Dummptruck
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The hand removed itself from his forehead. “Temperature is normal,” Gale announced, before using its fingers to gather some stray drool that had trailed down Astarion’s jaw. Before Astarion could register the pitiful jolt of arousal at the sudden skin contact or the sheer absurdity of what Gale was doing, Gale had stuck its fingers in its mouth.
“What the —”
“No new bacteria detected,” Gale went on, “Ruling out food poisoning.”
“Oh, Gods,” Astarion groaned. “And to think that these things are what’s sending our workforce into a tizzy. What next, 'droid? Are you about to give me a rectal examination too?”
“There is no need for one at the moment,” Gale said, confused. “Unless you are seeking prostate stimulation—”
“No!”
Amidst the softly thrumming melancholy of a dystopian, cyber-punk city, former corporate-rat Astarion Ancunín, who has long since lost the will to live, finds himself in possession of a G-413 or "Gale" - an amnesiac android who, strangely enough, enjoys living.
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I love writing in one-syllable but I also love the idea of Astarion being a nail tech? And honestly, Gale SEEMS like a guy who would care about cuticle care. The trimmed beard? The feathered, layered hair? Moisturized skin? Bro is keeping those nails NICE, especially after all the fireballs and spark flinging.
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Though He is Strange and Wrong, the Pale Man Does Not Flee by Dummptruck
Fandoms: Baldur's Gate (Video Games)
18 Mar 2025
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No one thinks like him, no one talks like him, no one acts like him. Gale knows that no one likes him.
But, Gale can serve. So he gets to stay. At least it's safe.
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“Boo!”
Gale flung back in his seat, heart shooting up to his throat and he nearly flipped back out of his chair.
Astarion’s floating head cackled from the window, soon becoming his shoulders and arms, and then the rest of him as he climbed into the room. “You should have seen the look on your face—”
“You know I hate it when you do that.” Gale fought to keep his voice even, gulping down the sudden dryness in his mouth.
“And yet you always leave your window open.”
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Astarion leaned in closer to the mirror, fingers tracing the contours of his face as he took in the fine lines at the corners of his eyes and around his mouth. They weren’t new—but they would be new to Gale. The porcelain had cracked over the years, tarnished and weathered. No less beautiful, but he wasn’t the flawless vision he once was.
No. He was gorgeous as ever. Better, even.
And he was going to damn well ensure Gale knew it.
Series
- Part 3 of Dirty Dining
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