Your hands never leave me. You won't stop kissing me, and I don't want to stop kissing back. We stumble backwards, past the statue of Mystra, trying to get to her altar, but it's hard to take my eyes off you long enough to steer. For either of us to stop what we're doing long enough to get the candelabra lit.
The candles on the altar are lit already, which means we have to blow them out. We'd accidentally light this place on fire, otherwise, the way we're going to be knocking them away.
The Tabernacle's often left unlocked and unattended for a few of the wee hours of the morning. I suppose they probably put the strongest nightly enchantments gold can buy in place to keep any valuables from being stolen, and I'm sure they also have the magic to quickly clean up any messes before the morning crowd starts coming in. It's a nice gesture, really, to let people who want complete privacy to commune with their gods have it. I've even heard there are followers of Lathander who will come in and do exactly as we're going to do in front of their god, though usually they're trying to conceive.
Our purpose isn't so appropriate. When I first told you what I wanted to do, you looked so shocked. I nearly took it back, still worried you might agree just to please me. But then I saw the glint in your eyes, and that particular smile you get that has started getting me wet whenever I see it, because I know what it means.
You understand, I know. You might find my insecurities about your love as unfathomable as I find your insecurities about mine, but you still know exactly how they make me feel. I might not get jealous as easily as you do, but you also know how I feel about Mystra, even now, when I finally, fully believe you've truly put me before her. I had that certainty even when I first had you kiss me in front of her statue, right after you met with her. And, of course, I had it when, two days ago, we came here with the Crown of Karsus, and I kept a hold on your hand until your orb was at long last removed.
Some may wonder why I urged you so to give it back to her, to seek her forgiveness, when it's her who hurt you more. They might think I was afraid of her, or desperate for any help we could get against the Absolute. Which did play a part, I admit, in why I urged you to go meet with her. But then there was the way Elminster spoke to me, when we showed up with the crown. As if he thought me subdued, giving in to what Mystra wants. And I doubt she's ever given much thought to me as anything besides an impediment, but she might think us both humbled, that you returned the crown because you'd learned your place.
And when the truth is, I urged you to give that crown up so you could walk away from her. Not even just free of the orb, but also all accounts settled, all disputes resolved, and no ability for anyone to claim you owe her anything. And no danger any longer of you becoming like her. If you'd destroyed who you are by becoming a god, just to get revenge on her? That would've been her having you in the end, sure as she would've had you had you blown yourself up on her command.
She can have the crown. It's hers by right anyway, from what I understand. She can have your prayers, since you have to give her those to have the Weave, and you're certainly not giving that up. She can even potentially have your services as her Chosen again, if she keeps her requests reasonable from now on.
But she can't have you. You're mine now. Tomorrow we'll depart for Waterdeep, for what you've made a point of already calling "our tower," and there I'll marry you and keep you warm and safe and loved the way you've always deserved to be.
And for the rest of your life, every time you draw on the Weave, I hope she flashes back to this.
Or maybe just to the moment when at last you pin me to her altar, both of us already bare from the waist up, the hunger practically radiating off you, your face a tableau of naked desire. I kick my shoes off, struggle with my leggings with palms already sweaty.
I let you have your way with me first. I want her to see what you can be like, what she never even got, because you never felt you could express this kind of passion with her. Maybe she couldn't have even appreciated it. Is her cold heart even capable of swelling the way mine does, even when you so much as press you face to my neck and breathe heavily, whispering, "I could spend all night just listening to your heartbeat from here," before you start to kiss it?
You've told me now she was once a mortal herself. I still can't understand it. Could she truly have forgotten what this felt like? Unless she was the kind of high-minded mage who would've always scorned a creature like me, with my love of crude animal things, like good food and wine and sex. And love, and tenderness, and passion, and warming yourself just by looking into someone's eyes.
Yours are so, so beautiful, especially when they're on fire with love and lust. They're so dark when I look down to see them, looking up at me as your mouth finds my breasts, and oh, sweet stars, don't stop doing that. That practiced tongue of yours is going to drive me out of my mind before we even get below the waist. I try not to moan too loud, but I'm happy to let every noise I make ring in your ears.
I'm not the only one making noise. I can hear your pleased little moans as you feast on my breasts, and you're not even out of words; I hear them gasped out as you moved from one to the other. I can't actually make them out, but I don't need to. I've heard you whisper every praise for them anyone could have possibly thought up, and also possibly a few more than that.
But I can make out, "I could kiss you everywhere, you look so beautiful right now," before you're doing just that. Kisses rained on my stomach, my sides, my hips as you practically shove the cloth aside. It's going to rip at this rate. You can mend it when we're done. It won't be the first time.
It does. The sound's louder than I thought it would be. It nearly feels rude. I don't care.
Definitely not when you're sighing in delight the moment before your mouth plunges down. Your tongue can't decide between my clit and my cunt. I can barely think when it's on either. I'm nearly ready to let you stay down there until I shake and shudder in ecstasy on top of this altar. Let her see me enjoying what she threw away.
But that's not all I want to show her. And you must realize that, because it's you who pulls back and stands up. I watch you undo your breeches. I see them fall.
Fuck, you're nearly dripping, so swollen and hard. I shift my hips up, my cunt aching with want as I present it to you.
This time, when your mouth opens, I'm afraid I cut you off with an groan, because I can't wait any longer. Please take me, Gale. Take me take me take me...
I groan again as you climb on top of me, and we both groan when you're inside me. Hot and thick and pulsing, and we reach for each other to press our foreheads together. You pant out my name like a prayer, but even more powerful is the heat of your breath mixing with mine. Your grind your hips. You know how much I love feeling you move in me. Your hands cup my face, so tenderly.
Oh, Gale. My love, my joy, my rest, my warmth when the wind gets cold. Every time in these last few months I've wondered if it's worth going on, when I've shuddered at what I've had to do and who I've had to become to survive what we went through, you've provided that answer in an instant.
We try to go slow at first, but I don't think either of us can. You whisper more passionate words to me, in between your kisses, about how much you love me like this and how good I'm making you feel, as you fuck me into the stone of the altar; it'll hurt tomorrow, but I don't care. My limbs flail as I push back harder and harder, and you whisper to me, "Yes, oh yes, I want to see you fly."
And ah, Gale, you know me so well, now. I only have to get my arms under control long enough to press into your shoulders, and you move with me as we roll over. You even go limp at the right moment to let me ease you onto the cold stone instead of slamming you down on it. I put you on your back, your head in a position to look up at the statue of Mystra if you tilt it back, but I know you won't. Not when it's me on top of you now, and I can hear how taken you are when you whisper, "You're glistening, my love."
I give you a show of it, letting my breasts bounce as I ride, until you reach up and hold with just the right amount of pressure to send the pleasure running down my spine. Underneath me, you writhe and surge, letting go of your control completely, my name soon the only coherent word you can get out amid your increasingly louder cries as I plant my hands on your chest, your collarbone, you neck, just wanting to touch everything before me.
You don't even look at me like this much anymore, like I've become your new goddess. Which I'm glad for, because normally, that's not what I want to be to you. But it is exactly what I want right now.
Your moans and pants are becoming more rapid, and your roaming hands slip to my sides to hold on as our thrusts get harder and harder, getting to the right angle to make me see stars. You hiss my name one last time as one hand goes further down to find my clit. It's building in me even before your fingers start working it. I hear myself suddenly whining in my need.
And I know exactly what that's going to do to you. You may have built your stamina back over the many nights we've had together, and you can last good amount of time now, even without magical aid. But really, it's more truthful to say you can last until you know that I'm about to come. I love you all the more when I see how, every time, that overwhelms you to the point you break.
Because I get to watch. I get to see your face as the ecstasy takes you, watch you shudder, faint sparks of power coming from your eyes, feel more of those from where you hands still grip me, and how they clench. You're not very loud when you come, but I love the faint Ahh you let out, the cry of a man who's been hungry for so long, and is finally, finally getting what he wants, what he needs.
My hungry Gale. Mine to fill up with my love, mine to sate. Mine to have, even when we lay in front of the stone likeness of your goddess. Mine to cherish, till death parts us. Mine mine mine.
You surge up and kiss me even before you finish coming. Your fingers on my clit never stopped moving. "Let it go, my love," you whisper to me, as you hold me so close. I do it, for you, the pleasure surging through me so sweet when it's in your arms, and let the walls of the Stormshore Tabernacle ring with my cry of triumph.