[ The night comes, and Astarion is not necessarily as excited as he might be usually. He has tracked through the day with a level of distraction that might usually have led to someone calling him out for it - he has barely focussed on the lock picking he has been requested to do, the traps they've almost stood in, his mind lost in a mire. He's quite sure his companions just think that he is obsessed with the excitement of finally bedding Karlach, but the truth is something completely different; he is anxious.
He doesn't think he really wants this. Astarion had been enjoying the chastity of it, the lack of expectations, the fact that Karlach had been content with his company and nothing else... And now that is gone. Now, their relationship will transform itself into the same fluid, angry desire as all the ones that he had experienced in the past, and he is not at all certain how he is going to rationalise it for himself. He isn't sure how he is going to be present.
Dinner ends far too quickly, Gale and Shadowheart stepping away to a river to wash their pots, a chore that Astarion does not need to concern himself with thanks to his lack of needing to consume the cooking itself. The minutes pass until they come back, chatting quietly, before slipping away to their beds; then Lae'zel, then Halsin, then Wyll, and then he slips into his tent to wait, as if the executioner themselves is coming to find him.
Karlach pokes her head in, and Astarion can feel the softness blooming inside of him immediately - it is immediately twisted with his pain, his fear, but he forces a smile to his face. He has no reason to upset Karlach now, and when he relies on her for company, for safety, to ensure the rest of their party don't decide a stake might be preferable to his voice...
Leaning back, he shifts his body, stretching like he is in some kind of painting, letting his eyes deliberately move along her body.
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He doesn't think he really wants this. Astarion had been enjoying the chastity of it, the lack of expectations, the fact that Karlach had been content with his company and nothing else... And now that is gone. Now, their relationship will transform itself into the same fluid, angry desire as all the ones that he had experienced in the past, and he is not at all certain how he is going to rationalise it for himself. He isn't sure how he is going to be present.
Dinner ends far too quickly, Gale and Shadowheart stepping away to a river to wash their pots, a chore that Astarion does not need to concern himself with thanks to his lack of needing to consume the cooking itself. The minutes pass until they come back, chatting quietly, before slipping away to their beds; then Lae'zel, then Halsin, then Wyll, and then he slips into his tent to wait, as if the executioner themselves is coming to find him.
Karlach pokes her head in, and Astarion can feel the softness blooming inside of him immediately - it is immediately twisted with his pain, his fear, but he forces a smile to his face. He has no reason to upset Karlach now, and when he relies on her for company, for safety, to ensure the rest of their party don't decide a stake might be preferable to his voice...
Leaning back, he shifts his body, stretching like he is in some kind of painting, letting his eyes deliberately move along her body.
The act is far too easy. ]
Beautiful, one might say.
[ He's not talking about the sky. ]