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There were no winners in their game, if it could even be called a game. It was just something that they did. A private amusement for themselves at balls and parties. Astarion would flit about, catch the eyes of plenty of suitors. Gale would watch, and if Astarion caught him watching, Astarion would end his current conversation and break their heart.
It was thrilling, after having the discussion addressing Gale’s jealousy. Gale would never tell Astarion how to act, but he worried early on that Astarion’s flirtations may lead to wandering eyes. Not that they were official to the public. But Astarion reassured Gale that his general flirting was nothing for Gale to worry about. Astarion enjoyed seeing the effects of his words; he wasn’t attempting for real connections outside of their… situation. It was more than friendship, but they hadn’t broached on words of courtship. Yet.
Conversations of courtship could wait, though, for Gale’s eyes scanned the crowd looking for Astarion. He already knew what Astarion was wearing—a breath-taking ensemble of cream and blue with golden embroidery. The peacocks on either side of the chest were sure to catch anyone’s attention, and they were quite deserving of it. Peonies complemented the birds, settled amidst the beautiful filigree designs. He wondered, briefly, if the tailor knew the meaning behind such flowers. Gale also knew that Astarion was carrying a matching fan, soft blue with a lovely golden sunrise painted on it. And thank the gods for it, because it was the fan that caught Gale’s attention from across the room.
Astarion was playing coy, holding the open fan beneath his eyes, inviting the other gentleman closer. Gale’s heart began to race, hoping that Astarion was looking for him in the ball. Gale wouldn’t be terribly hard to spot in his purple tailcoat, but he wanted to see how far this conversation would last, so he made sure to not stay in one place overlong.
Astarion fluttered his eyelashes as this potential suitor mustered his courage and approached Astarion. Gale was enraptured, falling just as easily into Astarion’s trap as the poor sod he was talking to. His eyes lingered on the closed fan in a delicately gloved hand gently resting against Astarion’s rouged lips. Gale couldn’t hear the conversation, not that he wanted to. That wasn’t part of their game. He imagined being in the other man’s stead, however. To be the one in conversation with his star, to hear those biting remarks and riposte with his own wit. Their conversations were intoxicating, more potent than any port or gin that would be served. Gale imagined capturing the words from Astarion’s mouth before they even left his lips. So caught up in his wants was he, Gale almost missed it.
The fan—still closed, Gale had noticed—was in Astarion’s right hand, which was nothing out of the ordinary for this unspoken language. There were a few positions that crafted new meanings based on the hand used. Gale was familiar with them, of course. Which is precisely the reason why Gale’s heart stuttered when Astarion twirled the fan. And when Astarion’s eyes met his own not even a heartbeat later, Gale could have sworn his heart stopped for a moment. That… that was new. Gale lost sight of the disgruntled gentleman, his eyes stuck only on Astarion. Astarion, who effortlessly opened his fan and slowly fanned himself, making sure to show the back of the fan to Gale, and never breaking eye contact.
What kind of fool would he be to ignore such an invitation?
Gale took a minute to compose himself. He grabbed a champagne flute as he walked about the ballroom. A few sips was all he needed, his head already buzzing from an entirely different high.
The gardens were barely lit at this point in the night. The moonflowers and wisteria cast a heavy fragrance into the air. There was only one flower he was in search of, however. Gale caught sight of blue and cream, disappearing further into the quaint hedge maze. It was no hassle at all to follow. The maze itself was simple, no true chance of getting lost, but taking each twist and turn with no sight of his star had Gale’s desire burning hotter and hotter. He reached the center of the garden’s maze, and still no sign of Astarion, just the portrait-perfect gazebo.
Gale stepped carefully, eyes scanning the dark. “Astarion?” He hadn’t heard the sound of footsteps, but he definitely felt the supple warmth of leather gloves on his shoulders that drew him close. In the next heartbeat, Gale found himself almost flush against Astarion’s chest, their waistcoats all but touched with each breath, hands on his hips instead of the railing. Neither of them spoke. Hells, Gale was hardly breathing. He was lost in a garnet-colored gaze. His memory brought back the ballroom, Astarion’s gaze, his twirl of the fan.
Gale surged forward, electricity in his veins, drunk off the feeling of Astarion’s smile in the kiss.
It was reckless to indulge here. A gazebo was not much of a sanctuary. Gale’s worries of society’s damnation were quickly cast from his mind by the heaven of Astarion’s lips. Gale allowed himself to relax himself against his lover. Astarion angled his face away, but Gale couldn’t stop kissing him. So he didn’t.
Gale trailed his hungry mouth across Astarion’s jaw, lavishing his skin with openmouthed kisses. He kissed just under Astarion’s ear, luxuriating in the heady scent of his perfume: rosemary, bergamot, and brandy.
“Eager tonight, my dear?” Astarion asks, and Gale can hear his smirk. Astarion knows very well what he does to Gale. He pulled away, allowing himself to take in the beautiful view. Astarion was ever-so-slightly flushed in the cheeks. His lips still wet from their kiss, the rouge no longer perfectly placed and created an entrancing halo of soft red. His starlight hair was tousled in a way to rival the white wisteria spilling around the gazebo’s beams.
Gale wanted to praise the angel in his arms. He wanted to craft poetry for Astarion’s ears only. He wanted to convey the beauty of his dearest companion.
“You love me,” is what he said instead.
Astarion was quiet, looking back at Gale. What did he see? Did he see some extended tryst? (Unlikely, based on their conversations.) Was it just friendship with the added pleasures of each other's flesh? (Gale could work with that, at least.) Or did Astarion see the lovestruck fool who was hoping he wasn’t falling alone? (Gods, he wanted this so much.)
Gale waited for his response. His hands flexed, holding Astarion a bit tighter. His gaze followed the delicate swipe of Astarion’s tongue, wetting his lips, tasting the last remnants of their kiss.
“I do.”
Gale couldn’t contain his groan as he kissed Astarion again. He took no time to keep it chaste, putting to use his practiced tongue in the ways he knew would have Astarion attempting to devour him whole. Gale needed Astarion’s desire, his hunger, his adoration.
Gale needed Astarion.
He pressed against Astarion more fully, pulling his love closer as he ground their hips together, swallowing the moans Astarion breathed against his mouth.
It wasn't nearly enough for Gale.
Damn the party. Damn the risk. Astarion loved him.
Once more, Gale's mouth trailed away from Astarion’s mouth, if only to hear the unsteady breaths. He was causing that. Gale. And Astarion loved him.
“I adore you, Star,” Gale whispered into his ear, lips just barely brushing against the shell, if only because Gale knew how Astarion would shiver in his arms and pull him close, draping his arms around Gale’s shoulders. “I wish to pay reverence to your love. Let me cherish you.”
“Gale, dearest, whatever you want to do, just don’t keep me waiting. Your mouth has been on my mind this entire evening.”
That was all that Gale needed to hear. He moved with a practiced ease, undoing the fastenings of Astarion’s breeches. Once Gale was on his knees, looking up at Astarion’s flushed cheeks and parted lips painted against the night sky and framed with ivory wisteria, his mind was quick to remind him this was different from other nights he had taken Astarion like this. Granted, the actions were much the same. He caressed Astarion’s calf, clad in a lovely silk stocking. He nuzzled into the hand Astarion carded through his hair. He placed a kiss to the creased skin beside Astarion’s erection. All things Gale had learned that Astarion appreciated over many passionate couplings. But now Gale knew that Astarion loved him.
This was different.
Gale gave a slow drag of his tongue across Astarion’s cock, watching how Astarion observed him. His lust-laden, garnet eyes tracked the plentiful licks and kisses along his dick. His hand slid through Gale’s hair, disturbing the styling as he grabbed a handful and gave a sharp tug. It was enough to sting, a jolt of pain and pleasure traveling through Gale and all the way to his confined cock. Gods, he was already half-hard.
“I believe I said not to keep me waiting, love,” Astarion cooed. Gale moaned as his lips wrapped around the head of Astarion’s dick. No time to draw this out, but he could still show proper devotion. He lavished Astarion’s cockhead, swapping between swirling his tongue and hollowing his cheeks.
“Gale,” the breathy gasp of his name was beautiful, but Gale wanted more.
If Gale had been thinking more about a plan for this night, he would have eased his way down Astarion’s dick. He could think of a number of prior trysts, where there was the sinful slide of his tongue in between sucking. It was wet and messy, accompanied by Gale’s own chorus of debaucherous slurps and moans, and he relished in it. But in that moment, Gale wasn’t thinking of anything more than wanting to feel Astarion fill his mouth and throat. He wanted to smell the combination of Astarion’s musk and lust as he swallowed around him.
By the time his lips were surrounding the base of Astarion’s cock, Gale’s head was little more than a buzz of eros. Of course, the sounds of Astarion’s muffled moans were one of the few things to cut through the susurrations of his mind. Another was the shallow rolling of his hips. Gale groaned at the thought of Astarion fucking his throat raw. He pressed a little further, his nose right against Astarion’s pubic bone, holding the position and drinking his fill of the divine scent of Astarion. When Gale sat back on his heels, there was a thread of saliva that kept him and Astarion connected for just a moment longer. Gale licked his lips, panting, he could feel the tears in his eyes and lashes.
“I want you to fuck my throat,” Gale rasped.
“You always know just what to say, don’t you, dearest?” Astarion murmured, petting Gale. It was a nice break, but the throb in his dick wouldn’t be sated with gentle touches. Gale didn’t have to wait long for the rougher touch. Astarion grabbed a fistful of hair and pulled Gale where he wanted him. Any thought outside of an open mouth was beyond Gale at that moment. He moaned at the drag of Astarion’s cock with each thrust. He felt the shudder that coursed through his lover, and was rewarded with the slipping of Astarion’s composure.
“Gale, fuck, you’re- fuck,” Gale’s heart swelled hearing the higher pitch of Astarion’s voice. That wasn’t his performative voice. This was real.
Astarion loved him.
Astarion wanted him.
Astarion found pleasure in him, with him.
And Gale felt all of that, too.
Gale quickly undid his own trousers, wrapping his hand firmly around his weeping length. There was just enough precum to help ease the fast jerk of his fist. He was too far gone to try to match pace with Astarion. Gale twisted his wrist on the upstroke, tightened his grip, messily played with his slit. All the tricks he knew he used now on himself, choking on moans as he took each thrust with adoration. He watched his Star through tearful eyes; it was too much pleasure, too much love. Electricity shot through Gale as he came into his hand. He continued his stroking, mewling and moaning until he felt the tears on his overheated cheeks.
“Ah, ah, Gale! Fuck, I’m close,” Astarion looked down at him, drew a loving hand across Gale’s split-slick chin and beard, and hooked his fingers into the corner of Gale’s mouth. “Keep that loquacious mouth open, dearest.”
Gale couldn’t even nod, but his tongue lolled out.
“Look at how pretty you are, my love,” Astarion whispered, giving his cock a few quick strokes before there was a sharp hiss of breath. Gale felt the warm, bitter seed hit his exposed tongue and swollen lips and he was sure there was some in his beard. Gale made sure to hold Astarion’s gaze as he licked his lips and swallowed.
“Godsdammit, Gale, you’re going to be the death of me,” Astarion groaned, fishing out his handkerchief. He pulled Gale off his knees and leaned back against the rails as he began to wipe Gale’s face clean. Gale grabbed his own handkerchief, thinking it would be best to clean his hand off.
Once both of them were done, trousers refastened and all other clothing resettled, Gale leaned in to gently kiss Astarion. It was sweet, soft. Loving.
When the kiss broke, in his rough and well-fucked voice, Gale whispered, “I love you, Astarion."