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This whole thing is simply ridiculous.
He’s a grown man. He’s more of an adult now than he feels he’s ever been in his life, he’s more thoughtful and considers the consequences and implications of his actions than he ever has in his life. He’s married, he’s a father, he has his own business. He’s not this petty anymore. He’s only a reasonable amount of petty now.
He is above this. Gods, if Gale knew what was running through Astarion’s mind right now he’d either chastise him or tease him. It’s hard to know which would be worse.
It was just a bad evening is all. He went out to try and hunt up something alive, that is, but the smell of a brewing storm is hanging over Waterdeep. By the time he made it home the rain was already starting, with his belly no more full than it was before. There’s blood here, it just isn’t fresh, and he’ll have some later. He just wanted a cuddle first, to sit on the arm of Gale’s well-loved chair and tuck his nose into Gale’s neck and shoulder. He wanted to breathe him in and let the thrum of his pulse and his warm embrace chase away the frustration.
Hells. There’s no reason to be this jealous. This is the most irrational thing he’s ever done–and he’s done a lot.
They’re the picture of an ideal family, really. Gale is seated in said well-loved seat. He’s reading, and he hasn’t noticed Astarion yet–or at least hasn’t acknowledged him if he has. It wouldn’t be his fault, he’s quite preoccupied juggling his book, his Tressym, and their daughter.
Gale has the book held in the air before him with some spell or another, and his tired eyes are lazily flitting between the words, dropping closed, and occasionally glancing down at Stella in his lap. The pages haven’t been turning quickly, and Astarion imagines he’s rereading the same few passages over and over in his battle against sleep.
He has his legs outstretched and propped up on a wooden coffee table, which is cluttered with all the evidence that this is a home and not just a mural. A teapot, a cup partially sipped and long cooled, another book… maybe even some paperwork Gale intended to work on but didn’t get to.
Tara is curled up on Gale’s legs, sleeping off her dinner. Her wings are tucked in, her tail is causally curled around herself, and one of her paws is hanging down lazily. The little beastie might even be snoring!
Stella has draped herself over Gale’s entire lap and arms, and is the reason he can’t hold his own book. Her cheek is tucked into the crook of his elbow and her arms are clinging to his arm like a stuffy. Gale’s other hand, not so much a captive, is settled against the back of her head, with his fingers woven into her silvery hair. Those fingers gently rub through her curls, occasionally pausing to smooth them. He’s done the same thing to Astarion a hundred times, it’s heavenly. It’s no wonder that little angel dozed off on him—although he does wonder why she’s not in bed, yet.
Another wave of jealousy crashes over him and it’s all he can do not to stomp his foot. He’s not angry, he’s not really jealous, right? That’s his baby. His little star, his sweetling, his little round pumpkin and he’s not jealous of her. He wants her to be there, she’s four, she deserves it! There is no place in this world more comfortable than Gale’s arms, and no one in the world more perfect and worthy of that comfort than Stella.
Another crest on the unwarranted wave of jealousy. He inhales sharply through his nose. It’s not that he’s jealous of his daughter. It’s that he’s jealous that Gale has no attention left to spare for him. He can separate those things, can’t he? He wants to share, he knows Gale has enough love to go around, and yet… he wants to be prioritized, in the moment. He wants to be included in this perfect portrait.
Is he being selfish?
Astarion teeters on his feet. He shouldn’t interrupt. But it’s his family. He could go sit by Gale. He’s clearly tired, isn’t he? Maybe he should encourage him to head up to bed? That’s what he’ll do.
Silently he stalks behind him and leans over the back of his seat. He could startle him, or he could announce himself. Gale is tired enough a little fright might turn into an unintentionally larger one, though… and for the sake of their pretty daughter he decides not to scare the daylights right out of his husband. Instead he hums softly, and coos, “Hello, my love,” as he tucks his lips against his cheek for a little kiss.
Even with those warnings, he still hears Gale’s heart flip flop and the way he takes in a quiet, sharp inhale through his nose. He relaxes immediately though, and raises the hand that was in Stella’s hair behind him to comb through Astarion’s. He barely holds in a pleased little moan at the affectionate touch. It wasn’t his intention for Gale to do that, but he won’t complain. “Welcome home,” Gale murmurs. The book in the air gently levitates to the table and settles into place there, closed. “Any luck out there? I heard thunder.”
“Not so,” Astarion answers. He closes his eyes and takes this moment for what it is. Gale’s fingers in his hair, over his scalp, nails catching just enough to be pleasant. He luxuriates in that attention, and his rotten evening is a distant memory.
“Once this one is tucked in we’ll remedy that, if you’d like.”
Astarion hums an affirmative little noise. He would certainly like to have a little nibble, but he likely won’t for how exhausted Gale seems. Maybe come morning, if he’s up for it then. It’s the absolutely adorable thought that counts, however, and he’s touched, really. What a sweet husband he has, to offer himself up on a platter even when he’s spent the evening entertaining both of these lovely ladies and can barely keep his own eyes open.
Simply precious.
Astarion’s eyes slip open again at the sound of a tiny coo–and then Stella is lifting her sleepy little head and peering over Gale’s shoulder at Astarion. Her eyes meet his and she blinks three times as if she’s trying to wake up enough to determine who he even is.
And then…
“Papa!” She gasps, and reaches her arms out. She scrambles to climb closer, and Astarion scoops her into his arms if only to keep her from accidentally elbowing Gale in the face. Tara huffs and jumps away from Gale as well, as though she’s suffered a grave inconvenience by being roused from a nap.
Astaron pulls Stella close and cradles her under her legs while she hangs from his neck. “Yes, my sweet?”
“I missed you. Daddy let me stay up with him to wait for you,” She mumbles, her burst of energy already fading. He snickers and tucks his nose into her hair, amused at the use of the phrase stay up when she was out like a light. He can’t help but breathe in the scent of her. She still smells like the innocence of new life, under the soaps they use to wash her hair. Still fresh and new.
He loves her oh, so terribly much. Maybe it had little to do with being jealous of her time with Gale. His irksome jealousy is swept away in an instant, replaced with pride and affection, and maybe relief. This picturesque scene didn’t include him… but it was made for him like a gift waiting for him to return home to.
Astarion near-compulsively nuzzles his cheek against the top of Stella’s bangs–and he simply won’t admit that, if he’s ever asked. Gale starts to stand from his spot and chuckles at them while he does. “Goodness. For how quickly she tossed me aside when she saw you, I wonder if I shouldn’t be jealous?”
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