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WELCOME TO THE SALTBURNT NETWORK
USERNAME
ASTARION
text 🩸 audio 🩸 video
WELCOME TO THE SALTBURNT NETWORK
USERNAME
ASTARION
text 🩸 audio 🩸 video
WELCOME TO THE SALTBURNT NETWORK
USERNAME
ASTARION
text 🩸 audio 🩸 video
WELCOME TO THE SALTBURNT NETWORK
USERNAME
ASTARION
text 🩸 audio 🩸 video
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[ his garbage blood is spoken for!!! ]
I suspect he thought me weak prey, in my present state. Never have I been so glad to disappoint.
1/2
I don't suppose you caught his name?
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[ because that's what he means by "in my present state," right ..... right ........... ]
1/???
Yes, well, I did mention Armand for reasons beyond the illustrative.
2/?
[ ideally to find Astarion and warm up in the shower, though he’ll easily prioritise the former if he’s gone elsewhere for the evening. ]
3/4
Needless to say, a spot of compulsion and a near drowning have reminded me of my more hubristic tendencies. I doubt I appeared very substantial, on dragging myself to the manor.
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1/2
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after typing and deleting several pathetic replies, ]
That’s awfully kind of you.
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A glance around confirms that Shadowheart (half-elf) isn’t around to witness this, at least. ]
Astarion? [ called out as he fishes the two eggs he retrieved before his swim from his other pocket, their sparkling prizes meant for Astarion. He cracks them open above his desk, accidentally splattering some of his notes, and sighs, as though that’s to be expected. ]
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The sound of his name breaks the increasingly downward spiral of his reverie, and he appears in the bathroom doorway in the next instant. ]
Oh—
[ The blood, the matting of his hair — Astarion can't help the exclamation, sincere concern clear upon his features as he crosses the room, his hands flying to Gale's face, his neck. He doesn't even notice the jewels glinting on Gale's desk, too distracted by the sheer state of him. ]
My darling. [ Then, his brow pinching, ] I ought to kill the both of them.
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Gale melts into his hands, an instinctive surrender — the cool grip he’d imagined when his head went below the waterline, the only teeth he wants in his neck. He bends just so to nose into the hollow of Astarion’s throat, arms slipping around his waist to pull him close. All shivery skin and shuddery breaths, far more rattled than he let on over text. ]
Sorry. [ about the wet and the cold, maybe even the worry. ] That might not be necessary.
[ which isn’t much of a protest, really. Has anyone ever fought for him like this? The sentiment touches him. He thinks of August swearing to end those who took Nick, of his own anger when Matt confessed to having accused Astarion, while he was alone. It’s an extension of the love they have for each other, so unlike the passive appreciation he’s known until now. ]
Perhaps it’s enough to be returned to you — with air in my lungs and blood in my veins. For the most part.
[ Pretty sure there’s still water in the former, and he’s lower on the latter than usual, but in principle. ]
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The sensation of Gale's fear, so clear in the unsteady pattern his breath takes against the curve of his neck, is enough to shock some clarity into him. He'd been disappointed, before, when Gale had returned from the woods with a stab wound in his gut, unable to believe that someone as clever wouldn't be able to keep himself from such trouble, but the cleverness isn't the point. It had been his instinct toward kindness, at least in the case of Armand, and as for Spike, well. That hadn't really had to do with Gale at all.
So, ] I'll be the judge of that, [ is all he mumbles, soft instead of fiery, into the crown of Gale's head, holding him tight a moment longer before loosening his grasp just so to nose against the other man's cheek. He's already sent a few scolding messages, after all, and he's hardly about to let what he's recognizing as not Gale's fault to go unpunished. ]
But it's more than enough, for now. [ And, with a prompting press of his hand, ] Come. You'll catch cold if you stay like this.
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That you will.
[ Ceding the anger that he struggles to stoke himself, relieved for another to hold onto it when he can’t any longer. His mouth quirks faintly, as Astarion nuzzles his cheek, catlike in his affection. ]
Ah — quite right.
[ Though it’s only reluctantly that he releases his sweetheart, chucking Astarion under the chin in final thanks for his attentions (knuckles lingering there, admiring his sharp jaw and the moue of his mouth). Unsure whether he deserves a kiss, after holding Armand in the water, but wanting one anyway.
For now, he follows Astarion to the bathroom, fumbling with the buttons of his shirt and the still-soaked roll of the sleeves at his elbows. The foggy warmth of the space takes the edge off immediately. And it’s a mercy that Gale can only see the blurred outline of his person in the mirror rather than the drowned reality. Standing alone, even though a shy glance over his shoulder reminds him Astarion is there, unseen in the glass (as if he could forget). He untucks his wet shirt with some effort and waits a heartbeat — for Astarion to stay or go — before raising it overhead. Rather than waste time folding it, he wrings it out above the sink. ]
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Were it a fantasy, he's not sure he'd feel his skin prickle as Gale pulls off his shirt, though he stays in the bathroom, turning off the taps after checking the water temperature, flicking a few warm droplets from his fingers. He can see the shape of Gale's shoulders in his peripheral vision, and for all that his gaze lingers — he's handsome even like this, Astarion's fancy prompting an assessment that borders on rugged — it strikes him very suddenly that Gale is hardly about to get into the bath with his trousers on.
It accounts for the moment he stands completely still, like he's lost his train of thought entirely, before actually turning to face Gale, keeping his gaze focused on his face, and just his face. Well, perhaps his chest, for a moment, though the tattoo on his skin helps jostle Astarion's attention back into place. ]
I could go.
[ The end of the thought ticks up, half question and half uncertainty, as much about whether he's wanted here in this immediate moment as it is a vocalization of his own surprise. It feels as though they've skipped around a little, falling into bed with each other before becoming intimate in that way, before seeing each other undressed. He's seen a naked body before, hardly anything to blush at, and yet— he does, anyway, the tips of his ears touched with pink as he hovers by the tub. ]
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He swallows, Adam’s apple bobbing, equally unprepared for the logical next steps of disrobing after he hangs his shirt on the door. Better to assess the situation. His attention flits over Astarion’s features, made elastic by surprise, then to the tips of his ears. Gale doubts the high colour has anything to do with the heat; no more than his own, a flush that follows the same path as the leylines of the orb. Climbing his chest, neck, cheeks. ]
You could.
[ Agreement, though it’s a touch strained (by the drowning, obviously). Merely acknowledging the escape route where he might have previously guided Astarion toward it, in the early stages of their courtship. His tongue runs along the back of his teeth, peaks out briefly, over his lip. ]
[ softer, ] Or you could stay.
[ Watch. Sit. Whatever it is he desires. His previous overture I only want it if you do of a piece with with Astarion’s I want you to want what you want — however haltingly, in whatever manner suits him, roundabout or circuitous or otherwise. Another pause, awaiting an indication of how to proceed until he realises that, unless Astarion floats away, it’s up to him.
Right. His pulse stutters and quickens, no longer sluggish from the cold. He ducks his head, relieved for how his hair falls in his face. Hands working the clasp of his trousers, trembling at the first attempt, and tugging them down on the second. It’s just — a body, isn’t it. His dreadfully human, imperfect person, not at all on par with Astarion’s eternal loveliness or Mystra’s otherworldly beauty. A sideways glance, to check whether Astarion looks any paler than usual (or disinterested or lost or —). His thumbs hook into his briefs, and he slips them off. A Rubicon, crossed, just like that. Like every touch, kiss and look that preceded it. ]
— hah! [ already halfway in the bath, arms braced on the rim. ] I should have known you liked it scorching.
[ A return to form, thinking of all the times he’s had to wipe the bathroom mirror clean to shave in the mornings. ]
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There's no point in pretending that he's not interested — or that he doesn't find Gale beautiful. (He has to remind himself of that, that he wants to look.) That's unusual in and of itself, though he doesn't currently have the wherewithal to notice it; he's shown himself to be a vain, preening creature, perfecting the coif of his hair and the set of his smile in order to seduce, but he's rarely thought about beauty the other way around — in no small part because it's not enough to really entice him, on its own. But he's already peeked into the contents of Gale's heart and found more treasure there than he's ever found in any deftly picked chest, which would be enough even if he didn't look like that.
(What he doesn't think about — or rather, what he suppresses — is the more intimate aspect of it, the vulnerability of nakedness and the typical overture toward sex that it serves. It's fine, it's just a step, and Gale's been so patient—)
He only looks away as Gale's briefs come down, busying himself with finding a little stool to bring to the tub's side. Granted, it's a gambit that only works so long, as he immediately glances over, half-crouched, at Gale's exclamation. I should have made it colder dies on his tongue, replaced by a laugh (pressed forward as he realizes that silence will be ice cold, here) as his hands, suddenly a little shaky, finish positioning the stool and he turns to take a seat upon it.
Is it want (the very real matter of how well-endowed his sweetheart is), or the natural flutter of a besotted heart? Are the two mutually exclusive? ]
You'll get used to it, [ he says, though he hardly sounds confident. Any bravery he feels is, arguably, redirected toward meeting Gale's gaze as his fingers wiggle in the direction of the tap. ]
Shall I—?
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—I’ll get used to it. [ Agreed hastily (hoping, perhaps, that the sentiment goes beyond the temperature and himself both). The stinging waterline at his chest only serves as a reminder of how bare he is. Though he doesn’t dare put his head under yet, instead carding a damp hand back through his hair. Cupping the water in his palms before splashing his face — easing the chill in his nose, his cheeks.
He looks up at Astarion through wet lashes. A new vantage point with which to admire the cut of his jaw, the dip above his clavicle. Light-headed fancies, a byproduct of the searing heat in his sodden bones. ]
Thank you. [ voice soft but intent, catching in his throat as the extent of Astarion’s efforts strike him. ] It was — awfully thoughtful of you, to do this.
[ To run the bath unasked, greet him with affection, stay with him now. He knows what Astarion has survived, even if they haven’t discussed what it means for their nascent relationship. Gale rests his arm on the lip of the tub and nestles his chin atop it. A familiar look worries his features, that of a man solving a particularly tricky equation.
His fingers curl and flex, working through the answer. ]
But I hope you know that I would be contented with you — with us — if things remained as they are. I was altogether pitiable when I said it last, [ unmoored, without his magic. ] and yet it was no exaggeration: You’re everything to me.
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[ And he understands that it isn't, not in the traditional sense of the phrase, but it's right to him. He'd do nothing less for Gale, wouldn't dream of allowing him to remain cold and miserable and alone. It's there in the affection in his gaze, the way the set of his brow smooths out, no longer so knowing and sly. He's shy, almost, hands gathering in his lap as he leans against the side of the tub.
You're everything to me. An impossibility, surely, if also one that warms him through and through — yet he knows Gale to be no liar. ]
That's why I—
[ He sucks a breath in through his teeth, head tilting to one side. ]
Why I want to. [ Deliberately left ambiguous, of seemingly infinite scope. ] And I— don't want to live only half of a life because of him.
[ His maker, ever a shadow over his play at freedom. Astarion's eyes fall to the twin pinpricks at Gale's neck, and his features fall only slightly, seized briefly by the knowledge that it all seems to come so much more easily to most of the people here — love, intimacy, honesty. He can't imagine that Armand, changed though he was, had hesitated at all in taking Gale into his embrace. ]
Gale.
[ His tongue flicks over his lips, suddenly dry. ]
I want you. [ He seems to collect himself, the light of his gaze shifting as his lashes lower. ] I want you. Don't doubt that.
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The thought passes, unable to find purchase in the flurry of sensations set off by Astarion’s repeated assurance, his smouldering gaze. Gale, lovelier in his mouth than anyone else’s. ]
Oh.
[ He lifts his head, not unlike a puppy called to eager attention. ]
I won’t.
[ Not now, with the aching timbre of that second I want you travelling down his spine. He could articulate escape routes for Astarion again, reminding him that he can change his mind or consider someone of his caliber instead, at any point. But every excuse runs counter to Astarion’s declaration, so absurd as to be disrespectful. ]
I want you, too, you know.
[ earnest, though there’s a thinness to it that belies his own desire. He’s thought about it, blush ripening in his cheeks. I want you very badly, promised to another version of his sweetheart, emboldened by ReSculpt. True now as it was then. Images of Astarion’s teeth in his neck, his lockpick’s hands on him, the question of whether the whole of him pinks like his pointed ears finally answered — ]
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Maybe it's just the steam rising from the bath that makes him feel so warm, but the moment stretches, easy and languid, the whole of him absorbed in the feeling of Gale's beard against his palm, the soft press of his lips. The only precipice he backs away from is the brief temptation to let his hand wander, to slide his fingers down to Gale's neck, his chest, below the surface of the water, but the twin trials he's just suffered — complete with physical marks of another's attempts on his life — turn the thought into so much smoke, dissipated as soon as Astarion once again opens his eyes, lashes heavy and cheeks flushed. ]
I know.
[ Conversational threads dangle, waiting for him to pick them up, but they're all old hat, disingenuous and meant for another life. Be good, and you'll see how much I want you — too controlling, for how they've both borne the weight of other masters. How could you not? — too flippant, meant for someone who'd still see him as only vain. The list goes on, no combination of words sufficient. ]
I could stand to see you like this more often, [ is what he manages, the words almost spoken in a hum. ] Though, I am quite fond of those jumpers you wear.
[ (One or two among them, now, repurposed for Astarion's wardrobe.) ]
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And Gale, whose mind is always working, comparing the present to the past, exploring potential problems and constructing their solutions — a man who could swiftly be called back to the drowning depths — doesn’t think of anything at all. Ever eager, but calmed, the languid press of his mouth easing into yawning drags. Contented to kiss and be kissed, lips parted on a sigh. Made whole again by Astarion’s perfect mouth. His hand covers Astarion’s at his cheek, to hold and keep him there. ]
Mm. [ Smile dimpling. Love-struck and kiss-stupid on the reverb on the action, unable to think of anything charming or sly to add. I know better than any other reply, for how secure it makes him feel. Chased by a request that warms him from the inside out. To be wanted like that — it’s different from the approving gaze of a goddess. Gale can’t stop himself from reaching out, releasing Astarion’s hand to gentle his cheek, thumb smoothing around the apple of it. Eyes blown wide, nothing short of adoring. ]
They do look fetching on you.
[ Because of course he noticed, mouth dry and cheeks pinked, attention caught on the slightly too wide neckline, the scent of lavender clinging to the fabric. Astarion, all wrapped up in him, even when stood apart.
His hand falls away, making ripples in the water, then carding back through his hair. ]
I’ll keep that in mind. [ Almost shy. He’s been — careful until now. ] Particularly once Shadowheart has a room of her own.
[ Some things are meant for their world of two. ]
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But he leans forward, regardless, chasing Gale for another peck before settling back onto his little stool.
He deserves someone to tell him how terribly handsome he is, not least because he suspects that Mystra hadn't been the sort to bestow what she'd likely consider to be idle compliments. But Gale is beautiful — the kind of man most would easily swoon over, easily transposed into the role of dashing prince or knight in shining armor. Clever and thoughtful, giving to a fault. ]
As glad as I am that she's here, I'll be happier when we're no longer sharing quarters, [ he hums, draping his arm over the side of the tub in a mirror of the pose Gale had held before. The opposite of how Astarion, in his darkest moments, perceives himself. ]
We could convert one of the rooms into a study for you. [ Then, hurriedly, ] Or keep them as they are.
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He folds an arm behind his head to better regard Astarion, unable to keep his pleasant surprise from sharpening the arch of his brows. Old insecurities resurface, at the thought of sharing permanently, what if you tire of me, what if I upset you, what if what if what if, all quelled by the thought of Astarion’s arm around his waist or his head atop Gale’s chest.
With his other hand, Gale traces patterns in the water, working through the possibilities. ]
A study for me — and a workshop for you?
[ A hopeful smile. For his perfumerie, his tailoring, all the talents Astarion has never had the time or space to indulge before coming here. ]
My room is already more library than bedroom.
[ He’d gladly give it up, for Astarion. He’d give up most everything, in fact, to keep him near. ]
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🎀