[ Astarion's had nothing to possess in a long, long time. There's a truth to Gale's light observation that might shift the ground beneath Astarion's feet, were he to take a moment to properly sit with it.
There was no room to want when he was at Cazador's beck and call, when he existed for his master and his master only. He's never wanted most of his marks, was rarely in the room with his body as he bedded and betrayed them. But he doesn't have to betray Gale, and he doesn't think Gale is likely to betray him, and he doesn't quite understand the enormity of what that could mean.
Astarion laves his tongue over the mark he's just left and then huffs a soft breath against Gale's neck, pulling back enough to look at him as Gale undoes the laces of his shirt. ]
I'd tell them to get their own wizard to chew on. [ He leans in to kiss him more fervently, open-mouthed and hungry as he cups Gale's jaw in his hands. ]
[ Whatever he expected in response to his playful teasing, it isn’t this. It’s one thing to think of Astarion as possessive in general — unwilling to part with his stolen trinkets — it’s another entirely for it to be turned on him, specifically.
His stomach does a little flip, at Astarion claiming him so easily. tell them to get their own wizard, like he might want to have and keep Gale, despite his mistakes. Before he can turn that realisation over his hands, he’s being kissed again, held firmly in calloused hands. His breath stops and starts, all his whirring thoughts blinking out. Then, he kisses back with ardor, licking into Astarion’s mouth, groaning as he brushes the tips of his fangs. At some point, he tangles his fingers in Astarion’s hair, his shirt all but forgotten. He tugs hard when he has to pull back a tick for air (thinking so very stupidly that it’s unfair Astarion doesn’t need to do the same). ]
Astarion — [ Because he can’t help but say something, and there’s little else on his mind as he surges forward for one kiss after another. Greedy for affection, after so long without it. The heady rush of arousal suffuses his veins as he runs a hand up and down Astarion’s side and squeezes his hip, feeling the clench of thighs in his lap. Dangerous. ]
Astarion — do you want — [ Words rushed between kisses along Astarion’s jaw, then mouthed down his neck. ] I can’t, but if you wanted — [ His thumb dips into Astarion’s waistband, communicating where his words have failed him. If Astarion would like to get off, Gale can oblige him. ]
[ Something's becoming tangled in him, what his body knows of this dance and what his heart actually wants. The thought of his heart, dead weight between his ribs that hasn't stirred in centuries-- It's like he's standing on the highest precipice he's ever known with no way to know if he'll survive the fall.
It's one thing when Astarion can pleasure someone else, can ensure that he's--useful, that he's not disposable. It's another entirely when someone wants to pleasure him, and Gale is so earnest, so warm, his kisses burning against Astarion's throat. ]
I-- [ Astarion has forgotten his lines. There's desire, actual desire thrumming in him when he'd truly thought this would just be transactional. Could have been, had he been able to concentrate attention on Gale and divert it from his own needs--needs he doesn't even know how to look at, let alone articulate.
It's almost embarrassing, the shift from easy seduction to whatever this is, Astarion's fingers gently catching Gale's wrist as he gives the slightest shake of his head, his voice soft and a little small. ]
[ For a brief moment, Gale thinks he’s managed to strike Astarion speechless for the right reasons. the tension in his back, the catch in his throat, and the hand, tentative at his wrist, disabuse him of the notion. Gale tips back immediately. It reminds him of how this started, with the feeling of Astarion’s wet lashes against his robes. Perhaps their disaffected rogue isn’t so unfeeling after all. ]
I — yes, of course. [ Expression careful in its neutrality, though his eyes are his tell, as always (concern widening their set). He untangles his fingers from Astarion’s hair to drop back to his collar, a space that’s touching without touching, the fabric wrinkling between his thumb and forefinger. Not disengaging entirely, for fear of conveying rejection in place of understanding. ]
However long you need. [ He allows Astarion to guide his wrist away before flipping his hand, fingertips grazing Astarion’s palm. ]
[ Astarion is almost surprised that Gale acquiesces, and there's a flicker of that on his face, so unused to asking for things and actually receiving them. It takes him a moment to catch up, though he soothes his thumb over the vein in Gale's wrist, gaze dropping to their hands.
He doesn't want Gale to go, but he's also come up against a wall he hadn't seen before this moment, and has no idea how to scale it or go around it. It might be that he needs to sit at the base of it for a night instead. ]
Could we-- [ His thumb keeps circling, and he tips his head apologetically before meeting Gale's eyes. ] I'm sorry. Could we talk about this tomorrow?
[ Now that Astarion has slowed the pace, Gale waits for him to decide the direction of this encounter. He doesn’t expect surprise, of all things, to loosen his features. It takes everything in him to leave this knot tangled, since he has no business tugging those threads. Some puzzles aren’t for just anyone to solve. ]
Yes, we can. [ His gaze drops to their hands. Nothing would indicate this is about him, exactly, with Astarion’s touch light but steady. In sotto voce, ] Do you want me to leave for the night? [ an important time qualifier, suggestive of his intent to return. ]
I could stay for bit — without talking, [ A grimace, admitting silence isn’t his forte. ] or doing much of anything. [ He slips both hands free and splays them flat against the ground, as proof of concept. ] But only if you wish it.
I-- You want to stay? [ Gale keeps surprising him, and at this point it's going to rend right through Astarion's expertly constructed armor.
He's suddenly aware of the state of his tent, even with Gale's magical clean-up; he doesn't even have a proper bedroll, just a woven mat and a threadbare blanket. It's clear he's never expected to host anyone here, to invite anyone in.
Astarion gently disentangles himself from Gale's lap, but stays close, their knees touching as he folds himself into a seat. ]
You can. I wouldn't mind. [ He doesn't quite know how to have these conversations, and it probably shows; he speaks more quickly, with none of his seductive purr. ] But you should get some sleep, particularly if we're bound for the Underdark soon.
[ A small smile. ] Do try not to let it inflate your ego, but I happen to enjoy your company.
[ Even before this strange affair of theirs, when it was simply bickering in step on the road. And Gale would hate to leave him like this, on such an uneasy note.
Despite his best efforts, he feels bereft at the loss of closeness. Gods above, it’s ill-advised, isn’t it? To find himself wanting for things after months of denial. There’s no good end to this, but that’s never stopped Gale before. ]
Just a little while, then, hm? [ He fishes in his pockets for something, pulling out a little notebook and opening it on his lap, attention diverting to sketch-marked pages, littered with notes in his neat, looping hand. Swotting up on his spells, for want of lighter reading material. He glances sideways at Astarion, checking in. ]
I am the best company in camp by a very wide margin. [ Lighter than the usual self-important preening, grateful that Gale is... Well, grateful for all of this, at the moment. He could easily have sent Gale away for the night, but maybe it's better to not be left with his thoughts just yet.
Astarion gets up long enough to step outside for his book, then settles back into the tent, lying on his side with his legs stretched into Gale's space, a foot resting idly by his hip. It's carefully composed, in a way, a just-perceptible self-consciousness in Astarion's movements and positioning, but there's still an openness to being close that's new to him. ]
[ Gale gives an affirmative hum in answer. He doesn’t know who else would be content to read with him in silence, at any rate. His mouth quirks as Astarion edges into his space, relief softening his features.
Apart from the occasional sly look, Gale proceeds as promised. It’s quiet — and intimate in its own right, something he never had with his goddess. He has to make a concerted effort not to dwell on that.
After the better part of an hour, Gale stifles a yawn with his hand. Tidying his book away, he reaches out to clasp Astarion’s ankle, thumb smoothing over the knot of the bone to get his attention. ]
My cue to retire, I’m afraid. [ Another brush of his fingers before he pulls away, standing with a slight crack of his knees. ] Goodnight, Astarion.
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corporeity) wrote2023-12-15 07:38 pm
no subject
There was no room to want when he was at Cazador's beck and call, when he existed for his master and his master only. He's never wanted most of his marks, was rarely in the room with his body as he bedded and betrayed them. But he doesn't have to betray Gale, and he doesn't think Gale is likely to betray him, and he doesn't quite understand the enormity of what that could mean.
Astarion laves his tongue over the mark he's just left and then huffs a soft breath against Gale's neck, pulling back enough to look at him as Gale undoes the laces of his shirt. ]
I'd tell them to get their own wizard to chew on. [ He leans in to kiss him more fervently, open-mouthed and hungry as he cups Gale's jaw in his hands. ]
no subject
His stomach does a little flip, at Astarion claiming him so easily. tell them to get their own wizard, like he might want to have and keep Gale, despite his mistakes. Before he can turn that realisation over his hands, he’s being kissed again, held firmly in calloused hands. His breath stops and starts, all his whirring thoughts blinking out. Then, he kisses back with ardor, licking into Astarion’s mouth, groaning as he brushes the tips of his fangs. At some point, he tangles his fingers in Astarion’s hair, his shirt all but forgotten. He tugs hard when he has to pull back a tick for air (thinking so very stupidly that it’s unfair Astarion doesn’t need to do the same). ]
Astarion — [ Because he can’t help but say something, and there’s little else on his mind as he surges forward for one kiss after another. Greedy for affection, after so long without it. The heady rush of arousal suffuses his veins as he runs a hand up and down Astarion’s side and squeezes his hip, feeling the clench of thighs in his lap. Dangerous. ]
Astarion — do you want — [ Words rushed between kisses along Astarion’s jaw, then mouthed down his neck. ] I can’t, but if you wanted — [ His thumb dips into Astarion’s waistband, communicating where his words have failed him. If Astarion would like to get off, Gale can oblige him. ]
no subject
It's one thing when Astarion can pleasure someone else, can ensure that he's--useful, that he's not disposable. It's another entirely when someone wants to pleasure him, and Gale is so earnest, so warm, his kisses burning against Astarion's throat. ]
I-- [ Astarion has forgotten his lines. There's desire, actual desire thrumming in him when he'd truly thought this would just be transactional. Could have been, had he been able to concentrate attention on Gale and divert it from his own needs--needs he doesn't even know how to look at, let alone articulate.
It's almost embarrassing, the shift from easy seduction to whatever this is, Astarion's fingers gently catching Gale's wrist as he gives the slightest shake of his head, his voice soft and a little small. ]
I think I need a moment?
no subject
I — yes, of course. [ Expression careful in its neutrality, though his eyes are his tell, as always (concern widening their set). He untangles his fingers from Astarion’s hair to drop back to his collar, a space that’s touching without touching, the fabric wrinkling between his thumb and forefinger. Not disengaging entirely, for fear of conveying rejection in place of understanding. ]
However long you need. [ He allows Astarion to guide his wrist away before flipping his hand, fingertips grazing Astarion’s palm. ]
no subject
He doesn't want Gale to go, but he's also come up against a wall he hadn't seen before this moment, and has no idea how to scale it or go around it. It might be that he needs to sit at the base of it for a night instead. ]
Could we-- [ His thumb keeps circling, and he tips his head apologetically before meeting Gale's eyes. ] I'm sorry. Could we talk about this tomorrow?
no subject
Yes, we can. [ His gaze drops to their hands. Nothing would indicate this is about him, exactly, with Astarion’s touch light but steady. In sotto voce, ] Do you want me to leave for the night? [ an important time qualifier, suggestive of his intent to return. ]
I could stay for bit — without talking, [ A grimace, admitting silence isn’t his forte. ] or doing much of anything. [ He slips both hands free and splays them flat against the ground, as proof of concept. ] But only if you wish it.
no subject
He's suddenly aware of the state of his tent, even with Gale's magical clean-up; he doesn't even have a proper bedroll, just a woven mat and a threadbare blanket. It's clear he's never expected to host anyone here, to invite anyone in.
Astarion gently disentangles himself from Gale's lap, but stays close, their knees touching as he folds himself into a seat. ]
You can. I wouldn't mind. [ He doesn't quite know how to have these conversations, and it probably shows; he speaks more quickly, with none of his seductive purr. ] But you should get some sleep, particularly if we're bound for the Underdark soon.
no subject
[ Even before this strange affair of theirs, when it was simply bickering in step on the road. And Gale would hate to leave him like this, on such an uneasy note.
Despite his best efforts, he feels bereft at the loss of closeness. Gods above, it’s ill-advised, isn’t it? To find himself wanting for things after months of denial. There’s no good end to this, but that’s never stopped Gale before. ]
Just a little while, then, hm? [ He fishes in his pockets for something, pulling out a little notebook and opening it on his lap, attention diverting to sketch-marked pages, littered with notes in his neat, looping hand. Swotting up on his spells, for want of lighter reading material. He glances sideways at Astarion, checking in. ]
I’ll be out of your tousled hair within the hour.
no subject
Astarion gets up long enough to step outside for his book, then settles back into the tent, lying on his side with his legs stretched into Gale's space, a foot resting idly by his hip. It's carefully composed, in a way, a just-perceptible self-consciousness in Astarion's movements and positioning, but there's still an openness to being close that's new to him. ]
no subject
Apart from the occasional sly look, Gale proceeds as promised. It’s quiet — and intimate in its own right, something he never had with his goddess. He has to make a concerted effort not to dwell on that.
After the better part of an hour, Gale stifles a yawn with his hand. Tidying his book away, he reaches out to clasp Astarion’s ankle, thumb smoothing over the knot of the bone to get his attention. ]
My cue to retire, I’m afraid. [ Another brush of his fingers before he pulls away, standing with a slight crack of his knees. ] Goodnight, Astarion.