[ There was, admittedly, a slight possibility that Gale would back down. Either not quite over his Ex as much as he claims or simply too lost in the sauce. But Astarion had enough faith he'd come to his senses, as it were.
[ Astarion could be there much more quickly, but he wants to give Gale time to...not necessarily prepare, but ruminate on the decision he's made. The decision he was absolutely encouraged to make, but a decision all the same.
He doesn't need to bed his companions, no, nor is he required to spend the nights prowling the roads they travel on for victims to lure back. That freedom in and of itself has been exhilarating. Of course, he's used sex to secure his position and barter a bit, but it's been wholly on his terms. It's wonderful.
This is not exactly that. It's more selfish, despite how Astarion is playing it off like he's doing Gale some sort of favor--he's curious, simple as that. And he justifies it by saying that Gale needs it. And, as a friend, he's uniquely qualified to provide that sort of pleasure. So therein he can satiate his own curiosity without feeling indebted. It works out.
Astarion eventually enters the camp without any urgency, giving an amused nod to Lae'zel as she pointedly ignores him while mending some of her leathers. It's rather convenient that he and Gale elected to set up their tents in a far edge of the area they cleared, away from most of the others. The excuse is that it allowed some quiet for reading.
And there is Gale in his usual spot. Looking like he's trying too hard to look normal. And failing. The elf chuckles lightly to himself.
Astarion saunters on over, casually tossing his satchel to the ground near the pillows in front of his tent. He nods to the two glasses. ]
Ah, I see you managed to save a little for me. I applaud your restraint, but I do hope this is the extent of it.
[ He crosses the short distance between them to pick up one of the glasses. ]
[Gale tries, desperately, to appear as though nothing is out of the ordinary. It's a night at camp like any other; as many of their companions would expect of him, he's attempting to decompress from the efforts of the day by reading and enjoying a bottle, except tonight, he doesn't absorb a single word of it. He finds himself merely turning pages, his gaze occasionally lifting to search for any sign of the pale elf's return.
His mouth goes dry— oh, that is annoying. He's second-guessing himself now, wondering if it's too late to back out, if this was a terrible mistake. That last part, he was almost certain of. He didn't— do these kinds of things, not quite like this, and yet what was it he had said to Astarion earlier that very day?
"In fact, I think I'm beginning to develop a bit of a taste for chaos."
More true than even he had realized at the time, perhaps.
When Astarion returns, he truly behaves as though nothing is out of the ordinary, and Gale can feel how his own efforts have paled in comparison. He raises an eyebrow, snapping his book closed with one hand.]
I told you I would have a glass waiting, did I not? I do try to be a wizard of my word.
[Notably, he does not comment on the matter of restraint.]
[ The fact that Gale is making an effort is the most amusing part. He's radiating nervousness that he doubts even the thickest blanket of the weave itself could conceal it. It's a little cute in a pathetic kind of way. This grown man nearing the powers of gods is nervous about one night. He raises a brow at the other man. ]
You are a wizard of many words.
[ Astarion lifts the glass in a little toast before taking a long drink. ]
Mmm, and at least I know I can trust you to keep a decent vintage around. One can only survive on dark vinegar for so long.
[ He turns as he takes another sip, showing his back to Gale as he starts to undo the leather straps to his chest armor. Something Gale has seen numerous times before--Astarion has little compunction taking off his outer armor at his tent, though he usually retreats inside for a full undressing. ]
[Gale is perfectly self-aware of his own propensity for verbosity; there's no use pretending otherwise, and the slight jab does have a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth as he lifts his own glass to his lips. He'd gone easy on refilling his own, having had plenty already, but he was still well within his limitations.]
Berduskan Dark. A fair bit sweeter than much of what we've come across in our travels. I do make an effort to ensure we pick up something worthwhile every now and again.
[He talks as though this is just another idle conversation like so many others; they've had plenty, especially now that their tents were pitched so close together, but even as he speaks, Gale finds his gaze drawn to Astarion's back. He's seen him unfasten his armor more times than he can count, but now he finds himself truly watching as the rogue takes it apart piece by piece.]
[ Astarion licks his lips as he downs the rest of his glass in one go. Gale may be several cups in, but Astarion is now firmly in one and he plans to steal a few more before Gale finishes off his bottle. ]
Mmm, I thought as much. That particular bouquet is impossible to forget.
[ A few more flicks of his finger and the main part of his chest armor falls off unceremoniously to the rug beneath him. Though his armor is usually form-fitting, the shirt underneath is even more-so and he allows Gale a good moment to let his imagination follow where it will. He even adds a little stretch and roll of his shoulders like he's so glad to be free of the weight after a long hard day. Whew.
Astarion turns around with his usual grace, holding the glass out with an expectant wiggle right in Gale's face. ]
[It's a series of motions that Gale has seen their resident rogue go through countless times by now, and yet his gaze lingers on the vampire's back a few moments longer than he intends— of course, he can only assume that Astarion intends for him to do exactly that. His gaze tracks the roll of his shoulder and he finds himself wondering exactly what he's signed himself up for, and whether or not it's something he's actually prepared to take on.
He's so lost in thought for those few breaths that when Astarion turns back to face him, his attention has to be pulled back. At least Gale has the good grace to look moderately sheepish about it, and he clears his throat as he reaches for the bottle that had been sitting on the upturned crate beside his tent that had come to serve as a table, proceeding to pour the offered glass.]
Ah, three? Looking to catch up, I can only assume.
[ There's a little twitch of amusement at the corner of Astarion's lips as he watches Gale reorient himself. Arrogance is a trait they share in common and he always gets a bit of delight at seeing the wizard a step off his game. He just hopes that Gale won't make it too easy, since it's half the fun.
Still, he does as he's silently asked and Astarion eagerly takes a sip of his refilled glass. ]
Three? Gods, you've been holding out on me.
[ He takes another sip. Wine hasn't been quite as strong since he turned, but he is glad that he can still taste it. Unfortunately, it does mean that his already high standards have to be even higher for it to taste decent. Fortunately, Gale is the sort of snob who can supply that for him.
And hopefully a few other things.
He takes a step closer, leaning in slightly. ]
I trust you aren't so deep in your cups that your senses will be wholly dulled.
[ Astarion doesn't think so. He's looking for the telltale signs of nervousness, but he mostly wants to tease. ]
It would be a shame not to leave you with something to remember.
[It's not the first time they've been so close, but certainly the first time with such intent, and Gale's knuckles pale ever-so-slightly as he tightens his grip on his own glass, easily spotted by Astarion should he glimpse that way, but the wizard otherwise stands firm, almost certain of what the vampire is playing at. He wants to see if he's nervous, if he's having any second thoughts, but there's just enough warmth in his voice to make it clear the teasing is good-natured— and either way, Gale doesn't know that he could handle giving Astarion the satisfaction of spooking him into backing out.
He smiles blithely instead, unflinching, his expression carefully schooled as he aims to remain collected, hold onto what little might remain of his dignity after the half-drunken scribbling that started all this, and sets the bottle aside.]
Maybe if you were just a touch nicer to me, I'd be inclined to share more often.
[Though given what's to come—
Perhaps he could stand to be a bit more generous.]
Not to worry; I still have my wits about me. A mind as sharp as my own is not so easily addled, and I would hardly have agreed to such an arrangement if I didn't think I would be able to— hold up my end of the bargain.
[ A touch nicer, hm? How convenient for Gale, then, as this is Astarion being nice, at least in his own mind. He can't exactly say he's offering a pity fuck because there is a bit of true interest on his side, but he will certainly act like he's doing the other man some grand service. He can choose his partners now. Shouldn't Gale consider himself lucky?
Astarion raises his brow as he takes another drink. ]
I do hope that's not all you'll be "holding up".
[ Something, something, towers of Waterdeep.
With that, Astarion downs the rest of his glass in one go. He is playing a bit of catch up, but he also just wants Gale's wine. It's a win-win. ]
Well, [ he starts with a satisfied sigh as he sets the glass down somewhere near the wizard. ] Nimble as I'm sure you'll say your half-sober fingers are, I better slip into something more comfortable. Why don't you make yourself comfortable?
[ He turns and motions towards the opening in Gale's tent. He, very pointedly, is not inviting this into his own. ]
[That particular tease does manage to send heat flooding through Gale's cheeks, and he coughs as he nearly chokes on a bit of wine, sputtering.
Oh, he's off to a splendid start. Astarion had already had him on the back foot just by the very nature of the situation, but he exhales and collects himself, letting his smile quirk to one side, reminding himself that once upon a time, in what felt like another life, he had been good at flirting and using his charm to his advantage.
How things change.]
Of course.
[There's almost a note of relief in that acquiescence, though Astarion may note that his gaze never falters as the wizard watches him turn towards his own tent. How did he manage to make even the most mundane of movements look like— that?]
Join me at your leisure.
[He gestures towards his own tent in turn, a warm gesture of invitation before he, too, turns his back, ducking beneath the open flap of his tent and standing straight to square his shoulders once he's inside, alone. He's put his wine glass down somewhere in the process, but where hardly matters as he has a moment of clarity regarding how very real this is, pinching the bridge of his nose as he steadies his breathing.
This could be a terrible, terrible mistake, but in his current state, the way the weight of everything has been bearing down on him these past weeks, on all of them— he's not convinced it isn't one worth making.
When Astarion does find his way to Gale's tent at last, the wizard has regained his glass and shifted some of the plush pillows that are often strewn across the ground to allow two people to recline comfortably, should they so wish. Gale's focus is on the contents of his glass; he's seated with his arm propped up on a pair of stacked pillows and looking as though he is doing his very best to appear casual, utterly failing.
"Casual" has never really been a part of his vocabulary, incredibly expansive though it may be.
He clears his throat softly when he realizes his company has arrived, looking up with a smile that still radiates warmth despite the quiet apprehension beneath it.]
[ His exit is all part of the game. Give Gale a little more to anticipate, to yearn for if somewhat against his better judgment. The wizard strikes him as someone who wants the song and dance as much as the end result. And while Astarion is doing much of this for himself, he does know how to deliver.
Changing out of his armor fully is a quick and practiced process, but he lingers in his own tent to give Gale more time to stew in his own lusts and anxiety. He knows the other man is nervous despite his attempts at levity, which is doubtlessly due to his lack of experience. Well, that and the fact the last person he fucked was probably that goddess who he highly doubts was any type of extraordinary lover. A goddess beloved by wizards has got to be a snore in the sack.
After what Astarion deems to be an appropriate amount of time to leave Gale hanging while still being reasonable for getting undressed and redressed, Astarion finally makes his way into Gale's tent. Standing at the entrance, he looks around a bit like it's the first time he's seen it--even though he definitely has--before his eyes fall on the glass in Gale's hand. Silly man, trying to look casual and in control of this space. ]
My, are you really that parched or are you just trying to encourage me?
[ He raises a brow as he reaches behind himself, unfastening some rope and letting the flap fall shut. Privacy.
Astarion is in his usual camp regalia, those unnecessarily tight pants and his poets shirt, though he's left most of the lacing undone. It's about to come off, anyway. He crosses the short distance slowly, watching Gale the entire time. ]
I can assure you that further liquid courage isn't necessary.
[The moment Astarion enters, the wizard becomes keenly aware of how ridiculous he must look, trying far too hard to appear as though he is perfectly at ease with the situation. Having come this far, it's certainly not that he's opposed, but he's not used to doing things quite this way, though not for lack of experience.
That, and it's been some time since he last—
Well. He'd been in confinement for a year. The situation spoke for itself.]
Even if you've no need of additional encouragement, you're welcome to it.
[He gestures, awkwardly, towards where the bottle sits, but as the flap falls closed behind Astarion, he feels something catch in his throat. If there had been any remaining doubt that this was real, it had just vanished, and the wizard's face colors slightly in the glow of the enchanted candlelight that bathes his tent.]
You look...
[He trails off, exhaling, though the fact that he's unable to tear his gaze away from where Astarion's shirt falls open is very telling. Never mind the fact that Gale seems him wear this very ensemble near daily.
[ Oh he's trying. Gods Above and Below, he's trying, and if Astarion were a more charitable person, he might call it "cute". He isn't fooling anyone, but he is trying to impress some semblance of ease. Astarion allows himself a little widening of his own smirk.
He's going to enjoy watching the Wizard of Waterdeep turn into a puddle in front of him. Or under him. Whichever comes first.
When his appearance comes up, Astarion raises a brow, watching Gale curiously before seemingly inspecting his own sleeves. It is the same outfit he wears every night, but he knows exactly how it highlights the length of his shoulders, the slenderness of his waist, the width of his thighs. He highly doubts Gale hasn't noticed all this time. ]
And how is that?
[ He shifts his weight to one side, almost posing. ]
Don't hold back, darling. Laying on the flattery will only help the mood, I assure you.
[The wizard begins to repeat himself, finding himself at a rare loss for words, and he straightens up where he's sat himself, no longer reclining. His expression seems to soften, though perhaps it's just a trick of the candlelight— and all the same, his gaze is unerring, following the carefully curated lines of the silhouette stood before the door to his tent.]
Stunning, as ever.
[His lips quirk to one side, playing at a smirk; Astarion has made no secret of his vanity, and Gale can hardly deny that it's well-earned. Though the wizard has seen him day in and day out these past months, he's never truly looked at him with intent as the situation demands he do now— aside from the occasional glance, perhaps, in weaker moments.]
You can't be surprised. Your dressing to draw the eye is— very effective.
[ It's as much a game as anything else, but there's a small part of him that actually wants to hear what Gale has to say. He knows the man can go on and on when the mood hits him, when the subject matter is of his particular interest. The man is focused, which is the kindest way he can put it.
Can Astarion dare to rival his love of knowledge? Of magicks? Hardly. But he can toy with the idea and at least be the focus of the wizard's attention for an evening. That will be enough. ]
And where is your eye being drawn to?
[ He frames his chin in with the back of his fingers. ]
My face...?
[ And then slowly lets his hand fall, dragging down across his chest. ]
[Gale has long been a man known for his verbosity, and were the context of this situation different, surely he would already have begun to wax poetic on the subject— and truly, it is not as though he doesn't have plenty of things to say, only that for once, he's given thought to the fact that it might not be appropriate.
It had been made clear from the start what this evening was to be; his interest was quite genuine, helped along by the wine dulling the voice at the back of his head telling him what a terrible idea it was, in addition to just how long it had been since his last real taste of human touch. It was an offer he was afraid he would regret refusing, had he chosen to do so, but he is certain that it is flattery Astarion wants, not the sort of things that come much more naturally to him.
His smile, too, is genuine, even as the draw of Astarion's hand down his chest earns a sheepish chuckle in response, propping himself up further with one hand as his gaze follows the line drawn, exactly as intended.]
Here I thought you might appreciate my being succinct, for once.
[He would, truly, hate to ruin this by being himself, which even he knows can often be a bit much.]
One would have to be blind not to appreciate the fact that every inch of you may as well be carved from marble— how nice to be able to appreciate it openly, for once. You are indeed a sight for weary eyes, Astarion.
[ Gale is trying, this silly man. And Astarion is delighting a bit in watching him attempt to be complimentary but also still proper. It's—he would hesitate to call it sweet, and it isn't as if Astarion hasn't had to coax a few of his potential partners a long once he's found a mark, but it's a little amusing.
But he likes watching the way those brown eyes follow the motion of his hands, dropping exactly where he intends them to. ]
When it comes to raining compliments and praise on me? Please, darling, it's like you don't know me at all.
[ At least when it comes to his appearance. That, at least, he knows people truly mean when they say it. And comparing him to a statue is something Astarion has heard before—hells, it's a line he's used before on others—so that makes his smile twitch upwards in light amusement. ]
And do you want to?
[ He asks as his voice drops to a purr. He steps over Gale's legs, nudging his thighs together with his foot before also dropping down in the wizard's lap. It's there for the taking, after all. ]
Appreciate me openly? Or would you prefer to ravish me here in your tent?
[Gods, but he is trying. He's had casual encounters before, though he could count them on one hand; they had served their purpose and he had certainly enjoyed his time with those he had shared it with, but he was long, long out of practice when it came to anything casual. This, of course, was something entirely different; Astarion seemed to believe he was doing Gale a favor, and perhaps he was, but the very fact that Astarion was a friend meant that even if there were no strings attached, even if it was only to be this once, it was anything but casual.
It mattered. They were not going to wake the next day and part ways. When it was over, they would still be friends, or so he hoped. How he handles this— it matters.
Of course, there's little time for him to articulate any of that, and even if he had, he's not certain Astarion would have cared to hear it— the pale elf is too busy dropping down to occupy his lap, and almost without realizing, Gale finds his own arm encircling Astarion's waist to hold him steady, fingers curling into the linen of his shirt just above his hip, his other hand coming to rest against his thigh, leather smooth and supple beneath his fingertips.
Gods above, what a question. He exhales, letting out a short peal of laughter at the same time, his smile pulling to one side as he meets the vampire's gaze.]
Are those things so different? Would that not be an adequate form of appreciation by your standards?
[What in the hells is he wearing that makes him smell so good up close? It's almost dizzying. Gale's expression shifts to something a touch more somber; for all Astarion's teasing, the wizard still wishes to treat this encounter with care, with gravity.]
I do— want to. As for ravishing, that sounds a bit rushed compared to what I have in mind.
[ Astarion plans to still be friends. Though he hasn't thought that deeply about it beyond the entire encounter being one he actually chose for himself, the aftermath is—...up in the air. Because in reality, Astarion also has not had casual dalliances with friends.
Actually having friends being the first criteria, which is something he couldn't say he had many of a year prior. He and his siblings were all forced on one another and, with the exception of Dalyria, Astarion can't say he's fond of any of them. Amused at times, but he doesn't trust them. Would gladly put himself before them all. And all his forays into the bedroom? They were a means to an end. He was a means to an end.
This is new in ways he hasn't considered simply because it's never been a possibility.
What Astarion is expects is to blow Gale's mind and then flaunt it in the days that follow, because watching Gale squirm is always fun. And to enjoy the fact that he can choose with who and when and where he goes to bed. ]
I didn't take you for an exhibitionist, but I'm ready to be surprised.
[ (Is he, though? Famous last words.)
Gale accepts him so readily, Astarion will give him credit for that. So Astarion lazily drapes his arms around the wizards shoulders, canting his head to the side as he regards the man with a look he's perfected—a light interest in the conversation, but a heavy interest in the way his partner's lips move when they speak. A light curl of his own lips, but with rapt attention in his eyes. His gaze flickers back from Gale's lips to capture those brown eyes in turn. ]
Oh? And what is it that you had in mind, my dear wizard?
[The look itself is so very Astarion that Gale wonders how many years it had taken him to get it just right, but the weight of the vampire's arms draped about his shoulders keeps him from sparing it too much thought. Instead, his gaze is drawn to the curve of his lips, the angle of his jaw, and all of a sudden he feels as though his heart might lodge itself in his throat. There is, briefly, the fear that the orb is not so stable as he'd been promised, that this is potentially far more dangerous than they know, but he can feel that things have changed. He can, at last, indulge in something as simple as human touch once again.
'My dear wizard.' Only said in passing, he's sure; he's well-acquainted with the way Astarion speaks, but it still stokes the embers of something within him, makes him feel seen.]
As with all things, I prefer to be most thorough.
[It's not the answer Astarion is looking for, he's sure, but what he has in mine can't be adequately articulated, only shown. He lifts his hand from Astarion's thigh to carefully catch the side of his face, thumb tracing downward along the sharp line of his jaw before he draws him in closer, tipping his own chin upwards to meet him with a kiss.
There is a barely-restrained hunger behind it, but it's neither greedy nor demanding— instead, it is slow and deliberate, the wizard's lips parting gently beneath Astarion's own in wordless invitation, the fingers curled into his shirt at his waist relaxing slightly. He cannot remember the last time he had done something so simple as kiss someone, especially here in the mortal realm; Astarion's lips are cool against his own, but that doesn't stop a sudden surge of heat from surging through his chest.]
[ It's such a painfully Gale response, Astarion almost laughs. No, it doesn't answer his question, and yet it tells him more than he needs to know before he even realizes it. Because the way Gale cups his face and finally kisses him isn't the rush of over-eager desperation that a man in forced celibacy might be subject to, nor is it the shy, exploratory kiss of a man who has read more about kissing than actually practiced it.
But it is slow and deliberate and Astarion is so very used to following the lead, no matter how much bravado he has in these scenarios. Because times like this have historically not been about his wants—they were about whatever would get his mark in his bed and, therefore, to his master.
So his response is almost automatic, parting his own lips and slipping his tongue out to meet Gale's. He cants his head to the side, sliding their mouths more fully against one another. The wizard is warm and not just because he's alive, but there's an inherent scent of magic about him that Astarion can't fully explain. His partners have had a variety of aptitudes for it, but none had been so powerful. It's almost electric, if such a thing could be subtle at the same time. Or maybe there's another reason the kiss makes him feel a little tingly...
Astarion doesn't waste a moment to pull himself closer, tightening the loop he has around Gale's neck, to run his hand down the other man's back. The old velvet of his top is soft and inviting in and of itself, something Astarion wouldn't mind feeling against his naked skin if that's what Gale prefers.
But his hand only hovers over that finely-woven belt before he starts to tug at it. ]
[A faint spark of weave energy comes to life between them, magic thrumming softly beneath Gale's own skin as he feels the orb begin to wake. He welcomes Astarion's tongue with his own, equal parts careful and curious, taking a shallow breath before sliding it past the other man's lips, seeking to taste him in earnest. The silk of Astarion's curls slides easily between his fingers, and he exhales softly against his mouth before chasing after another kiss with renewed vigor, finding himself more and more at ease with the weight of the vampire in his lap, keenly aware of the path his hands take down the length of his back.
The tugging at the belt over his tunic is to be expected, he supposes; what comes next has already been agreed upon, a forgone conclusion, but he lets go of Astarion's waist to lay his hand over the vampire's wrist, encouraging him to slow his progress. He breaks their kiss to speak without pulling back, the space between them near non-existent— something he finds he welcomes even more than he had expected, having gone so long without the press of another body against his own.]
Need we be in such a hurry?
[There's a teasing lilt at the end of that question, though he's gained a husky edge to his voice as Astarion's efforts have already coaxed his body into awakening. Those glasses of wine continue to make him brave; he eases his fingers out of Astarion's hair and lightly traces the curve of his neck, his touch carefully trailing downwards towards where his chest is exposed.]
If we're only going to do this once, we ought to take our time and enjoy it.
[Make certain it's worth whatever discomfort it may cause them in the coming days, for one. For another, Gale doesn't want his first time after more than a year of forced celibacy to be a frantic, chaotic tumble, something easily forgotten. They should ensure it's something worth remembering, for the both of them.]
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Which would he regret more, taking the risk only to be humiliated, or having passed the opportunity by entirely?
The bottle helps him find his answer.]
I have plenty here, if you wish to join me.
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And isn't disappointed. ]
Then I'll head back to camp.
[ You have like ten minutes Gale, get ready. ]
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I'll have a glass waiting for you.
[He'll focus on the wine— which he eyes for a moment before he quickly downs the remainder of his glass, for a bit of courage.]
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He doesn't need to bed his companions, no, nor is he required to spend the nights prowling the roads they travel on for victims to lure back. That freedom in and of itself has been exhilarating. Of course, he's used sex to secure his position and barter a bit, but it's been wholly on his terms. It's wonderful.
This is not exactly that. It's more selfish, despite how Astarion is playing it off like he's doing Gale some sort of favor--he's curious, simple as that. And he justifies it by saying that Gale needs it. And, as a friend, he's uniquely qualified to provide that sort of pleasure. So therein he can satiate his own curiosity without feeling indebted. It works out.
Astarion eventually enters the camp without any urgency, giving an amused nod to Lae'zel as she pointedly ignores him while mending some of her leathers. It's rather convenient that he and Gale elected to set up their tents in a far edge of the area they cleared, away from most of the others. The excuse is that it allowed some quiet for reading.
And there is Gale in his usual spot. Looking like he's trying too hard to look normal. And failing. The elf chuckles lightly to himself.
Astarion saunters on over, casually tossing his satchel to the ground near the pillows in front of his tent. He nods to the two glasses. ]
Ah, I see you managed to save a little for me. I applaud your restraint, but I do hope this is the extent of it.
[ He crosses the short distance between them to pick up one of the glasses. ]
Your restraint, of course.
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His mouth goes dry— oh, that is annoying. He's second-guessing himself now, wondering if it's too late to back out, if this was a terrible mistake. That last part, he was almost certain of. He didn't— do these kinds of things, not quite like this, and yet what was it he had said to Astarion earlier that very day?
"In fact, I think I'm beginning to develop a bit of a taste for chaos."
More true than even he had realized at the time, perhaps.
When Astarion returns, he truly behaves as though nothing is out of the ordinary, and Gale can feel how his own efforts have paled in comparison. He raises an eyebrow, snapping his book closed with one hand.]
I told you I would have a glass waiting, did I not? I do try to be a wizard of my word.
[Notably, he does not comment on the matter of restraint.]
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You are a wizard of many words.
[ Astarion lifts the glass in a little toast before taking a long drink. ]
Mmm, and at least I know I can trust you to keep a decent vintage around. One can only survive on dark vinegar for so long.
[ He turns as he takes another sip, showing his back to Gale as he starts to undo the leather straps to his chest armor. Something Gale has seen numerous times before--Astarion has little compunction taking off his outer armor at his tent, though he usually retreats inside for a full undressing. ]
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[Gale is perfectly self-aware of his own propensity for verbosity; there's no use pretending otherwise, and the slight jab does have a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth as he lifts his own glass to his lips. He'd gone easy on refilling his own, having had plenty already, but he was still well within his limitations.]
Berduskan Dark. A fair bit sweeter than much of what we've come across in our travels. I do make an effort to ensure we pick up something worthwhile every now and again.
[He talks as though this is just another idle conversation like so many others; they've had plenty, especially now that their tents were pitched so close together, but even as he speaks, Gale finds his gaze drawn to Astarion's back. He's seen him unfasten his armor more times than he can count, but now he finds himself truly watching as the rogue takes it apart piece by piece.]
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Mmm, I thought as much. That particular bouquet is impossible to forget.
[ A few more flicks of his finger and the main part of his chest armor falls off unceremoniously to the rug beneath him. Though his armor is usually form-fitting, the shirt underneath is even more-so and he allows Gale a good moment to let his imagination follow where it will. He even adds a little stretch and roll of his shoulders like he's so glad to be free of the weight after a long hard day. Whew.
Astarion turns around with his usual grace, holding the glass out with an expectant wiggle right in Gale's face. ]
How many cups in did you say you were?
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He's so lost in thought for those few breaths that when Astarion turns back to face him, his attention has to be pulled back. At least Gale has the good grace to look moderately sheepish about it, and he clears his throat as he reaches for the bottle that had been sitting on the upturned crate beside his tent that had come to serve as a table, proceeding to pour the offered glass.]
Ah, three? Looking to catch up, I can only assume.
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Still, he does as he's silently asked and Astarion eagerly takes a sip of his refilled glass. ]
Three? Gods, you've been holding out on me.
[ He takes another sip. Wine hasn't been quite as strong since he turned, but he is glad that he can still taste it. Unfortunately, it does mean that his already high standards have to be even higher for it to taste decent. Fortunately, Gale is the sort of snob who can supply that for him.
And hopefully a few other things.
He takes a step closer, leaning in slightly. ]
I trust you aren't so deep in your cups that your senses will be wholly dulled.
[ Astarion doesn't think so. He's looking for the telltale signs of nervousness, but he mostly wants to tease. ]
It would be a shame not to leave you with something to remember.
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He smiles blithely instead, unflinching, his expression carefully schooled as he aims to remain collected, hold onto what little might remain of his dignity after the half-drunken scribbling that started all this, and sets the bottle aside.]
Maybe if you were just a touch nicer to me, I'd be inclined to share more often.
[Though given what's to come—
Perhaps he could stand to be a bit more generous.]
Not to worry; I still have my wits about me. A mind as sharp as my own is not so easily addled, and I would hardly have agreed to such an arrangement if I didn't think I would be able to— hold up my end of the bargain.
[Nailed it!]
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Astarion raises his brow as he takes another drink. ]
I do hope that's not all you'll be "holding up".
[ Something, something, towers of Waterdeep.
With that, Astarion downs the rest of his glass in one go. He is playing a bit of catch up, but he also just wants Gale's wine. It's a win-win. ]
Well, [ he starts with a satisfied sigh as he sets the glass down somewhere near the wizard. ] Nimble as I'm sure you'll say your half-sober fingers are, I better slip into something more comfortable. Why don't you make yourself comfortable?
[ He turns and motions towards the opening in Gale's tent. He, very pointedly, is not inviting this into his own. ]
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Oh, he's off to a splendid start. Astarion had already had him on the back foot just by the very nature of the situation, but he exhales and collects himself, letting his smile quirk to one side, reminding himself that once upon a time, in what felt like another life, he had been good at flirting and using his charm to his advantage.
How things change.]
Of course.
[There's almost a note of relief in that acquiescence, though Astarion may note that his gaze never falters as the wizard watches him turn towards his own tent. How did he manage to make even the most mundane of movements look like— that?]
Join me at your leisure.
[He gestures towards his own tent in turn, a warm gesture of invitation before he, too, turns his back, ducking beneath the open flap of his tent and standing straight to square his shoulders once he's inside, alone. He's put his wine glass down somewhere in the process, but where hardly matters as he has a moment of clarity regarding how very real this is, pinching the bridge of his nose as he steadies his breathing.
This could be a terrible, terrible mistake, but in his current state, the way the weight of everything has been bearing down on him these past weeks, on all of them— he's not convinced it isn't one worth making.
When Astarion does find his way to Gale's tent at last, the wizard has regained his glass and shifted some of the plush pillows that are often strewn across the ground to allow two people to recline comfortably, should they so wish. Gale's focus is on the contents of his glass; he's seated with his arm propped up on a pair of stacked pillows and looking as though he is doing his very best to appear casual, utterly failing.
"Casual" has never really been a part of his vocabulary, incredibly expansive though it may be.
He clears his throat softly when he realizes his company has arrived, looking up with a smile that still radiates warmth despite the quiet apprehension beneath it.]
Make yourself at home.
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Changing out of his armor fully is a quick and practiced process, but he lingers in his own tent to give Gale more time to stew in his own lusts and anxiety. He knows the other man is nervous despite his attempts at levity, which is doubtlessly due to his lack of experience. Well, that and the fact the last person he fucked was probably that goddess who he highly doubts was any type of extraordinary lover. A goddess beloved by wizards has got to be a snore in the sack.
After what Astarion deems to be an appropriate amount of time to leave Gale hanging while still being reasonable for getting undressed and redressed, Astarion finally makes his way into Gale's tent. Standing at the entrance, he looks around a bit like it's the first time he's seen it--even though he definitely has--before his eyes fall on the glass in Gale's hand. Silly man, trying to look casual and in control of this space. ]
My, are you really that parched or are you just trying to encourage me?
[ He raises a brow as he reaches behind himself, unfastening some rope and letting the flap fall shut. Privacy.
Astarion is in his usual camp regalia, those unnecessarily tight pants and his poets shirt, though he's left most of the lacing undone. It's about to come off, anyway. He crosses the short distance slowly, watching Gale the entire time. ]
I can assure you that further liquid courage isn't necessary.
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That, and it's been some time since he last—
Well. He'd been in confinement for a year. The situation spoke for itself.]
Even if you've no need of additional encouragement, you're welcome to it.
[He gestures, awkwardly, towards where the bottle sits, but as the flap falls closed behind Astarion, he feels something catch in his throat. If there had been any remaining doubt that this was real, it had just vanished, and the wizard's face colors slightly in the glow of the enchanted candlelight that bathes his tent.]
You look...
[He trails off, exhaling, though the fact that he's unable to tear his gaze away from where Astarion's shirt falls open is very telling. Never mind the fact that Gale seems him wear this very ensemble near daily.
He chuckles.]
Well, I suppose you know exactly how you look.
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He's going to enjoy watching the Wizard of Waterdeep turn into a puddle in front of him. Or under him. Whichever comes first.
When his appearance comes up, Astarion raises a brow, watching Gale curiously before seemingly inspecting his own sleeves. It is the same outfit he wears every night, but he knows exactly how it highlights the length of his shoulders, the slenderness of his waist, the width of his thighs. He highly doubts Gale hasn't noticed all this time. ]
And how is that?
[ He shifts his weight to one side, almost posing. ]
Don't hold back, darling. Laying on the flattery will only help the mood, I assure you.
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[The wizard begins to repeat himself, finding himself at a rare loss for words, and he straightens up where he's sat himself, no longer reclining. His expression seems to soften, though perhaps it's just a trick of the candlelight— and all the same, his gaze is unerring, following the carefully curated lines of the silhouette stood before the door to his tent.]
Stunning, as ever.
[His lips quirk to one side, playing at a smirk; Astarion has made no secret of his vanity, and Gale can hardly deny that it's well-earned. Though the wizard has seen him day in and day out these past months, he's never truly looked at him with intent as the situation demands he do now— aside from the occasional glance, perhaps, in weaker moments.]
You can't be surprised. Your dressing to draw the eye is— very effective.
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Can Astarion dare to rival his love of knowledge? Of magicks? Hardly. But he can toy with the idea and at least be the focus of the wizard's attention for an evening. That will be enough. ]
And where is your eye being drawn to?
[ He frames his chin in with the back of his fingers. ]
My face...?
[ And then slowly lets his hand fall, dragging down across his chest. ]
Or...somewhere lower?
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It had been made clear from the start what this evening was to be; his interest was quite genuine, helped along by the wine dulling the voice at the back of his head telling him what a terrible idea it was, in addition to just how long it had been since his last real taste of human touch. It was an offer he was afraid he would regret refusing, had he chosen to do so, but he is certain that it is flattery Astarion wants, not the sort of things that come much more naturally to him.
His smile, too, is genuine, even as the draw of Astarion's hand down his chest earns a sheepish chuckle in response, propping himself up further with one hand as his gaze follows the line drawn, exactly as intended.]
Here I thought you might appreciate my being succinct, for once.
[He would, truly, hate to ruin this by being himself, which even he knows can often be a bit much.]
One would have to be blind not to appreciate the fact that every inch of you may as well be carved from marble— how nice to be able to appreciate it openly, for once. You are indeed a sight for weary eyes, Astarion.
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But he likes watching the way those brown eyes follow the motion of his hands, dropping exactly where he intends them to. ]
When it comes to raining compliments and praise on me? Please, darling, it's like you don't know me at all.
[ At least when it comes to his appearance. That, at least, he knows people truly mean when they say it. And comparing him to a statue is something Astarion has heard before—hells, it's a line he's used before on others—so that makes his smile twitch upwards in light amusement. ]
And do you want to?
[ He asks as his voice drops to a purr. He steps over Gale's legs, nudging his thighs together with his foot before also dropping down in the wizard's lap. It's there for the taking, after all. ]
Appreciate me openly? Or would you prefer to ravish me here in your tent?
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It mattered. They were not going to wake the next day and part ways. When it was over, they would still be friends, or so he hoped. How he handles this— it matters.
Of course, there's little time for him to articulate any of that, and even if he had, he's not certain Astarion would have cared to hear it— the pale elf is too busy dropping down to occupy his lap, and almost without realizing, Gale finds his own arm encircling Astarion's waist to hold him steady, fingers curling into the linen of his shirt just above his hip, his other hand coming to rest against his thigh, leather smooth and supple beneath his fingertips.
Gods above, what a question. He exhales, letting out a short peal of laughter at the same time, his smile pulling to one side as he meets the vampire's gaze.]
Are those things so different? Would that not be an adequate form of appreciation by your standards?
[What in the hells is he wearing that makes him smell so good up close? It's almost dizzying. Gale's expression shifts to something a touch more somber; for all Astarion's teasing, the wizard still wishes to treat this encounter with care, with gravity.]
I do— want to. As for ravishing, that sounds a bit rushed compared to what I have in mind.
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Actually having friends being the first criteria, which is something he couldn't say he had many of a year prior. He and his siblings were all forced on one another and, with the exception of Dalyria, Astarion can't say he's fond of any of them. Amused at times, but he doesn't trust them. Would gladly put himself before them all. And all his forays into the bedroom? They were a means to an end. He was a means to an end.
This is new in ways he hasn't considered simply because it's never been a possibility.
What Astarion is expects is to blow Gale's mind and then flaunt it in the days that follow, because watching Gale squirm is always fun. And to enjoy the fact that he can choose with who and when and where he goes to bed. ]
I didn't take you for an exhibitionist, but I'm ready to be surprised.
[ (Is he, though? Famous last words.)
Gale accepts him so readily, Astarion will give him credit for that. So Astarion lazily drapes his arms around the wizards shoulders, canting his head to the side as he regards the man with a look he's perfected—a light interest in the conversation, but a heavy interest in the way his partner's lips move when they speak. A light curl of his own lips, but with rapt attention in his eyes. His gaze flickers back from Gale's lips to capture those brown eyes in turn. ]
Oh? And what is it that you had in mind, my dear wizard?
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'My dear wizard.' Only said in passing, he's sure; he's well-acquainted with the way Astarion speaks, but it still stokes the embers of something within him, makes him feel seen.]
As with all things, I prefer to be most thorough.
[It's not the answer Astarion is looking for, he's sure, but what he has in mine can't be adequately articulated, only shown. He lifts his hand from Astarion's thigh to carefully catch the side of his face, thumb tracing downward along the sharp line of his jaw before he draws him in closer, tipping his own chin upwards to meet him with a kiss.
There is a barely-restrained hunger behind it, but it's neither greedy nor demanding— instead, it is slow and deliberate, the wizard's lips parting gently beneath Astarion's own in wordless invitation, the fingers curled into his shirt at his waist relaxing slightly. He cannot remember the last time he had done something so simple as kiss someone, especially here in the mortal realm; Astarion's lips are cool against his own, but that doesn't stop a sudden surge of heat from surging through his chest.]
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But it is slow and deliberate and Astarion is so very used to following the lead, no matter how much bravado he has in these scenarios. Because times like this have historically not been about his wants—they were about whatever would get his mark in his bed and, therefore, to his master.
So his response is almost automatic, parting his own lips and slipping his tongue out to meet Gale's. He cants his head to the side, sliding their mouths more fully against one another. The wizard is warm and not just because he's alive, but there's an inherent scent of magic about him that Astarion can't fully explain. His partners have had a variety of aptitudes for it, but none had been so powerful. It's almost electric, if such a thing could be subtle at the same time. Or maybe there's another reason the kiss makes him feel a little tingly...
Astarion doesn't waste a moment to pull himself closer, tightening the loop he has around Gale's neck, to run his hand down the other man's back. The old velvet of his top is soft and inviting in and of itself, something Astarion wouldn't mind feeling against his naked skin if that's what Gale prefers.
But his hand only hovers over that finely-woven belt before he starts to tug at it. ]
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The tugging at the belt over his tunic is to be expected, he supposes; what comes next has already been agreed upon, a forgone conclusion, but he lets go of Astarion's waist to lay his hand over the vampire's wrist, encouraging him to slow his progress. He breaks their kiss to speak without pulling back, the space between them near non-existent— something he finds he welcomes even more than he had expected, having gone so long without the press of another body against his own.]
Need we be in such a hurry?
[There's a teasing lilt at the end of that question, though he's gained a husky edge to his voice as Astarion's efforts have already coaxed his body into awakening. Those glasses of wine continue to make him brave; he eases his fingers out of Astarion's hair and lightly traces the curve of his neck, his touch carefully trailing downwards towards where his chest is exposed.]
If we're only going to do this once, we ought to take our time and enjoy it.
[Make certain it's worth whatever discomfort it may cause them in the coming days, for one. For another, Gale doesn't want his first time after more than a year of forced celibacy to be a frantic, chaotic tumble, something easily forgotten. They should ensure it's something worth remembering, for the both of them.]
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1/2 yeah we're two-parting it
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