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Of course, Gale knew Astarion was a vampire from the moment he met him on the beach. Even without the obvious - the pale skin, the red eyes, and the fangs he didn’t bother to hide - he felt it when the tadpole connected their minds. A dull throb of relentless hunger under a swirling mass of fear and rage that threatened to overwhelm him. Gale was shoved so forcefully from Astarion’s mind that he almost lost his footing.
There was the mystery of how a vampire was walking around in broad daylight, but he knew all too well that the laws of nature weren’t quite so absolute when magic was involved.
Astarion was certainly a spawn; no vampire lord would have teamed up with a group of adventurers. A true vampire wouldn’t have been abducted in the first place. By all rights, Astarion should be a willess slave; maybe his master left him on a long leash. Gale didn’t much like the thought of someone out there pulling the strings, but the other two adventurers seemed to think his skillset was worth the risk. Besides, with the whole ticking clock towards inevitable doom situation, it wasn’t like Gale could afford to be picky.
Astarion proved his usefulness sooner than Gale was expecting. The looter was bearing down on him, forcing Gale back towards the wall, cutting off all hope of escape. He was blocking his blows with his staff, but the man was swinging his greatsword with more strength than he could hope to counter. He couldn’t pause to cast a spell without being sliced in two. All in all, this was shaping up to be an embarrassingly banal end.
And then blood was pouring down the man’s neck, Astarion’s dagger buried in his throat. The looter collapsed as Astarion pulled his blade free and the greatsword clanged loudly against the stone floor. He flashed Gale a positively feral grin before disappearing back into the shadows.
When all of the looters were dead, Shadowheart and Tav began searching the bodies. Gale was rifling through the wizard’s scroll case when he caught Astarion out of the corner of his eye. He was staring at his hand, transfixed by the blood trailing down his fingers and wrist and collecting in the cuff of his sleeve. Gale kept his hands moving so Astarion wouldn’t realize he was watching him.
Astarion’s hand was shaking when he brought his wrist to his mouth, a hairsbreadth away, but not quite touching. He visibly inhaled and his eyelids fluttered shut, wetting his parted lips with a quick brush of his tongue.
Then his eyes snapped open and he wrenched his hand away from his face. He searched almost frantically for his waterskin before pouring its entire contents on his hands, rubbing them together until no trace of the blood was left.
If he was so hungry, Gale didn’t understand why he didn’t just drink from one of the looters. They were still warm enough. But then he supposed that most people found a vampire feeding unsettling, and Astarion wasn’t willing to risk what little goodwill he had.
Still, a hungry vampire was a liability in a myriad of ways. Gale made a mental note to distract the others the next time there were bodies.
Astarion was the worst liar Gale had ever met, and that was saying quite a bit because he had met Wyll.
They found the monster hunter in the hag’s swamp, and Astarion lost any semblance of calm nearly immediately. His questions about the rogue vampire spawn were suspiciously pointed, and he was growing more agitated by the second, his fingers twitching towards his dagger.
At times, Gale wondered how old Astarion truly was. He didn’t exactly look like a youth: there were lines around his eyes that suggested he might be around the same age as Gale - or whatever the equivalent for elves would be - but his control was that of a much younger man. His emotions bubbled just below the surface, warring with the charming and nonchalant facade he tried to maintain around the group. Had he always been like this? Or had his years as a thrall regressed him, made him so volatile that he couldn’t contain it, even when his life depended on it?
Gale would have thought that the threat of looming death would keep him from being bored enough to resort to picking apart Astarion of all people.
Thankfully, Tav was a much better actor than Astarion. Astonishingly so, in fact. He told the monster hunter that they would tell him if they saw any of the spawn, and he sounded so earnest that even Gale believed him.
Once they were out of earshot, Gale turned to Astarion with a teasing smile. “We’ll certainly have to keep an eye out, won’t we, Astarion?”
Astarion’s red eyes narrowed and flicked over to Gale. His whole body tensed and he fell a step behind him. But he recovered quickly.
He sniffed derisively. “We hardly have time to help a Gur with his problems.” And then he breezed past Gale, trying and failing to look casual.
It was when they found the exsanguinated boar that Gale realized that the others didn’t actually know. He was going to have to seriously reevaluate his estimation of their collective intelligence.
Astarion still wasn’t confessing either. He was, however, telling Tav and Shadowheart of his particular expertise in the nature of vampires and offering to keep watch at camp that night. The whole situation was almost farcical, and Gale was struggling to contain his laughter.
He clearly didn’t do a good enough job because Shadowheart fixed him with a glare. “Vampire spawn are dangerous, Gale.” She turned her attention back to the boar as though it had any information left to divulge.
When Gale looked over at Astarion, he was watching warily. Gale made sure to hold his gaze. “Of course they are.”
Astarion’s face ran through a gamut of emotions so quickly that Gale didn’t think even he could keep up with them. He seemed to finally settle on resignation.
And, somehow, that was enough for Gale. He could destroy Astarion in an instant, and Astarion knew it and wasn’t fighting it. But Gale didn’t particularly want to; Astarion hadn’t proven to be a danger to them thus far - though that was likely because he needed them if he wanted to survive, and even he was smart enough to realize that. Now that he knew Gale was onto him, he’d probably be even more careful. If Astarion wanted to keep his head down until they dealt with the tadpole and parted ways, Gale was just fine with that. Anything he chose to do after that wasn’t Gale’s problem.
So Gale kept his face impassive and nodded at him.
To be fair, Gale didn’t know Astarion would do something so colossally stupid. He’d tried to bite Tav as though the rest of them weren’t sleeping twenty yards away. And he had primarily done it to see if he could, to see if his master’s orders still controlled him. The tadpole must have addled Tav’s brain because he had actually let Asation drink from him. Gale couldn’t fathom what would make Astarion reveal himself at all, let alone like this.
But perhaps Gale needn’t have protected Astarion in the first place. The rest of the group was understandably wary, but besides warning him away from trying their blood, they had little reaction to the news. Tav told Astarion that he wasn’t allowed to bite innocents, but that was the end of it.
And if Gale was disappointed by the conclusion of their shared subterfuge, that was his own secret to keep.
Astarion’s nightmare woke them all.
Gale had heard him tell Tav about his former master - his tent was barely ten feet away after all - but the dream had brought down the walls he’d so carefully maintained. When he had talked to Tav before, he had been flippant, dressing up Cazador’s torments like amusing anecdotes. Of course, it was transparent, but it kept him feeling in control. It gave him distance. He didn’t have that distance now.
It would have been better if Astarion broke down completely, if he had cried or raged. It would have been easier for Gale to watch at least. He’d always viewed those types of displays with a sense of detached pity, as though that kind of distress was so incongruous from his reality that it couldn’t possibly belong there. But Astarion was playing it off, trying to act like two centuries of torture hadn’t affected him, like he and Tav were having some casual conversation. He was almost succeeding, too, but his eyes were unfocused and his voice wobbled. He clearly didn’t want to say anything at all, but at the same time, he couldn’t seem to stop himself. The words tumbled out of him, the way Cazador had used his back as vellum, his blade as the quill.
“You don’t have to be afraid anymore,” Tav said. “We can protect you.”
Astarion’s face shuttered in an instant. “Oh, thank you,” he said, scathingly sarcastic. “It’s just what I’ve always dreamed of. Shall we find a white horse and ride off into the sunset together?”
“I’m just trying to help.”
“You could ‘help’ by actually using these powers we’ve been given. But you’re nothing more than a cowering child. I don’t need anything from you.”
“Astarion, wait.” Tav grabbed Astarion’s arm as he tried to walk away. Astarion’s fury was a tangible presence as he whipped around, and for a second, Gale was convinced that he would rip Tav apart with his bare hands.
And a tiny part of him wanted to watch.
It was an academic part, obviously. Astarion presented himself so much like a normal elf, Gale had had little chance to study his true, bestial nature. Shame and horror roiled in his stomach all the same.
Astarion seemed to restrain himself, and he tore his arm from Tav’s grip. “Don’t follow me,” he said, and stalked off into the woods.
Gale wouldn’t have expected Astarion to brood silently. He would have expected there to be a great deal of theatrics - pouting, sighing, that sort of thing.
Gale hadn’t noticed that he’d returned to camp. He didn’t even notice he was seated across the fire from him until he reached for his pack to grab a different book.
Even when he was quiet, Astarion was always loud. He made his presence hard to ignore. It was easy to forget how stealthy he could be when it suited him.
He didn’t seem to be aware that Gale was examining him. He was worrying at his bottom lip and a tiny pinprick of blood had welled up beneath one of his fangs. His hands rested lightly on his knees, but there was tension in every line of his body. Suddenly, he let out a tiny puff of air and ran his hand through his hair. He sagged in on himself as the white curls fell effortlessly back into place.
“How do you get it to do that?” Gale asked without really meaning to. He’d never managed awkward silence particularly well.
Astarion wasn’t fazed by Gale’s interruption. “Hm? I’m not sure what you mean.”
Gale waved his hand vaguely in Astarion’s direction. “How do you get your hair like that? You know, without a mirror.”
“Some of us are just born flawless, I suppose.” He smirked. “Don’t look so jealous, darling. It doesn’t suit you.”
He looked a bit lighter now, but Gale supposed a good compliment would do that for you. If that’s what it took for Gale to get back to reading without disturbance. It wasn’t even a lie: the man did have some truly impressive hair. He could hardly say it compared to his own, but credit where credit was due.
“I could make you a double sometime, if you’re looking to perfect.” And where had that come from? Because that could easily be construed as something it was not. That was the very last impression he wanted to give Astarion. He would never hear the end of it.
It was that, out of everything, that flustered Astarion.
“Ah. That’s um… very kind of you.” He quickly collected himself. “I’m afraid I’ll have to pass, however,” he said airily, “Red’s not really my color.”
Gale hummed absently in lieu of a reply and turned back to his book. Maybe it would distract him from wondering what color Astarion’s eyes were before.
Tav decided to help the tiefling by the river, and this had inevitably led to a fight with the Zariel cultists. Gale wasn’t overly invested either way, though the cultists’ leader did have a very potent sword he was hoping to persuade Tav to part with.
Despite their fiendish affiliation, the cultists were pitifully outmatched. Gale had teleported to the loft and easily dispatched their archer while Tav had chased their mage to the roof. The leader was fighting valiantly, but was heavily wounded. He could barely swing his sword, much less make any impact against Shadowheart’s shield.
Whether he sensed Astarion or not, he didn’t have the wherewithal to fight him off as he sank his fangs into his neck from behind. It took him a matter of seconds to go limp in Astarion’s arms, but Astarion didn’t stop. He moaned, quiet, and almost helpless. Shadowheart made a disgusted noise in the back of her throat before stalking off the way Tav had gone.
Astarion staggered backwards into the wall, struggling under the man’s newly dead weight. He clutched at the body as though someone would take it away from him and he would die without it. The moment seemed to stretch on endlessly. Gale could have left - should have left - but there was something fascinating about Astarion’s desperation.
For the first time since the tadpole had been implanted, Gale was tempted to use its mind linking capabilities, just to get a glimpse of what Astarion was feeling, the intensity of it. With Astarion as distracted as he was, he might not notice Gale’s intrusion. He wouldn’t do it, of course; no matter how curiously voyeuristic he was becoming, he wouldn’t violate the sanctity of someone’s mind.
But, oh how he wanted to.
Astarion pulled away with a gasp and the body crumpled to the floor. He slumped against the wall and let his head fall back, panting hard, a vestigial response he had forgotten he didn’t need anymore. Blood dripped down his chin, seemingly unnoticed, while he stared up at the ceiling with glassy eyes.
His smile wasn’t triumphant or animalistic or rapturous. It was the kind of small, private smile one might wear after finishing a good book: one of satisfaction, immediate nostalgia, and perhaps, a twinge of melancholy. It was timid, and fragile, and above all, real.
It was far too intimate for the near strangers they were, but Gale couldn’t stop himself from feeling entitled to it. Like a piece of lost arcana, a vital data point only he was qualified to uncover. Gale’s mother had often told him that people weren’t puzzles to be solved, but that was an oversimplified view when -
The wood groaned beneath Gale’s feet as he shifted his weight, and Astarion startled. Then his smile twisted into a lascivious smirk as he made a show of licking the blood from his lips.
“Are you frightened of me now?"
The walk back to camp had been largely silent thus far. Tav was conflicted about killing the cultists - desperate people do desperate things - but Shadowheart argued that they had made their choice and deserved the consequences. Gale was inclined to agree with her, but wasn’t about to get involved. She had marched on ahead and Tav had fallen behind, leaving Gale with only Astarion for company.
“Should I be? I thought you said we were all friends. Or was that merely for Tav’s benefit?”
“Well, of course, we are. Perhaps I laid it on a bit thick, but you know how he is. Save the children and all that.”
“And I suppose you’d rather devour them?”
“Me? Devour children?” Astarion said with affronted incredulity. “Hardly.” He grinned wickedly, making sure to expose his fangs. “All that screaming, and for so little blood.”
It was an obvious provocation. He wanted Gale’s shock and revulsion.
Gale took a moment to look him up and down - so Astarion knew he was being assessed - before shrugging. “It’s easier to play the monster than to be one, I guess.”
Astarion scowled. “And what is that supposed to mean?”
Gale waited to answer, pretending he was considering his words. He preferred Astarion to think he was coming up with his theory on the fly; he didn’t want to look too eager. It also had the added benefit of keeping Astarion focused on him, or rather, what he had to say.
“You’re the wolf in sheep’s clothing, right? You tell us over and over how harmless you are, how we can trust you. But you don’t really want us to think that. You play a part because it’s expected of you, but you never want us to forget that you’re the wolf, the ‘monster’. That’s not actually true, of course. Like I said before.”
Gale knew he should probably leave it there. Continuing on would almost certainly show his hand, but he had always found that there was little satisfaction in discoveries he couldn’t share.
“All those refugees at the druid grove. With as many goblin attacks as they’ve had, they might not even notice if another person went missing. And if they did, they’d have had little reason to suspect you. It’s a perfect feeding ground, and yet you never took advantage of it.”
“You sound very sure of that,” Astarion said, feigning nonchalance, but there was enough of an edge to it that Gale knew he had gotten under his skin. It was more gratifying than it should have been.
“The boar? Biting Tav?” Gale raised an eyebrow. “True, you could be an utter fool, but I think you let it go too long. You got sloppy.” He let his voice pitch low, and he stepped ever-so-slightly closer. “You must have been so thirsty.” Was it a taunt, an invitation? Was he merely sticking a pin into a bug to catalogue how it squirmed?
He was only half-aware that they had stopped dead in the middle of the path. “Do you want to know what I really think?”
“Not particularly,” Astarion said, but he didn’t step back, and he didn’t break his gaze.
“I think, if you had half the chance, you’d be exactly like him. And that terrifies you more than anything.”
Astarion hissed, a completely inhuman sound that made Gale’s blood pound in his veins. There you are.
“How about,” - and Astarion brought his face just an inch closer, venom dripping from every word - “you keep to your business, and I shall keep to mine.” He gripped the amulet Tav had given him and disappeared. Gale only got a glimpse of him before he was swallowed up by the forest.
Gale felt something settle in his chest, but he didn’t feel sated. He walked back to camp, watching for white hair in the woods.
True to his word, Astarion all but ignored him for the next week or so. If anyone noticed, they didn’t care enough to comment. Gale, for his part, buried his thoughts in the bottom of his pack, covered them with books and research and things of actual consequence. He’d had his fun, after all, short-lived though it may have been.
“You know, I find your condition fascinating,” Astarion practically purred in his ear.
Gale didn’t bother to look up from his book, but he knew that the log across the fire was unoccupied. If Astarion was sitting next to him, it was by design. “What happened to keeping to your business?”
“Yes, well, my business is awfully dull of late.”
“The threat of ceremorphosis isn’t exciting enough for you?”
Astarion was sitting close enough that their thighs were brushing. “That’s been very slow-going, if it’s even happening at all. You, on the other hand, you could explode at any moment and take out half the continent. I find that much more...stimulating.”
Ah.
Gale hadn’t been expecting this. He had contemplated the possibility that Astarion might come on to him, if he thought Gale might be able to further his goals. Gale wouldn’t be manipulated by sex, and Astarion had likely recognized that. But he hadn’t considered that Astarion might try to manipulate him into sex for its own sake. It was the way he was holding himself, close enough to insinuate, but far enough to brush it off and make a hasty retreat if he were rejected. He briefly pulled his lip beneath his fang before catching himself, plastering his rakish smile back on. He was offering himself, and he wasn’t sure Gale was going to say yes.
“Tav’s been very permissive with you.”
Astarion looked over to where Tav was speaking to a somewhat reluctant Shadowheart near her tent. “He has. But even if he weren’t infatuated with our prickliest priestess - well, he’s rather bland, isn’t he?” He turned back to Gale. “I need someone with a bit more bite.”
“And you think that’s me?”
Astarion’s face was so close to his, but there was no heat, no scent. There was a bare whisper of breath across Gale’s skin as he spoke, and then stillness. “I think I’m not the only wolf here.”
Gale could walk away. He could say something snide and brutal and close that door forever. But maybe there was an extent to which this had always been inevitable.
It certainly wouldn’t be a hardship. It had been a long time since he’d had a man, anyone at all, really. Not since she had left. He wondered why he’d stopped himself. As if it would be his fidelity of all things that would bring her back.
And Astarion himself? Now that Gale finally let himself look, Astarion truly was beautiful. He was elegant in the way most elves were, with haughty, defined features and an indecipherable distance in their gaze, a knowledge their longevity granted them that Gale would never be able to understand.
Maybe beautiful was too soft a word. Astarion was fickle and destructive, a summer tempest. Gale scoffed at his own romanticism. No, Astarion was a half-drowned cat backed into a corner, clawing indiscriminately. But Gale knew how to coax a cat, let it give him pieces of its trust one by one until it might lay its head in his lap. And there was a kind of beauty in that.
Astarion had leaned back a bit. “You watch me more than you think you do,” he said conversationally, pulling away from the intimacy of that insight. “Not that I blame you. But perhaps it’s something you’d like to give more thought to.”
“Not much to think about.” Gale shrugged.
Astarion didn’t move but he felt miles away. “Well, there’s no accounting for taste.”
Gale had to bite down on his lip to stop himself from smiling. There was something about Astarion that made him give into his petty amusements. “I was going to say yes, but if you preferred I didn’t…”
Astarion looked genuinely surprised by that. Maybe he really thought Gale would refuse him. He covered it up with a blithe “Of course you were.”
Of course he was.
Gale smoothed out the blanket, making sure there weren’t any sharp stones or roots on the ground beneath it. The forest wasn’t ideal, but Gale, being a wizard of not inconsiderable skill, had at least managed to set wards so they wouldn’t be disturbed by wild animals or anything else that made these woods its home. He had summoned a few orbs of light to illuminate the clearing. A child’s party trick, but under the night sky, they twinkled like faerie lights. He extinguished a few.
He heard Astarion approach, which was a kind gesture from him. Gale would have thought he’d want to make him jump.
Astarion wasn’t wearing his armor. Without the bulk of the leather, he looked almost delicate. Not that that was a word Gale would ever use in front of him. He still had a dagger on his hip, and even without it, he was never actually unarmed.
He said nothing as he crossed the clearing and sat down on the blanket. Gale did the same.
There was none of his performance now. He sat, cross-legged and stiff as if he didn’t quite know how to begin.
“No biting,” Gale warned.
“I should think not. All that Weave in your blood, who knows what would happen to me.”
He didn’t make a move to say or do anything else. Gale supposed he would need to be the one to get the ball rolling. He started to untie the belt of his robes. “Well?”
“I -” Astarion shook his head slightly. “Right.” He pulled his shirt over his head mechanically. He was coiled tight in a way that seemed to have nothing to do with anticipation. He was nervous, Gale realized.
And that gave Gale a terrible thought that he was not equipped to deal with. “You’re not - I mean, you have -”
“Yes, obviously,” he snapped. Then he sighed and became intensely interested in the shirt in his lap. “It’s just that I haven’t, um, not since…”
“But that was two hundred years ago.”
“I’m aware.”
“Not even once?”
“I was a slave, Gale,” Astarion drawled. “I didn’t exactly get nights off.”
“Well. Two hundred years and you choose me.” Gale made sure to sound as smug as possible. “I’d say I’m flattered, but it makes sense that you couldn’t resist me.”
Astarion rolled his eyes, but he gripped his shirt a little less tightly. “Shut up and fuck me before I change my mind.”
Gale didn’t waste time after that. He hadn’t thought he would be this hungry for it. Astarion’s skin was unnaturally pale in the moonlight and it drew Gale’s hands to him like a beacon. He didn’t have the restraint nor the inclination to keep his touch tentative; he ran his palms down Astarion’s sides to land at his hips, his fingertips catching on the jagged scars on his back.
Astarion was warm, not as warm as a living man would be, but still warmer than he’d been on the few occasions Gale had had to touch him previously. Had he sat by the fire long enough to let its heat seep into his skin? Had he done it intentionally? The possibility of that - it was like the spark of Weave right before he cast a spell, pulsing through his fingers, pure, unfettered power, but nothing until he called upon it.
He grasped Astarion’s hips tighter and pulled him to his lap. Astarion went more than willingly, scrambling to straddle his thighs, settling with a shaky exhale that ruffled Gale’s hair. Looking down at him, red eyes so vibrant against the pallor of his undeath, he was as ethereal as any goddess. There was little else he could do besides kiss him.
Astarion kissed as he fed: frenzied, overwhelmed, and desperately jealous. He kissed as though someone was waiting behind him to snatch him from Gale’s arms. He didn’t know where to put his hands, barely able to keep them still for more than a few seconds before they were reaching somewhere else. They wound in Gale’s hair, traveled over his shoulders to grip his biceps, skirted the folds of his robe. He seemed particularly intrigued by Gale’s chest hair, and he left one hand under the fabric to thread his fingers in it. Gale wrapped his arms firmly around his waist so his frantic movements didn’t upend them both. He was more than happy to kiss him and let himself be explored; there was something delicious in appearing unmoved with a partner that couldn’t get his fill of him.
Astarion’s kisses were messy, like it wasn’t even about kissing at all, just the need for contact. He hadn’t been careful with his fangs and had pierced his own lip. Gale could feel the blood smearing on his lips, and it didn’t cross his mind to feel repulsed. He licked over the wound and pulled Astarion’s lip into his mouth, sucking lightly around the small puncture. The taste did little for him, but he reveled in the way Astarion whined like he couldn’t help himself, how his body arched into Gale’s.
Gale could feel Astarion’s hard cock pressed against his thigh, but he couldn’t be sure Astarion was even aware of it. He wasn’t attempting to find any friction at the very least. Gale pushed up against him, and Astarion broke the kiss with a sharp gasp.
Astarion was trembling, teetering so close to the edge when they’d barely even begun. Gale brought his mouth close and let his warm breath caress the shell of his ear. “You really do need this, don’t you? I wonder if you’ll spill before I even get my hands on you.”
“Fuck you,” he snarled, but his vitriol was undermined by the way he moaned as Gale trailed wet kisses down his neck.
Gale licked at the junction of his neck and shoulder. It was curious to lie with a man and not taste his sweat. He brushed his lips featherlight over Astarion’s dormant pulse and looked for something that would ground him.
“Don’t you dare be gentle.”
So Gale bit down. Hard.
He waited for Astarion to retaliate, to slap or scratch and let this devolve into the violent, animalistic fuck it was always meant to be. But those things didn’t come. No, instead, Astarion whimpered, tilting his head to bare his neck further and going limp in his arms.
Oh. So that was it.
Gale had played these kinds of games before and he had loved them. It was no secret that he coveted power, in all of its many forms. And while the mysteries of the arcane would be his true mastery, this delighted him even more. The Weave didn’t realize when it was submitting.
He knew he would have to tread lightly. Almost as soon as he had reacted, Astarion froze, muscles tensed, ready to bolt if Gale handled him indelicately.
Gale didn’t need to use the tadpole to know what was going on in his head. He was at war with himself, horrified and furious that the treatment he fought fang and claw to escape was something he craved. That a part of him wanted to be controlled, to be hurt, even as much as that disgusted him. But he needed it so very badly.
Gale knew, if he chose to, he could make Astarion beg. And wasn’t that a heady thought? It filled his cock so fast that he felt light-headed. Astarion was a primal, untamable creature, and Gale could make him beg for his cock. What else could he reduce him to, if given the chance?
Astarion would hate him when it was over, but he would hate himself more, and Gale wasn’t quite a big enough bastard to do that to him. But he certainly wasn’t made of stone.
He slid his hand up Astarion’s back and tangled his fingers into his curls. They were softer than they had any right to be. He yanked on them roughly, snapping Astarion’s head back, and bit his neck once more, his blunt teeth covering the scars of sharper ones.
Astarion seemed very aware of his need now, and Gale’s as well. Even as Gale held him in place, he was trying to shift himself in Gale’s lap. He managed to line their cocks up and was rocking into him, gasping as Gale tugged on his hair again and didn’t let go. Gale was so caught up in his own thoughts that he hadn’t realized how much he ached to be touched. Astarion was reaching between them, pulling on the cord of Gale’s robe, though he could barely loosen it in this position. Giving up on that, he slipped his hand in the gap and made to undo his laces as he continued to grind on him. Gale could feel his control fraying and a part of him wanted to give in. But he wasn’t about to let this end with them spilling in their pants like a couple of youths. Not when he could have so much more.
He shoved Astarion from his lap, who tumbled backwards onto the blanket, catching himself on his elbows. “Be patient,” he said before Astarion could attempt to get up.
And Astarion stilled. He met Gale’s gaze with wide, wild eyes, lost but maybe hopeful as well. He was looking for Gale to guide him through. Maybe he was looking for anyone who could, but for now he stared at Gale like he was Lathander himself.
Gale finally undid the cord of his robe and let it fall from his shoulders onto the ground. He ran his hands down the planes of his stomach and let them brush the top of his pants, toying with the laces. Astarion watched him with single-minded intensity, and Gale felt warmth flood his entire body. He wanted to tear his clothes away, pin Astarion to the ground, and fuck him until they both fell apart. Instead, he forced himself to undress slowly.
Astarion let out a tiny noise of surprise when he’d pushed his breeches down far enough to reveal his cock. Gale fought to keep his face neutral. His magic hadn’t been the only thing to keep her attention.
He reached down to stroke himself, as much of a tease for himself as it was for Astarion. He could feel his pulse throbbing under his palm. He deliberately let his eyes trail down Astarion’s chest to where his cock was straining against the fabric of his pants and then flicked them up to meet his gaze again, his eyebrow raised in question. Astarion forewent any attempt at seduction as he hastened to strip himself, baring his body to the night sky.
Oh, but he was lovely. He had returned to leaning back on his elbows, his cock curving up to rest on his stomach, flushed the lightest of pinks. The moon was softening his sharper features. Only his eyes and the blood staining his lips suggested he was anything other than marble.
Gale wanted to see the cracks.
He called lightning to his fingertips and let it crackle between them. It wasn’t much, only enough to sting. Astarion watched the purple sparks with something more akin to fascination than fear, and when Gale shuffled closer, he spread his legs to give him room.
He let his fingers brush over the middle of his knee and walked them up to his inner thigh. Astarion jolted at the initial contact, eyes falling shut with a soft moan. Gale dragged the sparks down his other thigh, leaving unblemished skin in their wake. So he did it again and again, even knowing that the marks he wished for would never take.
He had no idea how long he had been touching him. It was almost meditative, the steady flow of the Weave radiating from his core, the small, quiet sounds of Astarion’s pain. Even as he knew that his cock was nearly purple and leaking onto the blanket, it felt distant to him. Astarion looked as though he had been driven to the edge of sanity: his head lolled back and he twitched uncontrollably with every new touch. When Gale ghosted the lightning over his balls, his mewls became an anguished cry.
The sound of it shot through Gale, pulsed through his veins and brought with it the desperation he had forgotten. And once he was aware of it, he couldn’t begin to think about anything else. Every throb of his cock sent a new surge of pleasure through him even as it ached. He needed to rut into Astarion, take and take until he knew nothing besides relief of burying his cock as deep as it would go.
Gale took Astarion’s chin in his hand and tilted it down to level his face with his own. Astarion’s eyes were closed and his lips were parted. Gale wanted to bite them.
“Do you want me to fuck you?” Gale asked as dispassionately as he could.
Astarion hummed dazedly without opening his eyes.
Gale sighed heavily before gripping Astarion’s chin harder, digging his nails into his skin. “Answer.”
Astarion’s eyes snapped open, blazing. “Don’t ask stupid questions.”
And something about that sent Gale spiraling even higher. The sharp reminder of Astarion’s defiance. He didn’t know if he wanted to stoke it or snuff it out.
Gale summoned grease to his palm. “Turn over,” he said. He sat back to let Astarion roll over and get on his hands and knees. He had wanted to have Astarion open himself up - to instruct his every movement until he was writhing on his own fingers, mad with desire - but he no longer had the patience for it. It would have to be quick, dirty, and just enough. Astarion would probably enjoy the burn anyways.
He gripped Astarion’s hip tightly with one hand and dragged his fingers over his hole just once, a warning so as not to startle him. There was little resistance as he pushed his index finger all the way in, and Astarion’s only response was a satisfied sigh. Two fingers gave Gale what he had been hoping for. Astarion’s hole fluttered as he bore down, trying to accept the intrusion. He hissed as Gale pressed them further in. He was going to be so tight around him; he hadn’t taken a cock in so long. Gale knew there would be others, but no other man would have him quite like this. Would he remember this night, long after Gale had crumbled to dust? His skin, his soul - there was nowhere Gale did not wish to leave a mark.
His fingers were sliding more easily now, and they were both done waiting. He slicked up his cock and lined himself up, pushing just the tip inside before grabbing Astarion and pulling him back until his ass was flush with Gale’s hips.
He could help but groan at the feeling. Gods above, was it good. Astarion was cool inside and it was like a balm for Gale’s oversensitive cock. He was glad for it - he was tighter than Gale had even thought possible. He’d never been this close so quickly before.
Astarion was struggling to take him. Gale held him fast and offered him no relief. He squirmed and arched his back, whining pitifully with each failed attempt to adjust. His limbs were shaking so violently that he would have collapsed if Gale weren’t holding him up. It must really hurt. Gale knew he was a special kind of bastard for that to arouse him as much as it did, but at the moment, he didn’t care.
Gale sighed as though put-upon and smacked his hand down hard on Astarion’s ass. Astarion clenched down tighter still in response to the bright burst of pain, but he finally relaxed as it faded, as if he no longer had the energy to resist. “Better,” Gale mused as he smoothed over the place he had hit.
Astarion moaned weakly, swaying a bit as his arms buckled, and Gale thought it may have been too much for him. But then he was moving again, shifting back against him, trying to force Gale’s cock even deeper.
He was perfect. It was a thought he shouldn’t be having, but here he was, taking everything Gale had to give him and still wanting more. Was there no limit to it? Would he let Gale take him to that line? Would he let him push him over? Gale dearly wished they had more time, but he just couldn’t hold himself back.
He sat back on his heels, pulling Astarion with him, holding around him the middle so he was made to lean against Gale’s chest. Gravity let Astarion take every inch of him. Astarion tipped his head back onto Gale’s shoulder, curls tickling his neck. When Gale finally started to thrust, he rolled his hips down to meet him. It was halting and unsteady, but it was divine. He dragged his hand up Astarion’s stomach and rubbed his thumb over his nipple as he fucked him with harsh, unforgiving strokes, listening to him whimper as he got the angle just right. It was like his body simply knew what to do, how to wring out every ounce of pleasure, every intoxicating sound until Astarion had no choice but to withstand the onslaught. Like it was preordained, like it had been since that moment on the beach. Like Gale was the only one who could possibly give him this.
Maybe Astarion was made for him, too. Gale’s hand found its way to Astarion’s throat and squeezed, and for once, it was uncomplicated. Without concern or calculations. Without restraint. And Astarion leaned into the pressure, wanting it harder, wanting more and more. Insatiable.
Gale knew he was going to come soon, could feel the pulse of it in the base of his cock, but he had to make Astarion come first. In that instant of pinpoint clarity, right as Astarion realized he was coming, Gale needed him to remember who had brought him to his peak, even if he would never say his name aloud.
He moved his other hand from Astarion’s hip to his cock. Astarion sagged, letting Gale hold him up by his throat. There was no way Gale could last like this. When Gale wrapped his hand around him, he was only able to make a near-inaudible rasp.
He stroked Astarion roughly - fast and to the point. Astarion took a tiny, shuddering breath and then whispered a broken “please”.
Gale didn’t know if it was meant for him or for the gods themselves, but it didn’t matter.
He pressed his mouth to Astarion’s ear, bit down on the pointed tip. “Come for me.” Only for me.
He didn’t know if those words were only in his mind because he didn’t know anything except the tight clench of Astarion’s hole around him, the way he throbbed in Gale’s hand, the way it felt to finally find release, felt it tearing through his whole body, intense sensation that he wasn’t sure he could call pleasure, the way he was filling Astarion up with his seed, fucking it deeper and deeper as he rode it out, and the way that thought sent shivers down his spine.
It had never been like this. Not even with her. She hadn’t understood this part of him.
When Gale dropped his hand from Astarion’s throat, Astarion fell forward in exhaustion, Gale’s cock slipping out easily. He caught himself on his hands, but seemed to give up and collapsed fully onto his stomach. Little tremors wracked him sporadically, each with its own hitched gasp.
Gale took a deep breath, trying to recover. He stared up at the sky as though it would tell him what to do next. There were rules to this part of the game, too, but he doubted Astarion would accept them. Maybe the rules weren’t meant for people like them.
“Well,” he heard Astarion say, voice completely wrecked, “that was surprisingly adequate.”
Seeing as Astarion was still laying face down with Gale’s spend leaking out of his ass, Gale was very confident that ‘adequate’ was an understatement.
“Yes, I suppose so.”
Astarion looked utterly debauched, and Gale wished he could paint him like this, but he knew he would never get it quite right. Something about the way the moon danced over the curve of his ass, the scars on his back. “It’s in Infernal, you know. The, um, the poem.”
“Oh,” Astarion said, and it sounded very small.
“Sorry, I shouldn’t have-”
“No, you shouldn’t have.”
Gale had expected Astarion to rage at him, but he just seemed tired. Gale wished he hadn’t brought it up. He told himself it was out of courtesy, but he couldn’t deny he liked the idea of knowing something about Astarion he didn’t even know about himself. He’d never know what it said anyways: his Infernal was too rusty, and Astarion would never lie there and let him muddle through the translations.
Gale turned around to get his clothes and kept his back to Astarion so that he could let him have some amount of privacy while he cleaned himself up.
It seemed like Astarion wasn’t interested in dealing with the messy state Gale had left him in, as he didn’t waste much time before putting his clothes back on. The thought of Astarion walking back to camp with Gale’s come dripping down his thighs was almost enough to make him drag Astarion back down to the ground and fuck him again.
Astarion must have seen the look in his eye. It wasn’t like he was trying to be subtle. “It does seem like we’ll be traveling together for quite a bit longer,” he started. “And as I clearly haven’t encountered any other ‘adequate’ bed partners, I would be open to continuing our arrangement. At least until something better comes along.”
“Naturally,” Gale agreed, trying not to sound too pleased with himself. He didn’t want to give Astarion any reason to call it off. His mind was already spinning with ideas and he would be sorely disappointed to miss out on any of them. “You can head back first. I need to clean up here.”
There wasn’t really any clean-up to do, but Astarion didn’t question it. He only took a few steps off the blanket and into the grass before he stopped. He didn’t turn around.
“Gale, I’m not yours.”
But you could be.
He could own Astarion and all of his complexities. He could find ways to pull him apart layer by layer, to crack open his ribs and extract his cold, blackened heart, to examine every facet of it until he knew every secret it had to offer…
And then throw it aside. Like he did with everything else. What use did he have for the question when he already had the answer?
“I never said you were.”
Astarion looked back over his shoulder, expression inscrutable, and then he disappeared into the night.