[ 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
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.