[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?
[Gale hesitates a fraction of a second; against Astarion's forehead, his own brow tenses, furrowing as something in the back of his mind turns with sudden recognition. Is that discomfort he feels? Yes, yes it is, but is it his, or Astarion's? Or, perhaps, it belongs to both of them in ways uniquely their own.
For Gale, said discomfort is accompanied by a sense of uncertainty, of doubt so deeply rooted that he feels it twisting in the pit of his stomach. With as desperate as he's always been to serve his lovers, to prove himself worthy of them, he hasn't thought nearly enough about what he wants. And why would he? True, he has always valued his clever mind, but so long as he had their attention — their affection — he was satisfied. Historically, it was chasing his ambition for anything more that caused problems.
But now that he is thinking about his own wants, he thinks on them a moment too long, long enough to give them the barest amount of scrutiny. Gale has to admit that there are specific elements he's always liked when intimate: a strong hand pulling his hair or pushing him into a bed, nails raking across his skin so desperately and so deeply that they leave visible scratches, the stretch of being taken and the ache that comes with it the following day. Even watching Astarion in the midst of battle, his knife gutting their enemies in a way Gale would usually consider barbaric, has given him a distinct thrill before. That's not the same as deliberately wanting to be hurt, to be wounded in the pursuit of sating his carnal desires.
He shouldn't want to be hurt, Gale concludes in an effort to dispel his unease; more importantly, he shouldn't force Astarion into a position like this for his sake - Astarion, a man who spent centuries being tortured in the worst ways imaginable, who has no doubt genuinely suffered punishments that Gale wonders if he himself might enjoy.
It's not the same as what Astarion went through, of course, but regardless, Gale feels ashamed at having even entertained the thought. His gaze settles downward, his lashes veiling his eyes as the uncertainty comes crawling up his spine, creeping onto his neck, weighing his head down. This was going so well, and now, within the span of barely a moment... he's no longer sure. He tries to mask it, his smile tempering into something barely disguising his nerves as he, too, tries to maintain the fiction.]
I want —[a beat, no longer than a quick inhale]— what you want. I want to give you everything you ever wanted - that you've been denied by other acolytes, other servants. Ones less devoted than I.
[This close, it's impossible to miss Gale's hesitation, his uncertainty. He doesn't want to break their play, but it still sits wrong. He's all too familiar with the desire to serve, to mask, to quickly cover any distress so the illusion can persist. He sees himself in Gale in this moment, and not the best parts of him.
He reaches up to take Gale's chin in his hand, tilting his head up so that their gazes meet. There's a heartbeat's worth of a pause as ruby eyes search the creases of his wizard's brow, the tension at the corners of his eyes. Astarion may not have the insight that the tadpole granted him into his lover's heart anymore, but he knows Gale all the same. There's something hiding inside his eyes, and Astarion wants to see it laid bare. They're both beyond hiding from one another.
He leans in for another kiss, seeking to soothe some of Gale's worry, but as he draws away he catches Gale's lip with a fang. He drags at the tender skin, pressing hard enough to draw a small trickle of blood.]
You ought to know better than to keep things from me, dearest. Your devotion is welcome, but your deceit is not.
[He pauses a moment, reordering his thoughts into the persona of this little play, the indulgent divine. It settles more comfortably than before, shifting to better fit their jagged edges. A little smirk creeps across his face, perhaps it's easier this way.]
I know your worship has been discarded before, that others fail to see your devotion for what it is. But I see you, Gale Dekarios. And I will treat what's mine with proper care. So, let's have it once more.
Should I use a heavy hand with you, pet? Is that how you wish to be cared for?
[Though that bite to his lip and the resulting tang of his own blood on his tongue cause his cock to practically throb in reply, a fresh wave of embarrassment hits Gale as Astarion calls him on his avoidance; his own hazel eyes pull themselves from Astarion's gaze, land on his smile, then return to his eyes less than a second later as he searches for confirmation, though of what, he's not entirely sure. That this really is what Astarion wants, not just him falling into a role to please him? That this is ultimately all right? That his lover doesn't think worse of him for fantasies Gale finds entirely unbecoming?
What he finds in Astarion's eyes is understanding, something he should have known would be there all along. Perhaps he knows Gale is hesitant but doesn't know why, or maybe he does and simply doesn't care, allowing himself to explore what they both want sexually in the safety of one another. Hells, maybe this part of the play is entirely earnest, and he wants this as much as Gale does, and Gale was a fool to ever doubt him. He pushes a sigh out of his chest, frustrated with his own insecurity.
He has to know. He keeps his voice low, practically a whisper, as though the illusion would break were it to hear his concerns after all the buildup.]
You wouldn't think less of me if that was what I wanted? To be hurt, punished by the very hand that loves me?
[When all is said and done, Astarion would still treat him like an equal, after all. That's more than he's been afforded in the past.]
[The back and forth jars him, gives him reason to pause. He brushes his fingers across Gale's lips, to feel the shape of his words. His eyes don't stray from Gale's, holding to the connection that they share. It's a complex tangle inside him at the moment, the entire situation shifting so quickly from comfort to discomfort by each moment that passes. As if it can fit, but only just so, only when they slot perfectly together. He takes in a breath, to give voice to the words that are just as quiet as Gale's.]
I will never think any less of you, dearest. I know it can be—enticing, at times. The sting of pain to highlight pleasure.
[He strokes the back of his knuckles against Gale's cheek, leaning in to kiss him again, softly this time.]
But for tonight, can you be my obedient little pet? I won't be soft with you, but it isn't a night for punishment.
[Somewhere in his mind, he's sure she would have thought less of him, perhaps even thought him a hypocrite for wanting so badly to be her equal, yet treated as subservient — little more than a glorified pet — in the throes of passion. That contradiction seems so painfully... human.
Perhaps that's all the more reason he should embrace it. Even with her symbol removed from his ear, she still holds a terrible influence over him. He refuses to let that happen, especially when in the company of the man he loves more than anyone, more than anyone who could ever exist.
Gale finally smiles himself, comforted despite feeling like he might have ruined the moment (which isn't all that unusual, frankly). His mind turns for a moment longer as he presses himself against Astarion's hand, still reveling in the feeling of their lips together.]
Anything for you, my love - I meant that. Forgive my hesitation, my foolishness. My utter ability to overthink in the worst of times.
[And to ease back into their play and show he's a good pet, he raises one hand and draws a circle in the air, then another within it, conjuring a leather collar - and accompanying rope, just in case. He offers the to Astarion with a request from long ago.]
[Oh, any mourning for the loss of the moment must be immediately postponed. The sight of the rope and collar brings a sharp grin to Astarion's lips. He hasn't forgotten that request, no. It's merely been tucked away, awaiting the right moment. And he sees absolutely no reason why this should not be that moment. He takes the collar, running his fingers along the length of the supple leather, a hungry light shining in his eyes.]
Oh, I shall keep you. Nothing could take you from me.
[Carefully, he tilts Gale's chin up, stroking his neck before he slides the collar around it. He keeps two fingers hooked between the leather and Gale's pulse, making sure he doesn't cut off his air as he fastens it. Once it's secure, those two fingers tug Gale closer, Astarion turning his face to whisper in his ear.]
Now, pet. You had promised me a delicate and intimate touch. Shall we return to that?
[Gale licks his lips as Astarion fastens the collar around his neck, a new breed of excitement stirring in him; his face burns as Astarion pulls him closer, skin hot as anticipation silences any lingering concerns dwelling at the back of his mind.]
Please.
[He stays close, hands going for Astarion's abdomen - only to pause as he remembers his place, his fingers practically ghosting Astarion's skin.]
May I touch you?
[His hands ache to put themselves on Astarion, but he hasn't been given permission yet. He must be patient, an obedient pet, as promised.]
[Gods, but the way that Gale looks at him now sets a fire raging inside of Astarion. He loosens his fingers from the collar, dragging his nails along the line of his jaw, thrilled at just the the heat of that flush radiate off his wizard. The soft beams of an illusory sun may be dappling the water of the bath between them, but a star could hardly burn brighter than the desire caught in Gale's eyes at exactly this moment. And Astarion is only too lucky to witness it firsthand, to be the only undead thing that it casts its light upon.
He leans back against the lip of the tub, giving a parting nip to the skin of Gale's neck just above the collar's edge, before splaying himself out like a decadent king resting upon his rightful throne. Or perhaps a magnanimous god before a devout worshiper, even. He offers his body to Gale so that it can be worshiped, and that is an intoxicating thought in its own right. A grin spreads across his lips at the thought, his neck tilted back at an imperious angle as he regards the man before him.]
[A magnanimous god, indeed. Gale's heart beats quick in his chest, his body eager for more after that nip to his neck; he wants as much as he can get, never able to get his fill of this man. Devotion first, he reminds himself, then he will be rewarded - Astarion is a far different deity than those he's served before.
He starts at the bottom, one hand bracing himself at the water's edge, the other tracing Astarion's ankle as he presses a kiss to it. He moves up steadily, his hand on the outside of his partner's leg, his lips on the inside, each kiss more urgent than the last.]
The things I would do for you.
[He speaks those words right into Astarion's skin as he continues to work his way up, taking his time with every lingering embrace.]
[Astarion sees Gale's play and indulges him in it, extending his leg in a graceful arc to press against the heat of his lover's palm. A sensation he's never felt before, truly, to have his body cherished and treasured in this way. It was always just something to be consumed, discarded, chewed up and spat out. But not now. Gale savors him, indulges him.
In a moment like this, Astarion wonders if he can truly fathom the utter devotion that beats in the heart of the man before him. The things he would do, indeed. Astarion could ask anything of him, and he would give. He already knows Gale is a man who would give of himself until there was nothing left, until he was bereft of all that made him who he is. A thought that certainly might have appealed to Astarion once, in his more desperate moments. But now, in the safety of his home—their home—there's no need for such things. Gale may give what he wishes, and Astarion will take it, but he will give every bit as good as he gets.
He brings his hand to Gale's hair, fingers gently threading through the soft, silken strands.]
The things you would do, hm? Consider my curiosity piqued. Let's hear them.
[He leans back just a pinch, letting himself rub against Astarion's hand like a dog begging for attention before returning to his work on his pale leg. His lips press roughly against Astarion's calf.]
I would move the stars for you. Form new constellations in your image. I would bathe the sky in color, any you could imagine.
[He reaches Astarion's knee, nipping at it as he goes over the bend.]
I would change this tower to however you wanted. A home? A keep? It is yours to demand.
[His fingers dig into Astarion's thigh as he kisses the inside of it; he swallows down the heat bubbling in his abdomen.]
And if anyone dares to hurt you? Were someone to judge you for what you are and take it upon themselves to threaten the peace we have found? I am not a violent man, but I would raze them to the ground. There would be nothing left of them but the memory of their existence.
[It's quite telling that it's Gale's final admission, the threat of violence and vengeance, that stirs Astarion the most. His arousal hasn't truly flagged since he joined his lover in the tub, but the combined touch of Gale's lips and the sweet honey of his words draws a flush to Astarion's cheeks as well as his cock. He doesn't bother to hide the soft groan slipping from his lips as his hand curls into a loose fist to better grip Gale's hair.]
Mmh, but wouldn't that be a delicious sight. Gods, I would take you there on their ashes. You truly spoil me, my love.
[Astarion's fingers in his hair, tighter against his scalp as he lets out a groan, only encourages Gale more. He closes his eyes as his lips trace the skin between Astarion's thigh and groin, his imagination quick to turn his partner's words into fantasy.
Their enemies fallen, their desiccated corpses crumble to dust before him and Astarion, the heat of magic still lingering in the air; the Weave curls around his palms just as Astarion's hand curls in his hair, pulling him into a wanton kiss. It's feverish and fervent, the two of them tumbling to the ground as desire overwhelms them: they tear at one another's clothing, lust turning them into desperate, wanton creatures. Sweat on their skin mingles with the ash and embers beneath them as they revel in their victory over the dangers that face them, over the gods and life itself.
Gods, that thought goes right to his cock, and he has to fight to keep himself from rutting against the edge of the pool right then and there. His beard brushes against Astarion's length as Gale slips by it; he hums agreeably as his lips play with Astarion's balls, one hand tugging at his left thigh to give himself more room, the other slipping down to grab his ass, allowing his thumb to brush against Astarion's entrance.]
[Astarion can't resist spreading his legs wider at Gale's touch. He's teased enough, and between the collar and thoughts of bloodshed and power he aches to have more of Gale's touch on him. He lets his head fall back with a low moan, tightening his grip on Gale's hair to keep him held in place.]
Gods, what a good pup you are. Should I let you have me? Have you earned it?
[Gale lets out a groan of his own at that tug to his hair - as Astarion surmised, he clearly likes pain with his pleasure. His throat rattles from it, the sound pressed to Astarion's skin.]
Please, Astarion, I...
[He teases Astarion's ass once more, his lips at the base of his cock as it takes all the restraint in the realm to keep himself from going any further; he can't help himself this time, letting his own erection grind against the edge of the pool.]
[His words are nearly a moan themselves, dragged deep and low from his chest. The hand at Gale's hair releases him only for the moment it takes to hook his fingers in Gale's collar and drag him closer, all but forcing the heat of his erection against the rough texture of Gale's cheek and chin ]
Your reward, my sweet. Ready me for that needy cock of yours.
[The drag of Astarion's cock against his beard draws a whine from Gale, one he does his best to stifle; the pressure from the collar on the back of his neck might as well be the grip of his lover for the heat it sends through him.]
Yes, my love.
[He's breathless, obedient as he tugs at the Weave, conjuring oil to his fingers as he tentatively presses a finger into Astarion. He kisses the vampire's pale cock, tonguing along its length, servicing only as he is allowed. Mystra might think of less of him for how desperate he is, his hips writhing with need, but he has given this power to Astarion freely, willingly - he trusts him more than he can say, and for a man of many words, that truly is a feat.
He parts just long enough for words, ones that nearly catch in his throat; he has to swallow to keep his desire down.]
My hair. [He knows he shouldn't be making demands, but—] Take my hair again. I- I liked that.
[Astarion gives a low, indulgent groan as Gale's finger presses in. The heat of his touch is always delicious, but warmed by the bath it's a particularly delightful sensation. Gale warming him from the inside out, bringing Gale's own blood to build the flush in Astarion's cheeks, the bright red of his cock.
He gives a loose thrust against Gale's lips before he speaks, not bothering to restrain himself. When Gale makes his request, Astarion's hand is already drifting towards his hair, his lips spread in a sharp grin as he hears his lover's desperate plea.]
I should guide you, hm? My pup needs a firm hand, does he? Well, let me put you in your place.
[He grabs a rough handful of Gale's hair in his fist, jerking his head up and back so that he can press the head of his cock to those plush lips.]
[Gale opens his mouth readily, allowing his tongue to slide under the head of Astarion's cock, his lips closing over the top as he begins to work. Logically, the pain in his scalp should be a detriment to his enjoyment, as should the degrading way he's being treated - and yet, he smiles as he takes Astarion's length into his mouth, his teeth skimming along the top of his tender skin. Whatever concerns Gale initially had on how Astarion might feel about this particular scenario seem to have been silenced if the way he groans says anything.
As Gale works his thumb into Astarion with one hand, his other strays from his partner's thigh to his own, his fingers brushing against his erection. His hand pauses with momentary conflict: as much as he wants to soothe his own arousal, he's not been given permission to do so, and with a mouthful of Astarion, he can't exactly ask.]
[Astarion's groan says everything, especially with the moan that chases it at the brush of Gale's teeth. He thrusts easily into that welcome heat, digging his nails into his lover's scalp so that he can feel that bite.]
Oh, you are a wonder, a blessing. I want to feel you in me, darling. I want your heat.
[He spreads his legs wider in invitation, his body welcoming the press of Gale's fingers, greedy for more. The absence of the hand at his thigh doesn't matter now, only the stretch inside him and the soft heat of Gale's tongue on his cock.
[Gale's fingers curl as Astarion's nails rake against his scalp; he lets another needy groan escape him as he presses in another finger, all too eager to do as he's told - and all the more aroused by it. Though he continues to lavish Astarion's cock with attention, his own remains unattended, sensitive and swollen with desire. It's when his member grinds against the lip of the pool that he has to pull back, his mouth free as he shudders, struggling to withstand the painful pressure.]
Sorry, I— [The apology is reflexive, one he was no more capable of reeling in than his aching arousal. His face feels impossibly hot, as red as can be as he tries to compose himself to continue.]
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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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[Gale hesitates a fraction of a second; against Astarion's forehead, his own brow tenses, furrowing as something in the back of his mind turns with sudden recognition. Is that discomfort he feels? Yes, yes it is, but is it his, or Astarion's? Or, perhaps, it belongs to both of them in ways uniquely their own.
For Gale, said discomfort is accompanied by a sense of uncertainty, of doubt so deeply rooted that he feels it twisting in the pit of his stomach. With as desperate as he's always been to serve his lovers, to prove himself worthy of them, he hasn't thought nearly enough about what he wants. And why would he? True, he has always valued his clever mind, but so long as he had their attention — their affection — he was satisfied. Historically, it was chasing his ambition for anything more that caused problems.
But now that he is thinking about his own wants, he thinks on them a moment too long, long enough to give them the barest amount of scrutiny. Gale has to admit that there are specific elements he's always liked when intimate: a strong hand pulling his hair or pushing him into a bed, nails raking across his skin so desperately and so deeply that they leave visible scratches, the stretch of being taken and the ache that comes with it the following day. Even watching Astarion in the midst of battle, his knife gutting their enemies in a way Gale would usually consider barbaric, has given him a distinct thrill before. That's not the same as deliberately wanting to be hurt, to be wounded in the pursuit of sating his carnal desires.
He shouldn't want to be hurt, Gale concludes in an effort to dispel his unease; more importantly, he shouldn't force Astarion into a position like this for his sake - Astarion, a man who spent centuries being tortured in the worst ways imaginable, who has no doubt genuinely suffered punishments that Gale wonders if he himself might enjoy.
It's not the same as what Astarion went through, of course, but regardless, Gale feels ashamed at having even entertained the thought. His gaze settles downward, his lashes veiling his eyes as the uncertainty comes crawling up his spine, creeping onto his neck, weighing his head down. This was going so well, and now, within the span of barely a moment... he's no longer sure. He tries to mask it, his smile tempering into something barely disguising his nerves as he, too, tries to maintain the fiction.]
I want —[a beat, no longer than a quick inhale]— what you want. I want to give you everything you ever wanted - that you've been denied by other acolytes, other servants. Ones less devoted than I.
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He reaches up to take Gale's chin in his hand, tilting his head up so that their gazes meet. There's a heartbeat's worth of a pause as ruby eyes search the creases of his wizard's brow, the tension at the corners of his eyes. Astarion may not have the insight that the tadpole granted him into his lover's heart anymore, but he knows Gale all the same. There's something hiding inside his eyes, and Astarion wants to see it laid bare. They're both beyond hiding from one another.
He leans in for another kiss, seeking to soothe some of Gale's worry, but as he draws away he catches Gale's lip with a fang. He drags at the tender skin, pressing hard enough to draw a small trickle of blood.]
You ought to know better than to keep things from me, dearest. Your devotion is welcome, but your deceit is not.
[He pauses a moment, reordering his thoughts into the persona of this little play, the indulgent divine. It settles more comfortably than before, shifting to better fit their jagged edges. A little smirk creeps across his face, perhaps it's easier this way.]
I know your worship has been discarded before, that others fail to see your devotion for what it is. But I see you, Gale Dekarios. And I will treat what's mine with proper care. So, let's have it once more.
Should I use a heavy hand with you, pet? Is that how you wish to be cared for?
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What he finds in Astarion's eyes is understanding, something he should have known would be there all along. Perhaps he knows Gale is hesitant but doesn't know why, or maybe he does and simply doesn't care, allowing himself to explore what they both want sexually in the safety of one another. Hells, maybe this part of the play is entirely earnest, and he wants this as much as Gale does, and Gale was a fool to ever doubt him. He pushes a sigh out of his chest, frustrated with his own insecurity.
He has to know. He keeps his voice low, practically a whisper, as though the illusion would break were it to hear his concerns after all the buildup.]
You wouldn't think less of me if that was what I wanted? To be hurt, punished by the very hand that loves me?
[When all is said and done, Astarion would still treat him like an equal, after all. That's more than he's been afforded in the past.]
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I will never think any less of you, dearest. I know it can be—enticing, at times. The sting of pain to highlight pleasure.
[He strokes the back of his knuckles against Gale's cheek, leaning in to kiss him again, softly this time.]
But for tonight, can you be my obedient little pet? I won't be soft with you, but it isn't a night for punishment.
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Perhaps that's all the more reason he should embrace it. Even with her symbol removed from his ear, she still holds a terrible influence over him. He refuses to let that happen, especially when in the company of the man he loves more than anyone, more than anyone who could ever exist.
Gale finally smiles himself, comforted despite feeling like he might have ruined the moment (which isn't all that unusual, frankly). His mind turns for a moment longer as he presses himself against Astarion's hand, still reveling in the feeling of their lips together.]
Anything for you, my love - I meant that. Forgive my hesitation, my foolishness. My utter ability to overthink in the worst of times.
[And to ease back into their play and show he's a good pet, he raises one hand and draws a circle in the air, then another within it, conjuring a leather collar - and accompanying rope, just in case. He offers the to Astarion with a request from long ago.]
Don't let me run off.
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Oh, I shall keep you. Nothing could take you from me.
[Carefully, he tilts Gale's chin up, stroking his neck before he slides the collar around it. He keeps two fingers hooked between the leather and Gale's pulse, making sure he doesn't cut off his air as he fastens it. Once it's secure, those two fingers tug Gale closer, Astarion turning his face to whisper in his ear.]
Now, pet. You had promised me a delicate and intimate touch. Shall we return to that?
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Please.
[He stays close, hands going for Astarion's abdomen - only to pause as he remembers his place, his fingers practically ghosting Astarion's skin.]
May I touch you?
[His hands ache to put themselves on Astarion, but he hasn't been given permission yet. He must be patient, an obedient pet, as promised.]
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He leans back against the lip of the tub, giving a parting nip to the skin of Gale's neck just above the collar's edge, before splaying himself out like a decadent king resting upon his rightful throne. Or perhaps a magnanimous god before a devout worshiper, even. He offers his body to Gale so that it can be worshiped, and that is an intoxicating thought in its own right. A grin spreads across his lips at the thought, his neck tilted back at an imperious angle as he regards the man before him.]
Go on. I'm feeling indulgent.
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He starts at the bottom, one hand bracing himself at the water's edge, the other tracing Astarion's ankle as he presses a kiss to it. He moves up steadily, his hand on the outside of his partner's leg, his lips on the inside, each kiss more urgent than the last.]
The things I would do for you.
[He speaks those words right into Astarion's skin as he continues to work his way up, taking his time with every lingering embrace.]
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In a moment like this, Astarion wonders if he can truly fathom the utter devotion that beats in the heart of the man before him. The things he would do, indeed. Astarion could ask anything of him, and he would give. He already knows Gale is a man who would give of himself until there was nothing left, until he was bereft of all that made him who he is. A thought that certainly might have appealed to Astarion once, in his more desperate moments. But now, in the safety of his home—their home—there's no need for such things. Gale may give what he wishes, and Astarion will take it, but he will give every bit as good as he gets.
He brings his hand to Gale's hair, fingers gently threading through the soft, silken strands.]
The things you would do, hm? Consider my curiosity piqued. Let's hear them.
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I would move the stars for you. Form new constellations in your image. I would bathe the sky in color, any you could imagine.
[He reaches Astarion's knee, nipping at it as he goes over the bend.]
I would change this tower to however you wanted. A home? A keep? It is yours to demand.
[His fingers dig into Astarion's thigh as he kisses the inside of it; he swallows down the heat bubbling in his abdomen.]
And if anyone dares to hurt you? Were someone to judge you for what you are and take it upon themselves to threaten the peace we have found? I am not a violent man, but I would raze them to the ground. There would be nothing left of them but the memory of their existence.
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Mmh, but wouldn't that be a delicious sight. Gods, I would take you there on their ashes. You truly spoil me, my love.
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Their enemies fallen, their desiccated corpses crumble to dust before him and Astarion, the heat of magic still lingering in the air; the Weave curls around his palms just as Astarion's hand curls in his hair, pulling him into a wanton kiss. It's feverish and fervent, the two of them tumbling to the ground as desire overwhelms them: they tear at one another's clothing, lust turning them into desperate, wanton creatures. Sweat on their skin mingles with the ash and embers beneath them as they revel in their victory over the dangers that face them, over the gods and life itself.
Gods, that thought goes right to his cock, and he has to fight to keep himself from rutting against the edge of the pool right then and there. His beard brushes against Astarion's length as Gale slips by it; he hums agreeably as his lips play with Astarion's balls, one hand tugging at his left thigh to give himself more room, the other slipping down to grab his ass, allowing his thumb to brush against Astarion's entrance.]
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Gods, what a good pup you are. Should I let you have me? Have you earned it?
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Please, Astarion, I...
[He teases Astarion's ass once more, his lips at the base of his cock as it takes all the restraint in the realm to keep himself from going any further; he can't help himself this time, letting his own erection grind against the edge of the pool.]
Let me have you. Please.
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[His words are nearly a moan themselves, dragged deep and low from his chest. The hand at Gale's hair releases him only for the moment it takes to hook his fingers in Gale's collar and drag him closer, all but forcing the heat of his erection against the rough texture of Gale's cheek and chin ]
Your reward, my sweet. Ready me for that needy cock of yours.
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Yes, my love.
[He's breathless, obedient as he tugs at the Weave, conjuring oil to his fingers as he tentatively presses a finger into Astarion. He kisses the vampire's pale cock, tonguing along its length, servicing only as he is allowed. Mystra might think of less of him for how desperate he is, his hips writhing with need, but he has given this power to Astarion freely, willingly - he trusts him more than he can say, and for a man of many words, that truly is a feat.
He parts just long enough for words, ones that nearly catch in his throat; he has to swallow to keep his desire down.]
My hair. [He knows he shouldn't be making demands, but—] Take my hair again. I- I liked that.
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He gives a loose thrust against Gale's lips before he speaks, not bothering to restrain himself. When Gale makes his request, Astarion's hand is already drifting towards his hair, his lips spread in a sharp grin as he hears his lover's desperate plea.]
I should guide you, hm? My pup needs a firm hand, does he? Well, let me put you in your place.
[He grabs a rough handful of Gale's hair in his fist, jerking his head up and back so that he can press the head of his cock to those plush lips.]
Get to work.
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As Gale works his thumb into Astarion with one hand, his other strays from his partner's thigh to his own, his fingers brushing against his erection. His hand pauses with momentary conflict: as much as he wants to soothe his own arousal, he's not been given permission to do so, and with a mouthful of Astarion, he can't exactly ask.]
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Oh, you are a wonder, a blessing. I want to feel you in me, darling. I want your heat.
[He spreads his legs wider in invitation, his body welcoming the press of Gale's fingers, greedy for more. The absence of the hand at his thigh doesn't matter now, only the stretch inside him and the soft heat of Gale's tongue on his cock.
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Sorry, I— [The apology is reflexive, one he was no more capable of reeling in than his aching arousal. His face feels impossibly hot, as red as can be as he tries to compose himself to continue.]
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