PSL — EXSANGUE

[corporeity]

— TEXTS, PROMPTS, STARTERS

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[corporeity]

[ Astarion’s grip slackens, and Gale realises, suddenly, that he doesn’t want him to let go. He isn’t warm the way he was that wretched night, but he’s close, alive by some definition. Gale hadn’t had this — had anything — in so long. Maybe it’s the wine saturating his blood. ]

Mm. [ One shoulder lifts in a noncommittal shrug. None know the extent of his pain, and it wouldn’t serve him to change that impression. ]

[ Hearing Astarion’s next words, he tips his head forward, intent. Horror and concern play across his expressive face, helpless at the thought of the scenario presented. ]

Of course. [ Acknowledgement of the surprising confession. A vulnerability gifted in exchange for his? Surely not, but what else could it be? Gale shifts his wrist in Astarion’s loose grip. Rather than pull away, he presses their palms together and tangles their fingers, not quite holding. Testing, as one would the fit of a glove. His gaze flickers there, a curious entanglement, then up to Astarion’s mouth. ]

I suppose I am offering, if you think you can stomach the taste.

[ His tongue swipes across his lower lip, considering. Perhaps all the wine he’s had will soften its sting. ]

[exsangue]

[ Astarion trusts his own reflexes, even if he certainly doesn't trust Gale; so he doesn't retract his hand, warmth blooming from the other man's palm as the air grows cooler with the setting sun.

Lightly, tilting his head as he follows Gale's eyes, ] What a clever way to poison me.

[ The hand at Gale's heart slides up over his robes until it finds the bare skin of his throat, the backs of Astarion's nails dragging up the apple of it. ] Still, I am curious. And hungry. You won't blow us both up, will you?

[corporeity]

[ Gale can’t tear his gaze from their flush hands, memorising the arc of Astarion’s long fingers — comparing the feel of them to the pressure at his throat. ]

Your life would hardly be worth the cost of my own. [ cutting, albeit in a passive way. ]

You won’t tear out my throat, hm? I may not be desired or adored, [ Astarion is, at least, the former. ] but my talents would be missed around the campfire and in the field.

[ A wizard is rather useful; that’s all. ]