corporeity | PSL — EXSANGUE

[ Astarion doesn't have the buffer of his freshly-pilfered drow leather to absorb any of the shock, and Tav's wine -- and his own anger, brewing black under his skin -- has muddied his reflexes, missing the small window in which to dodge Gale's hand.

He goes down hard, letting loose a stuttered gasp as the water conducts Gale's sparks in rippling arcs around them both, jolting through his hands and up his spine. Astarion's vision goes dark for a moment, feet and hands kicking up silt until he finds purchase by pinning Gale's elbow with one hand, half-straddling Gale's hips -- one knee at his hip, the other bracketing his thigh -- with Gale's legs splayed open beneath him.

He coughs up water and sand, spitting it in the direction of Gale's face as he finds his bearings. They're both soaked, still sparking, chest rising and falling heavily as Astarion catches his breath, a strange thing to have to do now. ]

I thought I was a tiger to you, sweetheart. [ He digs sharp nails into Gale's upper arm where he has him pinned, voice rough and dangerous, his other hand twisting in the heavy velvet of Gale's shirt as he attempts to yank him closer. There's blood in his mouth, and he realizes he bit his tongue when Gale shocked him, his hair dripping onto Gale's face and chest as copper sings through his teeth. ] Do you like watching me prowl?

[ The electricity runs agonising rivulets down his spine, a pained hiss splitting his mouth. He grasps for an anchor, blunt nails scrabbling for purchase on Astarion’s bare back. Gods below, when did he get so close? Blood-salt-spray on his cheek, red-moon eyes filling his vision.

One arm falls to seek purchase in the rocky silt and keep his head from going under again. His breath comes in shuddering gasps, chest rising and falling beneath the heavy dampness of his clothes. He feels them tighten as Astarion’s fist twists the thick fabric.

There he is, beautiful and terrible. Fangs bared. Honest, for once. Gale wonders if he’d dare bite into his jugular. If he did, would it hurt the same as the bile in his veins, or could it drown out the neverending burn by sapping the poison? He tries and fails to shift his pinned leg, aware of the blood-strong weight in Astarion’s limbs. Even above the crashing waves, he can hear the rush of blood to his ears, staining his cheeks, hot against the cool droplets flowing from Astarion’s hair. It floods his body, coursing through every limb, drawing lower and lower.

His heart races in turn, a new fear in his heart. On instinct, Gale brings a hand to bracelet his wrist, the threat of mutual detonation now at the forefront of his mind. ]

You — [ Gale’s private conversation with Tav, admiring and jealous and derisive. Astarion was listening by way of elven hearing, roguish subterfuge or ilithid invasion. He jerks his head so sudden and sharp that their noses crash together, exhale pained. Calm yourself. ]

Far more than I like the way you lie ever so prettily. [ Tongue carrying on without consulting his mind, bright eyes undimmed by the threat of proximity. ] Did you enjoy skulking about my tent last night?

[ His tongue darts out to swipe over his lower lip, too dry in the morning air. How long had Astarion been there? Has he listened to Gale before? He’s certainly paid attention prior to this evening, given his uncanny rendition of Gale’s late-night pining. ]

[ Astarion's grateful he shucked his own shirt before getting in the water, though he's aware of how much his leather chafes now that the shocks have ebbed, feeling coming back to fingers and toes.

It's not the wash he'd wanted, but something about it feels cleansing despite the silt between his toes, the river bed kicked up from their scuffle. It begins to settle around Gale beneath the surface, flecks of mica shimmering in the dawn light, his clothing looking heavy enough to pull him under if Astarion didn't have a firm grip on his tunic.

He's also panting, pink-cheeked, warm human fingers closing around his wrist and scrabbling at his back. Astarion may have just fed, but he's keenly aware of the quickened beat of Gale's heart, his own pupils going dark as he inhales his scent under that of the river. There's a crackle of ozone around them both, and he catches the wine on Gale's breath so close to his cheek as he tips his head, expression evening again. ]

I skulk around everyone's tents. You're not so special. [ It's only a half-truth; Astarion has been focused on Gale, in his courting of Tav. He shifts his weight, bearing down on Gale at the hip so he can't easily buck him off. ] And I'm far from the only liar in our little band of heroes.

Edited 2024-02-24 22:59 (UTC)

[ Their anger — shared, Gale realises, by the tadpole — lowers to a simmer after the literal shock to their systems. It does not, however, loosen Astarion’s grip. If anything, he shifts to better pin his quarry, Gale’s breath stuttering in answer. If he mustered all that remains of his magic, he could send Astarion flying, but if he were to shore up that energy, it might trigger a worse, decidedly unintended retaliation.

For a brief moment, he indulges the possibility of wiping that smug snarl from Astarion’s mouth. Only the desolation of this entire corner of the realm seems like overkill. He settles for a warning spark, where his hand clutches at Astarion’s. ]

And yet it’s my words that you recall. [ Gale swallows hard, willing his heartbeat to slow even as he inclines his head, closer still. It occurs to him that this is the dearest intimacy he’s experienced since his folly. Pathetic. ]

Would you like me to lump you in with all the rest? [ Heroes, liars, it matters not. This isn’t about them. ] No, I think you rather fancy the role I’ve ascribed you. [ Tiger, predator, threat. ] There’s power in it, after all.

[ Power and protection in being the hunter, not the hunted. Desired, but not wanting. Gale brushes against the thin veil shielding their minds from one another, his present view blurring through their connection. It’s more of an impression than a picture: the fear pressing under his tongue, the outrage fizzing behind his teeth, the heat pooling low in his gut (anger, maybe, or something else). All he needs is for Astarion to chase their tether or snap it, to divert his attention long enough to reverse their positions — ]

[ Another small jolt of electricity through their fingers, a tickle compared to the last but it still manages to rattle Astarion's bones, his grip on Gale's tunic slipping.

He opens his mouth to respond, but then Gale is pressing in. Using the tadpole to connect them, and Astarion feels the animal fear and fury in Gale and something else, familiar base pleasure coiling tight between them.

That would be interesting if Astarion weren't startled by the attempt to pry. He forces Gale out before he can get much further than the reverberating shock through his bones, a flicker of his displeasure with the whole night, not just this, the feeling of still being caged, even now, even with the sliver of safety he's won. ]

Don't you dare--

[ It’s all Gale needs to free his leg and slam his hand against Astarion’s chest, throwing all his strength and weight into rolling him on his back. Even in the shallows, Astarion will take on water from going under.

His tunic bunches higher, lower back exposed to the breeze. Between the alcohol and the water, there’s a chill in his bones already. ]

Hah — [ There’s no untangling himself, at this stage, and he ends up pressed between Astarion’s legs and flush against him, hand pressing his sternum until he can lift his head. He doesn’t have time to mimic Astarion’s hold on him, so he revels in the fleeting win while he can. ]

[ breathless, ] Not so nice to be spied on, is it.

[ Even without the rising sun, there was a time not so long ago when being in a flowing river such as this would have ended Astarion, water burning his flesh like acid. He opens his eyes underwater as it rushes into his mouth and nose, Gale a blurry silhouette atop him, haloed by light, sound muffled below the surface.

It all comes roaring back into focus as he thrashes beneath him to lift his head, chest seizing as he chokes on water, violently coughs it up. Gale's stomach is bare, slick and warm against his, their legs tangled, hips flush and while Astarion struggles to find the air to retort, he opens the connection between them.

To show Gale Tav on her back in the moonlight, skin flushed and bare, a bite pinprick-wet at her throat. The taste of her blood in Astarion's mouth, and then the copper threads with the salt of her cunt as he laps between her trembling thighs, her sighs and moans, her fingers twisting in his hair.

And then Astarion spits river water into Gale's face again, breath rattling as he catches it, the thread between them still open. ] There. That what you wanted a taste of?

[ It’s awful, bitter jealousy tainting their connection. It’s everything Gale might have been able to give her, if he were braver. And still he latches onto irrelevant details, turning over the taste of blood in his mind, tongue pressing to the roof of his mouth.

Unfortunately, Astarion’s invasion shakes something loose. Reciprocity. Gale on his knees for his goddess against the shimmering backdrop of astral, head bowed in enthusiastic devotion. In place of salt and sweat, near cloying sweetness settles on his tongue. Chosen, the praise reverberating in his very core. Gale on his back, then — or is it suspended over infinity — arching at the impossible stretch of something inside him, pliable yet firm. He doesn’t think he can take it, but he can. He will, until she decides otherwise. A trust so complete, so sure, it envelops him entirely even as he shudders, overwhelmed.

He uses all his strength to push Astarion underwater, one hand curled in his hair (just like in the terrible vision) and the other slipping over his chest. At the same time, Gale shuts Astarion out of his mind, a door slammed in his face. ]

You have no right — [ To share that, to see what Gale’s mind conjures in answer. He yanks Astarion’s head up and to one side, grip harsh. ] She chose you, she trusted you, and you would risk her to spite me. [ with venom in every word: ] You’re lower than I thought.

[ There's still water in Astarion's lungs as his vision suddenly shifts to an expanse of rippling twilight, the taste of honey-sweet rosewater thick on his tongue. Astarion is such a practiced liar, he's wondered if Gale was fabricating this relationship with his goddess, and he feels blinded by the truth of it, the weight of her -- terrible to Astarion, all-encompassing in her power, but that doesn't drown out the feeling of devotion and the pleasure at her praise.

Astarion is unmoved by being wanted, an object of desire to another, but to feel desire -- the blooming pleasure of being good for someone, of yielding, of being worthy overwhelms him more than the physical, even as his back arches beneath Gale in a helpless mirror of it, an aborted moan leaving his lips just as Gale drags him under.

He could drown. The thought is detached as the sharp twist at his scalp starts to numb, his lungs filling with water again. To need air is so strange, his vision going black at the edges, returning to the stars of the astral.

And then he's yanked unceremoniously back out, chest spasming as he tries to expel water from his lungs again, throat raw, like daggers are slicing inside him with every attempt at breath. ]

Oh, Gale. [ A rasping sigh, his breath catching staccato at the edge of it. His pupils are blown, wet bangs almost translucent as they cling to his skin, head lolling in Gale's grip as his vision swims. He hitches a seizing, delirious laugh, a hand clumsily finding purchase in Gale's tunic. ] I didn't think you had it in you.

[ The violence, he means, but he can't -- or won't -- offer that clarification. ]

[ Gale can hardly process the sound that escapes Astarion’s pert mouth, too lost in the outrage piloting his limbs. (He’ll recall more clearly later, in the privacy of his tent tonight, exhausted and overthinking the events of the morning. A sound so desperate and wanting that it had to have been genuine. An echo of his own feelings or — )

Heat colours his neck, his cheeks, the tips of his ears, flushed with anger and embarrassment both. Beneath him, Astarion has never looked more alive. Not quite fearful but alert. Normally, he’s so faraway, voice lilting and distant despite the ever-present charm. Even so, Astarion’s choked breath and hoarse words bring him no pleasure. If anything, they expose the hollowness of this fight.

He tries to gain purchase in the sand, knees shifting, but only succeeds in stretching Astarion’s thighs wider, palm sliding the divot of his hip, bodies flush from top to toe as he slips. A soft sound escapes his throat. ]

[ His eyes dark with irritation. ] Oh, fuck off. [ They’re too entangled for him to disengage now, so he drags Astarion closer once more. ]

I’m done. [ Droplets fall from his shoulder onto Astarion’s flat stomach. With effort, Gale ignores them to focus on his too-wide eyes. Beautiful, despite his cruelty. ] Let go, and I’ll leave you be.

[ To wash, to drown. It matters not. ]

[ Maybe it's the lack of oxygen to his brain, but Astarion almost likes Gale like this -- furious, acting on violent impulse. He's flushed with that fury, and maybe something else, and the inky tendrils that curl down Gale's throat seem to strain against his ruddy skin.

He catches that soft sound, Gale's hand -- cooler now, from the chill of the water and early morning air -- sliding over bare skin. Astarion's going to have to cut his pants off, once he gets out of the water. He feels drunker than he did before, somehow, between Gale's lightning magic and the water in his lungs, dizzy and blurred despite the fresh blood strengthening his body.

Astarion meets Gale's gaze, tongue flicking to wet his lower lip and being met with the grit of sand, taste of the river. Another rough breath of a laugh, his fingers gripping Gale's tunic tighter before he releases with a little push to his chest, attempting to right himself. ]

We should do this again sometime.

[ As soon as Astarion releases (and shoves) him, Gale goes. It’s not an elegant extraction in the least, their knees knocking, but it does the job and gets him away.

Once upright, he quickly steps to the side, putting a nominal distance between him and Astarion – which he hopes communicates his disinterest in this farce. With difficulty, Gale peels his tunic from his skin and lifts it over his head, the fabric too heavy to bother wearing any longer, modesty be damned. A disgruntled huff slips from his mouth, at the sight of the sand-speckled heap in his hands. ]

Not bloody likely. [ said as Gale twists the soaked velvet, water splashing down to the riverbed. he cards a hand back through his hair, trying and failing to tidy the wet, curling strands. His fingers slip into the loosened waistband at his hip, testing whether he’s likely to lose his trousers en route to camp and deciding, mercifully, that he isn’t.

If he were half the wizard he once was, he could be dry with a flourish of his hand. ]

[ bluntly, ] I propose we forget this every happened.

[ A fair trade, given all they’ve said and seen this morning. Now, it’s difficult to storm off when you’re treading water, but Gale certainly tries. ]

PSL — EXSANGUE

tru luv

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