[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.]
[A shiver runs across Astarion's skin at the first touch. Gale's touched him countless times but there's a difference in the quality of his touch this time. A difference in how Gale looks upon him.
He returns his right arm yo his side, extending the left with the same grace as before.]
[Those words sing to Gale, reverberating down his spine - the pet names unexpectedly stir something within him, a feeling that's equal parts love and lust. Anything Mystra called him, she'd called others before, and perhaps never meant any endearment at all; however, Gale knows Astarion is sincere with them, no matter how deep into their roles they are. He may be the first person Astarion has ever called his pet, and meant it.
He finishes with Astarion's left arm, then starts working his way toward his shoulders, rubbing soap along his neck and down his chest. He presses harder as his hands cross Astarion's pecs, massaging them as he leans closer, daring to put himself well within Astarion's personal space before being told to do so. He wouldn't be himself without a little bit of rebellion, after all.]
[Astarion didn't expect Gale's complete obedience in this. The thought of it brushes too close to his own experience to be pleasant. No, what matters is the obedience Gale chooses to give him. The play wouldn't be the same without his defiance, his over eager pushing at the boundaries Astarion's set before him.
He lowers his arm to lean back on his hands, baring his chest to Gale openly. He's well and fully aroused from just this touch, this attention, but gods he wants to savor it, to drink deeply of the lusty devotion in Gale's eyes.]
I do forget sometimes how your hands are just as clever as your mouth, pet. Especially when you put them to good use.
When not casting spells, they perform well in other ways.
[He takes his time on Astarion's abdomen, letting his thumbs rest in the divots made by his muscles, his fingers trailing along the curves of his ribs as he steps closer. He puts himself in the space between Astarion's knees, letting his hands rest on them; his eyes linger for only a moment on his arousal before moving to gaze into into those garnet eyes.]
The most intimate magic often requires a delicate touch. Provided that's the sort of experience you're looking for, of course.
[Astarion reaches to brush his fingers through Gale's hair, just a whisper of a touch, trailing down the line of his jaw to his chin. Gale always does paint such a lovely picture between his leg.]
[The corner of Gale's mouth crooks upward into a sharp grin.]
You'll have to join me down here. Hard for me to get my hands on you when I'm in the bath and you're not.
[And to entice Astarion further, he lets one hand glide back up Astarion's thigh past his cock, his thumb sliding easily over the base of it thanks to the soap.]
[There's a sharp intake of breath as Gale's thumb brushes his cock. Even though Gale's hands have been on him this whole time, the touch to his arousal, begging for attention, is electric. He digs his fingers into Gale's chin, tightening his grip.]
Careful, pet. I don't recall granting you leave to please me.
[Gale smirks, caught. He'd be embarrassed were it not for how his cock practically twitches in response to that tightened grip on his chin; instead, he wants more. Gods, he wants to touch Astarion, to caress him, to melt into his slender hands and have him do the same as passion and pleasure overwhelm them both.
He licks his lips, reminding himself to be patient. Like most wizards, he's not particularly known for such a trait. He leaves his hand where it is for another second, his thumb pressing into Astarion's flesh, his eyes sparking with a light that says that, despite his utmost desire to serve, he intends to keep pushing that boundary now that he's aware of it.]
[Astarion grins in reply. Gods, he loves that spark in Gale's eyes, the press of his touch. He digs his nails in, letting them bite into the skin of his jaw. What should he do if Gale defies him?
He swallows a moment, considering the question. If he wants Gale's defiance, that's what comes with it, isn't it? The consequence, the punishment. The thought settles sour in his stomach and his grip loosens, fingertips brushing against the red crescent marks.]
What about your worship, love? Am I not your divinity?
Of course you are. [Gale can't help but chuckle, mistaking Astarion's hesitation as a part of their play.] But I'm not exactly known for obeying every command I've been given by a god, now am I?
[Of course, it was different with Mystra and her demands; he feels safe here, safe with Astarion in knowing that any reprimand that may come bears no reflection on how they truly feel about one another. He's not in danger of being cast out for his disrespect when it's all a part of this ill-defined game they're playing.
His smile softens as he leans into Astarion's touch and kisses at his fingertips, already missing that grip.]
[He runs his fingers over Gale's lips, before reaching up to cup his cheek gently. With his free hand, he pushes himself off the lip of the tub to join Gale in the water, pressing closer and drawing him into a kiss. He lets it linger for a moment, drawing at the warmth of Gale's lips, his hand curling at the nape of his neck. Yet once the moment passes he breaks it to press their foreheads together, a more familiar gesture. His voice is lower when he speaks, as if he's trying to not break the scene.]
Do you want me to punish you, dearest? To hurt you?
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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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He returns his right arm yo his side, extending the left with the same grace as before.]
What a good little pet you are, darling.
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He finishes with Astarion's left arm, then starts working his way toward his shoulders, rubbing soap along his neck and down his chest. He presses harder as his hands cross Astarion's pecs, massaging them as he leans closer, daring to put himself well within Astarion's personal space before being told to do so. He wouldn't be himself without a little bit of rebellion, after all.]
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He lowers his arm to lean back on his hands, baring his chest to Gale openly. He's well and fully aroused from just this touch, this attention, but gods he wants to savor it, to drink deeply of the lusty devotion in Gale's eyes.]
I do forget sometimes how your hands are just as clever as your mouth, pet. Especially when you put them to good use.
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[He takes his time on Astarion's abdomen, letting his thumbs rest in the divots made by his muscles, his fingers trailing along the curves of his ribs as he steps closer. He puts himself in the space between Astarion's knees, letting his hands rest on them; his eyes linger for only a moment on his arousal before moving to gaze into into those garnet eyes.]
The most intimate magic often requires a delicate touch. Provided that's the sort of experience you're looking for, of course.
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[Astarion reaches to brush his fingers through Gale's hair, just a whisper of a touch, trailing down the line of his jaw to his chin. Gale always does paint such a lovely picture between his leg.]
I suppose I'm feeling indulgent. Show me.
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You'll have to join me down here. Hard for me to get my hands on you when I'm in the bath and you're not.
[And to entice Astarion further, he lets one hand glide back up Astarion's thigh past his cock, his thumb sliding easily over the base of it thanks to the soap.]
Besides, I have yet to do your back.
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Careful, pet. I don't recall granting you leave to please me.
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He licks his lips, reminding himself to be patient. Like most wizards, he's not particularly known for such a trait. He leaves his hand where it is for another second, his thumb pressing into Astarion's flesh, his eyes sparking with a light that says that, despite his utmost desire to serve, he intends to keep pushing that boundary now that he's aware of it.]
And if misbehave? What then?
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He swallows a moment, considering the question. If he wants Gale's defiance, that's what comes with it, isn't it? The consequence, the punishment. The thought settles sour in his stomach and his grip loosens, fingertips brushing against the red crescent marks.]
What about your worship, love? Am I not your divinity?
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[Of course, it was different with Mystra and her demands; he feels safe here, safe with Astarion in knowing that any reprimand that may come bears no reflection on how they truly feel about one another. He's not in danger of being cast out for his disrespect when it's all a part of this ill-defined game they're playing.
His smile softens as he leans into Astarion's touch and kisses at his fingertips, already missing that grip.]
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[He runs his fingers over Gale's lips, before reaching up to cup his cheek gently. With his free hand, he pushes himself off the lip of the tub to join Gale in the water, pressing closer and drawing him into a kiss. He lets it linger for a moment, drawing at the warmth of Gale's lips, his hand curling at the nape of his neck. Yet once the moment passes he breaks it to press their foreheads together, a more familiar gesture. His voice is lower when he speaks, as if he's trying to not break the scene.]
Do you want me to punish you, dearest? To hurt you?
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