divinestrike | Overflow / Open Post

[ 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.

[For several beats of hastened heart, Nepione entertains the notion of what it might be like to get lost in him. To forget time and obligation and everything she tries to carry. It is tempting. Of course, there's a part of her that wants that attention, as much as she often ignores it and intentionally puts it aside.

But Astarion is a very special case. It seems like it could potentially be very poor form. If she gives in, she reinforces what he already thinks. Rather, what she thinks he thinks.

At his words, she slowly peers over her shoulder, not enough to actually see him, but enough that he knows she's listening.]

That's not what we agreed to.

[But then, she supposes neither was embracing him. And she did that only because it felt like the right thing to do in the moment. One could make the argument that whittling time with Astarion could be the same.]

[ Astarion is trained to spot desire from a mile away, and if he were the betting sort, he'd feel confident in betting on this. Still, he doesn't move any further, just taps his fingers lightly on her upper arms. ]

But it's what you want, isn't it?

[ Some relationship building. ]

That seems a touch unfair to ask.

[Maybe because he already knows the answer. Maybe because she knows the answer. What does she want? That's a little more complicated, because she doesn't wholly know. Being close could be nice. That trace of fingertips. That trace of lips. That trace of teeth. To let him know her so closely. To know him so closely that she could take in every soft spot of his skin. She shifts just a little beneath his touch, though not nearly enough to remove him.]

Should I want to embarrass myself in front of you? Would that be worth indulgence? I think I'd only disappoint you.

[She's not afraid of many things, but she is afraid of that. Not just disappointing him. Disappointing any of them. But to do so in such a vulnerable way. She couldn't ever take it back.]

Is that really what you want, Astarion? If so, I hope you have a better reason for it than because you think I need some kind of saving from my discipline.

[ Astarion has a myriad of reasons to want this. He wants her to trust him. To protect him if it comes down to it, and it very well might. He can certainly think of worse choices to spend a night with — there's a reason he isn't out attempting to polish Gale's wizard staff, Gods forbid. Nepione is alluring in a naïve, wholesome sort of way. The kind of person who would surely be more endeared to a man who unlocked long-hidden pleasures than a pickpocketing vampire spawn.

He deftly avoids answering any questions about his own intentions, instead saying, ] You're afraid of disappointing me? Don't be.

[ The idea is almost laughable, although he doesn't say so. He's had a multitude of highly disappointing sexual encounters; anything with her could hardly come close, regardless of inexperience. She's stupidly kind. Beautiful. Wouldn't ask him to do something he doesn't want to. That alone puts her a cut above the rest. ]

I only want to bring you pleasure.

[ There. Pressure to perform off. ]

[There it is again. He's making it about her. Most people, normal people, would probably want to hear that. She must be so far removed from normal that she's the very last person she even thinks of. Well, that's how she'd like it to be. She doesn't scold him this time for any of that, though she might like to. She won't repeat herself.]

I didn't say I was afraid.

[For though she is, he can't know that. She has to seem resilient. She has to seem perfect. Even if she isn't. Even knowing that she isn't.

As she considers the truth of his proposal, she tries to imagine the repercussions. If there are any. She could simply pretend it never happened at all, couldn't she? She's certainly not the sort to talk about it. And even if he did, she could simply act like she'd never heard it to begin with.

Finally freeing her hands in favour of lifting one to play with an errant dark line of hair that assaults her, she finally finds her voice again.]

Say I agree to this. Will you stop agitating me? No more of this 'pent up cleric' teasing you so enjoy doing? No more of this unnecessary talk of 'relationship building'? If so, fine. I hardly can see me getting any peace and quiet from you otherwise.

[She makes it sound like he's so troublesome. Like her own interest is so minimal. But maybe she has to pretend that it is. Better than letting him think he's really had any sort of effect on her. She's much too proud for that. For now.]

[ Astarion's done everything right, made her practically tremble with excitement, and yet she still denies any interest. How vexing, to have a wrench like this thrown in his plans. Fine, then — he'll adapt, as he always has. His hands come off her shoulders and he leans in towards her ear, a hint of genuine pridefulness in his voice. ]

Sorry, darling, but I don't beg.

[ He seduces, corrupts, charms, but never begs. If she's to act like bedding him is a chore — or worse, a favor — then his pride demands said bedding not happen at all. He wrings out the cloth and turns, starting to wade out of the river. ]

Oh, but when you're ready to, I trust you know where to find me.

But you expect me to?

[It actually leaves her so fast that she hasn't had time to really parse out exactly what the consequences are for saying it. She does turn to watch him and before he can get too far, she reaches out with the intent to snag his hand.]

I've humoured you. Entertained you. I've let you taunt me. And I've been honest with you.

[As honest as she feels she can be.]

You'd have me endure all of that, have me admit that I'm perfectly capable of holding interest in you, in agreeing that you're charming, handsome, that I might— [Less 'might'. There's obviously a part of her that cares about his well-being. How far that care goes is another matter.] —that I might be curious. That I might not dislike the idea. The possibility. You have my attention.

[ He allows her to take his hand. His fingers are, quite frankly, beginning to become pruney after some time in the water. Hardly the sensual touch he was going for. ]

Ah, but it looks like we're at quite an impasse.

[ She wants him, she doesn't want him. He has no interest in decoding her emotional cryptography when what he offers, purely physical pleasure, is simple. It needn't be as complicated as she makes it, only a straightforward 'yes' or 'no'. ]

Or were you hoping to play the unwilling maiden ravished by the savage vampire? You should have said.

Please.

[He makes heat flood her features so easily that what she'd love more than anything is to develop an immunity to that exact thing. If she were feeling more courageous, she'd even scoff. Unwilling maidens and savage vampires. Sounds like another poorly-written book she'd keep in her not!collection he's convinced she has.]

You frustrate me. [She always feels like she's at odds with him, and though that normally leaves something worrisome to be considered (for their camp cannot operate smoothly under discord), in the very precise moment, that he is capable of provoking such an emotional response out of her, it also makes her feel very alive. The irony.] I said yes.

[Well, technically—]

I'm saying yes.

[ Part of him wants to roll his eyes at her clearly conflicted feelings towards him — him, frustrating? Has she met the rest of their companions? — but that wouldn't be very seductive at all, so he squashes the urge for now, committed to playing the fantasy of the tempting rake. He draws closer, leaning in as if for a kiss but stopping just shy of their lips touching; if he were the type to breathe, she would be able to feel it ghost over her skin. ]

A little frustration can be a good thing.

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