corporeity | PSL — EXSANGUE

[ This is much easier for Astarion than the vulnerability they'd just skirted--no, not even skirted, that they had been in together. The shift feels dishonest, but Astarion has never been an honest man.

Though Astarion isn't faking interest. He'd nearly bedded a tiefling during the party after the whole Grove fiasco--the blacksmith helping Karlach with her engine, quietly handsome--but ultimately they just shared a few wine-drenched kisses in the woods and parted ways. He'd paid attention to the others that night, the way Tav and Karlach had slipped away together, Lae'zel pinning her sights on a flustered Wyll. Gale had remained alone.

Astarion doesn't particularly want to discard Gale, and he also doesn't know what that means; or what it means to want to linger with him even if they're not fucking. It feels dangerous to think about that right now, so instead he makes a displeased noise as Gale cuffs his ear, disentangling their threaded fingers so he can splay that hand properly against Gale's chest, thumb drifting under the vee of his robes and rubbing against skin. ]

Why don't you tell me what you see, then. In generous detail.

[ Even without the warmth that should accompany it, the feeling of Astarion slipping his hand beneath his robes, brushing over his heart-centre, heats his skin.

With his hands free, he shifts to sit back more comfortably. Because if he doesn’t mishandle this — a real possibility — he might get to stay for a little while. Gale has always liked this part most of all, the closeness that comes after intimacy of any kind. His hands find Astarion’s hips, tentative then sure, and Gale pulls him onto his lap. It’s more comfortable than leaning over each other, and it’s much easier to see Astarion like this, besides — vaulted above Gale just so. ]

A bard would do you more justice. [ At once teasing and self-deprecating. Ever dutiful, Gale does tip back to regard Astarion. Mildly, then — ] You’ve seen your hair. [ And felt just how much Gale wanted to run his fingers through it then and now. ]

I don’t know how you get it like that without a mirror. [ Mumbled half to himself, when Gale only bothers to brush his hair or tie it back, depending on the task at hand. ] It frames your face nicely. [ Softening all his hard, macabre angles. ] And at the risk of encouraging your vanity, you are — striking. [ Handsome seems inadequate. He clears his throat. ] I was trying very hard not to look at you today. [ A silly thing to do and a sillier thing to admit, when he doubts Astarion noticed. ] Which amounts to same thing as just looking.

[ Because he was so conscious of it, all stray thoughts turned to the exact thing he was avoiding. Astarion had his attention, regardless. ]

[ There is a small and private part of Astarion that doesn't want a bard's embellishments, anyway. Gale's lap is warm--the second time in one day they've found themselves in this position--and as Gale pulls him closer, Astarion winds his arms around his neck, nails very deliberately brushing the bite mark on their way to his nape.

He's watching Gale's face as he speaks, and despite his practice following a thread of compliments to easy preening, Astarion finds himself following the tug of truth instead. Exceedingly dangerous, and not something he's used to. ]

Oh, I noticed. [ The not-looking. He does smile a little, fingers trailing back to the bite at his throat, though his gaze holds Gale's. ] I thought perhaps you regretted this.

[ A little thrill up his spine, at the feeling of Astarion touching the bite mark, intentional or not. He tries not to think about how much lighter he feels at having someone — at having Astarion — nestled close. Before Mystra and the orb, he’d been a social creature. A tactile one, even. The sudden (and eventually unavoidable) implosion of his person has led him to curtail all but his most essential relationships. ]

You noticed. [ As if that possibility hadn’t crossed his mind. He hadn’t thought that he would be caught in the act, certainly, or that his bashfulness might make Astarion doubt his intentions. It seems doubly foolish now, with Astarion touching the bite again. On purpose, surely. The apple of his throat bobs. ]

I’m not quite accustomed to… [ He tries and fails at a gesture to explain his jumbled thoughts. Could say he’s the courting kind, so this is all out of order, but that would imply they’re travelling towards an end beyond… mutual satiation. ]

But I don’t have any regrets. [ Nevermind that he almost did, by the riverside. He cants his head obligingly, even though Astarion might only mean to keep touching his bruised throat. ] And I wouldn’t be opposed to continuing, as we are.

[ If Astarion were honest, he'd offer that he's not quite accustomed to all of this, either. The teasing and seduction, yes, but the pillow talk before they've shared more than a brief kiss? Anything he experienced like this in his life before death has long been blotted out by everything that came after.

He presses his thumb lightly to one puncture wound, the jagged-edged skin and broken blood vessels around it. ]

Continuing our mutual arrangement? [ Which Astarion very much wants, obviously. He brushes Gale's hair back over his shoulder, gaze flicking to meet his again and then lingering at his lips. ] Or the other part.

[ There is a strange novelty to only being able to go so far with this man, a challenge to drawing out the tease. And maybe--though he's not looking at this directly, either--there's something that feels safe about not being able to just fuck Gale and discard him. The rules are different, and learning new steps to this dance means Astarion can actually be present in it, for once. ]

[ His lashes flutter as Astarion increases the pressure on his wound, a pleasant sort of ache. Rejection seems unlikely at this stage, but Gale is an observer, by nature, assessing Astarion’s expression, his answers, for clues as to how he should proceed.

The way Astarion looks at him now is wanting, unaided by bloodlust or desperation. Had Mystra ever regarded him with anything so open, so human? He blinks the thought away, focusing on the nails playing at raw skin, the red eyes that he suddenly thinks of as warm instead of warning.

Interesting, that Astarion considers their intimacy to be separate from the deal. A relief, though he hadn’t realised it worried him until now. ]

The agreement. [ His lips turn up a little, almost sly. ] And the other part.

[ As he speaks, Gale is already leaning up to prove it. He catches Astarion’s cheek in his hand, jaw sharp in the cup of his palm. There’s still that ever-present hum of nervous energy around him (nothing to do with the orb, and everything to do with Gale). It quiets a bit, when he kisses Astarion soundly, numerous possibilities fizzling and settling into a singular action. ]

[ It's a treat that Gale is the one to initiate this kiss, his palm warm and mouth warmer. Astarion wonders what Gale's history is like, illicit affair with a goddess notwithstanding; he's certainly not bad at this part, Astarion melting easily against him as he returns the kiss, arms looping back around Gale's neck.

With both of them sated, Astarion is considerably more lucid tonight. He lets a fang graze Gale's bottom lip as he parts his own, savoring the taste of him as he winds his fingers into the soft hair at the nape of Gale's neck, tugging lightly.

When he surfaces, it's only to turn his attention elsewhere, lips and teeth--careful with his fangs, always, a habit kept from luring prey--grazing the stubble at Gale's jaw. ]

So. [ Astarion noses just beneath Gale's ear, pressing his mouth there before murmuring. ] How much am I allowed to rile you before we risk leveling a city?

[ For the first time, Gale is aware enough to realise Astarion is good at this, intentional where Gale is instinctual. His breath stutters in Astarion’s mouth, adjusting to angles (and teeth) much sharper than he’s accustomed to before he gets the hang of it, pressing back harder in answer.

He slips an arm around Astarion’s waist to wind him tighter, hand fitting into the divot of his back. Astarion wins a soft sound, for kissing him somewhere new. ]

Nothing below the belt, as they say. [ Trying for humorous as he noses into Astarion’s hair, without the air in his lungs to back it up. His other hand catches on Astarion’s collar, rubbing the worn fabric between his thumb and forefinger. Stuck, for a moment, in consideration over whether it would be ill-advised to undo the laces of his shirt. ]

[ With a sudden air of seriousness, ] I won’t risk you, if I feel any instability. [ lighter, then. ] So you can do as you like, fangs and all. [ seeing as Astarion seems inclined to using his teeth, if nothing else. ]

Fangs and all, hmm? [ Gale's arm tightens around him and Astarion brackets Gale's hips with his thighs, their bodies flush. Gale's like a furnace compared to Astarion, and Astarion wishes fleetingly that he could remember what it's like to share body heat, keep each other warm in the dark.

Astarion's already marked him, though Gale's hair and the collar of his robe seemed to mask the evidence of their arrangement today. He's always most aware of a pulse, first and foremost, but his lashes flutter as he catches the scent of Gale's hair-- Astarion expects Gale to smell like a musty library, but there's a startling warmth and sweetness, like fresh citrus and amber.

He tucks his hair behind his shoulder, thumbs idly at the earring in Gale's opposite ear as he bites a sharp little kiss below this one: careful not to break skin, but suckling hard enough to bruise. Where everyone will be able to see it, in the light of day. ]

[ Impossible not to think of Mystra, however briefly, as Astarion toys with her symbol. He knew, in those first few weeks after she cast him out, that he should remove it. The wizarding community spread news of ruination swiftly, his rising star burnt out (though they knew not why). Anyone who saw him would think the glint of silver a pathetic relic. Still, Gale has clung to the possibility of forgiveness — or at least, undying devotion, as a lifeline. To forgo her symbol now would be to give up on reclaiming what he once had forevermore.

Astarion makes it equally impossible to linger in his reverie, with a teasing bite-kiss marking tender skin, and his own choked-off groan approving the act. All-consuming devotion to his goddess seems incongruous with his present choices, which have now led to an obvious indication of his — entanglement with Astarion. A discordant pang isn’t enough to waylay him, however, when he does want for someone else for the first time in a long time. This is different. More human, ironically, despite Astarion sapping his warmth and baring his teeth. ]

You are a possessive creature, aren’t you. [ He huffs a laugh in Astarion’s ear, giddy as a schoolboy, before pressing a kiss into his hair, then another at his temple. ] Surprising no one. [ Except perhaps Astarion himself, who may not realise how he comes across, which is all the more amusing. Emboldened, his fingers tug Astarion’s laces free, so his can slide a palm over his lovely collarbone. ]

What am I to say, when someone sees your handiwork? [ Coy, though he does wonder how Astarion wishes to appear to the others. ]

[ Astarion's had nothing to possess in a long, long time. There's a truth to Gale's light observation that might shift the ground beneath Astarion's feet, were he to take a moment to properly sit with it.

There was no room to want when he was at Cazador's beck and call, when he existed for his master and his master only. He's never wanted most of his marks, was rarely in the room with his body as he bedded and betrayed them. But he doesn't have to betray Gale, and he doesn't think Gale is likely to betray him, and he doesn't quite understand the enormity of what that could mean.

Astarion laves his tongue over the mark he's just left and then huffs a soft breath against Gale's neck, pulling back enough to look at him as Gale undoes the laces of his shirt. ]

I'd tell them to get their own wizard to chew on. [ He leans in to kiss him more fervently, open-mouthed and hungry as he cups Gale's jaw in his hands. ]

[ Whatever he expected in response to his playful teasing, it isn’t this. It’s one thing to think of Astarion as possessive in general — unwilling to part with his stolen trinkets — it’s another entirely for it to be turned on him, specifically.

His stomach does a little flip, at Astarion claiming him so easily. tell them to get their own wizard, like he might want to have and keep Gale, despite his mistakes. Before he can turn that realisation over his hands, he’s being kissed again, held firmly in calloused hands. His breath stops and starts, all his whirring thoughts blinking out. Then, he kisses back with ardor, licking into Astarion’s mouth, groaning as he brushes the tips of his fangs. At some point, he tangles his fingers in Astarion’s hair, his shirt all but forgotten. He tugs hard when he has to pull back a tick for air (thinking so very stupidly that it’s unfair Astarion doesn’t need to do the same). ]

Astarion — [ Because he can’t help but say something, and there’s little else on his mind as he surges forward for one kiss after another. Greedy for affection, after so long without it. The heady rush of arousal suffuses his veins as he runs a hand up and down Astarion’s side and squeezes his hip, feeling the clench of thighs in his lap. Dangerous. ]

Astarion — do you want — [ Words rushed between kisses along Astarion’s jaw, then mouthed down his neck. ] I can’t, but if you wanted — [ His thumb dips into Astarion’s waistband, communicating where his words have failed him. If Astarion would like to get off, Gale can oblige him. ]

[ Something's becoming tangled in him, what his body knows of this dance and what his heart actually wants. The thought of his heart, dead weight between his ribs that hasn't stirred in centuries-- It's like he's standing on the highest precipice he's ever known with no way to know if he'll survive the fall.

It's one thing when Astarion can pleasure someone else, can ensure that he's--useful, that he's not disposable. It's another entirely when someone wants to pleasure him, and Gale is so earnest, so warm, his kisses burning against Astarion's throat. ]

I-- [ Astarion has forgotten his lines. There's desire, actual desire thrumming in him when he'd truly thought this would just be transactional. Could have been, had he been able to concentrate attention on Gale and divert it from his own needs--needs he doesn't even know how to look at, let alone articulate.

It's almost embarrassing, the shift from easy seduction to whatever this is, Astarion's fingers gently catching Gale's wrist as he gives the slightest shake of his head, his voice soft and a little small. ]

I think I need a moment?

[ 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.

Edited (typos) 2023-12-22 20:22 (UTC)

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’ll be out of your tousled hair within the hour.

Edited 2023-12-22 21:29 (UTC)

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.

PSL — EXSANGUE

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