of Waterdeep, begging and mewling at his feet.
His cock pulses with the heady anticipation of that thought. More than the clever work of Gale's tongue, the heated touch of his hands, it's that thought that brings him pleasure. He doesn't even pause to consider how twisted thought might be. It's too perfect. Too perfectly theirs. This is the way their broken edges fit in a perfect whole.
He pulls his fingers from Gale's mouth, grabbing a fistful of his hair and twisting his head back.]
Do you want more, you needy thing? Do you want my cock?
[Gale pulls in a breath through his teeth as Astarion grips his hair, brown locks tangling around slender fingers; he licks his lips, arousal following the pain as his gaze locks onto those ruby eyes. He smiles lopsidedly, slyly - almost defiantly.]
Yes. I want all you'll give me.
[His fingers curl against Astarion's thigh, pressing into his skin. He can feel his own erection against his own leg, but forces himself to ignore it, unwilling to look away.]
[Ah, but it wouldn't be Gale without a response like that, would it? Astarion clicks his tongue against his teeth in censure, tightening his grip on Gale's hair.]
Cheeky little pup. I could give you nothing. Leave you begging at my feet.
[He brings his free hand to grip Gale's chin, letting his nails bite just slightly into the skin of his jaw.]
But you'd like that, wouldn't you? To do nothing but serve me.
[With Astarion's nails digging into his jaw, Gale struggles to keep his smile from evening out into something entirely too sincere: confirmation escapes him in a whisper, this fiction they're weaving quickly driving the wizard toward unadulterated bliss.
For a man who prides himself on his mind, despite his proclivity to think too much, Gale finds himself happy to be relieved of that duty these days, particularly in the bedroom. There's no guesswork in what his partner wants when it's spoken outright, no grand but misguided gestures that could, at a moment's notice, send everything spiraling out of his control. He learned to second-guess himself after her, lost the confidence he'd once had in abundance. It's abandonment he fears; he wants the love he gives to be returned in equal measure.
And he is. Even if Gale didn't feel it in Astarion's gaze or hear it in his voice, he would know he is. Astarion might have given up his Ascension, but he doesn't need it to hold complete power over Gale in this moment. And as for Gale, he needn't worry about what is being kept from him as he had with Mystra because he gives himself to Astarion's control freely. They're not goddess and man, nor master and slave, but two broken shapes coming together to make a whole.]
Yes.
[He whispers it again after a breath, his heart hammering in his chest; he brings his hand to rest on Astarion's wrist, the other on Astarion's thigh moving inward, his fingers brushing against the base of his cock.]
I spent so long praying to someone undeserving. Believing I'd lost my purpose. Give me one, for I am yours. Let me worship you.
[Astarion doesn't bother to hide the smile that spreads across his lips at Gale's words. He has always been a man of devotion, hasn't he? A follower in need if an altar to worship at. Well, Astarion will gladly give him that much in this little play of theirs.]
I do like the sound of divinity. All right then, my little treat. You'd like a purpose?
[Astarion releases Gale in that moment, pulling away from the hand at his thigh and turning to show Gale his backside. He takes one step toward the waiting bath before turning to address Gale over his shoulder.]
[Gale watches him go, his eyes lingering on his silver hair, his scarred back, his delectable ass; their gazes meet once again as Astarion turns to address him. The wizard feels his pulse skip, his hands longing for that lost contact as he grins.]
With pleasure.
[He revels in those pet names - my love, my dearest, my little treat. A part of Gale feels he should address Astarion otherwise as a part of this play, but how so? Though once the lover of a true goddess, he can't find the words now, not ones that wouldn't recall darker times for both of them. He can ponder it later; he has work to do.
Getting to his feet, his knees immediately protest; Gale ignores them as he conjures mage hands to collect the oil and soaps. Preferring to use his hands for this, he forgoes a washcloth entirely. With his eyes still on Astarion, he steps into the water. Steam rises all around him, warming the aches from his legs as it creates a gentle mist: it mimics the morning fog, albeit without the chill. Astarion's skin will keep him cool enough, he's sure of it.
He waits waist-deep for his partner, spreading soap across his hands.]
[It is a wonder to see how quickly and eagerly Gale falls into this role. A thrill in its own right, to be in command, in control, to have Gale like a servant at his beck and call. Astarion feels powerful in a way he hasn't in so many centuries and he relishes in it.
He steps forward with a lazy grace, like a cat stalking its prey, before gently lowering himself down to sit at the lip of the bath, his legs and feet in the water but the rest of him above it and dry. Without a word, he extends his arm to Gale like it's a gift, one he knows that Gale will treasure properly.]
[He pulls in a quiet breath at the proffered arm, his chest swelling, the glowing symbol of the orb reflected in the surface of the pool.
Taking Astarion's arm, he first bows his head to press a tender kiss to his hand before allowing his own to travel up and down the limb, his fingers sliding along his muscles easily as he works the soap into a lather. There's a hint of lavender in the mix, the scent perfuming the air around them.
Once that arm is done, he puts out his hands for the other, awaiting permission to touch his lover.]
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Mmm. So while I might think on the Crown and what I could do for you with it, I agree that the choices we made were for the best, for both of us. But that won't stop me from wanting to give you more. To give you everything.
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Gale, dearest, the only way you could give me more would be to let me own you completely.
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[That confession slips from him before he realizes it, words escaping through the desirous haze; his brow tightens not a second later, his eyes finding their way back to Astarion's face as earnest sincerity replaces any playfulness upon him. He puts a hand on the one at his hip, bringing it up to the side of his jaw, then to his ear, to the shining silver hanging there.
He'd once devoted his entire self to Mystra. He felt he might never recover from the heartbreak when she cast him out, ignored his prayers, allowed the silence left in her wake to be filled by the agonizing, ravenous howl of the orb. As he considered her offer for 'forgiveness,' he knew she'd always own some part of him - not just because she was the embodiment of the very magic he commands, but because so much of himself was a reflection of her long influence upon him.
Even as he reddens, hands hovering over the symbol of her that has adorned that ear for years now, Gale wonders if he can give everything he is to Astarion. Gods, does he ever want to.]
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With deft fingers, Astarion slips the earring free, his touch a whisper against Gale's skin. Once it's loose, he holds it for a moment, sharp star points pressing into the pads of his fingers, before letting it drop to the pile of clothes gathered at their feet.
When he speaks it's in a low voice, thick with desire and a small tremor of trepidation.]
Be careful what you offer, Gale Dekarios. You know what power can do to a man.
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His eyes flick back to Astarion, the weight in his chest subsiding as the vampire's voice draws him him. He can't help himself, leaning forward to place a kiss to the corner of Astarion's lips, then upon them in earnest; his smiles into the kiss, his skin warm enough to rival the bath.]
I trust you with my body, mortal and frail and fallible as it is. I trust you with my heart, a once-broken thing I believed beyond repair. I trust you, Astarion, the future Mr. Dekarios. Perhaps that power is what I want to see. A momentary imbalance in your favor.
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When it breaks he meets Gale's gaze, that warmth stoking to a fire in his red eyes. He runs a tongue across his lips, tasting the lingering heat.]
I--like the sound of that. Tipping the scales in my favor.
[The hand at Gale's ear moves back along his jaw, catching his chin in a firm grip.]
I have your trust then, hm?
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Always. Anything I can give you is yours, including my very self.
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Lust surges in him and he leans in to crush his lips to Gale's, bruising and possessive, as if he can stake his claim with lips and teeth alone.]
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Oh, but the heated, passionate kiss Astarion places upon him, so hungry, bruising, aggressive in a way he's unaccustomed to - Gale undeniably likes that. He's wanted not because he's useful, but because he's treasured, possessed. He's loved, too loved to be discarded.
Of course, he'd thought that with Mystra; however, Mystra never kissed him like this. It's almost too much.
The emotional want combined with the physical thrill of Astarion pushing against him is a potent combination; Gale lights up, his cheeks flush as he feels his pulse race. He returns the kiss in kind, his fingers threading through Astarion's curls as he breathes him in before the breaking dawn.]
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His eyes open to take in the effect it must have on Gale, to watch the flush rise in his face, to see the bright red of his kiss-bruised lips. He commits each one to memory before lifting his gaze to meet Gale's eyes, a smoldering heat burning in his eyes.]
Now—on your knees.
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Gale hadn't, of course - he couldn't imagine forcing anything upon Astarion, not without his clear consent. Now, they're reveling in his freedom, both of them finding new ways to express their longing for one another. There's no haze as Astarion commands him: only a fire burning in his red eyes, one that Gale is all too eager to embrace.
His gaze remains on Astarion, eyes taking in that flame as he kneels; he bites his lip in anticipation, wishing it were Astarion's teeth biting him still.]
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He curls his hand to cup Gale's chin, sweeping his thumb across Gale's lower lip to coax it open. His wizard does have a clever mouth, and that mouth is his to use as he sees fit.]
Open for me.
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Gale is eager, maybe too much as he leans forward just enough to place his hand on his partner's foot, sliding up his ankle, his leg; he doesn't ask for permission to do so, never breaking eye contact, awaiting a reaction.]
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Now what's on your mind, my dearest?
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Feeling color spreading across his face and down his neck, he stifles a needy sound - not yet, he tells himself.]
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Let's have a demonstration, hm? If you're good, I'll give you what you want.
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But here he is, wordlessly begging at Astarion's feet as he caters to this newfound oral fixation — no, it's not even that. The act itself isn't so important as his own desire to serve, to provide - and to be loved for it. He's getting wildly aroused by the very thought of Astarion commanding him, having him, possessing him. It's comfortingly familiar in the worst ways, and would be a dangerous practice in the wrong hands, something less like love and more like obsession; however, with Astarion, the man who gave up Ascension so they could be equals... it's terribly exciting. The illusion of peril is there, lying atop a foundation of safety and trust.
And that's the most arousing thought of all. Perhaps that's not the healthiest mindset, but it's what Gale knows and — sometimes, despite himself — craves. He sucks on those fingers in his mouth, his hand on Astarion's leg sliding up his thigh as he begs for more - more praise, more attention, more contact.]
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He isn't a puppet with his strings pulled to coerce him into a poor imitation of lust and pleasure. Here he is the one holding the strings, the power. He knows with white hot certainty that he could ask anything of Gale in this moment and it would be given, willingly. A former Chosen, an archmage of Waterdeep, begging and mewling at his feet.
His cock pulses with the heady anticipation of that thought. More than the clever work of Gale's tongue, the heated touch of his hands, it's that thought that brings him pleasure. He doesn't even pause to consider how twisted thought might be. It's too perfect. Too perfectly theirs. This is the way their broken edges fit in a perfect whole.
He pulls his fingers from Gale's mouth, grabbing a fistful of his hair and twisting his head back.]
Do you want more, you needy thing? Do you want my cock?
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Yes. I want all you'll give me.
[His fingers curl against Astarion's thigh, pressing into his skin. He can feel his own erection against his own leg, but forces himself to ignore it, unwilling to look away.]
All you'll allow me to have. I am at your mercy.
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Cheeky little pup. I could give you nothing. Leave you begging at my feet.
[He brings his free hand to grip Gale's chin, letting his nails bite just slightly into the skin of his jaw.]
But you'd like that, wouldn't you? To do nothing but serve me.
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For a man who prides himself on his mind, despite his proclivity to think too much, Gale finds himself happy to be relieved of that duty these days, particularly in the bedroom. There's no guesswork in what his partner wants when it's spoken outright, no grand but misguided gestures that could, at a moment's notice, send everything spiraling out of his control. He learned to second-guess himself after her, lost the confidence he'd once had in abundance. It's abandonment he fears; he wants the love he gives to be returned in equal measure.
And he is. Even if Gale didn't feel it in Astarion's gaze or hear it in his voice, he would know he is. Astarion might have given up his Ascension, but he doesn't need it to hold complete power over Gale in this moment. And as for Gale, he needn't worry about what is being kept from him as he had with Mystra because he gives himself to Astarion's control freely. They're not goddess and man, nor master and slave, but two broken shapes coming together to make a whole.]
Yes.
[He whispers it again after a breath, his heart hammering in his chest; he brings his hand to rest on Astarion's wrist, the other on Astarion's thigh moving inward, his fingers brushing against the base of his cock.]
I spent so long praying to someone undeserving. Believing I'd lost my purpose. Give me one, for I am yours. Let me worship you.
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I do like the sound of divinity. All right then, my little treat. You'd like a purpose?
[Astarion releases Gale in that moment, pulling away from the hand at his thigh and turning to show Gale his backside. He takes one step toward the waiting bath before turning to address Gale over his shoulder.]
Serve me, my love. Bathe me.
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With pleasure.
[He revels in those pet names - my love, my dearest, my little treat. A part of Gale feels he should address Astarion otherwise as a part of this play, but how so? Though once the lover of a true goddess, he can't find the words now, not ones that wouldn't recall darker times for both of them. He can ponder it later; he has work to do.
Getting to his feet, his knees immediately protest; Gale ignores them as he conjures mage hands to collect the oil and soaps. Preferring to use his hands for this, he forgoes a washcloth entirely. With his eyes still on Astarion, he steps into the water. Steam rises all around him, warming the aches from his legs as it creates a gentle mist: it mimics the morning fog, albeit without the chill. Astarion's skin will keep him cool enough, he's sure of it.
He waits waist-deep for his partner, spreading soap across his hands.]
Where shall I start?
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He steps forward with a lazy grace, like a cat stalking its prey, before gently lowering himself down to sit at the lip of the bath, his legs and feet in the water but the rest of him above it and dry. Without a word, he extends his arm to Gale like it's a gift, one he knows that Gale will treasure properly.]
Go on.
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Taking Astarion's arm, he first bows his head to press a tender kiss to his hand before allowing his own to travel up and down the limb, his fingers sliding along his muscles easily as he works the soap into a lather. There's a hint of lavender in the mix, the scent perfuming the air around them.
Once that arm is done, he puts out his hands for the other, awaiting permission to touch his lover.]
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