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Vall’ov always wore lipstick. A lovely, dark color that contrasted with the azure tones of her skin and made her lips more enticing than Gale thought possible.
Even though she donned a helmet for much of the day, he made certain to make up for its time obscured by admiring it whenever they settled down in camp — so much so that he had memorized her application. He would wake at dawn to watch her gather the dark color onto the pad of one finger, before brushing it over her lower lip first and her upper lip second. In just a few practiced sweeps they’d be colored their usual obsidian, and she'd grab a spare handkerchief next to blot away at the excess before dressing herself in her platemail. All the while he stared far too foolishly at her for what was so simple a task.
It was no different today as he sat cross legged on his lover's bedroll and watched her pull out the familiar compact to begin dabbing it on.
“My love?” Gale called, eyes tracking how the Drow rolled her lips together to tamp the pigment into her skin. “I know you’re capable of getting ready by yourself, but would you like some help?”
Vall’ov paused to consider, handkerchief in hand. She set it neatly aside with the rest of her things before turning to him.
“You are very kind, dearest.” The praise was so sweet — Gale would have done anything to earn more of it, spoken in that velvety soft tone. His hopes were momentarily dashed when she cradled his jaw and stroked his beard with a sympathetic smile. “But I am afraid there is not much to help with.”
But then her red eyes flickered thoughtfully between her discarded handkerchief and his face. “Though if you insist… there is one thing you could do for me.”
Gale inched closer, eager to do as she asked.
Instead, Vall’ov framed his head in her hands and leaned over to kiss him squarely on the forehead, the apples of his cheeks, and finally his lips. She repeated it a second time in that same order, and then a third time. And then again… and again. The rhythm she had started with was quickly lost in favor of covering as much of his face with her lips as was possible, leaving no patch untouched.
“I’m far from complaining, Vall’ov. But…” Gale’s words slurred together. Her kisses were ceaseless. “How exactly is this helping…?”
He dazedly wondered if her lipstick contained the same Drow poison Minthara spoke of, if the way his thoughts blurred and his limbs grew slack were to be taken as symptoms. He knew the answer was no, that her lips were simply so potent to have him melting further with every kiss in what he hoped would be an endless series. But he would have happily suffered any ill effects if she did, and thrown himself headlong into the nearest sick pot before returning for more.
“This is of great help.” Vall’ov kissed him soundly on the lips again, and whatever she wore upon her own was pushed far from his mind. Her onslaught continued and Gale went readily when she guided him to straddle her thighs, allowing her to more easily kiss at the rest of his face in quicker succession. “And I believe I am in need of much, much more.”
The Drow’s hands settled on his hips to hold him flush against her, and it became clear she wouldn’t stop anytime soon. Gale slung his arms over her shoulders to help her that much more.
Astarion was the first to glimpse Gale when he shuffled out from the entrance flaps of Vall’ov’s tent. He stared at his face, eyebrows raised.
“So that’s what took you so long to come crawling back out.”
Gale met the vampire’s jeer with an unamused look and drew the canvas shut behind him. “It’s too early to entertain whatever remarks you intend to say next.” He winced as he rose from his knees with the help of his staff, joints popping as he went. “So please spare them for later, when I’ve found the tolerance to take it in good grace.”
Astarion burst into a guffaw and pointed his finger in ridicule. “Oh, you have no idea the state that you’re in, do you?”
“The state I’m in?”
Astarion gleefully took out his hand mirror and turned it in the other’s direction.
Gale’s face flushed as he beheld his reflection, though it was hard to notice it beneath the countless kiss marks covering his skin. They adorned his every feature. His nose, his forehead, his cheeks, his chin, even his eyelids. But the worst of it was concentrated around his own lips, smudged thickly over them as if he had applied the lipstick haphazardly to himself. His fingers trailed over the black smears there as his face grew hotter — partly from embarrassment, but mostly from pride at Vall’ov’s affection made tangible and how it eclipsed his entire face.
…He didn’t wear the color nearly as well as her, but the shape of her lips did compliment him rather nicely.
With a pleased, lipstick stained smile, Gale adjusted his collar with the help of the mirror and turned to make his way towards his own tent.