[ Karlach's reaction is enough to solidify in Astarion's mind that tonight is going to happen the way that he expects: she is just so excited by the idea of the two of them spending the night together that he cannot bear to take it from her. How could he? After so long of not being able to touch people, after so long of being unable to share any kind of intimacy... Of course her desire would be for the two of them to tumble. He cannot blame her, not even a little.
What is going to have to happen is a little decompartmentalising. Astarion is already aware of the fact that he is going to have to tuck his own feelings away in order to give Karlach what she deserves; she has been kind enough to him, after all, indulging in some of his more eccentric sentiments. What is he supposed to do, say no to her? Refuse her, after all the promises and whispers they've shared? It just isn't possible.
His little smile stays in place, coy and smirkish as he watches her, and his eyes drag over her form. It's so easy to fall into the role he had thought he'd left behind him, to seduce and give her pleasure. At least this time he is not required to give her to Cazador: he'd sooner die.
Leaning up, he presses a little kiss to the corner of her mouth, not quite meeting her eyes as he turns away. ]
I am sure you'll be quick to remember, and if not? I can fill in the blanks.
[ He's bending to pick up his bag, turning to flick his eyes back to her. ]
( 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.
[ 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.
( 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. )
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no subject
What is going to have to happen is a little decompartmentalising. Astarion is already aware of the fact that he is going to have to tuck his own feelings away in order to give Karlach what she deserves; she has been kind enough to him, after all, indulging in some of his more eccentric sentiments. What is he supposed to do, say no to her? Refuse her, after all the promises and whispers they've shared? It just isn't possible.
His little smile stays in place, coy and smirkish as he watches her, and his eyes drag over her form. It's so easy to fall into the role he had thought he'd left behind him, to seduce and give her pleasure. At least this time he is not required to give her to Cazador: he'd sooner die.
Leaning up, he presses a little kiss to the corner of her mouth, not quite meeting her eyes as he turns away. ]
I am sure you'll be quick to remember, and if not? I can fill in the blanks.
[ He's bending to pick up his bag, turning to flick his eyes back to her. ]
Come to me. Tonight.
no subject
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. )
no subject
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. ]
no subject
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. )