[ 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.]
[ Astarion is expecting some resistance in the form of a call to propriety, or maybe a sudden shyness overcoming the wizard. But Gale's words give him pause, despite Astarion's inclination to argue even when he has the other man right where he wants him.
His expression turns thoughtful for a moment. It is...a bit of instinct that drives him forward, isn't it? Or maybe less instinct and more practice. Repetition. Habit. The quicker he can bring them to his bed, the quicker they get undressed, typically the quicker the whole ordeal would be over and Astarion could then try to forget the whole thing in order to ready himself to do it all over again. He's had a revolving door of "lovers" and most he couldn't name.
But that isn't the point of this is it? He isn't that man anymore. He doesn't need to be.
This is for him, even if it's also for Gale. They aren't on his master's time. It's theirs.
Astarion moves away from his deeper thoughts to regain some of the mood, sliding easily into a confident smile as he moves his hand back up Gale's back instead. ]
I do enjoy unwrapping my gifts.
[ He huffs, deciding he rather likes the way the wizard's voice has taken on a darker, warmer tone. ]
But very well. I do know how to be patient...
[ That doesn't mean he plans on making it easy for Gale, though. Astarion leans back in, tilting is head to the side just a bit to expose more of his neck before taking Gale's lips slowly. He works them, little kiss by kiss, building the tension and intensity with each go. The arm around Gale's shoulder slips away so that he, too, can rub a thumb along the line of Gale's neck, to press down lightly and feel that tantalizing heartbeat.
He does still wonder what the wizard would taste like...
That same hand travels up along the other man's jawline, following the angles and stroking his beard inch by inch. ]
[The wizard lets out a chuckle that turns into a shuddering exhale against Astarion's lips between kisses, that thumb tracing the curve of his neck setting his nerves alight in its wake. He can already feel his blood beginning to run hot, chasing after Astarion's lips each time a kiss breaks, threading fingers through silken curls once more and lightly dragging his nails against his scalp as he cards through it. He smiles against the curve of Astarion's mouth, lightly toying with the edge of his ruffled collar.]
I'm certain it comes as no surprise to you, but you are very good at that.
[If Astarion wants flattery and praise, Gale is more than happy to give him some; he cups a hand against the side of the vampire's face, encouraging Astarion to delve deeper, the kiss itself languid and inviting. He lets his touch skim over the other man's exposed chest, moving lower to feel the deceptive heat of him beneath his shirt— he thinks that in this moment, if he hadn't already known Astarion's true nature, it would have been impossible to tell.
He can feel anticipation building already, the embers of arousal stoked quickly despite intoxication. It's almost enough to make him want to push further faster, but he can't help but be concerned about the practical drawbacks of having been without for so long. Better, then, to do what he does best in these situations.
He begins to ease back onto the pillows he'd been attempting to recline on earlier, drawing Astarion along with him. The vampire remaining in his lap is sure to make certain developments apparent at any given moment, but there's no room to be embarrassed about such things here. Gale hungrily licks into his mouth as he gently pulls Astarion flush against his chest, guiding him to rest his weight atop him as he reclines, shifting to raise a knee to press his leg against his partner's hip.
When they break for breath once more, Gale feels compelled to correct his earlier fumble, even as his breath comes shorter.]
You truly are beautiful, you know. It hardly seems a strong enough word. You put the very stars to shame.
[ He can take it slow. He hasn't had reason to take it slow, but he can. It's strange that he has to concentrate on it rather than fall into the flow he's so used to. How easy it is to feel the rhythm and start to fall into himself, into the corners of his mind he's carved out to escape a world where there are hands on him.
But no, not this time. This time...he wants to know.
Gods, there's a bit of nervousness in his veins that Astarion hadn't expected. This is what he wanted, isn't it? To have sex on his own terms with someone he's chosen, someone whose company he's come to enjoy outside of the bedroom. Gale is nothing to be afraid of other than the orb of immense power in his chest. But Gale's hands, Gale's lips...no, those are—
—...unknowns, but not threats. Not demanding or pulling. Not commanding. The way that Gale carts his fingers through his hair and doesn't take hold. Laughs against his lips.
Astarion doesn't realize he's closed is eyes until the other man speaks. He's glad, at least, that he can perform even when he's taking notice of things he hadn't considered before. Even small parts of him were already pulling back behind the veil, into that room where he can drown out sound and smell and touch.
Astarion swallows, masking it with an easy smile of his own. ]
I know, but it is nice to hear.
[ ...Isn't it?
Yes. He supposes people have told him something like that before. But it never really mattered because they never really mattered.
There's got to be a middle ground somewhere...to use his experience in giving pleasure in a way that suits them both and be present for it.
He's glad that Gale is taking some initiative in lounging back, if at least because it gives Astarion the moment to center himself that he didn't know he needed. He concentrates on the feel of Gale's lips, the light brush of facial hair against his own mouth and chin. How if he angles his head he can almost rub his nose in it if he wanted. A part of him does want to. ]
[ He'll keep kissing Gale like he means it, sucking on his tongue and rubbing his shoulder as their chests meet. Gale is warm beneath him, warm and alive. He concentrates on that, where each bit of their bodies connect and how that heat slowly transfer to himself. Astarion is generally the same temperature of his environment if he hasn't fed recently, but he absolutely adores being warm.
He pulls his hand away from Gale's hair to mirror the other as they run down his sides. It's slow and deliberate as he shifts his focus to that instead. To the fabric of his tunic, which way the grain goes, to the shape of the wizard underneath.
Astarion's eyes barely open when they part this time, long lashes almost tickling Gale's cheekbone. But then they snap open wider when Gale speaks. He's been called many things and "beautiful" is definitely one of them, but never like this. Never in comparison to something so...luminous. Never almost cherished.
He can feel the tips of his ears tingling. What is that?
Astarion almost scoffs at the audacity of it, but luckily comes out as a somewhat choked laugh. He pulls back a little, scanning Gale's face as if waiting to see the man drop a punch line. ]
Well now you're making fun of me. Rather rude and dangerous, considering how close I am to rather precarious parts of your anatomy.
[Gale has come so close to losing himself in the slow, steady rhythm of learning one another that there's a brief but very real mental delay as the kissing abruptly comes to a stop; his lips feel momentarily cheated as Astarion's absence is felt, and the wizard looks up at him with a furrowed brow, his hand having come to rest against the small of the rogue's back after tracing its way down the length of his spine.]
What?
[He's so startled by the accusation that he blurts out the first thing that comes to mind, only to correct himself a moment later as he gathers his wits, letting out a warm chuckle. They're still close enough that Astarion is sure to feel the heat of his breath, and he gives a gentle shake of his head.]
I may be rather reckless at times, but I'm not that foolhardy. Have you known me to say things I don't mean?
[Admittedly, there had been occasions where Gale may have omitted information, especially in the early days of their acquaintance, but that was something they had in common. Generally, the wizard said precisely what he meant, even if he often used far too many words to do so.]
[ An unnecessary correction, but a bit of banter does ground Astarion in ways he doesn't realize he so badly needs. It was how they began, after all, tossing quips and sarcastic backhands while on the road, although Gale chose not to rise to the occasion much at the start. How far they've come from that to the hours spent, instead, in companionable silence when they decide to read books a few feet away from one another while the rest of the camp mills about.
To where they are now. Where Gale is now, staring at him incredulously. His hand his still against Astarion's back, his lips still just a breath away if Astarion wanted them. And he does, he knows that. They're nice to kiss and Gale tastes...gods, he would hate to describe it as cozy, but there is something strangely warm and calming to his mouth, even with the hints of wine.
But Gale isn't so drunk that he can fool Astarion. It just seems like elf needs to point out his play. ]
My name?
[ He wouldn't put it past the man to have looked up bits of elvish just to one-up his companions. ]
[Gale huffs softly in response, a reflex when it comes to the banter they've cultivated during their travels. Early on, he hadn't known what to make of Astarion's barbs and often refused to rise to take the bait, but the more they got to know one another, the easier it was for the vampire to get under his skin, if the wizard let him— better, he had decided, to play the game himself.
Trading verbal blows had become playful over time, a language all its own, and it was hardly an accident that they had chosen to pitch their tents at the same corner of the camp. They understood one another; Gale enjoyed speaking with each and every one of their companions when he had the opportunity, but Astarion was the one he felt he could match wits with, sharp enough to keep him on his toes. As such, the rebuke glances off of him, though he does frown, bafflement haven given way to genuine worry, now.]
Have I said something wrong?
[He certainly hadn't thought there was any way his compliment could be taken poorly, but he studies Astarion's face for a moment. Did he really think—?
Gale exhales steadily, taking Astarion's chin in hand so that he can guide him into another kiss, this one no less heated than those that had preceded it, but it lacks the demand and insistence that Astarion was sure to have found in past lovers. It breaks, and the wizard meets his gaze, his own somber even as it has become heavy with lust.]
I am many things, I will concede, but inclined towards insincerity is not one of them. I hadn't meant to tease you— I hadn't even given the 'star' of your name much thought, I confess. More the fool I, perhaps.
[ It doesn't take long for the accusation to start to feel silly. Gale is a painfully sincere person, even when it's at his own detriment—often when it is, actually. What is the real likelihood that he would tease Astarion about something genuinely person? Astraion may go through the throat, but Gale has always skirted the line no matter how harsh Astarion deigns to be.
If anything, it makes more sense for Gale to have some some well-intended research on High-Elven naming conventions.
But the thought of Gale being sincere in flattery that feels so...flowery? So unsuited for a man whose known beauty is irrevocably tied with used only for a moment's pleasure? It doesn't make sense. And Astarion starts to realize that his reaction was so tied in that idea of himself. That he's something pretty, but dirty. So very different than the stars in the sky.
Astarion's lips hang open for a moment after the kiss. The gentle kiss.
Gods, he didn't think this through at all. And here he thought Gale would be the one who wasn't ready...
He swallows and tries to mask it all with a huff of a laugh. He shakes his head, letting his natural curls bob with the motion and gives Gale's hip a squeeze, trying to redirect his attention elsewhere. ]
The one time I almost give you credit for being too clever and you didn't even deserve it?
[ He clicks his tongue. This can all be a joke, right? ]
As a fervent collector of knowledge, I assumed you already knew what it meant.
[ Lies. He did not. Does not. But he can shift this to get the mood back. The fact that Gale seems genuinely concerned he upset Astarion is...another thing to unpack.
[Gale snorts at that response in amusement; for as disruptive as this interlude has had the potential to be, at least, he doesn't feel the mood is entirely lost. As long as they can still tease one another, he thinks they're in reasonably good shape, or so his three glasses of wine assure him.]
You owe me a great many back payments on that credit; I may claim this one, anyway.
[He's more than earned it, even if not tonight!
He continues to watch Astarion's face with interest, close as they are, and his smile pulls to one side, indulgent. There's something about Astarion's response that rings just a bit hollow to him; it's difficult to tell, at times, but Gale has begun to think there is a different sound to his voice when he's being honest, much like he's sure he sounds quite different when he's all bluster.]
I regret to inform you that my knowledge of elven is rather particular to certain topics. [The squeeze of his hip encourages him to smooth his hand down the length of Astarion's back, sliding over the curve of his rear. Even fully clothed, he finds that he just wants to keep touching him.] Care to educate me, then? I am always eager to learn something new, as you well know.
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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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His expression turns thoughtful for a moment. It is...a bit of instinct that drives him forward, isn't it? Or maybe less instinct and more practice. Repetition. Habit. The quicker he can bring them to his bed, the quicker they get undressed, typically the quicker the whole ordeal would be over and Astarion could then try to forget the whole thing in order to ready himself to do it all over again. He's had a revolving door of "lovers" and most he couldn't name.
But that isn't the point of this is it? He isn't that man anymore. He doesn't need to be.
This is for him, even if it's also for Gale. They aren't on his master's time. It's theirs.
Astarion moves away from his deeper thoughts to regain some of the mood, sliding easily into a confident smile as he moves his hand back up Gale's back instead. ]
I do enjoy unwrapping my gifts.
[ He huffs, deciding he rather likes the way the wizard's voice has taken on a darker, warmer tone. ]
But very well. I do know how to be patient...
[ That doesn't mean he plans on making it easy for Gale, though. Astarion leans back in, tilting is head to the side just a bit to expose more of his neck before taking Gale's lips slowly. He works them, little kiss by kiss, building the tension and intensity with each go. The arm around Gale's shoulder slips away so that he, too, can rub a thumb along the line of Gale's neck, to press down lightly and feel that tantalizing heartbeat.
He does still wonder what the wizard would taste like...
That same hand travels up along the other man's jawline, following the angles and stroking his beard inch by inch. ]
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I'm certain it comes as no surprise to you, but you are very good at that.
[If Astarion wants flattery and praise, Gale is more than happy to give him some; he cups a hand against the side of the vampire's face, encouraging Astarion to delve deeper, the kiss itself languid and inviting. He lets his touch skim over the other man's exposed chest, moving lower to feel the deceptive heat of him beneath his shirt— he thinks that in this moment, if he hadn't already known Astarion's true nature, it would have been impossible to tell.
He can feel anticipation building already, the embers of arousal stoked quickly despite intoxication. It's almost enough to make him want to push further faster, but he can't help but be concerned about the practical drawbacks of having been without for so long. Better, then, to do what he does best in these situations.
He begins to ease back onto the pillows he'd been attempting to recline on earlier, drawing Astarion along with him. The vampire remaining in his lap is sure to make certain developments apparent at any given moment, but there's no room to be embarrassed about such things here. Gale hungrily licks into his mouth as he gently pulls Astarion flush against his chest, guiding him to rest his weight atop him as he reclines, shifting to raise a knee to press his leg against his partner's hip.
When they break for breath once more, Gale feels compelled to correct his earlier fumble, even as his breath comes shorter.]
You truly are beautiful, you know. It hardly seems a strong enough word. You put the very stars to shame.
1/2 yeah we're two-parting it
But no, not this time. This time...he wants to know.
Gods, there's a bit of nervousness in his veins that Astarion hadn't expected. This is what he wanted, isn't it? To have sex on his own terms with someone he's chosen, someone whose company he's come to enjoy outside of the bedroom. Gale is nothing to be afraid of other than the orb of immense power in his chest. But Gale's hands, Gale's lips...no, those are—
—...unknowns, but not threats. Not demanding or pulling. Not commanding. The way that Gale carts his fingers through his hair and doesn't take hold. Laughs against his lips.
Astarion doesn't realize he's closed is eyes until the other man speaks. He's glad, at least, that he can perform even when he's taking notice of things he hadn't considered before. Even small parts of him were already pulling back behind the veil, into that room where he can drown out sound and smell and touch.
Astarion swallows, masking it with an easy smile of his own. ]
I know, but it is nice to hear.
[ ...Isn't it?
Yes. He supposes people have told him something like that before. But it never really mattered because they never really mattered.
There's got to be a middle ground somewhere...to use his experience in giving pleasure in a way that suits them both and be present for it.
He's glad that Gale is taking some initiative in lounging back, if at least because it gives Astarion the moment to center himself that he didn't know he needed. He concentrates on the feel of Gale's lips, the light brush of facial hair against his own mouth and chin. How if he angles his head he can almost rub his nose in it if he wanted. A part of him does want to. ]
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He pulls his hand away from Gale's hair to mirror the other as they run down his sides. It's slow and deliberate as he shifts his focus to that instead. To the fabric of his tunic, which way the grain goes, to the shape of the wizard underneath.
Astarion's eyes barely open when they part this time, long lashes almost tickling Gale's cheekbone. But then they snap open wider when Gale speaks. He's been called many things and "beautiful" is definitely one of them, but never like this. Never in comparison to something so...luminous. Never almost cherished.
He can feel the tips of his ears tingling. What is that?
Astarion almost scoffs at the audacity of it, but luckily comes out as a somewhat choked laugh. He pulls back a little, scanning Gale's face as if waiting to see the man drop a punch line. ]
Well now you're making fun of me. Rather rude and dangerous, considering how close I am to rather precarious parts of your anatomy.
[ It's—it's just a play on his name, isn't it? ]
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What?
[He's so startled by the accusation that he blurts out the first thing that comes to mind, only to correct himself a moment later as he gathers his wits, letting out a warm chuckle. They're still close enough that Astarion is sure to feel the heat of his breath, and he gives a gentle shake of his head.]
I may be rather reckless at times, but I'm not that foolhardy. Have you known me to say things I don't mean?
[Admittedly, there had been occasions where Gale may have omitted information, especially in the early days of their acquaintance, but that was something they had in common. Generally, the wizard said precisely what he meant, even if he often used far too many words to do so.]
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[ An unnecessary correction, but a bit of banter does ground Astarion in ways he doesn't realize he so badly needs. It was how they began, after all, tossing quips and sarcastic backhands while on the road, although Gale chose not to rise to the occasion much at the start. How far they've come from that to the hours spent, instead, in companionable silence when they decide to read books a few feet away from one another while the rest of the camp mills about.
To where they are now. Where Gale is now, staring at him incredulously. His hand his still against Astarion's back, his lips still just a breath away if Astarion wanted them. And he does, he knows that. They're nice to kiss and Gale tastes...gods, he would hate to describe it as cozy, but there is something strangely warm and calming to his mouth, even with the hints of wine.
But Gale isn't so drunk that he can fool Astarion. It just seems like elf needs to point out his play. ]
My name?
[ He wouldn't put it past the man to have looked up bits of elvish just to one-up his companions. ]
That's what you're doing, isn't it?
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Trading verbal blows had become playful over time, a language all its own, and it was hardly an accident that they had chosen to pitch their tents at the same corner of the camp. They understood one another; Gale enjoyed speaking with each and every one of their companions when he had the opportunity, but Astarion was the one he felt he could match wits with, sharp enough to keep him on his toes. As such, the rebuke glances off of him, though he does frown, bafflement haven given way to genuine worry, now.]
Have I said something wrong?
[He certainly hadn't thought there was any way his compliment could be taken poorly, but he studies Astarion's face for a moment. Did he really think—?
Gale exhales steadily, taking Astarion's chin in hand so that he can guide him into another kiss, this one no less heated than those that had preceded it, but it lacks the demand and insistence that Astarion was sure to have found in past lovers. It breaks, and the wizard meets his gaze, his own somber even as it has become heavy with lust.]
I am many things, I will concede, but inclined towards insincerity is not one of them. I hadn't meant to tease you— I hadn't even given the 'star' of your name much thought, I confess. More the fool I, perhaps.
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If anything, it makes more sense for Gale to have some some well-intended research on High-Elven naming conventions.
But the thought of Gale being sincere in flattery that feels so...flowery? So unsuited for a man whose known beauty is irrevocably tied with used only for a moment's pleasure? It doesn't make sense. And Astarion starts to realize that his reaction was so tied in that idea of himself. That he's something pretty, but dirty. So very different than the stars in the sky.
Astarion's lips hang open for a moment after the kiss. The gentle kiss.
Gods, he didn't think this through at all. And here he thought Gale would be the one who wasn't ready...
He swallows and tries to mask it all with a huff of a laugh. He shakes his head, letting his natural curls bob with the motion and gives Gale's hip a squeeze, trying to redirect his attention elsewhere. ]
The one time I almost give you credit for being too clever and you didn't even deserve it?
[ He clicks his tongue. This can all be a joke, right? ]
As a fervent collector of knowledge, I assumed you already knew what it meant.
[ Lies. He did not. Does not. But he can shift this to get the mood back. The fact that Gale seems genuinely concerned he upset Astarion is...another thing to unpack.
Just get the mood back. Be in the moment.
This shouldn't be that complicated, he thinks. ]
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You owe me a great many back payments on that credit; I may claim this one, anyway.
[He's more than earned it, even if not tonight!
He continues to watch Astarion's face with interest, close as they are, and his smile pulls to one side, indulgent. There's something about Astarion's response that rings just a bit hollow to him; it's difficult to tell, at times, but Gale has begun to think there is a different sound to his voice when he's being honest, much like he's sure he sounds quite different when he's all bluster.]
I regret to inform you that my knowledge of elven is rather particular to certain topics. [The squeeze of his hip encourages him to smooth his hand down the length of Astarion's back, sliding over the curve of his rear. Even fully clothed, he finds that he just wants to keep touching him.] Care to educate me, then? I am always eager to learn something new, as you well know.
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