[ Astarion knows that this connection will leave an opening for Gale to root around in his memories, as well. Some of their party are quicker to share these things than others; Astarion would prefer to keep his own door under lock and key.
The momentary feeling of power is intoxicating, pleasure and strength coursing through him as if it were his own. Of everyone in their party, Astarion might understand Gale's fall the most--chasing undiluted power like it will change everything, having a taste and wanting more. Others might blame him for it, and Gale seems ever-ready to take whatever judgment is meted. Astarion, ironically, isn't one to judge.
But that pleasure is momentary. Aliveness is only truly felt when pinned against its opposite, and as Gale shares his own precipice, something in Astarion's mind unlocks itself, shudders forward.
The walls of a dark alley, stone spattered with his blood. Broken ribs, a lung collapsing, no god to answer or even bring him a swifter mercy than a slow succumbing to internal bleeding, bones splintered and puncturing everything soft inside him.
Only another shadow darkening the alleyway, and an even longer death ahead. Blood filling his mouth when he'd tried to call for help, blood in his mouth forevermore.
Their twin hunger is too much for a mind or body to hold. And then Gale's hand is an anchor, and they're back at the edge of the fire, fingers tangled in his hair. Astarion feels like he's had the wind knocked out of him as Gale slams their connection shut. ]
Just when we were getting to the good part.
[ The dry humor he'd normally inject doesn't make it past his lips. He doesn't move his hand from Gale's heart, knowing if he does his body will betray him, the tremor he's holding steady barely kept at bay.
His eyes are wet. He feels it, and so he keeps them shut, head bowed slightly between them. ]
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The momentary feeling of power is intoxicating, pleasure and strength coursing through him as if it were his own. Of everyone in their party, Astarion might understand Gale's fall the most--chasing undiluted power like it will change everything, having a taste and wanting more. Others might blame him for it, and Gale seems ever-ready to take whatever judgment is meted. Astarion, ironically, isn't one to judge.
But that pleasure is momentary. Aliveness is only truly felt when pinned against its opposite, and as Gale shares his own precipice, something in Astarion's mind unlocks itself, shudders forward.
The walls of a dark alley, stone spattered with his blood. Broken ribs, a lung collapsing, no god to answer or even bring him a swifter mercy than a slow succumbing to internal bleeding, bones splintered and puncturing everything soft inside him.
Only another shadow darkening the alleyway, and an even longer death ahead. Blood filling his mouth when he'd tried to call for help, blood in his mouth forevermore.
Their twin hunger is too much for a mind or body to hold. And then Gale's hand is an anchor, and they're back at the edge of the fire, fingers tangled in his hair. Astarion feels like he's had the wind knocked out of him as Gale slams their connection shut. ]
Just when we were getting to the good part.
[ The dry humor he'd normally inject doesn't make it past his lips. He doesn't move his hand from Gale's heart, knowing if he does his body will betray him, the tremor he's holding steady barely kept at bay.
His eyes are wet. He feels it, and so he keeps them shut, head bowed slightly between them. ]