divinestrike | Overflow / Open Post

[ Well, there's no point in trying to sensually remove his clothing if she's not watching. He unbuttons his trousers without fanfare, slipping out of them and his underwear with only some difficulty considering their sodden quality. The rest of his clothing joins his shirt on the riverbank, sopping wet and collecting bits of grass and dirt. He'll have to do laundry now, but it's worth it to curry further favor with their resident goody two-shoes.

And what a goody two-shoes she is, turning away to preserve his modesty — or is it hers? Stealthily, he approaches, whispering in her ear, ] I'm afraid you're going to have to look eventually.

[It likely more for herself than for him. Not that she doesn't think she can control herself. She's the very embodiment of control. But she's not above the others. Just because she doesn't expose herself to the same temptations doesn't mean she's not capable of still having them.

He leaves his words in her ear and she draws her arms in against herself, fighting the small shudder that crawls up her ridged spine. Not well, at that.]

Oh, am I? [She huffs a softer laugh.] Here I thought I might be polite and focus on the striking features of your face. [Indicatively, she casts a look over her shoulder, turning just in slight to do precisely that. She can fight the temptation.

Probably.]

[ How cute — she's shy. He's always had a bit of a soft spot for the shy ones. Not a big enough soft spot not to screw them over to protect his own hide, but circumstances necessitated eradicating anything soft to survive back then.

He frames his face with his own hands, posing playfully for Nepione's perusal. ]

Tell me, what strikes you?

[She prefers this version of him, she thinks. Or whatever it is that might be happening. Not enough to say she's one hundred percent comfortable, and she isn't about to go flaunting herself anywhere, but it could be worse. He really does frustrate her, but she feels like she can't stay frustrated forever. It's harder to be frustrated when he can amuse her.]

Hm...? [Her head tilts as she takes in all of his features. trying to give his question worthy consideration, though she suspects he's probably just teasing her. Yet. Again.] Oh—

[Turning to better face him, she lifts her own hands and points out the features on her own face. Cheekbones, right beneath the eye. His brow line, it seems. His eyes. The line of his jaw. The last place she touches she hesitates just a moment on, because she's not sure she should admit it or not...]

This here, too. [She finally decides she might as well humour him and thoughtfully, she taps her lower lip.] I'm not blind. You are handsome in an eerie sort of way.

[ Astarion clasps his hands behind his back, preening as she points out all of his features. He does rather pride himself on appearances, even if his lack of reflection adds some difficulty in that arena. When all you have is how you look, one finds ways to work around little things such as being unable to use a mirror.

Then, the preening stops. He raises an eyebrow and cocks his head, for once genuinely curious. ]

'Eerie'? Do I frighten you, darling?

[ If he does, asking it like that probably didn't help matters. ]

Mmmmmno? [It shouldn't come out of her like a question, but what can one do. She quickly explains—] Well, you stand out. That's not necessarily a bad thing. We know what happens to people who do, though. Not everyone is as accepting of differences. I say 'eerie,' but in a good sense.

[She studies him a few moments longer and then clears her throat.] It's captivating, is what I mean to say. You have the kind of look that is worthy of curiosity. Makes one want to know more. To learn more. But whilst I think many things of you, I don't think you're frightening. I'm not afraid of you.

And you needn't be.

[ It might do her well to have a little healthy fear, but Astarion certainly won't be the one to point that out. The last thing he needs is for his campmates to come at him with pitchforks and torches. No — let them see him as their friendly neighborhood vampire spawn. Practically defanged!

He leans in, voice low and deliberate. ]

You can trust me.

[Can she?

No. She doesn't think so. Not... any more than the bounds of travelling with the others, that is. She trusts that he will act in his best interest and assumes that right now, those interests align. Should they ever not? He'd be within his right to ensure his own survival. Wouldn't most of them do the same? Lae'zel almost certainly.

Nepione studies him, settles on his words and she resists the temptation to duck away, which is frequently her normal response to such things. There's that tone again. He uses it in very... specific circumstances, she thinks, though hasn't quite been able to define what that is just yet.]

Oh? [She finally asks.] I think I trust you just enough. I'm not sure what more you could ask for from me.

[ 'Just enough' sounds like a euphemistic way of saying 'not as far as she can throw him'. If it bothers him, it doesn't show on his face, which remains pleasantly placid. ]

Mmm. I suppose we'll just have to do some relationship building.

[ One might consider building trust through demonstrating reliability, showing vulnerability, sharing thoughts and feelings — but not Astarion. His favored forms of relationship development have always tended towards the physical. ]

Why don't you let me help you clean up? 'You wash my back, I'll wash yours'?

[ He certainly doesn't expect to limit himself to the back, but that isn't quite as pithy. ]

['Relationship building.'

Those are almost frightening words. Open-ended somewhat. She imagines that their definitions of that may differ. Isn't their journey as it is relationship building? To continue moving forward, they have to pick between relying on one another and surrendering their peers for another day of...

Well. This.

What he follows up with tells her, marginally, what his definition might be more similar to. She looks mildly suspicious, but she supposes there is... something about trust in there. If she lets him, it's an indication that she's at least willing to trust him. That he's offering means he trusts her to some degree.]

...You first.

[She lifts a hand and gestures for him to turn.]

[ He smirks at her response, resisting the urge to laugh. She couldn't make her hesitance any more obvious. He wonders if it's true disinclination or more to do with fear of her own vulnerability. After all, to be the one touching puts you in far more control than to be the one touched. Astarion is acutely aware of this dynamic as he slowly turns, water gently splashing as he exposes his back to her. ]

As you wish, [ he says, only somewhat sarcastic. ]

[A part of her, fleeting, considers the idea of retreating out of this situation. However, she's a woman of her word. Always has been. Always will be, if she has anything to say about it. She waits, playing through different hypotheticals in her head where he's concerned as she reaches for the cloth and soap she was using before.

Faced with his back, she pauses for several long moments. The scarring there is intricate. She could just as easily not look. Not ask. But as she nears him, she hesitates a touch. Those aren't unfamiliar marks. Not to say she's ever really seen them before, but she can, at the very least, recognise them. Know their source.

...Does... he know what they say? Does he know what they are? Maybe it's better not to bring it up. So instead, she leaves a hand at his shoulder and with the other, she tends to him, about as careful and reverent as she would be with any other touch.]

You're a bit softer than I thought you might be.

[To the touch, she means.]

[ They're both aware of the elephant in the room. It's polite of her not to mention the scarring, perhaps, or maybe just gutless — he hasn't yet decided. She wouldn't be the first. He certainly won't be the one to verbalize what they're both thinking about, so any observations will have to remain unsaid. ]

I am as I was when I was turned.

[ He'll forever remain in the body of someone soft and privileged. Someone who — he can only assume — never spent a day sleeping in a tent, much less in a dungeon. ]

How very lucky I am to have been fastidious about my skincare. [ He pauses briefly, then waves a hand. ] I presume.

[ He remembers very little of the time before clawing his way out of his grave, but it does seem like him to attend to his appearance. ]

[What must it be like to know you will never change? She can't even begin to imagine. She, like a flower in the winter, will eventually wither away into nothing. At least, according to all normal conditions. Obviously, there are some that can potentially otherwise alter that.

Still, does it bother him? His immortality. How lonely it must be. She doubts she could handle it.]

I could believe that. You know how to take care of your things. Yourself.

[She nods slowly. As she's taking the time to rinse him carefully, she finds herself pausing again. Then as subtly as she can manage, which is laughable considering he's more the subtle master between them, she carefully draws her fingertips along his back. She speaks, but the truth is, it's meant to be a distraction for him.

To give her time to memorise what she sees. It is likely and probable that she means to do personal research. One day, it may come in handy. Or one day, both of them might feel it an opportune topic of discussion.]

That's actually something I admire. I never grew up with fine things. Didn't... really grow up with much, honestly. But because of that, I've never really known truly what I could have been missing.

[ Astarion stiffens slightly as he feels Nepione's fingers trail his back, then makes a concentrated effort to relax his body. Never let them see you sweat is practically his creed, even now. ]

If I had fine things, I don't remember them, [ he says, genuine bitterness seeping through. Everything he remembers having, he had to beg, borrow, or steal. His clothing stopped being finery after the fifth time patching it up. For someone who very much wants fine things, it does inspire resentment. ]

[She is observant just enough to pause for a breath. He hasn't told her to stop, which of course she would if he did. The way his next words come, however, she takes what she knows about him. He has probably been separated from that life for a good period of time.

She could probably say any number of stupidly optimistic things, but they would be wrong. Inappropriate. Insensitive. She's not stupid enough to tell him that it'll be okay. So instead, she draws herself closer to him and wonders if it's just better to speak what she thinks might be his language. She traces her touch beneath his arms and circles around to his chest and after a moment's consideration, she embraces him to her, pressing her chin gently into the back of his shoulder.]

Astarion.

[Maybe she only says it to bring him to the present moment. Not to a past behind him that he can't hold any longer.]

[ At first, he thinks she's making a sexual advance. Uncharacteristically bold for her, but still more expected than what she actually does. He's been touched hundreds of times by hundreds of people, but rarely without an end goal of sexual gratification; the feeling of being touched chastely, without ulterior motive, is altogether foreign. His arms swing uselessly at his sides, uncertain of their job. He is so very practiced at nearly every physical touch, but a simple hug throws him for a loop.

His incompetence here exposes him. He finally places his hands on hers, all bravado as he rubs her hand with his thumb. ]

Yes, well, the first thing I'll do when we make it to Baldur's Gate is a shopping spree.

[ With, perhaps, ill-gotten coin, but sweet Nepione doesn't need to know that. ]

[It is possible a similar line of awkward for her. Nepione doesn't make it a habit to hug or do much more than the occasional shoulder pat. And she knows very well that only way she was able to do this was because he wasn't look at her when she did it. She lingers like so for longer than a few moments. She's lost count of those, actually. Better not to overstay, however, so not long after his thumb dusts along her hand, she clears her throat.]

A fine idea. I'd like it if every one of us did. A much-deserved outing.

[After all they've been through already. After what she can only guess they'll continue going through.

With some care, she draws back from him, gives his back and his shoulders one more once over and nods with some approval, though he wouldn't likely know she was doing any such thing.]

There you are. Right as rain, goes the saying.

[ Astarion turns to face her, his demeanor shifting as he does. Whatever vulnerability might have been there is gone now that they're face-to-face again, replaced by a wolfish smile. He holds out his hands expectantly, waiting for her to provide him with his supplies. ]

My turn.

...If you must.

[He's really serious. She did... sort of agree to it. Resisting the urge to release a sigh, she does look just a touch unamused. She shifts just long enough to retrieve where she set down the soap and cloth she'd been using.

She waits just long enough for him to take them before she offers him her back. Folding her hands together, she focuses on something that must be impossibly far. Or nothing in particular. Just a means of keeping herself from overthinking.

It is significantly easier when she's the one in control.]

[ He wets the cloth in the river, allowing the water to drip down her back in a manner that's far more focused on sensuality than any actual cleaning. In fact, this entire situation seems little more than a pretense for sultriness, as he 'scrubs' with slow, deliberate strokes that can't possibly be efficient for washing. He pays special attention to the exposed curve of her neck, his fingers ghosting over her pulse there. ]

You have an enticing neck, darling.

[Does she?

She's far too caught up in her thoughts to reply immediately. Discipline feels very physical, in the face of his proximity to her. As if it's something wound tightly around an anchor point.

The consistent thump of her heart quickens from touch and words combined. The careful way she offers her neck is as subdued as she can manage.]

I would have thought all necks to look the same.

[That's not true and she knows it.]

[ Astarion scoffs. ] Gods, no.

[ He is, after all, somewhat of a neck connoisseur. Astarion may not have been able to indulge in the past, but that doesn't mean he didn't admire particularly attractive jugulars from afar. ]

There's the saggy neck of the old coot. The thick, muscular neck of a warrior.

[ Lightly, he runs a finger down the side of her neck; he can practically feel the blood rushing through it. ]

The elegant neck of a pent-up Selûnite cleric.

[She almost laughs. Not quite, but it's close. He's got her there. She would not describe herself as a warrior. Certainly not as an 'old coot' either.

Nepione doesn't bother to argue with him this time. Not because it's not sitting on the tip of her tongue, but rather because she is so dreadfully focused on that single finger of his that she can't divide her attention elsewhere. Or she chooses not to.]

I do take such good care of my neck. How nice of you to notice.

[ It doesn't take a detective to see it, but Astarion is especially perceptive to how she responds to his attention. Pent-up is right. He's always found himself putting on a familiar role with the inexperienced; the beguiling teacher, tempting them into sin. He slips into that same role easily now, like putting on a well-worn pair of shoes. Not the pair he'd pick out for himself, but they fit all the same.

He slides both of his hands down to her shoulders, having almost entirely given up the act of washing. ]

I can be very nice.

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