[ It's a different sensation from sampling the Weave through Gale's blood. That's one-sided, in a way, Gale giving unto him; this is a sweetness that threads through them both, joins them so intimately it makes Astarion wonder if he's ever known intimacy at all before this moment.
He'll take the flattery, too, even if it's untrue, closes his eyes and bathes in it like a cat in a sunbeam. Astarion's seen Gale cast illusions before, but they're intangible things, so he doesn't know what to expect when his eyes flutter open again, hands resting atop Gale's beneath his sternum. ]
Oh. [ It's an awed, involuntarily sound as he takes in the room they've conjured together, and loathe as Astarion is to leave the warmth at his back he does need to touch, disentangling himself so he can smooth a hand over the plush duvet. Then hops up onto it, the mattress taking his weight easily, though he scarcely believes it. ]
[ A helpless little laugh, more out of fondness than any amusement. He releases Astarion with a reluctance both playful and sincere, fingertips brushing until the last moment. Gale hangs back, then, watching Astarion test their fine handiwork until his eyes crinkle. Even staring down the barrel of his holy mandate, he has to wonder: What could possibly be more worthy of his time — his attention, his devotion — than this? ]
That we do. [ Not quite tentative, after all this time, but still careful in his approach. He settles beside Astarion, their shoulders bumping as he splays his hands on the comforter. ]
Though we may have overshot the mark, in terms of pillows. [ There are rather a lot, stacked at the head of the bed. Most likely a result of his taste for creature comforts and Astarion’s inclination to hoard rare luxuries. ] Or not, if we’ve need of a very soft barricade.
[ Astarion looks over his shoulder at the veritable fort they've created against the headboard and shakes his head, all seriousness. ] It's perfect. Completely necessary amount of pillows.
[ He darts a quick kiss to Gale's shoulder before sliding back on the bed so he can lie on his side upon the pillow heap, chin in hand so he still has just the right view of Gale. The most magical thing in this room, bar none.
It's hard to kill the instinct to turn on the charm, slip an easy mask on, one Astarion's worn for centuries now. He has to still himself, focus his gaze on Gale's hand spread on the comforter, the lines at the corners of his eyes that tell of a life lived. Reminding himself it's Gale in the room with him, not a stranger. Not Cazador.
Astarion is quiet a moment, working out what to say. What he lands on may sound like a line, but it's honest. An awful habit he's picked up, being around this man. ]
You're perfect, you know. [ Astarion smoothes his hand over the space on the bed beside him, then pats it. ] Come here.
[ It’s perfect, you’re perfect rings in his ears, a recursive loop that denies all logic and sense. The look on his face is almost wounded by the compliment — by the steadiness in Astarion’s voice that he’s come to know as sincerity. However much he’d like to shy away from it, Astarion is here. Gale may be so much less than the man he was before (a chosen, an archmage), but Astarion acts as though he still might be enough.
Gale follows him. There was never a chance he’d do otherwise. ]
Here? [ Beside Astarion now, leaning in to press a kiss under his jaw and a hand to his chest, guiding him back. All vibrato, like a laugh about to bubble over. ] Or here? [ Another kiss to his cheek as Gale slips a leg between his, knee digging into the bedspread. Tangling their limbs more than anything else. His hands curl into the blankets, holding his weight aloft when he ducks his head, as if he means to kiss him properly, their noses brushing — ]
Mm, no, here. [ A slight tip to the side lands a chaste kiss around the corner his mouth. In sotto voce, ] You must be more specific, Astarion.
[ The view Astarion has of Gale now is so different from that first meeting after the nautiloid. There's some split path, a branch they never took where none of this happened between them -- where Astarion never got to see these private smiles, the teasing, his warmth.
All of this is light and sweet, his hands and lips, but something threatens to spill over inside Astarion, a tremulous thing. He catches Gale's jaw with both hands, gaze searching. ]
Here. [ He lifts up to kiss him, teeth catching at Gale's lower lip as he slows him from his quick pecks, lingering before pulling back, breathless. ] Again.
[ There’s a moment where Astarion is looking for something — and Gale can only assume he finds it, based on his firm hold; the sudden, then slow press of his mouth. Something sparks in his chest, at the thought, and Gale makes a soft sound against the bow of his lips. Astarion hardly finishes asking him for more when Gale responds, instinctive in his desire to meet any halting want and up the ante — opening his mouth, pushing in closer.
For all that Gale’s thoughts can run away from him, splintering into multiple threads, he also possesses a single-minded focus, typically reserved for his work. One kiss after another, again and again. He winds his hand through Astarion’s hair, tugging his head back to murmur low, ]
As many times as you like. [ Gale tucks his nose against Astarion’s cheek and kisses along the ridge of his jaw, following it to the curve of his ear and gently biting down on the pointed tip. ]
[ Astarion knows every step to this dance. He knows how to flatter, how to charm, how to seduce; he knows the erogenous zones of humans and elves and tieflings, knows how to fake all the right sounds at the right moment. He knows what people want from him, what they see and expect when they look at him.
It should have been simple with Gale, but Gale has thrown off Astarion's steps from the beginning. The threat of detonation has always been there, just behind Gale's ribs -- poor planning, Astarion, at the choice to pursue the near-dead wizard for a back pocket ally. Worse planning to want him, but Astarion hadn't thought he was still capable of such things.
It isn't just wanting him, or -- maybe it is, and Astarion has just never known what it is to truly want another person. They've both known hunger, but that's a hollowing thing, claws that carve from the inside out. This is a blooming, or perhaps an untangling: Gale's fingers and lips finding knots Astarion didn't know existed, that he hasn't been able to see.
Just a bite, gentle, with human teeth, and Astarion feels a kick of heat in his gut, impossible as the warmth of the sun on his skin. His hands have found Gale's waist, the small of his back, legs spread to accommodate the solidity of Gale's thigh between them. Astarion doesn't know what move to make, where to put his hands. The soft, surprised sound he makes against Gale's shoulder isn't for show. ]
Gale. [ His hips hitch a little, a helpless desire to slot their bodies together, and Astarion feels a bloom of shame with that; the lack of control, from something so simple. He also doesn't want it to stop. ]
[ Normally, Gale lets Astarion lead the dance. A solid weight in his lap, warmed only by proximity. Fangs marking his neck, wrist, shoulder, thigh at his leisure. Gale has always had a talent for both accepting what he’s given and overreaching.
Humans are such wanting creatures, Mystra had told him once. It’s true of them in general and of Gale, in particular, though he surmises there’s more to it, in this moment, with Astarion hushing his name like a prayer. ]
Good. [ For all Gale obviously twists himself up in his head, Astarion falls into mind-traps of his own, but maybe this helps. It feels essential and effortless to encourage him now — to approve of that want, unfurling amongst the brambles in his chest, and coax it into the light. ] You’re good, Astarion. [ Astarion’s legs have fallen open, an invitation Gale has rarely dared to imagine, and one he answers by angling his knee to part them wider. ]
I have you. [ Gale kisses the reddened tip of Astarion’s ear to prove it before ducking under his jaw. Fingers curl around the pointed shell, protective as the weight the settles over him, indulging that abortive hitch with a deep roll in return. ]
Again. [ His name, that sound. The scrape of stubble then teeth as Gale sucks a mark under the hinge of his jaw to match the fresh and fading bruises that have decorated his neck for weeks. ]
[ You're good, Astarion. He isn't, he isn't. So long as he isn't good, so long as he isn't a hero, Astarion can live with himself and all the terrible things he's done, both in Cazador's name and just because he could. Astarion wants to twist away from Gale's kindness even as it cracks something open, a keening thing inside of him. His eyes squeeze shut, a hand pressed between Gale's shoulder blades as their hips slot together, a friction he can't stop himself from seeking out, arching up to meet him.
If Gale continues to unravel him like this, Astarion doesn't know what will be left. ]
Gale. [ On a stuttered breath, his cock stiffening with the hot-wet of Gale's mouth beneath his jaw, the knee between his thighs, the solid weight of his body. Him, here, not gone. Astarion pushes his free hand beneath the vee of his robes, clumsier than he likes to be, wanting to pull them open, palm searching for the beat of his heart. ] Gale, I --
[ They’re teetering at an edge they’ve neared before, but Astarion has never pulled them over — and Gale hasn’t urged him to, since that first night, when trembling fingers curled around his wrist.
This feels different. Electric, like the zip of magic down his spine. At the tug on his robes, Gale undoes the cinch that holds them in place, letting Astarion manoeuvre him until his left sleeve falls from his shoulder. His mouth curves, smile helpless and fond. ]
[ steady, ] You have me, Astarion. [ The natural corollary to I have you. But for how long?
An aching kiss aims to settle any shared nerves. His grip finds Astarion’s hand, guiding it to settle over the orb as violet light filters through the cracks in their fingers, then shifting to find his heart. Beat after beat rises into the cup of their hands before Gale lifts them again to find the pulse in his throat, hammering under the skin, audible in his ears. Only when he feels the tension ease in Astarion’s arm does he give his hand a parting squeeze. ]
Is there something you want? [ A low tease. Lashes kissing his cheek, mouth parted as he arches beautifully: Astarion is wanting in a way that isn’t choreographed, its end unknown to him. Gale drops his hand to Astarion’s lithe waist, rucking up his shirt — fingers straying to the divot of his hip, splaying over the flat of his hairless stomach, dipping into the slight give of his navel. Can’t help but slide his palm higher, then, until his thumb brushes over a pert nipple. ] Here, perhaps?
[ With eyes closed, Astarion can feel Gale's pulse like a magnet beneath his palm; flowing from this heart that's fed him, quenched his thirst for all these weeks. Still pumping blood, still full of life, despite the black hole at the center that could so swiftly snuff them all out.
He looks at Gale again, eyes heavy-lidded as he guides their hands to his throat. Astarion hasn't fed from him since they entered these lands, but this close, robe slipping from Gale's shoulder, Astarion can see his faded bite marks, peppering his skin like stars.
Astarion used to use that tired line, your freckles are like constellations, darling, on half his swooning quarry. He'd never actually seen it, until now: scars pinprick-white against Gale's skin, a map of Astarion's making. The parallel to Cazador lurches briefly in him, until he remembers the way Gale has bared his neck for this willingly, time and time again.
Astarion's almost lost in that reverie, fingers tracing Gale's bites, until Gale slides his shirt up his stomach, thumb brushing a nipple and making his breath hitch, lashes flutter. ]
Gods, you're worse than I am. [ With something like delight - awe, even - threading his words, stomach muscles taut as he finishes what Gale started, tugging his shirt up and over his head. His hands find their way right back to him: one at the nape of his neck, threading through soft hair, the other slipping beneath his loosened robe again. He hooks a leg over Gale's to pull him closer, the laces of his leather pants suddenly feeling far too tight for comfort. ]
Do you want me? [ A question he's asked countless times and has never cared about the answer to, until now. He means for it to have that easy, seductive slant, and instead it comes out sideways: breathless and vulnerable, far too honest. ]
[ An easy laugh in answer, rumbling low in his chest. Astarion touches him like he can’t keep away, like he’ll never get enough. The pleasure from that alone heats him from the inside out. Gale has been held — valued — but no one has found every marred part of him as entrancing as Astarion.
His breath stutters on a exhale as Astarion winds him closer, impossible to ignore his own half-hard cock despite his best efforts. He shrugs out of his sleeves to allow Astarion’s hands to wander, robe pooling at his waist. Suspended above him, mesmerised by those uncharacteristically open features, his reply comes without hesitation. ]
Yes. [ It seems inadequate, even with all the feeling he packs into the word, unable to keep the ache from his voice or the tremor from his hand, anchored at Astarion’s hip. ] More than anything. [ More than he wants to do the right thing — the thing he must do — but his own desires are irrelevant, aren’t they? Compared to the needs of the realm, of Mystra. Gale blinks the sheen of conflict from his eyes before it becomes something tangible. ]
You must know — I didn’t think I could want anyone like this, until you touched me. [ A quiet confession, nearly lost as he ducks his head to kiss the centre of Astarion’s bare chest. For so long, every desire led back to her, tangled in the sparkling strands of her Weave. Power, beauty, favour. He certainly never imagined any of his companions as prospects, with a broken heart and ticking bomb weighing him down. Astarion was a faraway thing until he kissed Gale soundly. ]
[ More than anything. There's a selfish, greedy part of Astarion that wants to bind Gale to those words, hold them tight when the moment of truth comes. Even with Gale here, touching him, it's near-impossible to believe he can have this; whatever waits for them at Moonrise is too close, and the night threatens to slip through his fingers.
Gale's kiss warms the skin over Astarion's unbeating heart, his words knocking something else loose in him -- a fortress crumbling, and Astarion hadn't known how heavy its walls were until now.
They've been too raw tonight for any of Astarion's easy quips to roll off his tongue in response to Gale's confession, lines about how good he is with his hands, his irresistible touch. He watches Gale quietly a moment, instead; finds his hand to thread their fingers at his hip, the other tangled in his hair. ]
I thought this part of me was dead. [ Mirrors of each other. Voice soft, awed. ] I've never --
This should be so easy, when I've done it a million times before. But you've made it new.
[ It’s galvanising to hear those words. Damning. He shouldn’t be singular to Astarion — an enlivened man, at the precipice of freedom should keep away from his rot, inevitable as it is.
There is but one thing he can think to say in return, and it would be unkind, to dangle love in front of Astarion and then scorch his outstretched hand, when he goes. For want of saying it, Gale kisses him hard, appreciation and desperation dovetailing down his back.
Even as Gale eases off Astarion to give his unsteady limbs a break, he can’t bear to remain apart for long. Propped against their pillows, he pulls Astarion between his spread thighs until his scarred back (another problem — another threat written in every Infernal line) fits flush against his blight, its warning glow obscured by their closeness. Arm curled like he might protect Astarion with his very person, or suffuse him with the heat of life by will alone. One folly after another, when he’ll soon surrender to the dark. ]
You’re remarkable. [ Fingers entwined at Astarion’s hip once again, reassurance in his firm grip, Gale noses into the too-soft space behind his ear, pressing proof of his affection there. How miraculous, that he should be allowed this, with the gloom encroaching. ]
May I take care of you? [ A surety underlines the question, their linked hands drawn between Astarion’s legs, cupping the hard outline of his cock. ] I’ll confess to being rusty, in matters of giving on this plane, but I take direction exceptionally well.
[ Astarion is so used to preening at the first hint of praise, and Gale is deliciously eager to dole it out. Nor is praise during sex anything new, but it is newly vulnerable, in a way. It's not so much that Astarion shies from being called remarkable in this moment than he doesn't quite know what to do with it, coming from someone who is beginning to actually know him beyond the shimmering surface.
Gale's breath at the tender spot behind his ear, the heat of his body make desire bloom deeper in Astarion, pressing back against him even as he lifts his hips to seek Gale's hand. ]
Yes. [ On a fluttering breath, his fingers disentangling from Gale's long enough to ease open the laces of his pants. Astarion isn't shy about his body; but being on display, gauging what people wanted from him was so different from this. What Astarion desires has never mattered. There's a precipice of overwhelm just in being asked.
Astarion tips his head enough to see Gale's face, grounding in that familiarity as he guides his hand to the waist of his underwear. ]
Can't begin to imagine what giving is like on the plane you're used to.
Oh, you had a taste earlier. [ When Gale threaded the strands of their magic together and held him close. ] But I should be so lucky to have the chance to show you all the pleasures of the Weave.
[ Another teasing nip to his ear before he catches Astarion’s eye. When had he started doing that — looking back at Gale, like a fixed point on a line? It’s happened before. It keeps happening. In the quiet of his tent, certainly, and on the battlefield after an earth-rending crash. In those moments, Gale finds himself returning his gaze, unsure who started all this looking. ]
Joining not in body, but in being. Mind and soul. [ The opposite of this heat, radiating from every point of taction despite the chill in Astarion’s bones. He hooks his finger into Astarion’s waistband to pull his underwear down, below his jutting cock. As if he can’t believe it, then, features slack with awe: ] And yet it’s this I’ve been wanting.
[ Gale curls careful fingers around his cock, stroking root to tip. Testing, teasing. He mutters a quick cantrip, hand slicked with grease for a smoother slide. Admittedly, he isn’t quite so rusty at this part. ] You, any way you’d have me.
[ Astarion's cock twitches with the kiss to his ear, a helpless sound escaping him. He's sensitive there, which Gale clearly knows -- not just intellectually, but because he pays attention. Because, impossibly, he cares what feels good to Astarion.
And Astarion has had tastes of the Weave: in Gale's blood, in this bed they're sharing now. He wonders what this would be like, without the weight of his body, the fingerprints of all the people he's ever buried burned into his skin. Without Cazador carved into him.
Would it feel like freedom, to be with Gale in that way? His mind's wandering doesn't get far, with Gale's hand curling around his cock, touching with more finesse than he's given himself credit for. Astarion winds an arm behind him, fingers finding Gale's hair and tugging lightly as he rolls his hips into the slick heat of Gale's hand. ]
You're so good to me. [ With his own soft disbelief, his breath hitching as Gale's thumb grazes the head of his cock just so, his head tipping back. ] I don't -- know what I did to deserve it. [ To deserve you. ]
[ A low groan as Astarion tugs his hair and praises him, breatheless with sincerity. Can’t help how his hips hitch up, wanting despite his efforts to give alone. You’re so good to me. Something Gale has yearned to hear and yet doesn’t feel he can accept, given his avoidant behaviour. Astarion deserves far more than this, but it’s a start.
It should be. It had felt like it, for a brief moment in the mountains. His resolve to leave him and this world frays at the edges. The longer he lingers in Astarion’s arms now, the harder it will be to let go.
Gale slides his free hand up Astarion’s chest until he can chuck him under the chin, brown eyes adoring. ]
[ brows lifting, ] With all you’ve given me? [ Fingers still slow and sure on his cock. An expert twist of his wrist, squeezing on the upstroke. ] Even a pack’s worth of enchanted objects seems insignificant, in light of everything else.
[ Including this, now, the gasp that slips past sharp teeth because Gale is lucky enough to touch him. He’s greedy for it, he knows that, already retracing the path down to one of Astarion’s nipples, gently rolling it between his fingers. ]
Your company, your attention, your teeth. [ A light scrape of his at Astarion’s throat, in mutual reminder. Marked at his request, visceral and human in a way he hasn’t felt since Mystra took him as a lover. ] And that’s to say nothing of your laugh — or your beauty. I’d fear a life forever in your debt, if I didn’t savour repaying you so.
[ Astarion's become more physically sensitive since they all acquired the mixed blessing of their tadpoles. A vampire spawn's sense of sight, smell, hearing are all heightened, sharp for the hunt; but touch gets worn down, blunted in undeath. Maybe Cazador carved him so ruthlessly to test what he could still feel.
Astarion's faked pleasure for so long that the real thing threatens a tidal pull of overwhelm, rocking helplessly into the slick heat of Gale's palm, his clever fingers. He can't think, can't speak, Gale's words and touch like arcs of lightning through Astarion's core, his fingers pulling sharp at Gale's hair and twisting into the sheets at his hip for an anchor.
Soft whimpers, his lashes wet. Astarion can feel the press of Gale's cock against his back and wants, for the first time since -- He can't remember. All he knows is the pleasure knotting rapidly in his gut, maybe shamefully so; the way he trembles, thighs shaking. ]
Gale, I'm -- [ Astarion's never had the words punched out of him like this, breathless, unable and unwilling to ask him to wait. His hips buck, so close so soon. ]
[ For once, Gale must say the right thing. He’s never seen — or felt — Astarion so undone. Kindling for something equal parts tender and possessive inside him, sparking at every sweet whimper. He buries a gasp of his own in Astarion’s skin. An open-mouthed press to the hollow of his throat follows, muscles taut and trembling under his tongue.
He hadn’t thought anyone could be affected by him in this way, on this plane. How would Astarion shiver and sigh if they went further than this — if they had more nights together? ]
Perfect, Astarion. [ Utterly sincere. His hand never stills, quickening to work Astarion to the precipice and then through the fall. A pinch to his nipple, just on the right side of rough. Another squeeze of his cock. Steadying, Gale bands an arm across his chest to keep him from folding. ] Gods, you’re perfect.
[ Affection overflowing, Gale kisses his cheek and tastes salt. ]
[ Perfect. Something cracks open inside of Astarion, helpless in Gale's hands. He's never been perfect -- has always been too much or not enough in the eyes of the other spawn and Cazador, manufactured perfection for his marks. He can't imagine anyone finding perfection in his unraveling, this untethered wanting, but Gale is here, holding him tight.
Astarion shudders with a sob as he comes, his head pitching forward as his hips rock up into Gale's hand, stars sparking behind his eyes. He doesn't know when he moved a hand to grasp at the arm that's encircled his chest, knuckles white and shaking.
Astarion wants to kiss him, but can't do anything for the moment but be held, isn't even aware of the sounds he's making, soft shuddering breaths as he cries. ]
[ Gale knows that this is monumental for Astarion, with everything they’ve discussed to this point — how they’ve held off on any intomacy beyond where they started. A comforting weight in his lap, a clever tongue in his mouth. Still, the reality of Astarion coming apart in his arms has them winding tighter on instinct alone. ]
It’s alright. [ Lips brushing his temple, encouraged by how Astarion leans into him for comfort, not away. ] You’re alright.
[ A rushed cantrip wipes his hand clean before he catches Astarion’s quivering jaw in hand. Gale kisses him with surety, as if he can will the superfluous breath back into his lungs. He only tips back enough to murmur, ] You were wonderful.
[ The kiss brings Astarion back to earth, the now-familiar taste of Gale beneath the salt on his tongue. Another dizzying spark at realizing he knows the shape of Gale's mouth with his eyes shut the way he's never known another, never had the chance.
Astarion relinquishes his grip in Gale's hair, turning in his lap on shaking knees to cup his face, kiss him deeply. ]
Thank you. [ He's at a loss for anything but that. Smoothing a thumb over Gale's brow, his cheekbone so he can look at him through a blurred veil of tears. Kissing where he's touched, and the darkened veins beneath his eye. ] Thank you, darling.
[ As Astarion shifts up and around, Gale grips his waist, supporting him. Any sliver of doubt disappears the moment Astarion takes his face in his hands, certainty in his touch. The earnestness of his thanks makes Gale’s chest rise abruptly, cheeks already heated with arousal when the sight of Astarion (unravelled, debauched) renews his flush.
He quiets, then, letting Astarion get his bearings. Only the kiss to the netherese vein marring his face pulls a startled sound loose. Every tendril of the blight burns, like skin rubbed raw. His eyes slip closed as he gives into the feeling of Astarion soothing him in turn. ]
You’re very welcome. [ voice low and scratchy, like he ought to clear his throat. ]
[ Astarion has never been a healer, has always brought death with his hands rather than any sort of kindness. With the blight beneath his fingers, stark against Gale's skin, he wishes otherwise-- wishes he could pull it out and make him whole again. Impossible things.
He's still not quite steady, pleasure and release suffusing his limbs. This should all be second nature to Astarion, but as he said before, Gale has somehow made it new. He settles more firmly in Gale's lap, nosing into his hair and breathing him in as he slides his palms down his chest and stomach, finding the fastenings of Gale's robes at his waist between them. ]
Shall I touch you? [ His voice still thick, dipping beneath parted fabric to cup Gale's cock through his pants. Another act he knows like breathing, with a thousand practiced lines to accompany it, but Astarion doesn't want to feed Gale his leftovers. He presses a kiss beneath his ear, teeth grazing skin. ] I would very much like to, for what it's worth. Because it's you.
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corporeity) wrote2023-12-15 07:38 pm
no subject
He'll take the flattery, too, even if it's untrue, closes his eyes and bathes in it like a cat in a sunbeam. Astarion's seen Gale cast illusions before, but they're intangible things, so he doesn't know what to expect when his eyes flutter open again, hands resting atop Gale's beneath his sternum. ]
Oh. [ It's an awed, involuntarily sound as he takes in the room they've conjured together, and loathe as Astarion is to leave the warmth at his back he does need to touch, disentangling himself so he can smooth a hand over the plush duvet. Then hops up onto it, the mattress taking his weight easily, though he scarcely believes it. ]
We make quite the team, don't we?
no subject
That we do. [ Not quite tentative, after all this time, but still careful in his approach. He settles beside Astarion, their shoulders bumping as he splays his hands on the comforter. ]
Though we may have overshot the mark, in terms of pillows. [ There are rather a lot, stacked at the head of the bed. Most likely a result of his taste for creature comforts and Astarion’s inclination to hoard rare luxuries. ] Or not, if we’ve need of a very soft barricade.
no subject
[ He darts a quick kiss to Gale's shoulder before sliding back on the bed so he can lie on his side upon the pillow heap, chin in hand so he still has just the right view of Gale. The most magical thing in this room, bar none.
It's hard to kill the instinct to turn on the charm, slip an easy mask on, one Astarion's worn for centuries now. He has to still himself, focus his gaze on Gale's hand spread on the comforter, the lines at the corners of his eyes that tell of a life lived. Reminding himself it's Gale in the room with him, not a stranger. Not Cazador.
Astarion is quiet a moment, working out what to say. What he lands on may sound like a line, but it's honest. An awful habit he's picked up, being around this man. ]
You're perfect, you know. [ Astarion smoothes his hand over the space on the bed beside him, then pats it. ] Come here.
no subject
Gale follows him. There was never a chance he’d do otherwise. ]
Here? [ Beside Astarion now, leaning in to press a kiss under his jaw and a hand to his chest, guiding him back. All vibrato, like a laugh about to bubble over. ] Or here? [ Another kiss to his cheek as Gale slips a leg between his, knee digging into the bedspread. Tangling their limbs more than anything else. His hands curl into the blankets, holding his weight aloft when he ducks his head, as if he means to kiss him properly, their noses brushing — ]
Mm, no, here. [ A slight tip to the side lands a chaste kiss around the corner his mouth. In sotto voce, ] You must be more specific, Astarion.
no subject
All of this is light and sweet, his hands and lips, but something threatens to spill over inside Astarion, a tremulous thing. He catches Gale's jaw with both hands, gaze searching. ]
Here. [ He lifts up to kiss him, teeth catching at Gale's lower lip as he slows him from his quick pecks, lingering before pulling back, breathless. ] Again.
no subject
For all that Gale’s thoughts can run away from him, splintering into multiple threads, he also possesses a single-minded focus, typically reserved for his work. One kiss after another, again and again. He winds his hand through Astarion’s hair, tugging his head back to murmur low, ]
As many times as you like. [ Gale tucks his nose against Astarion’s cheek and kisses along the ridge of his jaw, following it to the curve of his ear and gently biting down on the pointed tip. ]
no subject
It should have been simple with Gale, but Gale has thrown off Astarion's steps from the beginning. The threat of detonation has always been there, just behind Gale's ribs -- poor planning, Astarion, at the choice to pursue the near-dead wizard for a back pocket ally. Worse planning to want him, but Astarion hadn't thought he was still capable of such things.
It isn't just wanting him, or -- maybe it is, and Astarion has just never known what it is to truly want another person. They've both known hunger, but that's a hollowing thing, claws that carve from the inside out. This is a blooming, or perhaps an untangling: Gale's fingers and lips finding knots Astarion didn't know existed, that he hasn't been able to see.
Just a bite, gentle, with human teeth, and Astarion feels a kick of heat in his gut, impossible as the warmth of the sun on his skin. His hands have found Gale's waist, the small of his back, legs spread to accommodate the solidity of Gale's thigh between them. Astarion doesn't know what move to make, where to put his hands. The soft, surprised sound he makes against Gale's shoulder isn't for show. ]
Gale. [ His hips hitch a little, a helpless desire to slot their bodies together, and Astarion feels a bloom of shame with that; the lack of control, from something so simple. He also doesn't want it to stop. ]
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Humans are such wanting creatures, Mystra had told him once. It’s true of them in general and of Gale, in particular, though he surmises there’s more to it, in this moment, with Astarion hushing his name like a prayer. ]
Good. [ For all Gale obviously twists himself up in his head, Astarion falls into mind-traps of his own, but maybe this helps. It feels essential and effortless to encourage him now — to approve of that want, unfurling amongst the brambles in his chest, and coax it into the light. ] You’re good, Astarion. [ Astarion’s legs have fallen open, an invitation Gale has rarely dared to imagine, and one he answers by angling his knee to part them wider. ]
I have you. [ Gale kisses the reddened tip of Astarion’s ear to prove it before ducking under his jaw. Fingers curl around the pointed shell, protective as the weight the settles over him, indulging that abortive hitch with a deep roll in return. ]
Again. [ His name, that sound. The scrape of stubble then teeth as Gale sucks a mark under the hinge of his jaw to match the fresh and fading bruises that have decorated his neck for weeks. ]
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If Gale continues to unravel him like this, Astarion doesn't know what will be left. ]
Gale. [ On a stuttered breath, his cock stiffening with the hot-wet of Gale's mouth beneath his jaw, the knee between his thighs, the solid weight of his body. Him, here, not gone. Astarion pushes his free hand beneath the vee of his robes, clumsier than he likes to be, wanting to pull them open, palm searching for the beat of his heart. ] Gale, I --
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This feels different. Electric, like the zip of magic down his spine. At the tug on his robes, Gale undoes the cinch that holds them in place, letting Astarion manoeuvre him until his left sleeve falls from his shoulder. His mouth curves, smile helpless and fond. ]
[ steady, ] You have me, Astarion. [ The natural corollary to I have you. But for how long?
An aching kiss aims to settle any shared nerves. His grip finds Astarion’s hand, guiding it to settle over the orb as violet light filters through the cracks in their fingers, then shifting to find his heart. Beat after beat rises into the cup of their hands before Gale lifts them again to find the pulse in his throat, hammering under the skin, audible in his ears. Only when he feels the tension ease in Astarion’s arm does he give his hand a parting squeeze. ]
Is there something you want? [ A low tease. Lashes kissing his cheek, mouth parted as he arches beautifully: Astarion is wanting in a way that isn’t choreographed, its end unknown to him. Gale drops his hand to Astarion’s lithe waist, rucking up his shirt — fingers straying to the divot of his hip, splaying over the flat of his hairless stomach, dipping into the slight give of his navel. Can’t help but slide his palm higher, then, until his thumb brushes over a pert nipple. ] Here, perhaps?
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He looks at Gale again, eyes heavy-lidded as he guides their hands to his throat. Astarion hasn't fed from him since they entered these lands, but this close, robe slipping from Gale's shoulder, Astarion can see his faded bite marks, peppering his skin like stars.
Astarion used to use that tired line, your freckles are like constellations, darling, on half his swooning quarry. He'd never actually seen it, until now: scars pinprick-white against Gale's skin, a map of Astarion's making. The parallel to Cazador lurches briefly in him, until he remembers the way Gale has bared his neck for this willingly, time and time again.
Astarion's almost lost in that reverie, fingers tracing Gale's bites, until Gale slides his shirt up his stomach, thumb brushing a nipple and making his breath hitch, lashes flutter. ]
Gods, you're worse than I am. [ With something like delight - awe, even - threading his words, stomach muscles taut as he finishes what Gale started, tugging his shirt up and over his head. His hands find their way right back to him: one at the nape of his neck, threading through soft hair, the other slipping beneath his loosened robe again. He hooks a leg over Gale's to pull him closer, the laces of his leather pants suddenly feeling far too tight for comfort. ]
Do you want me? [ A question he's asked countless times and has never cared about the answer to, until now. He means for it to have that easy, seductive slant, and instead it comes out sideways: breathless and vulnerable, far too honest. ]
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His breath stutters on a exhale as Astarion winds him closer, impossible to ignore his own half-hard cock despite his best efforts. He shrugs out of his sleeves to allow Astarion’s hands to wander, robe pooling at his waist. Suspended above him, mesmerised by those uncharacteristically open features, his reply comes without hesitation. ]
Yes. [ It seems inadequate, even with all the feeling he packs into the word, unable to keep the ache from his voice or the tremor from his hand, anchored at Astarion’s hip. ] More than anything. [ More than he wants to do the right thing — the thing he must do — but his own desires are irrelevant, aren’t they? Compared to the needs of the realm, of Mystra. Gale blinks the sheen of conflict from his eyes before it becomes something tangible. ]
You must know — I didn’t think I could want anyone like this, until you touched me. [ A quiet confession, nearly lost as he ducks his head to kiss the centre of Astarion’s bare chest. For so long, every desire led back to her, tangled in the sparkling strands of her Weave. Power, beauty, favour. He certainly never imagined any of his companions as prospects, with a broken heart and ticking bomb weighing him down. Astarion was a faraway thing until he kissed Gale soundly. ]
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Gale's kiss warms the skin over Astarion's unbeating heart, his words knocking something else loose in him -- a fortress crumbling, and Astarion hadn't known how heavy its walls were until now.
They've been too raw tonight for any of Astarion's easy quips to roll off his tongue in response to Gale's confession, lines about how good he is with his hands, his irresistible touch. He watches Gale quietly a moment, instead; finds his hand to thread their fingers at his hip, the other tangled in his hair. ]
I thought this part of me was dead. [ Mirrors of each other. Voice soft, awed. ] I've never --
This should be so easy, when I've done it a million times before. But you've made it new.
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There is but one thing he can think to say in return, and it would be unkind, to dangle love in front of Astarion and then scorch his outstretched hand, when he goes. For want of saying it, Gale kisses him hard, appreciation and desperation dovetailing down his back.
Even as Gale eases off Astarion to give his unsteady limbs a break, he can’t bear to remain apart for long. Propped against their pillows, he pulls Astarion between his spread thighs until his scarred back (another problem — another threat written in every Infernal line) fits flush against his blight, its warning glow obscured by their closeness. Arm curled like he might protect Astarion with his very person, or suffuse him with the heat of life by will alone. One folly after another, when he’ll soon surrender to the dark. ]
You’re remarkable. [ Fingers entwined at Astarion’s hip once again, reassurance in his firm grip, Gale noses into the too-soft space behind his ear, pressing proof of his affection there. How miraculous, that he should be allowed this, with the gloom encroaching. ]
May I take care of you? [ A surety underlines the question, their linked hands drawn between Astarion’s legs, cupping the hard outline of his cock. ] I’ll confess to being rusty, in matters of giving on this plane, but I take direction exceptionally well.
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Gale's breath at the tender spot behind his ear, the heat of his body make desire bloom deeper in Astarion, pressing back against him even as he lifts his hips to seek Gale's hand. ]
Yes. [ On a fluttering breath, his fingers disentangling from Gale's long enough to ease open the laces of his pants. Astarion isn't shy about his body; but being on display, gauging what people wanted from him was so different from this. What Astarion desires has never mattered. There's a precipice of overwhelm just in being asked.
Astarion tips his head enough to see Gale's face, grounding in that familiarity as he guides his hand to the waist of his underwear. ]
Can't begin to imagine what giving is like on the plane you're used to.
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[ Another teasing nip to his ear before he catches Astarion’s eye. When had he started doing that — looking back at Gale, like a fixed point on a line? It’s happened before. It keeps happening. In the quiet of his tent, certainly, and on the battlefield after an earth-rending crash. In those moments, Gale finds himself returning his gaze, unsure who started all this looking. ]
Joining not in body, but in being. Mind and soul. [ The opposite of this heat, radiating from every point of taction despite the chill in Astarion’s bones. He hooks his finger into Astarion’s waistband to pull his underwear down, below his jutting cock. As if he can’t believe it, then, features slack with awe: ] And yet it’s this I’ve been wanting.
[ Gale curls careful fingers around his cock, stroking root to tip. Testing, teasing. He mutters a quick cantrip, hand slicked with grease for a smoother slide. Admittedly, he isn’t quite so rusty at this part. ] You, any way you’d have me.
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And Astarion has had tastes of the Weave: in Gale's blood, in this bed they're sharing now. He wonders what this would be like, without the weight of his body, the fingerprints of all the people he's ever buried burned into his skin. Without Cazador carved into him.
Would it feel like freedom, to be with Gale in that way? His mind's wandering doesn't get far, with Gale's hand curling around his cock, touching with more finesse than he's given himself credit for. Astarion winds an arm behind him, fingers finding Gale's hair and tugging lightly as he rolls his hips into the slick heat of Gale's hand. ]
You're so good to me. [ With his own soft disbelief, his breath hitching as Gale's thumb grazes the head of his cock just so, his head tipping back. ] I don't -- know what I did to deserve it. [ To deserve you. ]
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It should be. It had felt like it, for a brief moment in the mountains. His resolve to leave him and this world frays at the edges. The longer he lingers in Astarion’s arms now, the harder it will be to let go.
Gale slides his free hand up Astarion’s chest until he can chuck him under the chin, brown eyes adoring. ]
[ brows lifting, ] With all you’ve given me? [ Fingers still slow and sure on his cock. An expert twist of his wrist, squeezing on the upstroke. ] Even a pack’s worth of enchanted objects seems insignificant, in light of everything else.
[ Including this, now, the gasp that slips past sharp teeth because Gale is lucky enough to touch him. He’s greedy for it, he knows that, already retracing the path down to one of Astarion’s nipples, gently rolling it between his fingers. ]
Your company, your attention, your teeth. [ A light scrape of his at Astarion’s throat, in mutual reminder. Marked at his request, visceral and human in a way he hasn’t felt since Mystra took him as a lover. ] And that’s to say nothing of your laugh — or your beauty. I’d fear a life forever in your debt, if I didn’t savour repaying you so.
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Astarion's faked pleasure for so long that the real thing threatens a tidal pull of overwhelm, rocking helplessly into the slick heat of Gale's palm, his clever fingers. He can't think, can't speak, Gale's words and touch like arcs of lightning through Astarion's core, his fingers pulling sharp at Gale's hair and twisting into the sheets at his hip for an anchor.
Soft whimpers, his lashes wet. Astarion can feel the press of Gale's cock against his back and wants, for the first time since -- He can't remember. All he knows is the pleasure knotting rapidly in his gut, maybe shamefully so; the way he trembles, thighs shaking. ]
Gale, I'm -- [ Astarion's never had the words punched out of him like this, breathless, unable and unwilling to ask him to wait. His hips buck, so close so soon. ]
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He hadn’t thought anyone could be affected by him in this way, on this plane. How would Astarion shiver and sigh if they went further than this — if they had more nights together? ]
Perfect, Astarion. [ Utterly sincere. His hand never stills, quickening to work Astarion to the precipice and then through the fall. A pinch to his nipple, just on the right side of rough. Another squeeze of his cock. Steadying, Gale bands an arm across his chest to keep him from folding. ] Gods, you’re perfect.
[ Affection overflowing, Gale kisses his cheek and tastes salt. ]
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Astarion shudders with a sob as he comes, his head pitching forward as his hips rock up into Gale's hand, stars sparking behind his eyes. He doesn't know when he moved a hand to grasp at the arm that's encircled his chest, knuckles white and shaking.
Astarion wants to kiss him, but can't do anything for the moment but be held, isn't even aware of the sounds he's making, soft shuddering breaths as he cries. ]
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It’s alright. [ Lips brushing his temple, encouraged by how Astarion leans into him for comfort, not away. ] You’re alright.
[ A rushed cantrip wipes his hand clean before he catches Astarion’s quivering jaw in hand. Gale kisses him with surety, as if he can will the superfluous breath back into his lungs. He only tips back enough to murmur, ] You were wonderful.
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Astarion relinquishes his grip in Gale's hair, turning in his lap on shaking knees to cup his face, kiss him deeply. ]
Thank you. [ He's at a loss for anything but that. Smoothing a thumb over Gale's brow, his cheekbone so he can look at him through a blurred veil of tears. Kissing where he's touched, and the darkened veins beneath his eye. ] Thank you, darling.
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He quiets, then, letting Astarion get his bearings. Only the kiss to the netherese vein marring his face pulls a startled sound loose. Every tendril of the blight burns, like skin rubbed raw. His eyes slip closed as he gives into the feeling of Astarion soothing him in turn. ]
You’re very welcome. [ voice low and scratchy, like he ought to clear his throat. ]
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He's still not quite steady, pleasure and release suffusing his limbs. This should all be second nature to Astarion, but as he said before, Gale has somehow made it new. He settles more firmly in Gale's lap, nosing into his hair and breathing him in as he slides his palms down his chest and stomach, finding the fastenings of Gale's robes at his waist between them. ]
Shall I touch you? [ His voice still thick, dipping beneath parted fabric to cup Gale's cock through his pants. Another act he knows like breathing, with a thousand practiced lines to accompany it, but Astarion doesn't want to feed Gale his leftovers. He presses a kiss beneath his ear, teeth grazing skin. ] I would very much like to, for what it's worth. Because it's you.
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