backscar: art by karanoidandroid @ twitter. (Default)
astarion. ([personal profile] backscar) wrote2011-08-29 12:31 pm

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[personal profile] ragemodes 2023-11-06 04:50 am (UTC)(link)
( Hells, even the quick, chaste kiss to her lips is enough to satisfy Karlach from now until she dies. Which normally would be at least farther out than it actually is, but even then: all she wants is Astarion happy, Astarion free to do whatever he wants -- what he wants, not what he thinks he wants or feels like he needs. And there's a difference, though Karlach doesn't know if Astarion's aware of it yet.

There's something off, though, that dampens her excitement when he pulls away and doesn't meet her gaze. He looks back, and while she does want him -- she's not blind, and being pent up for ten fucking years doesn't help -- her brow is creased in thought, a hand pressing up at the corner of her lips as if she can decipher what the Hells was going through his head when he kissed her.

Damnit, she thinks. He's good, of course he's good, but -- something about it is off, as if whatever intimacy they'd gathered in their nights spent simply being had suddenly been yanked away. Shit. That isn't right, but maybe he just needs time? For what, Karlach doesn't know, but... She'll find out later.

She hopes.
)

Don't need to tell me twice.

( She says, before finally giving into Tav's patient waiting to discuss with her more about what they've got to do next. And petting both Scratch and the owlbear, now that she can. Fuck yes; that makes it all worth it.

Karlach busies herself, poorly, counting down the hours and then minutes until one by one the rest of their companions make their way to their own tents and bedrolls after another one of Gale's dinners. It's not until Tav themselves retires that Karlach manages to get away from the now-faintly burning fire and towards Astarion's tent.

No matter how weird their last interaction might have been, she still can't help but smile warmly at him. Gods, and now she can touch him, if he wants -- to hold his hand or press her lips against his forehead, or -- if he lets her -- hold him while they sleep. They don't even have to do that, though she does want to, she can just simply... watch him, again, until she falls asleep or he falls into his trance.

Her warmth and affection color her tone, even as she does her best to be as subdued as possible. She's got this.
)

Hey. ( She says, with a jerk of her chin in greeting. ) Nice night.

( Even Karlach knows that's bad. )
ragemodes: (pic#16772626)

[personal profile] ragemodes 2023-11-18 04:30 am (UTC)(link)
( She knows he isn't, and her head ducks as her cheeks redden, not immune to Astarion's tone nor his words, no matter how practiced he might be at it. There's something... there's just something that pulls at her head as she looks at him. Like he's just emerged from one of those paintings the patriars liked to hang on their walls, or get done for themselves. Karlach never saw Gortash with one, but she doesn't doubt that maybe it's more his style than she'd have liked to admit.

Not that Karlach came here to think about her past any more than Astarion would want reminded of his own, so she lets the tent flap fall down behind her -- knowing full well that Astarion likes his privacy -- and kneels before him. Still careful not to touch.

She won't until he says it's alright. And gods, she wants to, she meant every word about how attractive she found him. But it's more than his perfect curled hair and the sharp points of his face -- it's his sense of humor, the fact that she understands the wounds he bears even if she can't make sense of them. They all do what they had to do to survive, and they both played their parts well; perhaps too well, in Astarion's case.

There's something offputting in the way he drags his eyes down her, though Karlach can't seem to put her finger on what, exactly. It'll come to her, she thinks, it always does. She didn't get to live through ten fucking years of the literal Hells to not get a little smarter.
)

Yeah? I could say the same about you. ( Her hands fold in front of her, in her lap, fingers intertwining with each other over and over again as her tail swishes with the effort it's taking to keep the rest of her still. ) Hells, Astarion, you really do know how to make yourself look delectable. Is that okay? To call you delectable, I mean.

( She doesn't want to hurt him. She'd rather throw herself off a cliff than hurt him. )