corporeity: (066)
𝑔𝑎𝑙𝑒 𝑑𝑒𝑘𝑎𝑟𝑖𝑜𝑠 ([personal profile] corporeity) wrote2023-12-15 07:38 pm
Entry tags:

PSL — EXSANGUE






— TEXTS, PROMPTS, STARTERS
exsangue: (pic#16872177)

[personal profile] exsangue 2024-01-01 05:35 pm (UTC)(link)
[ Astarion lost all his capacity to dream of something like this long ago. Someone who wants him for more than his hands and mouth; who is tender, who makes him laugh, whom against all odds Astarion wants in turn. Never has he felt a sweet ache like this, when Gale looks at Astarion after a breathless kiss like he's hung the stars.

And in truth, he's been waiting for the other shoe to drop since the beginning.

Tav is distraught when Gale's messenger departs their camp, but won't say what happened. Shadowheart is the one who overhears their private revelation, and relays it to Astarion, who feels like he's swallowed his own unbeating heart: Lady Shar would not be so cruel, she says, because this is needless cruelty.

Gale slips from his fingers. He avoids him, no doubt consumed by the thought of one final, meaningful act of devotion to his goddess. The voice in Astarion's mind is Cazador's, always, shadowing him as Gale walks paces ahead through the Shadow-Cursed Lands: You were only a distraction, boy. You are nothing.

Astarion feels the cruel edge wanting to slip back into him, laced with the poison of hurt. When Tav had first asked Astarion what they should do about Gale, barely a week into traveling together before the orb's hunger made itself known, Astarion had been casual in that cruelty: toss him into a chasm, leave him in the Underdark to detonate far from all of us. He was not an asset worth the risk, in Astarion's mind.

And now Gale is on a true suicide mission, and Astarion is nothing. Mystra is a goddess and Astarion is vampire spawn, undead flesh and stolen blood. They were useful to each other when Gale's death was a precarious thing; his own use has waned, and Gale said so himself. You won't need to waste your spoils on me any longer.

Two can play at the avoidance game. Only Astarion fumbles his hand too easily tonight, intending to sneak away from Gale before he can rouse himself from his armchair. He gets lost, instead, in a self-inflicted wound: imagining the way he would have woken Gale back in the mountains, settling into his lap and threading their fingers together, teasing him gently before guiding him back to one of their tents.

Gale wakes, and Astarion feels like he's been caught at something shameful. There's only a flicker of it on his face before he manages to kill it, harden his expression, standing from his own chair and pacing toward the bar as if he has somewhere to be or someone to speak to, when he very much does not. ]


Not enough for a proper rest. There's a bed waiting for you in there.
exsangue: (pic#16872176)

[personal profile] exsangue 2024-01-01 07:13 pm (UTC)(link)
"We"? [ Astarion's voice cracks, despite himself. He doesn't bother to answer the actual question, spinning on his heels halfway to one of the bar stools. ] Is there a we to speak of, anymore?

[ Was there ever, is what he wants to ask, but the tremor in his jaw forbids it. Gale looks at him as if nothing is wrong, as if Astarion can come to bed and pretend the entire world hasn't shifted beneath their feet, pulled toward one inexorable detonation.

And Astarion is unleashing his own, days of silent, anticipatory grief boiling over. He lowers his voice to a hiss, not wanting anyone else to wake because he can't bear to be seen like this. To have Gale witness it is hard enough. ]


I had to hear it from Shadowheart, Gale. [ Stepping back into his space, nails digging crescents into the meat of his palm as he lifts his chin to meet Gale's eyes. There's a violent impulse in Astarion that roils with hurt, wanting to shake him, to push him. He only just restrains himself, blinking back the wet at the corners of his eyes as he grits out, ] And all you can say to me is you won't need my spoils any longer?
exsangue: (pic#16872186)

[personal profile] exsangue 2024-01-01 09:39 pm (UTC)(link)
[ A silver lining. Astarion might laugh, if not for the sudden urge to vomit. Of course Gale would take a suicide mission from his erstwhile goddess without question, and of course it's simpler to not have to find arcane items to throw at a void that grew hungrier by the day. They were on a precipice either way, but still - Astarion had imagined there could be another way. He'd held to the promise of Waterdeep despite knowing it could never come to pass, between the two of them.

Weakness, comes Cazador's voice again. You were always weak and he has made you weaker still. If Astarion felt nothing for him, he might see this as an opportunity. An asset. Instead, it makes him want to throw himself to the earth and howl. ]


Not here. [ Though there are few places they can safely go, the curse pressing relentlessly in on them. Astarion feels like a caged animal again, pacing a territory even smaller than Baldur's Gate. The vast beauty of the mountains feels centuries away.

He stalks past Gale to the back door of the inn, sparing a glance for the lanceboard left by Mol and Raphael. Another conversation he needs to have, spiraling towards recklessness around it the further he feels himself drift from Gale. What's a deal with a devil, compared to self-immolation for a god?

Fresh air doesn't exist here, the stale taste of death prevalent even beneath Isobel's dome of light. Still, Astarion heads to the water, feeling Gale follow behind. He can't quite turn to face him, only glancing over his shoulder. ]
Go on, then.
Edited (caught a grammar blip) 2024-01-01 22:57 (UTC)
exsangue: (pic#16872189)

[personal profile] exsangue 2024-01-02 01:18 am (UTC)(link)
If the answer were so simple, why didn't she do it sooner? Why did she let you edge so close to a needless death?

[ It's snapped over his shoulder, fists clenched at his side, far more affected than Astarion wants to be. He hadn't realized how little they spoke of Gale's devotion while together, an unacknowledged shadow that crackled as dangerously as the orb in Gale's chest.

Gale's hand touches his shoulder, and Astarion trembles, the rigid hold he's had on himself dissolving into emotion. Gale speaks of Mystra with yearning, but not just her. I want - he starts to say, and Astarion can't bear to think of how that sentence ends. How he wants it to.

You're jealous of her. It's worth a long, hysterical laugh that he doesn't have in him, the envy of a goddess. Who is Astarion compared to magic itself? Just a distraction, a simple comfort on the road. She is everything, and Gale has made that clear since the beginning. Astarion just refused to look at that squirming truth in the light, when Gale was so solid beneath him, the hand of the gods inconsequential compared to the warm, broad hand on his waist, a sweet mouth parting against his own.

Astarion does turn to him, but doesn't lift his gaze, afraid he'll crumble if he does. ]


We don't even know the shape of what we're facing yet. For you to accept this without question when there are people who care for you, when I -

[ His voice cracks. He swallows the words, shakes his head sharply. ]

I don't trust her. Not with you, not with our cause.
exsangue: (pic#16872159)

[personal profile] exsangue 2024-01-02 04:17 am (UTC)(link)
I want to. [ Trust you. It would be easier to tell a gentle lie than a painful truth, but for once the easy option dies on his tongue. Despite Astarion's instinct to lash out, still hovering on the edge of it, Gale tries to warm his hands. It makes him want to weep. ]

Fucking hells, Gale. I want to. [ Astarion bows his head between them, forehead touching Gale's as he closes his eyes. Every instinct that's kept him alive until now is telling him to detach, to run, to let Gale blow himself up to save the world, but he realizes now that he lost that option miles ago - back in the Underdark, when something akin to a confession left his lips.

So here he is, his heart tied to a living bomb. Foolishness. The tension in Astarion's shoulders sags, as Gale kisses his knuckles - from weariness more than relief. They're moments from Moonrise, seat of the Absolute. The only way to stall for time is not to move, and that was never an option. ]
exsangue: (pic#16872159)

[personal profile] exsangue 2024-01-02 07:34 pm (UTC)(link)
[ Astarion doesn't know if anyone has ever issued him an apology. If it happened before death, he can't remember, blotted out by time and cruelty. Though Gale doesn't say I'm sorry in so many words, it's still enough, for now.

There are words on his own lips that evaporate as Gale closes: I am a fool for you. Astarion has heard so many breathless confessions in his life, but they were all drunk, meaningless. Issued to a facade, a charlatan who only existed to fulfill whatever their fantasies of him might be. He still doesn't know what to do with Gale wanting him as he is, when Astarion doesn't even know the shape of himself beneath the shimmering cloak of deceit he's worn for so long.

He looks at Gale a moment, lip trembling, and then pulls him into a tight embrace; holds him fiercely and desperately, his face buried in Gale's shoulder, eyes squeezed shut. Astarion is quiet for a long moment, before he finds his voice again, muffled into Gale's robes. ]


We'll find another way. Any other way.
exsangue: (pic#16870607)

[personal profile] exsangue 2024-01-02 10:42 pm (UTC)(link)
[ Astarion's mind is already searching for constellations of possibility, anything for Gale to hold onto as an alternative to the orb, but he's never been a planner. Maybe their illithid potential, or - again - Raphael, both gambles, the latter feeling more desperate and also more dangerous.

He needs to rest before he can look at this properly, worn down from the day, even though he feels time slipping from them as they speak.

Astarion is loathe to release him, but they don't need whichever Harpers are on watch to witness any more of this private moment than they likely have already. He lets go of a shaky breath against Gale's shoulder, then pulls back enough to look at him. ]


Yes. Of course. [ He hadn't fully appreciated that they have the exceedingly rare gift of private rooms here, stormy as he felt earlier, but he is grateful for it now. His gaze sweeps Gale's face, taking him in, wanting to memorize the lines of it while also feeling the ache of doing so. Lifts a hand to tuck a wayward strand of hair behind his ear, lingering at his cheek. ] We have a few hours, at least.
exsangue: (pic#16870607)

[personal profile] exsangue 2024-01-10 12:34 am (UTC)(link)
[ Astarion doesn't know what to do with words like this, with a confession that sounds like it's meant for someone much sweeter, much kinder than him. He's heard it all before, but none of it meant anything before Gale. He never would have imagined they'd wind up here, when they found each other by the fire that night - bound up in something much bigger than a simple arrangement between party members.

And Astarion doesn’t know how to articulate what Gale is to him - because there has never been anyone like him. The belief he could have anyone like him, anything like this died inside Astarion long ago.

So he kisses Gale, in lieu of words. Not a charlatan's kiss but a real one, soft and a little unsteady. ]


I like your tent, you know. Soft pillows, endless reading material. [ His hand sweeps down Gale's neck to the collar of his robe, tugging at it lightly. ] Smells like you, which is preferable to shadow-cursed musty bedsheets.
exsangue: (pic#16864753)

[personal profile] exsangue 2024-01-11 04:25 am (UTC)(link)
Like you. [ Astarion echoes it, low, as they walk back inside, where the others are sleeping. His nerves still feel frayed, as they have since Gale received his death sentence and they entered this forsaken place, but gods, he is ready for rest. Privacy. An impossibility in his previous life and a rarity in this one.

There's a key for one of the spare rooms in his back pocket, and they're greeted by quiet darkness as he unlocks it. There are two twin beds with trunks for their belongings at the end, separated by a dusty nightstand. Astarion swipes a finger through the dust, rubbing thumb and forefinger together with a wrinkle in his brow as he looks back at Gale. ]


Have you been able to conjure a bespoke magical bed this whole time? Don't hold out on me, then.
exsangue: (pic#16872190)

[personal profile] exsangue 2024-01-11 04:37 pm (UTC)(link)
[ Tension Astarion didn't know he'd been holding drains from his shoulders as Gale loops an arm around his waist, warm against his back. He flutters a sigh, wanting to melt into him more than pay attention, but he does as Gale asks all the same.

Astarion's never made much use of his own inherent magic, the vein that flows from his elven heritage, vampire or no. It's almost strange to tap it now, to tug the thread that connects him to something greater - that connects him to Gale, in this moment. ]
exsangue: (pic#16872181)

[personal profile] exsangue 2024-01-11 10:03 pm (UTC)(link)
[ 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. ]

We make quite the team, don't we?
exsangue: (pic#16872179)

[personal profile] exsangue 2024-01-12 04:23 am (UTC)(link)
[ 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.
exsangue: (pic#16870607)

[personal profile] exsangue 2024-01-12 08:13 pm (UTC)(link)
[ 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.

(no subject)

[personal profile] exsangue - 2024-01-13 05:59 (UTC) - Expand

(no subject)

[personal profile] exsangue - 2024-01-13 22:46 (UTC) - Expand

(no subject)

[personal profile] exsangue - 2024-01-14 21:47 (UTC) - Expand

(no subject)

[personal profile] exsangue - 2024-01-16 04:41 (UTC) - Expand

(no subject)

[personal profile] exsangue - 2024-01-16 22:01 (UTC) - Expand

(no subject)

[personal profile] exsangue - 2024-01-17 04:54 (UTC) - Expand

(no subject)

[personal profile] exsangue - 2024-01-18 21:11 (UTC) - Expand

(no subject)

[personal profile] exsangue - 2024-01-19 20:17 (UTC) - Expand

(no subject)

[personal profile] exsangue - 2024-01-19 21:45 (UTC) - Expand

(no subject)

[personal profile] exsangue - 2024-01-20 00:37 (UTC) - Expand

(no subject)

[personal profile] exsangue - 2024-01-20 22:32 (UTC) - Expand

(no subject)

[personal profile] exsangue - 2024-01-21 15:45 (UTC) - Expand

(no subject)

[personal profile] exsangue - 2024-01-22 05:00 (UTC) - Expand

(no subject)

[personal profile] exsangue - 2024-01-24 05:07 (UTC) - Expand

(no subject)

[personal profile] exsangue - 2024-01-27 03:13 (UTC) - Expand

(no subject)

[personal profile] exsangue - 2024-02-14 21:22 (UTC) - Expand

(no subject)

[personal profile] exsangue - 2024-02-15 18:23 (UTC) - Expand

(no subject)

[personal profile] exsangue - 2024-02-16 21:50 (UTC) - Expand

(no subject)

[personal profile] exsangue - 2024-02-18 18:39 (UTC) - Expand