#v. priv. vampire for hire.

[anquenin]

he cups his face gently, rough bandaged hands against pale skin. oh, he's still shaking, oh, there's still that tremor running through his whole body. fear flickering behind brown eyes that he cannot quite hide. ( there's blood on the edge of his lip, his chin, such violence in the name of him, in his protection. gale hates how much it excites him. ) "may i kiss you?" soft, wrecked as it is, this shaky breath as he pulls astarion closer closer, so that gale is pressed between him and the wall. ( safer, because astarion will protect him and the closer astarion is then the safer he is. he feels raw, exposed, here, now. even in the cover of the alleyway and the night. ) it is hardly proper, this. them. maybe it's the still adrenaline in his veins from the sudden attack, or the ragged heat of the vampire's breath against his skin. "please, may i..." it dies off, desperate, whimpering. he doesn't know how else to express his gratitude.

astarion’s instincts kicked in, the moment flashed and passed and before he knew it there’s a body, carnage, blood dripping, staining his finger tips, breath jagged slightly. an undead heart beating, there’s this lingering feeling of pride with it all. gale was safe, gale was alive. how quaint how funny this job had stopped feeling like a job so long ago. it felt like it was his own life, everything on the line. red eyes busy, looking over his shoulder scanning for anything else…he feels him shake a hand cupping his face and it brings him back, and he hears him. may I kiss you? he asks, and game sounds so bare so genuine, scared but not of astarion. and he lets himself be pulled. who is he to deny him? and astarion folds. leans in closer, he’s never been the one to fantasize about someone. he doesn’t think he deserves something like this, in fact what they are doing may be considered beyond dangerous, but he isn’t above a reward. a creature made to kill, to maim, and all he wants in this moment is to comfort gale. he’s safe, he’s made sure of it. as long as it's possible to do so. he'll make sure of it. "of course, my lord..." it's teasing, playful. perhaps with the intent to make him settle. to tell him that it's fine, that he's alright now.

his hand moves, holds gale's face gently. (stains his face, perhaps he’s staining something else. this isn’t his place. this isn’t what he’s meant to be doing and astarion does not care.) he smirks, knowing. with a hand on the wall to hold onto he kisses him. slow, not careful of his fangs. the taste of blood spilled, and the taste of gale. astarion isn't soft, so his kisses aren't either. but he can be sweet, and at least to start and to savour he moment. he is going to be sweet. hand delicate and precise when it shifts to hold and angle up gale's head slightly, to deepen the kiss. which isn't selfless at all, astarion is greedy and he wants what he cannot possibly have. covers him, from spying eyes, from the night.

@netherill

[anquenin]

"I'm touched by your concern, but I think maybe you forget who you're dealing with."

oh, astarion itches, this need to simply silence the man who astarion has been tasked with his safekeeping. the world is cruel, and it has such a funny way of showing it. much to astarion's absolute misery. anything is better than enduring the constant torment of cazador. certainly. but what gale of waterdeep had was the specific talent to be...grating. annoying. all these things kept neatly behind his face which went from annoyed to a slight smile. "forget who i am dealing with it? impossible, my lord, you never let me forget. not even for a second." the my lord leaves astarion's lips not as a formality but rather a jab. "-it's almost as if..." astarion acts confused, gloved finger tapping his chin, like he's searching for the answer. mannerisms and voice drenched in sarcasm. before he claps slightly. "...oh that's right, it's my job. to be concerned. how terribly cruel would it be if your lordship would not allow me to do my job." it's true, that not many would be up for the task, under the circumstances. that maybe gale was not the most thrill at the prospect of having to involve himself with the likes of astarion. and yet. he had to. and that was not astarion's fault.

@netherill

[anquenin]

it's a strange thing, this sort of pull and push between them. astarion indulges, of course, after so long with so little it's safe to say that he likes to dig in and not let go. he pushes and pushes just to see what he can get away with (what gale decides to give him. feels lucky then that gale decided to give all of this.) astarion hates it when he rambles, perhaps hate in the way that he would just stay there and listen, hate in the way that the other man is so captivating. remembers all those times where he picked a fight just to see him go at it, at least at first. back then. now he just finds any excuse to kiss and touch, that he can get away with. he wonders for a moment whatever that goes inside of his head. it's terrible, the entire list of things that had to have happened to find themselves here. and he would fall into a hole, thinking about it all...if he did not find gale completely capturing his attention.

being recently and constantly came with it's perks, the aura of happiness that is exponentially higher with the fact that gale wants him (at least here, at least for now.) it also meant he was a little stronger, vampiric abilities could be such a curse at times, but when gale hooks a leg and astarion goes along with it...he's strong enough to make ideas into reality. it's the little things in the end, the way he feels the air against his lips, the groans and sounds gale makes. it's a different sort of feeling all together, so unlike past experiences, nothing like them. there's no end goal, just his own wants and desires.

and gale. gale pulls him down closer and astarion goes with a quiet moan, it's only a moment then that astarion seizes the opportunity and his hands slide down gale's side. gently, hands protected by fingers gloves so he still gets to feel gale, soft expensive fabrics as he picks him up (easier now, that he's riled up and fed) hands steady still pressing him lightly against the wall, bodies finding . only stops kissing him to readjust his head to the new angle, licks the very few remenants of blood that rubbed off on him from their earlier kiss. he would spend eternity here, if he could. he feels something, some sort of attachment that he does not dare linger on. putting words to things, to feelings to them. it's scary, astarion lives in the here, let's gale give him whatever he wants to give him. heart beating while undead, what a funny little thing.

gale is well attributed to electricity. he's intimately familiar with it, but something about this still manages to take his breath away. something about this is as unfamiliar as it is familiar. it's not electricity, no, but the feeling is an echo of it. how his skin tingles, his body sings with astarion's touch. it's addictive, in ways that he doesn't and can't fully put to words. ( he wants astarion to never stop touching him, to always have a hand on him. surely, surely, they can work out some excuse? )

"oh, i am certainly not, however given that my blood is contaminated, i should hardly think i am as sweet as that man outside." he rattles, and this is... hardly the most alluring conversation. gale clicks his teeth together to stop from further rambling, blinking up at astarion. ah, he's forgotten how to breathe, helpful to pause in his rambling. it's tricky for him, all of this. gale knows rather well his track record for relationships is zero to one. he knows he should inspire communication, that perhaps they should talk about it, about this, about them. he can't work up the courage, though. especially not when astarion looks at him like that.

gale inhales against astarion's mouth, as if still taken by surprise. it's something he hopes he'll never get used to, the way astarion kisses him like he's drowning and gale is air. the desperation, the desire that pools in his chest. he goes so willingly, following astarion's guiding hands until his back is against the wall. he groans into the kiss, hooking a leg around astarion's to press it between his. his hands come up, cupping the back of the vampire's head, pulling him down close. it's dizzying, it's intoxicating.

[anquenin]

the idea of feeding from gale does not necesarily rest on the potential of his blood being good or filling, but rather to dig in his fangs, in his neck. flesh pierced. he'll saved the thought for later. hears the way gale speaks about such a thing. there's an allure to astarion's condition, he's aware, a vampire biting someone in the dead of the night. it's a type of thrill that astarion understands, it's a matter of figuring out whether gale would like it. it's well between the dangers that seem to kick up his heartbeat. astarion can hear it sometimes. "don't discredit yourself so quickly, gale."

is he so transparent for this? gale enters his space like he knew he would. and he talks, like astarion knew he would. and gale just says it, what it was doing to him, he leans down, slowly, teasing, somewhat of a different pace. invigorating. his cocked eyebrow makes astarion break into a knowing smirk, the type reserved for just gal. it's a silly game where they both know how to get to each other.e. and it is here with door locked, away from preying eyes that astarion gets to properly indulge, day and night. he dare not forget his place, his duty, what he has to do for survival. he cannot afford a misstep there. but here, where it's relatively safe. just the two of them, then astarion can begin to accept that this might be something different. not entirely just physical, but something else. (he dares not think about it)

"oh that's right." he starts, hand on gale's waist. their bodies already close but astarion pulls him closer. "-well, let's not keep you waiting any longer then." (as if gale is the only one anticipating this) blood still on gale, astarion looking at him like he is going to eat him alive. his free hand lifts gale's head just that extra bit so that astarion can kiss gale, with no need to hold back. they barely made in and once gale was close enough, once gale took the bait, then it was easy for astarion. astarion kisses gale like he feeds, with desperation, like there's a great chance that this might be the last. let's himself get lost within it. they're home, they're safe, they're hidden and astarion can hardly pretend here that he wants anything more than this. he moves them both easily, slowly, in rhythm with the kiss. it's easy to find a wall, they're in the hall after all. he's always careful when it comes to gale, it does not mean that he does not pin him once they find surface. the taste of blood, iron, fades slowly, replaced with the taste of gale and gale had it right there, it's intoxicating.

he can't quite feel astarion's gaze on him as they walk, but gale knows it lingers, know the other well enough to know he's doing his job. certainly better than gale would be doing, in this moment. ( better than he is doing, actually, hells it's consuming, remembering that raw desire in his eyes. that hunger. gale pushes it away for the time being, soon, soon. )

he follows astarion in a moment later, letting the door swing shut behind him with not but a creak. gale pauses to twist the key in the lock, slipping out of his overcoat and hanging it loosely on the rack beside the door. "mhm?" he hums, briefly distracted, looking up at astarion. "ah, afraid so, i would offer myself up, but i hardly think you would wish to dine on something so unpleasant." it's spoken with genuine regret, something heavy laced on his tongue. he can feel his pulse in his fingertips, just at the thought of astarion's teeth in his neck.

his eyes meet astarion's, then, heavy lidded and heated. hells, astarion knows exactly what he's doing, and gale will fall hook line and sinker for. with no desire to delay this, to drag this out, he strides forward, encroaching within the vampire's space.

"we were discussing the things you would do to me, here, away from the public eye, i believe." he murmurs, voice low and heavy. his eyes drag along astarion's body, this hunger set deep in brown eyes. "if i recall you had me against a wall, yes, very invigorating, that was. entirely up to you if you wish to continue that here or move somewhere a touch more comfortable. i find the idea of you starting here quite intoxicating, if i do say so myself." another step, just enough for their chests to brush.

gale waits, holding astarion's gaze with a simple cocked eyebrow.

[anquenin]

in astarion's mind the image of gale's skin flushing stays, lingers even when they start moving. a promise then. the sound of his ragged breaths, astarion wants more of it. (he wants all of gale, and isn't that heavy for him to even think about?) the way gale has to look away, it pleases him. and he wants more. and more. and more of it. it's a little funny how a flustered gale a happy astarion makes. he cannot possibly wipe the smirk of his face, ears twitching slightly. he follows gale, almost like a shadow. it's hard to try and actually his job at first. a slight rosy tint to his cheeks, the blood that stains them both the only evidence of what had ocurred, the mildly satiated feeling the second reminder. astarion peers around, silently hoping no one where to try anything similar, as close as they are to the tower.

he does his job as normal, astarion isn’t the most patient person. being just fed there’s a slight flair to his step, maybe a result of kissing gale, or it’s perhaps from feeding. (he'd rather think it's the blood.) he scans their path, ears perked up slightly. it's routine now, and he thinks given by how gale is alive and well he's done more than fine. trails behind gale, catches a glimpse of him every now and then. astarion feels he has a good poker face, but he can rarely lie to himself. if it was up to him he would whine about how long they're taking but he knows his place. (this time around). astarion chuckles lightly at gale's words. (he still does what is asked of him, whatever gale wants.)

astarion walks in, it takes some effort for red eyes to leave gale's face. his smile the way they go with warm brown eyes. he thinks he's funny. charming. would die before admitting it out loud. night vision makes it so he can see rather clearly, even the obscured parts of the bottom part of the tower are visible to him. and there is nothing of note. he turns to look at gale. "i suppose that man in the alley was the only food i get for the night." he starts, "-and obviously, you do not get to see me get stabbed, it's all terribly squeaky clean in here." smirks fangs framing it nicely. he waits for gale to walk in, walk closer. it's almost like it's bait, like the moment he gets close enough he'll devour him. (it's also the fact that astarion wants and he wants gale. too much, in a way that makes him stupid. dumber than usual. he does not know if he wants gale to know that. he might know already.) his expression changes, pretends to be thinking, arm folded and elbow resting on it, tapping his chin with his hip to a side. "now what was it we were talking about out there..." he points at him. it's meant to be playful. flirty even. eyes on gale, filled with desire. astarion's drowning in it. "...be a dear and just refresh my memory?"

it's not quite something gale would ever outright admit, not in many words at least. not here in public, oh certainly not. he doesn't think astarion needs him to say it, now the way he reacts is enough spoken without words. he knows astarion can read him far better than gale ever can. the vampire retreats and gale almost follows him, gale almost stumbles forward to keep that close contact, a sound swallowed in disappointment as he suddenly feels a chill in the vacated spot. "i keep my promises." he sounds breathless to his own ears, panting and ragged. "worry not."

he has to look away at that, a flush against his cheeks as he doesn't deny it. how could he? it's clear on his face. still, gale tries to mask it, to hide it, clearing his throat. "quite so, shall we?" he says, halting when astarion's fingers smooth against his collar. hells, that's almost enough to push him against the wall. gale clears his throat again, drawing in a breath afterwards to steady himself. he doesn't know what to say, and merely nods, moving to step from the alley and turning towards the tower.

it's not a long walk, hardly so, another five or so minutes, but it feels like longer to gale. it feels like ages, and the conscious effort to not fall back next to astarion so their hands brush is astronomical. still, he opens the door to his tower with a key, and holds the door open for astarion to enter first.

"after you, best you get knifed than should someone have snuck in?" teasing, slightly, mouth curled into a smile.

[anquenin]

astarion is not a people person, as charming as he can appear, as much as he can end up using everyone around him. there are no true connections, no one who understands. just him and job to fullfill. he is not suited for this line of work, no one else would take it. it was this or...something worse. and astarion finds himself thinking that he would choose this, again if offered the choice. gale has this thing, this ability, to switch on and off and to piss astarion off in ways he understands. it's not hard to get on astarion's bad side. it's hard to do a job right when he doesn't want to. and yet, he worries, he cares, not out of the goodness of his undead heart. he has to care. it feels like life or death.

something is terribly wrong with gale. and he does not need specifics, he just needs to know enough to handle it. and gale finally relents, gives him just enough to know where he is coming from. astarion isn't particularly empathetic, but he knows bad days, and most importantly he knows that help is not something easy to come around. ( gale having help, astarion in this case, as unequipped as he is, is better than nothing. so ) astarion can sense the reproach in gale's eyes. the pause, he feels it more than he hears it. astarion is quiet, simply taking the time and knowing all too well how pain looks on someone, how it looks on gale. he can't let gale simply go anywhere alone, there isn't a choice. but he appreciates the invitation. he seizes him up, looks at him top to bottom. and nods, curtly. "-fine." he starts, short. before he lightens the sensation of stress on himself. he would not wish, whatever gale is going through, to anyone. that much he knows. "-i can be great company." astarion adds, a slight flare to it, pout and anger leftover on his face. seemingly calmed down from his burst. "-many have said so, lead the way." and that one, a lie...gale can decide whether to believe it or not. it's meant to be lighthearted, bring up the mood (astarion's mood, to be specific).

he hates it as much as astarion. truly, viscerally, to be so high and mighty and had it snatched away. that power that was once at his fingertips, the breathtaking wonder of everyone around him as he commanded the weave with such care. there was warmth, once, and now it's replaced with such a chill, ice cold, numbing. it sinks deeply into his chest, hungry and consuming. he can't get warm enough, now, not since his fall.

gale hates it, the fact that the only thing he can cling too now his lordship. ( barely so, by the skin of his teeth, by the utterance of his name. dauntrael, hells he dreads any family reunions that might happen. if he lives long enough to see them. ) he hates that he can no longer command the weave, no longer an archmage. the title is only there for appearances, to hide his shame, to hide his folly.

it is not astarion's fault, and he is merely here to help. as much as gale hates it, he has to be thankful for it. he's driven a wedge between everyone else, it would be foolish to drive such a thing between him and his protector. "i apologize, truly. i... have not been myself lately." he starts, eyes closing as a spasm runs up his arms, cramps in his gut. it takes effort to not double over. to not kneel over and rech what little he has eaten out of his stomach. "as you know i have taken ill, it is... unknown to what degree..." little bits, enough to hopefully smooth over astarion's curiosity. "unfortunately there is not much to be done, today is simply a bad day for it."

he pauses, then, eyes astarion with reproach, hand over his stomach and tilting to one side out of pain. it's awkward, it's uncomfortable, but right now his whole body is uncomfortable regardless. "i think fresh air will do me some good, should you wish to join me." an offer, hesitant as it is. "the company would be appreciated."

[anquenin]

it's the thrill, the heightened senses after a kill, for him. for gale. and he knows by now, just how fun unraveling gale could be. and astarion is great at picking the thread and just pulling. it's easy then to forget himself with the way gale moans, twitches. and it's this feeling, this need to devour. it's only because of gale's next words that astarion finds some sort of restrain, rare, only present because of the temptation of more. (and astarion is greedy, selfish even. he wants to feel more of gale, hear more of him. for his ears only. for his touch only.) and he was right, he begs too pretty. he leans back, meets gale's eyes and astarion finds himself breathless. hands on his shoulders and it grounds him slightly. (he'd give anything, to be able to do this song and dance forever. to see gale like this because of him. to keep him safe forever. for him.) "promises, promises."

he smirks at gale. "-it's hardly proper, but i think you rather like that." astarion talks to avoid falling back into another kiss, he simply can't have enough. and after all it was gale's idea in the first place, astarion just followed along. astarion has gotten used to be told what to do, and he does not particularly like it. yet, gale wants to go home and astarion does not seem to want anything else at the moment. (perhaps it is because he just fed) he shifts, standing taller, no longer invading gale's space (even though he still smells his blood, he still hears his heart beat, how different he is breathing. the rose color on his cheeks.)...then takes the moment to fix up his robe, around the collar area where it seemed to look messy. his movements are careful, gale's weight seemed to have rest on him for a bit there, and he gives him time to adjust, before he stands up proper. "-whenever you are ready, lord." they were already making their way back home, before all of this happened. it shouldn't take too long. he hopes, selfishly.

perhaps the danger that is astarion excites him the most. the feeling like an animal, like prey caught between sharp teeth. all of that, all of it. how every single inch of his skin ignites around the vampire, how the slight dig of his fangs and prickle of the hairs on the back of his neck have him aching for more instantly. for his head down between his thighs, for those fangs slipping into the soft flesh of his neck. gale never thought the mortality of sex would excite him as much as the metaphysical, but this, this.

the only thing keeping him upright is the wall and astarion, his entire body shutters. he moans as astarion licks into his mouth, debauched and unable to swallow it as he would like in such a public spot. ( there's no one around, but hells forbid someone walk back — the thought makes his body twitch, hips spasming in a movement against astarion's. ) "take me home, astarion, and you can have whatever you want from me." he rasps, begs, breath against the vampire's cheek. his brown eyes are heavy, cheeks flushed, he means it, he means it. his hands leave the vampire's hair, shaking with tremors of effort to drape over his shoulders.

"we could be caught here, and it's hardly proper."

[anquenin]

it's intoxicating, really. having someone like this, in his embrace, someone who doesn't move away from his fangs, from the violence hat lives within him. who seems to want him, in his entirety. despite it everything, how terrible is destiny. he can feel his heartbeat, he can smell his blood. astarion knows the effect he has on gale, despite it all. they can't help themselves, astarion finds the warmth, the connection he did not know to look for. shouldn't this be enough? kisses and touch exchange in the dead of the night? surely this is more than astarion could ever possible want. dream of. it's terribly wrong. he's addicted to it. astarion has never made the best decisions under pressure. yet this feels like something else. he won't think about it.

gale's breath shudders, and he pleads. it's too much, dizzying even. makes him smile between the kiss. he would like to think he had control of the situation, that he could stop this at anytime. that he didn't need gale like this, and he would be lying to himself. astarion let's go, does what gale asks of him because he's come to realize that there is little that he won't do for him. and it's not his usual hunger, but something else wrapping itself around his ribs. would make him choke, if he wasn't too busy taking gale apart. licks into mouth, chasing something. the high maybe, the thrill. or simply to put down the passion that had him like this, a feeling so overwhelming he had little to do but to let himself be pulled down, consume him. leave almost nothing behind. for a moment it's like gale's hands are the thing keeping him upright, in one piece. vulnerable, ripped open. and he should worry, he should panic, instead he melts into gale. pressing him, lips rubbed raw and pink...from the blood, from the kiss. "-you beg too pretty, what am i to do with you?" it's still teasing, astarion cannot keep up with his own feelings. how it's electric to have gale like this, kissing him, holding him. for the first time in centuries, astarion feels alive. it's a scary feeling.

gale knows they should move. he knows they should move away from the body. ( the body, astarion's quick reflexes saving him from a nasty knife wound. the body, astarion's fingers covered sticky and tacky with blood. ) gale knows a lot of things, but the press of astarion's body against his, the rough brick at his backside, makes him forget. his mind is blissfully silent. nothing else matters right now, but the press of astarion solidly against him. of course, my lord... astarion says, and gale shutters at the words. his fingers tighten against the vampire's jawline, breath picking up.

then they're kissing. he knows they shouldn't be, but the catch of fangs against his lip makes his breath shutter. the tilt of his chin upward, the press of his body. gale could hide inside him, this is safe, this is real, this is this is this is. it's sweet. it leaves him craving more. craving astarion within his bed, pressing him into the mattress. safe, safe, safe. "astarion, astarion, please." he whines against the spawn's mouth, lips parted, pleading for deeper, for more. his tongue tastes like salt and iron, metallic with blood, and it should disgust him, shouldn't it? it should, but it doesn't. it gives him a rush, a reminder that astarion fought for him. he's bloody for him.

gale cards one hand into white hair, pulling him deeper down into him. drown him, consume him, it's okay, he trusts this.

[anquenin]

astarion is by nature, not caring. not after cazador's curse upon him, and there is a part of him that suspects that he has never been caring. how fitting it is then, to be someone tasked to kill. to drain life. a monster with a purpose some might say. astarion feels like he does not fit. but where does he fit then? is there a place for something so wretched. and he supposes it's here. doing this. he hates it.

he rolls his eyes at gale's words. at his attitude. (there exists a jealousy there. how would astarion love to be in a position with power. with self importance to flaunt. yet he's relegated to the shadows.) he notices how slowly he stands. what it is? he does not know. and if it wasn't something that seemed to be interfering with the gale exists and breathes then he would pay no mind to it. yet. that is very much the case. "yes, my lord, how dare i let someone the likes you even conceive the notion that i am being friendly or trying to be a friend. i assure you, i am not-" he does the tiniest fake courtsey. enough not to get him into trouble. "-but you see here, sir, whatever is ocurring with your personal affairs is running you ragged. it may not be a dagger to your heart or an arrow pointed at your head, but i simply cannot afford you dropping dead over it either." astarion isn't the most logical of individuals, he's quick and to the point. and whatever smarts he possesses aren't up to the challenge of simply figuring out what is happening with gale in it's entirety. his senses perk up, his ears twitch slightly at a shaken breath. he doesn't even think to ask, astarion is just ready to jump in if gale needs to move and for some reason he can't. comes second nature to him now, what a silly thing. he dares not dwell on it much.

he can't help it. the bite, the teeth in his voice. it's a weapon, a defense, a habit brought in by a decade of verbose sparring within many council rooms and ballroom parties. ( he's a cat with no claws, hissing and spitting, fluffed up to twice his size to seem more intimidating. tara would chide him for such a display. unbefitting for a man of your stature, mister dekarios. )

"well, you seem to need constant reminders." he sniffs, flaunting the self importance because it's all he has left. ( no magic to name, archmage robes collecting dust. how pathetic is he, now? is this what he's turning into? a snobbish lord with little else to his name? perhaps it's all he is, all he can ever be, now. ) "you are here to protect me, yes, not nose around in my personal business."

gale stands slowly, it's a bad day, been a terrible one for his pain scale. ( a seven, maybe eight, and given astarion's concern he hasn't near hid it as well as gale would have liked. the fact that the other man is even a constant in his presence helps little in his desire to hide his predicament. ) he swipes bandaged hands down his front, smoothing the robes down to something presentable.

"i suggest to stay out of my personal affairs —" a pause, a breath that shakes a bit too much. hells, he is exhausted. "— you are here to protect me from harm, not be my friend."