Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The first sensation Gale became aware of was the ache of his knees on the ground. The second was the manacle securing his wrists behind his back. Instinctively, he kept his eyes closed: if he was shackled, there was a chance his captor was still in the room—wherever the room was. Plumbing through brain fog that still hadn’t totally cleared, he searched for clues. Ah, yes—he remembered accepting a potion from Priestess Gut, who had promised to cure him of the tadpole problems. In retrospect, it had not been wise to drink a potion provided by a goblin. 

“Oh, what do we have here?” 

It was Astarion’s voice. Gale felt a wave of relief. If Astarion had found him, he was saved. The rogue could pick any lock, and Gale was sure that included his wrist bindings. 

“Astarion!”

He opened his eyes to see his savior on the other side of a set of prison bars. The bars themselves didn't worry him—they would barely be an inconvenience for Astarion. He was, however, concerned about what he saw in the vampire’s face. Astarion held an expression of devilish glee, and his eyes were not on Gale’s, but lower. What was he…?

Gale looked down and, for the first time, registered that he was completely naked. (The damned goblin must have taken his equipment!) Astarion was staring directly at his cock—which, to his great regret, gave a twitch of interest at this discovery. 

“Is that for me?” Astarion asked coquettishly. “Darling, I’m flattered. I had no idea you felt that way.”

“It’s not you,” Gale hissed, unaware that he was digging his own grave. 

“Oh? Then there’s something about this situation that you find arousing?” Astarion grinned as he made a point of scanning the empty prison cell. “I wonder what it could be. Surely ‘dirty hovel’ isn’t really your scene.”

Gale closed his eyes and took a steadying breath. He realized his mistake now. He would have to redirect Astarion before the rogue got too close to the truth. “It’s a perfectly normal reaction,” he replied, keeping his voice as stoically clinical as possible, “I once read a book that explained in some detail the effect a brush with danger has on one’s desire for…” He chose his next words carefully. “…other forms of stimulation.”

“Hmm, and yet I see no danger here.” Astarion spread his arms theatrically. “You’ve been captured, but there are no hostiles around, and you know these locks are child’s play for me. If anything, this is one of the safer predicaments in which you could find yourself within a goblin fortress. No…” He misty stepped through the bars and leaned down so his face was close to Gale’s. “There must be something else that’s… tickling your fancy.” Unfortunately for Gale, he glanced down quickly enough to see the wizard’s cock give another twitch. 

Gale looked away, hunching over himself to hide his privates.  “Well, I am alone with a vampire. If you wanted to s-” He narrowly avoided saying the word “suck.” It seemed wise to avoid that kind of terminology right now. “-steal my blood, there would be nothing to stop you.”

“Except that we both know your blood is disgusting,” Astarion pointed out. “You’re well aware that you’re not in any danger from me. That’s not it.” He circled behind Gale and pulled at the chain connected to his manacles, forcing the wizard to lean back with a grunt, once again revealing his genitals. Astarion, now looking over Gale’s shoulder, made a happy coo when he saw another twitch. Gale’s cheeks and ears burned.

“Is it the chains? Are you into bondage?” 

Gale said nothing, but he knew Astarion wasn’t interested in his words, anyway. The vampire was interested in Gale’s dick, which had not responded to the suggestion. 

“Apparently not.” 

He paused. Gale could almost hear him thinking. “I suppose I could free you. But you should know I don’t have your clothes. You’ll have to fight your way out of here bare, with your lovely assets on display for all our friends and the goblins to see.”

Gale gritted his teeth as his treacherous cock twitched again. 

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you, you little pervert.” Another twitch. “Is our darling wizard an exhibitionist?” Nothing. “No? Are you sure?”

Finally, Gale broke his silence. “No. I don’t enjoy making people look at… things they haven’t consented to see.”

“And yet there is something about the thought of being publicly naked that appeals to you.” Gale wished he could hide himself again, but with Astarion still holding the chains, it wasn’t possible. He squeezed his eyes shut. 

“Most people find that idea horrifying. I’m hardly vanilla, but I’m on their side. It sounds… oh.”

Now he let go of the chains, but Gale froze, unable to take advantage. He was sure Astarion could sense how his heartbeat had skyrocketed.

A hand tipped his chin up. Gale opened his eyes to see Astarion looking down at him, finally studying his face rather than his dick. Surely the vampire noticed how red he was, and being under direct scrutiny made him flush even more. 

“It sounds absolutely humiliating.” 

Gale was unable to suppress a whimper. He felt his dick start to harden—not yet standing at full attention, but also no longer making contact with his balls.

Astarion was thrilled. “That’s it, then. The great Archmage of Waterdeep gets off on being humiliated.” He let Gale’s chin go, and the wizard had the presence of mind to hunch over again.

“Ah ah ah,” Astarion chided, “There will be none of that.” He tightened the chain again, making Gale expose himself once more. This time, he produced some rope and tied it through the chain, securing the slack he had taken. When he let go, Gale was stuck with his back ramrod straight, unable to hide his shame from view.

Astarion stood over Gale, admiring his handiwork. “That’s better,” he said, staring unabashedly at Gale’s member. “Now we can have some fun. How hard do you think I can make you, without even touching you?” 

The wizard’s cock bobbed in anticipation. 

“Already so responsive,” he purred. “Tell me, does anyone else know your dirty little secret?”

“…No.”

“I can see why you’d want to keep it to yourself. Wouldn’t want people taking advantage, would we?” 

It was unclear whether Astarion saw the irony of that question.

“Imagine if your classmates at Blackstaff knew that putting you out of commission was as easy as pulling your pants down. No fancy fireballs needed, just a couple of well-placed mage hands to make you totally useless. And you’d enjoy it.”

Gale’s hips canted upwards involuntarily.

“Perhaps they wouldn’t have stopped at duels. Perhaps they would taunt you throughout your classes. You’d spend the day desperately hiding your erection from the professors. They would make bets with each other about who could make you moan during a lecture.”

Another whimper.

“It’s lucky that you made it through your studies with your dignity intact. But that doesn’t make you safe, does it? Gale of Waterdeep, the very picture of ambition. The more power you amass, the more devastating it will be when your shameful secret is discovered. And it will be discovered—by someone less scrupulous than yours truly. What will happen, when the famous mage is revealed to be a deviant? Perhaps they’ll write a newspaper article about it, and all of Waterdeep will know your perversion.”

He bent to whisper in Gale’s ear.

“And you’ll be in your tower, mindlessly jacking off into the paper.”

Gale moaned. He pulled at his restraints, bucking his hips into nothing, desperately searching for friction that wasn’t there. Pre-cum leaked from his now-throbbing cock. 

Astarion smirked at him. “Too easy.” He swiped the pre-cum off with a single finger and offered it to Gale, who licked it clean before taking it into his mouth to suck on greedily.

“You’re adorable like this, pet,” he said, adding another finger to Gale’s mouth. The mage whined. “But so needy.” 

He sighed, withdrawing his fingers, now slick with saliva. “I suppose I have to take care of you now, since I got you all worked up.” He reached down towards Gale’s dick, but did not take hold, hovering just above the tip instead. “Or, I could just leave you here with your weeping cock on display, for one of our other companions to find.”

Gale whined again, thrusting his hips towards Astarion’s fingers, which moved away before he could make contact. Astarion chuckled. “Relax! I’m not that cruel. However, I do need you to move.”

With one quick swipe of a dagger in his unsoiled hand, Astarion cut the rope that had been keeping the chain short. It extended to its full length, catching Gale, who had been pulling on it, off guard. The wizard tipped over, hitting the ground with his face. The fall left his ass in the air.

“Here we are,” Astarion said matter-of-factly. He grabbed an ass cheek in each hand, spreading them apart to tease the outside of Gale’s hole with a saliva-covered finger. The mage moaned obscenely.

“Have you ever been in this position before, Gale?” the vampire asked as he worked. 

“No,” Gale got out, squirming beneath Astarion’s ministrations.

“Have you thought about being in this position before?” Astarion started to insert his finger. Gale made a choked sound.

“Yes.”

“Fantasized about it?” He wriggled his finger in further. 

“Yes,” Gale repeated, bucking his hips back to try and get more of Astarion inside him.

“Did you come, thinking about being taken from behind?” Astarion’s finger was now entirely inside Gale, looking for a certain sensitive spot.

“Ye-es!” The last part of the word came out as a yell. Astarion had found the spot he was looking for.

“Careful, darling,” Astarion said as he stroked it, eliciting more desperate moans. “If you’re too loud, our friends might come running and see you like this. And you wouldn’t want that, now, would you?” Gale keened at the thought, but it turned into a hiss as Astarion inserted a second finger.

The vampire worked his second finger all the way in, then stopped moving entirely.

“A… Astarion?” Gale asked, wagging his butt a little to feel Astarion’s digits move inside him.

“Well I was going to demand that you beg me to finish you, but you’ve just given me a better idea.”

With his free hand, Astarion made quick work of the manacles. Gale braced his newly-freed forearms on the ground, finally able to pick his face off the floor.

He felt a couple of pats on the butt and looked back at Astarion. Apparently that was the vampire’s way of getting his attention. “You’re going to fuck yourself on my fingers,” he proclaimed.

“Wh… what?”

“I’m going to keep my fingers right where they are. You know now where they have to hit to make you feel good. If you want to come, you will rut yourself onto them.”

“But… how…?”

“You’re a smart boy. You’ll figure it out.”

He moved his hips slowly, trying to find an angle that would press Astarion’s fingertips up against that spot that made him go wild. Soon enough, he found the angle that worked. He gasped as he felt the surge of pleasure that came with it.

“Now, fuck,” Astarion commanded.

So he did.

Gale of Waterdeep, head almost on the floor, ass raised, skewered himself repeatedly onto another man’s fingers. His balls bounced against him as he moved. His cock quivered and leaked precum. He grunted from the effort and moaned from the pleasure. It was the most humiliating thing he had ever done, and also the hottest.

“Astarion…” he said between thrusts, “I’m… getting… close…”

“Wonderful,” the vampire said indulgently. Then, raising his voice: “Everyone!” he called out. “Come quick! I’ve found Gale, and he needs help!”

“No…” Gale gasped, horrified. There was a logical part of him that knew he needed to get himself together, but the rest of him, consumed by lust, refused to stop rutting. “Don’t…!”

The threat of his companions finding him like this sent him over the edge. He came in spurts, rocking himself through the aftershocks on Astarion’s fingers. When the pleasure finally dissipated and the rational part of him retook the wheel, he pulled himself off Astarion and hurried as far away from his own mess as possible, facing away from the prison bars to at least spare his companions the sight of his junk. 

“Are you mad?!” he asked Astarion, “Or do you just enjoy tormenting me so much that you’d subject our friends to surprise debauchery?”

“Well, I do enjoy tormenting you,” Astarion said with a grin, “And I’m pretty sure you enjoy it too…” He glanced meaningfully at the mess on the ground. “…But no, I wouldn’t do that to them.”

“But you just-”

“Called them, yes. And do you hear them coming?”

A pause. Gale realized he heard nothing.

“We wiped out the whole fortress while you were having your little beauty rest. I had found you earlier in the day and knew about your…” He looked Gale up and down. “…Current condition, so I waited until they were back at camp before mounting my rescue mission.”

He produced a spare set of clothes from his pack and tossed them to Gale. “You’re welcome.”

Chapter Text

Gale stared at the clothes, flabbergasted. Though they hadn’t known each other long, Gale thought he had a pretty good understanding of Astarion’s character. To wit: the rogue was the most selfish person that Gale had ever met. Every single time their group had agreed to help someone without a tadpole in their head, Astarion had complained—even when that help cost them no time or resources, like when Zevlor asked them to speak to Kagha on behalf of the tieflings. And aside from his general selfishness, the thought of Astarion going out of his way for Gale in particular sounded absurd: the rogue had been less than subtle about his disdain for the wizard. Yet it seemed that Astarion had done just that. Not only had he rescued Gale, but he’d actually gone back to camp to fetch Gale’s clothes rather than leave him bare. Was it possible that Gale had misjudged him?

He glanced at Astarion, who had turned away and was picking the lock on the cell door. For a moment, Gale thought the rogue was giving him privacy to get dressed. But as soon as the door swung open, Astarion faced him again, smirking at the sight of Gale with one leg in his smallclothes. 

“Such a shame to part…” he said directly to Gale’s cock. Gale threw a protective hand over his member, but Astarion was already shifting his gaze to the wizard’s face. “But I’ll see you at camp.” With that, he walked out.

“Wait!” Gale called, hopping after Astarion as he maneuvered his underwear on, “Where are you going?”

Astarion stopped, looking back at Gale as if he’d asked what planet they were on. “To get dinner, obviously.” Gale still looked confused, so he continued: “As delectable as you are on the outside, I can’t fill my stomach on the revolting swill you call blood. I need a proper meal.”

“I know that,” Gale said irritably, trying not to think about the butterflies that had formed in his stomach when Astarion called him “delectable.” 

“But-”

“Surely you can find your way back to camp without me holding your hand?”

Gale blinked, taken aback. He’d wanted to talk to Astarion about what had just happened between them, to figure out what it meant for them going forward. However, it was clear that Astarion wasn’t interested in having that discussion. 

“Of course,” he replied.

“Then do that.”

Astarion began to turn away again, but paused.

“Oh, and whatever you tell our companions about how you escaped, do try to leave me out of it. I told them I hadn’t found you.” 

“Because…?” Gale looked down at himself, standing there in only his smallclothes, leaving the rest of the question unspoken.

Astarion broke into a wide smile, lifting a hand to his mouth as if trying not to laugh. He shifted his stance to face Gale head-on. “Are you… asking if I was protecting your modesty?”

He asked with such amused disbelief that Gale felt embarrassed for even thinking it a possibility. He blushed, immensely grateful that his refractory period spared him further humiliation. Astarion continued:

“No. You know how Wyll is—he would’ve insisted on rescuing you immediately. Karlach, too. But we had a goblin horde to deal with, not to mention a drow, and you were unconscious and unequipped. You would’ve been a liability. So I kept my mouth shut.”

Gale pursed his lips. “I see.” Perhaps he hadn’t misjudged the rogue at all. As for what had transpired between them, it seemed there was nothing to discuss. Astarion had simply seen a weakness and exploited it. 

He stood up straighter, steeling himself, trying to salvage what remained of his dignity. “Very well then. I’ll see you back at camp. Thank you for the rescue.”

Then he turned on his heel and strode back to the cell, not waiting for Astarion’s response.

He finished dressing on autopilot while he ruminated on the past hour of his life. He began at the end: Did Astarion really wait to fetch him because he would have slowed the party down, or was there some other motivation?

If he really thought I was useless, then why come get me at all? Why not leave me here to rot?

Wyll and Karlach would have wanted to look for me. He needs everyone to keep moving, to find a cure for the tadpole.

He didn’t have to bring me my clothes.

He did if he wanted me not to tell everyone he knew where I was. If he’d let me walk back to camp naked, that’s exactly what I would have done. 

With a sigh, he stopped trying to poke holes in Astarion’s story. It seemed that in this case, the rogue had been telling the truth. 

The next question surfaced in his mind immediately as he gave up on the first: Why did he care so much about Astarion’s motivations? 

Certainly, nobody wanted to be called a liability. But Gale found he wasn’t particularly bothered by that bit. He couldn’t fault Astarion for the assessment, given the circumstances. Waiting to fetch Gale after the danger had passed was the practical thing to do. He would likely have suggested it himself, had their situations been reversed. (Although he’d like to think he would at least be honest with his companions.)

In truth, Gale was fine with Astarion’s professed motivation. That meant… Gale hadn’t picked apart Astarion’s explanation in search of an entirely different explanation. He’d done it because he hoped to find evidence of an additional one.

He hoped to discover even the smallest sign that Astarion actually liked him.

Suddenly, Gale felt queasy. 

Knowing now what he’d been looking for, he didn’t need to ponder why. The answer was obvious. 

What he’d just done with Astarion—or at least, what he’d let Astarion do to him—was the most intimate thing he’d ever experienced with a mortal (or at least semi-mortal) being. Astarion had discovered a secret that Gale had never shared with anyone. He’d indulged in a fantasy that Gale had never dreamed would be fulfilled. He’d touched Gale in a place the wizard had never been touched.

And, most significantly: Astarion had made Gale feel good. So, so good.

Gale wasn’t the type for one-night stands. The small dalliances he’d had before Mystra had all happened within the context of a relationship. With Mystra, he’d been utterly devoted. He didn’t know how to separate sex from feelings. He’d always thought he didn’t want to.

It wasn’t surprising, then, that he’d searched for hidden meaning in Astarion’s words. He wanted more of what Astarion had given him, and he couldn’t reconcile that desire with the knowledge that any sex they had would be meaningless. Not just meaningless, he realized, but potentially dangerous. He’d been lucky, this time, that it had happened during an encounter Astarion already wanted to hide from their companions. If it happened again, what was to stop Astarion from using it against him? As Astarion himself had noted, if word of his kink got out, he’d be ruined.

Gale’s stomach twisted in knots. 

Then it rumbled, bringing Gale back to the present. He had finished getting dressed and was still standing in the prison cell, picking worriedly at one of his nails, staring off into space. How long had he been standing there?

His stomach rumbled again. Right, right. Regardless of the anxiety clenching his insides, he hadn’t eaten in a day. He should probably remedy that.

As he set off towards camp, he told himself that what happened today had been a one-time event. He could admit that he enjoyed it, but he had no expectation of a repeat performance, and certainly wouldn’t pursue one. He would simply put it behind him.

If only telling himself that actually made it true.

Chapter Text

It was his own fault, really. He never should have gotten so close to the sussur tree. When his companions approached, he should have stayed back. 

But as he neared the glowing, magic-negating flowers, he hadn’t been thinking about the danger; he’d been captivated by the novelty. Gale had felt the Weave around him for as long as he could remember. He knew, logically, that there were people who didn’t feel it at all. He knew that those people survived just fine without it. Still, he’d never been able to conceive of it himself. To Gale, the Weave had always seemed an essential ingredient to life—as necessary as air. So when his connection to it started to dissipate, he’d expected agony. Instead, he found himself still breathing, and he was fascinated. Closing the distance entirely, reaching out and touching a bloom… it had felt like living out an intrusive thought, without actually coming to harm.

That was, of course, until the hook horrors attacked.  

Without magic, Gale was useless in battle. Worse than useless, actually—he was vulnerable. One of the beasts had pounced at him, crashing down beside him with such force that he was knocked off his feet. He watched, horrified, as it bent over him and drew its arm back to slash him with its claws.

The slash never came. Instead, a spear sailed into view, sinking straight into the hook horror’s head and killing it instantly. Gale barely had time to be relieved before the dead body collapsed on top of him, pinning his prone form to the ground. 

He stared up into the gloom of the Underdark, regretting that he couldn’t see the sky instead.

—

After the battle ended, Shadowheart was the first to notice his absence. She looked around, confused. “Gale?”

He cleared his throat loudly.

For a moment, there was silence. Then, Karlach started cackling.

Gale felt his cheeks heat up, while a similar heat made its way to his cock. Oh, no. This wasn’t happening. He had to nip this in the bud—fast.

“Yes, yes, it’s very funny,” he said, in a way that he very much hoped would discourage people from finding it funny. “Now would someone be so kind as to help me up?”

Three faces appeared above him. Karlach was in hysterics, which unfortunately seemed to be made worse by Gale’s unamused tone. Wyll’s expression was sympathetic, but Shadowheart looked like she was only barely managing to suppress her laughter. Gale flushed further under their scrutiny, worsening his condition. He fought a powerful urge to squirm.

“You… you…” 

Whatever Karlach was trying to say, she was laughing too hard to get it out. By this time she had stumbled out of Gale’s view. 

Wyll and Shadowheart tried valiantly to free their fallen friend, but the monster was too heavy for them to move, even working together.

Wyll side-eyed Karlach, who was still in the midst of her fit. “It, ah, seems we’ll have to wait for our barbarian to… collect herself,” he said. This development apparently pushed Shadowheart past her breaking point, and she started giggling into her hand. 

Somehow, her reaction was even more humiliating to Gale than Karlach’s. Here was someone that genuinely tried to keep it together, but Gale’s predicament was so pathetic that she simply couldn’t help herself. And unlike Karlach, she stayed in Gale’s field of vision, giving him a front-row seat to her amusement at his expense. Shame and arousal swirled inside him, each feeding off the other and growing more powerful in turn. 

By the time Karlach recovered enough to yank the corpse off him, Gale was so horny he could barely stand. (Thank the gods his clothes hid his sorry state.) When his companions expressed concern, he claimed he’d tweaked his knee in the fight and announced he’d go back to camp to rest it. They believed his excuse, but unfortunately insisted on accompanying him, to protect their poor injured wizard from anything else that might attack. Their coddling did not help matters.

—

Gale had never been so relieved to see the campsite. 

He detached himself from his companions immediately, making a beeline for his tent. As he walked, he heard Karlach behind him: “Halsin! Gods, you missed the funniest thing today.”

Inside the tent, he closed the flap and tied it shut. He threw his robe off to the side, kicking off his boots. If he was going to change into his camp clothes, the next step was removing his pants. But he stopped when his hand alit on the ties.

His cock throbbed, desperate to be free of its confines. Much as it shamed him, Gale knew that changing into his camp clothes wasn’t actually an option. If he undid his pants, he was going to touch himself. It didn’t matter what his intentions were: he simply wouldn’t be able to resist. Was that wrong? His companions were already unknowing participants in his arousal. Would it be worse to actually get off on it?

He wasn’t sure. 

In which case, it was safer to avoid it altogether. 

He removed his hand from the ties. Instead, he plucked a book from his stack and went over to his bedroll to read it.

Quickly, he found that his reading was impeded by a complete inability to get comfortable. His pants felt tighter than usual, and any way he moved seemed to press his dick against the fabric—not enough to satisfy, of course, but enough to keep his state of arousal at the forefront of his mind. He was sitting cross-legged when his frustration hit a peak. Hoping that putting his most irritating body parts out of sight would help him forget about them, he shoved a pillow down onto his lap.

It was a mistake.

Even through his pants, the pressure of the pillow against his cock felt good. He moaned before he could stop himself.

Someone laughed.

Gale whipped his head around, only to see the pale elf sitting daintily on his writing desk, watching him.

“Ast- ahh-” 

His instinctive reaction to being caught had been to hide by folding in on himself, which only pushed the pillow further into his lap. He had to wait a moment for the wave of pleasure to pass before he could speak again.

“How long have you been there?”

“I came in while you were staring off into space with your hand on your laces,” Astarion said. “You seemed so focused, I didn’t want to interrupt you.”

Gale closed his eyes, taking a deep breath. He’d been studiously avoiding the rogue since their encounter at the goblin camp. He told himself it was to keep Astarion from taking advantage of him, and that was true. But there was another reason, too. One that he refused to admit even to himself.

Until recently, Gale’s post-Mystra life had been a celibate one. It wasn’t that he had sworn off sex; it was just that between managing the orb and coming to terms with being cast out by his goddess lover, he simply had little time or desire for it. Occasionally, he’d do something for himself to take the edge off. It was never satisfying, and only left him pining for Mystra’s astral pleasures.

But after Astarion bent him over in that prison cell, his libido had returned with a vengeance. He lay awake at night, hands balled into fists to prevent them from wandering as his brain replayed the encounter unbidden. Given his current state, it seemed that his body’s appetites weren’t limited to the vampire, but they were certainly strongest around him. In truth, just laying eyes on Astarion was enough to stir his desire, and Gale wasn’t sure what he’d do if he actually had to interact.

Apparently, he was about to find out.

“What do you want?” 

“To watch you fall apart,” Astarion said, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. Gale gaped at him. 

He continued: “You were so worked up when you came back to camp, I’m surprised those other buffoons couldn’t see it. So when you went to your tent to jack off, I thought I’d treat myself to a show.”

The wizard felt feverish, racked with heat. 

Rationally, he knew this was a bad idea. Astarion had a pretty foggy moral compass, and he’d made it clear he didn’t care about Gale. It was possible that he was seeking entertainment, as he claimed. It was equally possible that he was fishing for blackmail material. After all, he hadn’t just stumbled upon Gale in a vulnerable position. He’d scrutinized the wizard closely enough to read how he was feeling, followed him into the tent, and hidden his presence until Gale did something embarrassing. If he did want to blackmail Gale, all of that would’ve been a pretty good start.

Unfortunately, Gale’s ever-increasing lust was slowly stripping him of his regard for consequences.

Even so, he fought valiantly. 

“I- I didn’t- you can’t just-”

“You did, and I can,” Astarion replied smoothly. “I just caught you rutting into a pillow like an animal-”

“I wasn’t-”

“-and you can tell yourself you didn’t mean to, and that you don’t want me here, but I think we both know that’s not true. Because you’re still pressing that thing into your crotch-”

His eyes flicked downward for a moment to emphasize his point, and Gale shuddered at the attention. A little hum slipped from his lips—the remains of a moan he couldn’t quite quash.

“And even though you’re perfectly capable of forcing me out of this tent, you haven’t made a single move to do so.”

Here he paused, giving Gale an opportunity to expel him. The wizard didn’t move.

Astarion smirked.

“You see? I know what you want. You want to keep rutting into that pillow, and you want me to watch. You want to debase yourself for me.”

He did. He wanted it so, so badly.

“I… ngh…” 

His protestations dissolved, forgotten, as he started rocking his hips.

“There, isn’t that better?” 

Gale whimpered. It was good, but it wasn’t enough. He shifted onto his knees, taking hold of his pant laces—and paused.

He looked up at Astarion, eyes glazed, lips parted. Asking for permission.

Astarion smiled at him indulgently.

“Go on, pet. Show me how you ruin yourself.”

That was all Gale needed to hear. He tore at his laces, yanking them loose to shove his pants and smallclothes down to his knees. Then he bore down on the pillow between his legs, rutting into it with abandon. 

He wasn’t thinking about the incident with the hook horror anymore. He was consumed by images of Astarion: Astarion spying on him as he wrestled with his libido, Astarion laughing at him as he started to lose that fight, Astarion effortlessly reducing him to the wanton mess he now was. 

Above, Astarion clicked his tongue in mock pity. “Hells, look at you. There’s not a thought left in that head, is there?”

Gale bit his lip.

“The great wizard prodigy, famed for his intellect… reduced to a mindless beast. Unable to think of anything but his needy little cock.”

Astarion’s words hit home, setting Gale’s blood aflame. He groaned, bucking faster, throwing himself completely into the act.

“I wonder if you could even cast a cantrip right now.”

Gale’s eyes flicked up to Astarion’s. He knew he should prove that he could—summon a firebolt, or even a mage hand. Alas, even cantrips required verbal components, and his vocal chords were otherwise occupied producing incomprehensible noises.

Astarion hopped off the desk, approaching slowly—a predator stalking its prey. 

“All that talent, all that training, all those years of study…” 

The rogue knelt before the wizard.

“All irrelevant. Just tease you a little, and you’re completely powerless.”

Gale keened. Gods, Astarion was right. He was just as powerless now as he’d been at the sussur tree—no flowers needed. The shame of being so easily disarmed thrilled him. The knowledge that he was completely at Astarion’s mercy amplified the thrill. The rogue could do anything he wanted with him, debase him in any possible manner, and Gale would love it. Even the idea of Astarion blackmailing him had become arousing. 

“In fact… I think I could put a spell on you.”

Astarion leaned in close to whisper directly into Gale’s ear.

“Come for me.”

And Gale did.

His orgasm rocked him as he thrust into the pillow, making him cry out. It felt even better than he’d recalled every night in his bedroll, when he’d thought about what had happened in the goblin prison, and what could have happened if Astarion hadn’t left. Here was one of the rare occasions when reality trumped even his wildest imagination.

He didn’t stop rutting until the aftershocks had dissipated completely. By that time, both he and the pillow were utterly ravaged. Spent, Gale collapsed onto the ground, panting. 

Chapter Text

As Gale attempted to catch his breath, he saw movement out of the corner of his eye. He glanced up to see Astarion making himself comfortable, no longer kneeling but reclining against some of his cushions. 

“You’re… still here,” Gale said dumbly.

“Excellent observation, pet,” Astarion tossed back.

Gale sat up, keeping the pillow pressed against himself. “Why are you still here?”

Astarion smiled at him lazily. “I didn’t realize you’d be so keen to get rid of me. Last time, you practically begged me to stay.”

The wizard scoffed. “Is that so? I have a somewhat different recollection. As I recall, I merely wanted to know why you’d… well, you know…” He reddened, making a vague gesture with his hand. “…engaged with me.” Then, regaining his composure: “Not that I even got to ask that question, given how quickly you left.”

“No, instead you asked if I’d stopped to consider your virtue while I was clearing out a goblin camp.” Gale scowled, feeling the tips of his ears heat up. When Astarion put it like that, it did sound ridiculous.

“…And pouted when you discovered that I wasn’t the white knight to your blushing maiden.” 

Another trickle of heat made its way to Gale’s cock. It was still soft, but Gale was grateful for the pillow nonetheless.

“Blushing maiden?!”

“Well, you certainly have the blushing down. As for maiden…” Astarion’s eyes traveled down to the pillow. It was meant to be suggestive, but the effect was ruined when his eyes widened in realization. 

“Gale…” Astarion began, “Is there a reason that you’re still glued to that soiled pillow?”

The wizard cast a quick Prestidigitation spell.

“Not soiled,” he corrected.

Astarion was undeterred. “Are you… being shy?” He laughed. “It’s a little bit late for that, don’t you think? I’ve already seen the goods. In fact I’m pretty sure I’ve seen more of you than you have, unless you’ve gotten particularly freaky with a simulacrum.” 

Astarion delivered that last line with a smirk on his face, as if the suggestion was too outlandish to take seriously. More heat gathered in Gale’s face and groin. No, he hadn’t done anything of the sort… but the thought had crossed his mind. Only two nights prior, alone in his tent, he’d found himself wondering what it might feel like to have a simulacrum touch him like Astarion had. In the end, he’d dismissed the idea, reasoning that it would probably worsen his fixation on what had happened between them—not to mention the amount of mana he’d be squandering just to get off. Despite that, knowing that he’d even considered doing something that Astarion considered too “freaky” to be plausible made him feel… dirty. Gods above, how had a single tryst turned him into such a pervert? 

He hoped that Astarion would attribute his deepening blush to the conversation in general, and not that particular phrase. To be safe, he responded to another part of what Astarion had said.

“Yes, well, it’s one thing to be seen naked because my clothes were stolen by goblins, and quite another to willingly present… ah… ‘the goods.’”

Astarion’s lips quirked in amusement. “And five minutes ago, when you couldn’t pull your pants down fast enough? Are you going to blame that on the goblins, too?” 

“That… that was different,” Gale insisted petulantly. “I was in… quite a different state of mind.”

“Yes, and who put you in the ‘state of mind’ that made you so eager to disrobe? Lest we forget…” Astarion shifted to his hands and knees and began slinking towards Gale. 

“I know what gets you going…” Astarion murmured. He moved so lithely, hips swaying, back arching just so… watching him, Gale almost moaned. The rogue had to be doing it on purpose. If Gale had been physically capable of being hard at this moment, he would be throbbing. He crossed his legs around the pillow, locking it in place.

“I know exactly how you like to be played with, and I can make that cock weep.” By this point, Astarion’s hands were on either side of Gale’s legs, his face mere inches from the wizard’s. Gale could barely breathe. 

“So what sort of modesty do you think you’re preserving, hiding a little skin?”

Astarion laid a hand on the pillow, grasping it lightly as if to pull it away—but he didn’t. Gale could tell he was waiting for permission, although obviously not out of concern for his comfort. On the contrary, Astarion was merely forcing Gale to verbalize his desires, thereby rendering them undeniable. To permit Astarion to reveal his most private parts was to give himself over completely—to admit that he craved the rogue’s touches and teases enough to relinquish agency over his own body. And while he did feel that way, it seemed dangerous to admit it, especially since he still didn’t know what Astarion was after. So instead, he redirected.

“Easy for you to say,” he mumbled, “You’re always fully clothed.”

The change in Astarion was instant. Eyes narrowed, lips pressed into a flat line, every muscle tensed. A single word jumped out in Gale’s mind: rage. It was so palpable that Gale got the distinct impression he’d done something terrible, although he hadn’t a clue what. 

“Oh, darling…” Astarion’s voice was light, flirty, and alarmingly incongruent with his body language. “You don’t know the half of it.”

Gale wished he could apologize for whatever he’d done, but without knowing why Astarion was so hurt, he didn’t know what to say. He wasn’t left to wonder long—a moment later, Astarion’s countenance shifted again, tension going out of him.

“Very well,” he said casually, “If you want to cling to the illusion of modesty, far be it for me to tear it away.”

Either the rage he’d been feeling had completely dissipated, or he was very, very good at hiding it. Gale guessed it was the latter. He opened his mouth to ask if Astarion was really okay, but his intended words were supplanted by a soft gasp that forced its way out instead. At some point Astarion had moved his hand, and it was no longer grasping the edge of the pillow. It was resting in the center, right on Gale’s groin. Or rather, it had been resting there until Gale opened his mouth, at which point Astarion gently pushed it down. 

“But I want you to remember this,” He said, moving his hand in slow little circles to vary the direction of pressure on Gale’s cock. Still unable to harden, it gave a weak twitch at the attention. Gale’s thoughts of concern for his companion were forgotten as his brain focused on the sensation. It was right on the edge between pleasure and pain, and he didn’t know if he wanted more or wanted it to stop.

“Later, when Junior here perks up again…” Astarion continued, “and you masturbate—which I know you will, because you just can’t help yourself…” Gale keened as he felt the shame of the accusation, made all the more potent by the knowledge that it was probably true.

“…I want you to remember that I’m the one making this cock feel good, whether I can see it or not.”

Astarion stood to leave, drawing a whimper from Gale, who was no longer being touched (apparently he hadn’t wanted it to stop after all). He squeezed his legs together, frustrated.

“Goodnight, pet.”

And with that, Gale was left alone, wanting.

Chapter Text

Gale had begun to worry that a pattern was forming. 

Alone, the incident in the goblin prison could have been written off as a moment of weakness on his part. But he had now let Astarion manipulate his sexuality twice. Well, three times, if you count the private time he’d had in the Underdark after Astarion left his tent. (The damned rogue had been right: he hadn’t been able to resist.) If he wasn’t careful, it was going to become a habit. A bad habit, given that Astarion didn’t actually like him. It was already apparent that Astarion was using him for entertainment, and there was no telling if that was the worst of it. Gale still hadn’t dismissed the idea that Astarion was preparing to blackmail him, and every time he let the rogue push his buttons, he was only supplying more ammo. 

Therefore, Gale had resolved to protect himself. This time he tried a different tactic: rather than trying to avoid Astarion, he ensured he was never alone. Every day he volunteered to go out on a mission, and every evening he hung around the fire pit, chatting, until Astarion went out hunting. In the mornings he woke early so that by the time Astarion stopped trancing, Gale was prepping breakfast while Lae’zel practiced her swordsmanship nearby. (Thank Mystra—or perhaps thank Vlaakith?—the githyanki was also an early riser.)

Honestly, it was exhausting. Gale had always had a limited social battery, and at night he found himself longing for the peace and quiet of his tent long before he dared to enter. But exhausting was good, Gale told himself: the more quickly he fell asleep, the less time Astarion would have to ambush him… and the less time he would spend fantasizing about that very thing.

So far, it had worked. Around the others, Astarion treated him with the same bored condescension as ever. Having removed the opportunity for the rogue to find him alone, Gale had effectively removed any chance for ill-advised canoodling.

The only problem was that the aforementioned exhaustion was taking its toll, and their companions were starting to notice. Over the past few days, Gale had already fielded and waved away several concerned questions about the dark circles forming under his eyes. That morning, he had picked out some fruit from their supplies for breakfast, and then promptly forgotten where he’d put them. They’d stored enough food that they had other options, but wherever the fruit was, it was sure to attract wild animals. When he tried to leave camp with the others, Lae’zel finally put her foot down. 

“I will not greet my kin with such an empty-headed servant,” she growled. The plan for the day was to seek out the githyanki crèche and learn more about the “cleansing” process, which Lae’zel insisted could relieve them of their tadpoles.

Normally Gale might have felt something about being called “empty-headed,” but he was honestly too tired to react.

Wyll put a hand on his shoulder. “What Lae’zel means,” he said, “is that you should stay here and rest.”

“Chk,” she spat. “I mean nothing of the sort.”

Wyll ignored her. “It’ll be good for you. Really. I promise: if this ‘cleansing’ ritual works, we’ll take you there tomorrow.”

“It will work,” Lae’zel insisted, eyes narrowing at Wyll. They left it at that, walking away as Gale stood there, dazed. Even Halsin had joined the adventuring party, which was a first. As much research as he’d done into the tadpoles, he’d never heard of the ritual, and he was eager to see it first-hand. Meanwhile, Astarion never volunteered for any mission where his presence wasn’t explicitly required. For the first time since that evening in the Underdark, the two men were well and truly alone.

“Well well well,” Astarion drawled from outside his tent as he spied Gale trudging back from the camp exit. “This is unexpected. Not joining the fun today?” 

Gale barely met Astarion’s gaze before turning towards his tent. “I’m… going back to bed,” he said.

Right as the last word left his mouth, alarm bells rang in his mind. 

Rest. I should have said rest.

He’d practically gift-wrapped an opportunity for Astarion to make some lewd comment about bedding him. He froze, bracing himself.

There was only silence.

After a moment, he continued towards his tent, acting as casual as possible. If Astarion wondered why he had stopped in the first place, he didn’t mention it.

Gale tied the tent flap shut even though he knew the paltry security mechanism would do nothing to stop Astarion from entering if he wished. He changed back into his camp clothes and lay down on his bedroll, trying to relax. His mind swirled with all the stunts Astarion might pull now that he was vulnerable. It was a defense mechanism, he told himself: he had to consider all the possibilities, so that he could be prepared. The fact that the mental exercise made him very, very hard was just an unfortunate side-effect. 

He tossed and turned, always keeping his hands by his head where they couldn’t cause any trouble. Every noise made him jump, eyes snapping to the tent entrance to check for an intruder. Despite his exhaustion, sleep would not come. 

Eventually he peeked out of the tent, opening the flap just enough to look through. The sun was still high in the sky; it would be hours yet until everyone else returned. Astarion was lounging with a book outside his own tent, right where Gale had last seen him. Gale supposed it made sense that the vampire spawn would want to take advantage of the sunshine. 

So far, Astarion had behaved himself today. But there was plenty of time for that to change. Sleepless as he was, the tent now felt confining rather than safe. If Astarion did approach, Gale would be cornered. On the other hand, hanging around outside meant he’d definitely have to converse.

The only solution, then, was to remove himself from camp entirely. He grabbed some soap and a towel from his pack. 

Astarion smiled at him as he opened the tent.

“Get any beauty rest?” he called.

Gale had prepared himself for a question about where he was going, and his mouth opened before his brain processed that he’d been asked something else. “Off for a bath,” he answered. His brain caught up a moment later, but by then it was too late to correct. He walked purposefully towards the river, hoping he didn’t look as off-kilter as he felt.

The water, at least, was delightful. Gale drifted lazily, closing his eyes and nearly falling asleep as the tension in his body melted away. By the time his pruned fingers told him to get out of the water, he felt positively tranquil.

Alas, that tranquility lasted only until he went to dry off, at which point he found that his towel was missing - along with his shoes, pants, and smallclothes.

He cursed himself for not seeing it coming even as his cock hardened for the second time that day. 

Gale waded back into the river until his waist was submerged, hoping the cool water would temper his erection. In the meantime, he tried to ignore the part of him that was quivering with excitement, wondering what Astarion had planned. He thought of what an appropriate reaction to these circumstances would be, and attempted to make himself feel that instead. 

I’m not turned on, I am annoyed. I am annoyed. I am annoyed. I am annoyed.

His success was marginal at best. It took twenty minutes for him to go soft, another ten to air dry. Finally, he put his shirt on and made the trek back to camp.

Astarion was sitting on a log by the fire pit. Legs crossed, elbow propped up on a knee, chin supported by curled fingers—he would have looked pensive, if not for the grin spread wickedly across his face. Gale tried to push down the feelings that started to bubble up within him from Astarion’s regard. After all, he reminded himself, his tunic-length shirt was long enough to maintain his modesty. Barely. 

He strode over to the rogue, crossing his arms in a display of the irritation he was still doing his best to feel. “I suppose you find this amusing, do you?”

“Well of course it’s amusing, darling,” Astarion said. “Plus, I know Gale Jr. just loves it.” His eyes fell to Gale’s crotch. “Don’t you, pet?”

Gale’s cock twitched at the attention—not quite enough to disturb the fabric of the shirt, but it was a close thing. He brought his hands down to serve as an extra layer of protection.

“Enough, Astarion,” he said, trying to keep his voice clipped. “Where are my clothes?”

The rogue turned wordlessly and opened his hand, gesturing. Gale followed the gesture with his gaze, and his heart stopped. 

There they were: his pants and underwear, hanging from the top of the tallest tree in camp. They waved in the breeze, flags announcing to the world that Gale of Waterdeep was currently pantsless and commando.

His cock twitched again.

“Astarion!” he hissed. “They’ll see!”

The githyanki crèche was situated inside a monastery at the bottom of a valley, and the party had camped on a cliff above. The location had a magnificent view of the whole valley. Conversely, the whole valley could see the campsite. The ground was protected by a thick layer of foliage, but the top of that tree? That was visible anywhere. As soon as their companions prepared to return to camp, they would see what Astarion had done.

“So?” Astarion asked, unconcerned. “All they’ll see is that tricksy old Astarion played a prank on the high-strung wizard. They’ll have no reason to think you get off on it. Your filthy little secret is safe.” 

A little wave of arousal rolled through Gale at the description: “filthy little secret.” He bit his lip.

“Unless, of course,” Astarion continued, tapping his chin with a finger, “They come back to camp to find you a drooling, horny mess. That could tip them off.”

Gale was mortified by the idea. His traitorous cock felt otherwise: it was starting to harden, which was dangerous given his current state of dress. Gale pulled his shirt down with both hands to prevent it from making an appearance.

“Please, Astarion,” he begged, “I need my clothes.” His voice came out whinier than he would have liked.

“You really think you do, don’t you?” Astarion sighed. “See, this is the problem, darling. You don’t know what you need. I’m only trying to help.”

“Help with what?”

“Your crippling sexual frustration.”

Gale’s face went bright red. His cock jerked insistently against his shirt, though thankfully the movement was hidden by his hands. He spluttered.

“Crippling-?!”

Astarion interrupted him, which was just as well, because he was having trouble formulating a coherent thought.

“Did you think I wouldn’t notice? My dear, subtlety is not your forte.”

He rose from his seat, closing the distance between them.

“You’ve been staying up past your bedtime,” he murmured teasingly.  

Gale tightened his hold on his shirt, fidgeting with the fabric. He felt like a child being scolded, and was dismayed to find that he enjoyed that feeling… rather a lot. The smart thing to do would be to tell Astarion that he was an adult, and as such did not have a bedtime. Unfortunately, he found himself playing into the role instead. 

“So?”

It wasn’t so much a choice to respond in this manner as it was a compulsion. If he wasn’t so curious as to how Astarion arrived at his conclusion, he probably would have pouted as well.

“Specifically, you’ve been staying out of your tent. Which means there’s something about being in there that scares you. Since you started doing it the very day I paid you a visit, I can only assume it’s something to do with me. Am I on track so far?”

Gale continued fiddling with his shirt. He looked at the ground.

“Now, if you didn’t want me around, you have all manner of magical traps at your disposal. You could sleep soundly at night knowing I wouldn’t disturb you. But you haven’t done that. Because that’s not the problem, is it?”

There it was again—the compulsion to be childish. Gale shook his head, bashfully confirming Astarion’s last statement. Now he was pouting.

“No. The problem is that you do want me around. You think you shouldn’t, but you do. Tell me, what are you more afraid of? That I’ll come by, and you’ll let me ravish you? Or that I won’t, and you’ll touch yourself wishing I had?”

Gale’s knees went weak, threatening to buckle.

“…I…”

Astarion smiled, cupping Gale’s face in one hand. “Aww. You’re adorable when you’re speechless.”

Compared to all the other humiliations he’d endured, it was nothing. But somehow, the simple condescension of being called “adorable”—a descriptor not often applied to grown men—still managed to fluster him. Meanwhile, his insides fluttered at the compliment, condescension be damned. Combined, the sensations made for a new and absolutely intoxicating feeling. 

His self-control splintered. When his cock throbbed, he responded instinctively, adjusting his hand placement to palm at himself. Given that his hands were already in front of his crotch, he hoped that the movement would be subtle enough not to attract Astarion’s notice. He was not so lucky.

“Ah ah ah,” Astarion chided, tugging gently on Gale’s wrist to pull the offending hand away. “Not yet.” 

Gale didn’t resist the movement, though he whimpered at the loss of pressure. If he’d had his wits about him, he might have been concerned that his body responded more obediently to Astarion than it did to his own instructions to leave his cock alone. But he was not in a state of mind to contemplate that just now. 

“Now, do you remember what happened after I helped you get off last time? Even though I’ve already seen everything, you couldn’t bring yourself to… how did you put it… ‘present the goods.’”

Gale’s cock throbbed again, pulling a needy whine from his throat. Despite the fact that he was physically capable of touching himself, his brain stopped treating that as an option the instant Astarion told him not to. Still, he had to do something. He crossed his legs and pressed his thighs together, searching for friction. It made him wobble a little, off-balance. 

“Here I am, fulfilling all your filthy fantasies, and you’re still hiding yourself from me. Doesn’t that seem a bit silly?”

He punctuated the world ‘silly’ by booping Gale on the nose. Gale swallowed, which was difficult given how dry his mouth was. Even through the haze of lust, he was starting to see where this was going.

“So here’s the deal. You’re going to lift up your skirt and show me what you’ve been hiding. I’m going to take a nice, long look. And then I will give you what you want.”

Gods above, Astarion was asking him to participate in his own humiliation. Gale nearly came on the spot. He squeezed his eyes shut, wobbling again as he fought to stem the tide. Astarion chuckled.

“Or you can keep standing there like a child that has to go potty. Your choice.”

“Okay,” Gale groaned, opening his eyes. Pleased, Astarion sat back down on the log, putting his gaze right at crotch level. 

The wizard took his hem in both hands again and paused. If he wanted to back out, this was his last chance.

Still gripping the shirt, he lifted his hands to his waist, exposing his most private parts.

Astarion’s smile was one of genuine delight. “Peek-a-boo…” the rogue lilted, fluttering his fingers to wave coyly at Gale’s shaft. It bobbed, as if waving back. 

“I don’t know what you were so shy about, pet,” Astarion said, leaning in closer to get a better look. “This is a perfectly lovely package.”

Another unexpected compliment. Gale keened as precum leaked out of him.

Astarion’s expression shifted when he looked up again at Gale. It almost looked… affectionate?

“Thank you. Now, I’ll hold up my end of the bargain. Come. Kneel.”

Gale did as he was told, kneeling in front of the rogue. 

“Spread your legs a bit.”

Once again, Gale obeyed.

Astarion planted a shod foot between Gale’s legs.

“How’s this?”

Gale understood what he was asking. Rather than answering, he grasped Astarion’s leather-clad calf with both hands and began to hump against it. 

Astarion stroked a hand through his hair.

“Does that feel good?”

Gale could only moan in answer.

“I bet it does.”

Gale humped faster now, thrusting his hips into Astarion’s leg as hard as he could.

“Poor thing, so pent up. It’s okay. I’ll take care of you. I’ll make sure you always get what you need.”

Astarion’s voice was driving him to the brink. Yes, yes, yes. He wanted to be taken care of. He wanted someone to make him feel good. Better than he would let himself feel. Alone, he didn’t allow himself to indulge in his fantasies. Part of him always felt like he shouldn’t. For someone to be there, to make the choice for him and take away the guilt, to let him just focus on the pleasure… there was nothing he wanted more. 

He continued to grind frantically against the rogue’s leg.

Suddenly, Astarion was at his ear, whispering: “My good boy.”

Gale came, his orgasm crashing over him like a tidal wave. It felt incredible—almost transcendent. He spilled on Astarion’s pants, then smeared it all over himself as he kept rutting through the aftershocks, chasing the fading ecstasy.

When it was over, he sat back on the ground, stretching his legs out in front of him. He was utterly debauched, covered in cum with his now-softening dick still out. Somehow, he didn’t care.

Chapter Text

Astarion gestured to the mess on his pants. Gale did a quick Prestidigitation spell, ridding the rogue of his fluids. He was about to do the same on himself when— 

“No.”

Astarion spoke casually. He didn’t raise his voice or use a commanding tone. He might have sounded the same if a waiter had inquired if he’d like dessert.

And yet Gale stopped. He hadn’t meant to. He’d expected his craving for submission to abate after orgasm. But Astarion said “No,” and he stopped.

He looked up at Astarion, as confused by the order as by why he’d obeyed it. Astarion looked down at him with quiet confidence.

“I want you to remember this—how good it felt to relinquish control. How much you loved it. I want it to sink into your bones. So you’re not going to magic away the evidence. You’re going to sit in your own mess, bathing in the afterglow, feeling your spend cool on your skin… unable to ignore how it got there.”

Gale moaned softly. He’d never really thought of the afterglow as part of sex or intimacy before; it was just, well, what came after. What Astarion was suggesting—remaining in a vulnerable state, meditating on the pleasure he’d just experienced—made it seem more like an extension of the act. Even the way he’d put it, telling Gale to “sit in his own mess” like a pet who’d had an accident, sent a little thrill up Gale’s spine. It sounded like a punishment, but it would draw out the bliss.

Astarion got up briefly to procure a book from his tent, then returned to his place above Gale to read it silently. Gale was not allowed to move, nor was he provided any entertainment. 

Under most circumstances, doing nothing was Gale’s worst nightmare; his brain would make a terrible racket in his head until he found something to occupy it. But somehow, sitting bare-assed on the ground, the giddy euphoria of release slowly faded into serenity rather than boredom. It helped that Astarion was so close, positioned above him—a subtle indicator that their new power dynamic was still in play. 

Astarion taking charge meant he could finally relax. He didn’t have to decide what to do next, because it wasn’t his decision to make. His brain, for once, was quiet. He lay back on the ground, and though it wasn’t nearly as comfortable as his bedroll, within minutes he was asleep.

Eventually, he was startled awake by the sound of a gigantic explosion. 

He and Astarion stared at each other.

“The crèche,” they said in unison.

“Leave it to our companions to end a ‘diplomatic’ mission in an earth-shattering kaboom,” Astarion sighed.

Gale leapt up from the ground. “That means they’re on their way back,” he said worriedly, desperate to fix himself for polite company. He cast Prestidigitation, but some of the dried gunk remained on his skin.

“Ugh, I’m filthy,” he fretted, “And I still don’t have pants on! Astarion—”

“Go back to the lake and wash yourself off,” Astarion instructed. His demeanor was steady and authoritative, an instant balm against Gale’s rising panic. “I’ll get your clothes.”

Soothed, Gale did as he was told. It wasn’t until he was almost done washing that he realized he might have made a mistake. 

As a dominant sexual partner, Astarion had made him feel better than he’d thought possible, which Gale had interpreted as being cared for. But Gale had no idea how Astarion actually felt about him. Obviously the rogue delighted in humiliating him, but why? Did he want the kind of connection that Gale craved, or was he just sating his own boredom at the wizard’s expense? He said he’d take care of Gale—was that true, or just a very pretty lie?

Was Astarion really letting Gale wash up while he retrieved the clothes, or was he just distracting Gale, keeping him busy until their companions returned to witness his shame? 

Obviously, Gale enjoyed having a lover exploit his weakness one-on-one. Even so, he didn’t want this part of him to be… known. Despite his proclivities, Gale was a private person. The moment of public discovery would be exciting; given the way he was wired, that was unavoidable. But in the long term, it would feel like something meant for intimate relationships had been taken from him—diluted without his consent.

Speaking of consent… in the goblin prison, Astarion had told Gale that he wouldn’t subject their companions to “surprise debauchery.” It was possible that he would return Gale’s clothes for their sake, even if he didn’t care for Gale. It was equally possible that he’d say leaving Gale pantsless didn’t count, because Gale’s shirt was long enough to hide what they wouldn’t want to see… as long as he didn’t get wound up. Which of course he would.

Gale stood absolutely still in the water, staring into nothing as these thoughts ricocheted through his mind. He vacillated wildly between calm assurance that Astarion would let him dress properly and panicked certainty that he wouldn’t. The back-and-forth was starting to make him feel sick. 

In the end, there was no point in guessing what was in Astarion’s head—all he could do was see what the rogue had done. Slowly, Gale turned to face the shore, praying to Mystra he wouldn’t find it empty. 

It wasn’t. His shirt, which he’d spot-cleaned, was drying on a sunny rock. Next to it, his towel, pants, and underwear lay in a neat pile. (Astarion had even folded them.) His shoes sat behind.

Gale let out a breath he hadn’t known he was holding.

By the time Gale arrived back at camp, fully clothed, his companions had returned. They’d been talking about what happened at the crèche—Gale thought he heard the word “cannon,” which would explain the explosion—but they stopped as they heard Gale approach. Astarion was nowhere to be seen.

“Hey, soldier!” Karlach called with a grin. 

“What have you and Astarion been up to today?” Shadowheart asked, twirling a glowing mace. Gale hadn’t seen it before—a spoil from today’s adventure, probably. “We saw some new camp flags flying at full staff.”

Gale blushed furiously. He really should’ve come up with a plan for this. 

“I, uh…” he blustered, “That is…”

“Come on, soldier,” Karlach encouraged, “Don’t leave us hanging.”

Shadowheart cackled. “We don’t even need details, just give us the bare bones.”

Now they were both laughing. 

Gale’s cock was starting to stir in his pants. This was bad. Very, very bad. If they kept going like this…

“Calm yourselves, ladies,” Astarion said, emerging from his tent. “You didn’t miss anything exciting. Mister spoilsport over here just put his…” He gestured with his hand, trying to find the right term. “…wizard clothes on instead. Did you know he wears a different pair of pants under those ghastly robes? It was news to me.” 

He sat down next to the women. “So my fun was ruined, and instead I just listened to him complain all day. Eventually he annoyed me enough to return his things.”

Wyll had been watching the exchange without comment, but now he piped up. “Wow, Gale, you annoyed Astarion into doing something? I’m impressed. You beat him at his own game.” 

Astarion stuck his tongue out at the warlock.

“Yes, well, it was exhausting, as you can imagine,” Gale said, finally recovering. “So if you’ll excuse me, I think I’ll take my leave.”

No one objected, and Gale was allowed to return to his tent in peace. 

The first thing he did was dig through his pack. His “wizard clothes,” as Astarion had put it, were right where he’d left them. 

Gale sat down heavily, holding the bundle of fabrics. Astarion had known about them and hadn’t taken them. He had given Gale an out. Was this his way of… checking for Gale’s consent? Gale hadn’t even thought about this outfit today, but imagining a situation in which he truly wanted nothing to do with Astarion… looking for other clothes would’ve been the first thing he did.  

That meant blackmail was out: extortionists didn’t tend to give their victims ways to opt out. And he’d covered for Gale, too, rather than watch him struggle to deflect their companions’ attention. So he wasn’t just using Gale for entertainment.

But then… what did he want?

Chapter Text

Gale cleared the remains of the camp’s dinner away in silence. The day had been… rough, to say the least. After doubling back through the Underdark, they’d run into Elminster—no, that wasn’t right. That sounded accidental. Elminster had found them. He’d been looking for Gale, to pass on a message from Mystra. His Goddess had ordered him to find the Absolute and detonate the orb in his chest, taking the threat—and himself—out with it. After explaining this, Elminster had promptly disappeared, leaving the group to just… continue on with the day as planned. That meant entering the Shadow-Cursed Lands. There, they had discovered the Harpers and the Last Light Inn. After conferring with Jaheira and Isobel—and protecting Isobel from abduction by the Absolute’s minions—they’d made camp next to the Inn, still within Isobel’s protective shield. 

At dinner, Gale had spoken little. Halsin had offered to clean up even though it was usually one of Gale’s responsibilities, but Gale had waved him away, saying that he preferred to stick to his routine. That was sort of true. Really, he just wanted to be alone, and he knew his companions would worry if he stewed in his tent. Any time spent cleaning was time he wouldn’t have to spend socializing by the fire.

“Gale!” 

He looked up at the sound of his name. Astarion was calling from his tent. “I’m having trouble getting this healing potion to set.” He gestured to something inside. “Be a doll and fix this for me, would you?”

Gale rolled his eyes. Apparently time to himself was too much to ask. He went over to Astarion’s tent and stepped inside…but failed to find any potions. 

“Where’s the alchemy set?”

Astarion had shut the tent flap behind him and was tying it closed. He scoffed. “You believed that? Oh, darling. I don’t make my own potions. I steal them from you.”

That made sense, actually. Gale made potions frequently, but when it came time to use them, he never had as many as he expected. He’d chalked it up to forgetfulness—either he hadn’t made as many as he thought, or he’d used more than he remembered. It seemed his memory wasn’t so bad after all. 

He couldn’t even bring himself to be mad at Astarion. The stealing didn’t matter. Nothing did.

He folded his arms. “So why am I here?”

“Because you couldn’t keep it up.”

Gale’s eyebrows shot up. “Excuse me?”

“Your magic. You couldn’t keep it up today. Every concentration spell failed.”

Gale’s eyebrows returned to their resting position, though a light flush crept into his face. It was true. They’d had to fight a shadow horde as well as the would-be kidnappers, and he hadn’t exactly been in top form. A Slow spell he’d executed on the shadows had reduced their movements for less than a second before they were back to full speed. At the Inn, he’d cast Magic Weapon on Karlach’s Returning Pike, but the spell fizzled out before she even had a chance to throw it. 

“I thought nobody noticed.” The spells had failed so quickly that he hoped his companions simply hadn’t realized he’d cast them at all.

“Oh, honey,” Astarion said pityingly, “Everyone noticed.”

Silence hung in the air for a moment. Gale looked at the ground, digesting the information. There was some shame there, but not nearly as much as he’d usually feel. He’d just been handed a death sentence and told to tie his own noose. He could probably be forgiven for not pulling his weight in battle. 

Plus, the group had fared well even without his help. Shadowheart had carved through the shadows with Spirit Guardians, and Jaheira was a big help in the second attack. They hadn’t taken any casualties—it wasn’t like he’d failed when they’d really needed him.

Astarion picked up where he’d left off. “But there’s no need to fret. I have a solution.”

Gale understood where this was going now. He huffed, exasperated, and started heading for the exit. “Not today, Astarion.”

Astarion caught him by the wrist. “Yes, today, Gale.”

Gale turned to face him and was surprised to see what looked like genuine concern in the rogue’s eyes.

“I know what’s happening to you. You’ve just been told something awful is coming. And even though there’s a gulf between you and this awful thing, you can’t see anything in between. All you can do is watch as it gets closer.” 

Astarion’s grip on Gale’s wrist had tightened. It wasn’t enough to hurt, but it felt… desperate.

“But Gale, you need to look away. If you keep watching, it’ll consume you. And I…”

Astarion seemed to come back to himself. His face returned to its usual haughtiness. He released Gale’s wrist, instead using that hand to smooth out his hair with a flourish. 

“…I said I’d take care of you. And what sort of master would I be if I let my pets drown in emotional turmoil?”

Gale smirked—his first smile of any kind since he’d spoken to Elminster. “Oh, you think you’re my master now?”

“I don’t think it, I know it.” 

The rogue went to sit on a stool a few feet away. Once he was settled, he patted his lap.

“So come. Let your master take care of you.”

Gale felt a gentle warmth permeate him. That did sound… nice. 

He turned from the still-sealed tent flap and stood before Astarion. Waiting for orders.

“Here, now. Over my knee.”

He did as he was told, laying stomach-down over Astarion’s lap. He was too big. His head and arms dangled, and his toes still touched the ground. 

Above him, Astarion spoke.

“You’ve been naughty, little mage.” 

He wrenched the back of Gale’s pants and smallclothes down at the same time, exposing his butt. Gale felt his cheeks bloom red, and he bucked minutely into Astarion’s leg. 

“You’ve lacked focus.”

He reached under Gale and repeated the motion, freeing his cock as well. It was already starting to harden.

“It seems you require… discipline.”

The garments were left around the middle of his thighs, still covering everything except what they were mainly supposed to cover. This level of dress was almost more embarrassing than if he’d been stripped completely. It felt like his private bits were being showcased. 

“You’re going to spank me?” 

He made his voice incredulous, but inside he was buzzing with anticipation. He had never been spanked before—not even as a child (Morena would never). To have it done now, as an adult… it would be deliciously degrading. 

“Precisely. I’m going to make this cute little bum blush.”  He grabbed a handful of Gale’s ass and squeezed it. Gale bit back a groan.

“Now, which cheek will go first?” 

He ran his fingertips over Gale’s skin. 

Gale expected to have to repress another groan. Instead, he giggled.

The sound snuck up on him. It was out of his mouth before he knew what was happening. And once it was out, there was no taking it back.

Both men froze. “Oh…” Astarion began. Gale could practically hear the evil smile in his voice.

“My my. Is someone… a little… ticklish?”

“No,” he barked, much too loudly. 

Astarion tutted like a disappointed teacher. “Lying now, too. You really must be corrected. Luckily, I think I’ve just found something even better than spanking.”

“No, no-” 

Gale didn’t get to finish his protest. Astarion started tickling his butt, fingers quick and gentle, and he immediately dissolved into laughter. He squirmed, but Astarion’s other arm wrapped over his back, keeping him in place on the rogue’s lap.

“Ooh, we’ve got the giggles,” Astarion taunted. “Better quiet down, pup. Unless you want to explain to our friends what’s so funny about potion-making.”

The thought of his companions hearing him being taken apart like this sent a shock of arousal through Gale’s body. He clamped a hand over his mouth.

Astarion amped up the assault, occasionally darting his hand under Gale’s shirt to tickle his side before returning to his ass. 

“Normally you could cast silence, but that spell requires concentration, doesn’t it? Oh dear. That’s in very short supply today.”

Every time Gale writhed away from Astarion’s hand, he accidentally pushed his dick into the vampire’s thigh. Pleasure was starting to pool in his gut. If Astarion didn’t stop soon…

“As… ss… tarion,” Gale got out in between laughs. He knew the rogue could still hear him behind the paltry barrier of his hand. 

“Now now,” Astarion chided, “Is that any way to address your master?”

He reached between Gale’s legs and started to tickle his balls. Gale had no idea he was ticklish there, but apparently he was. Extremely, in fact. He shrieked into his hand, bucking harder. The tension in his gut continued to build as he pressed into Astarion. His cock leaked evidence of his arousal. Gods, he was going to come from this. 

“Uh oh, I feel a wet spot on my thigh. I think someone’s making a mess. I wonder if we can make a bigger one.”

Yep. Astarion was going to tickle him into coming. It was as humiliating as it was tantalizing. 

In fact, he was quickly reaching the cusp of orgasm. 

But before he could finish, the arm keeping him pinned to Astarion’s lap disappeared. Fingers prodded his waist experimentally, and he jerked so hard he fell onto the floor. All pleasurable sensation stopped, the ecstasy he’d been chasing just out of reach.

“Oops,” he heard Astarion say above him.

For a moment, he lay where he’d fallen, trying to make sense of the sudden change in stimuli. Then the confusion dissipated into frustration: he’d been so close!

He scrambled to his knees, intent on getting up and back on Astarion’s lap. But Astarion had crossed his legs, thigh over thigh, taking away his spot.

“That’s enough, pup. I won’t make you endure any more punishment today.”

His words spoke of mercy, but Gale didn’t want mercy; he wanted to come. 

“But…” Gale said dumbly. Astarion had felt Gale’s cock pushing into him. He’d commented on the precum seeping onto his thigh. He knew that Gale was getting off on his “punishment.” So why…?

Oh. 

Gale’s face burned. Astarion wasn’t being merciful. He was forcing Gale to ask for more.

“But what?” Astarion asked innocently. “Come on, pet. Use your words.”

“I… please, Astarion…” 

Astarion gave Gale a look that made it clear he needed to correct himself.

“Please… Master…” he tried again. The title felt… significant on his tongue. Until this point, Gale could tell himself that these trysts with Astarion were meaningless —nothing more than the inevitable result of two people with complementary proclivities being in the same place at the same time. But to call Astarion “Master” was to verbally tie himself to the rogue. He was acknowledging that there was some sort of relationship here… and he knew his place in it.

Astarion smiled, the cat that got the cream. Gale inwardly shivered at his predatory gaze. He found himself wanting to be devoured.

Alas, it seemed Astarion was the type to play with his food.

“Yes, pet?” he prompted. “Is there something I can do for you?”

“Please t…” Gale looked away, too embarrassed to say the word. “Please, um… punish me more.”

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Astarion uncross his legs. “Just so we’re clear…” the rogue began, “…you want me to bend you over my knee…”

He gestured for Gale to return to his lap. The wizard hastily complied.

“…put my hands on your body…”

Gale held his breath as Astarion’s hands met his bare hips, sliding upwards until they rested on his ribs, his shirt bunched at his chest.

“…and tickle you senseless?”

Gale’s whole body spasmed, reacting as though Astarion had attacked. In reality, the rogue had done nothing but crook his fingers. He laughed while Gale blushed crimson on his lap.

“Very well, I am nothing if not a generous master. However…” 

Astarion’s fingers started to graze over Gale’s skin. They moved slowly—too slowly to elicit laughter—but it was a queer feeling nonetheless. Gale shuddered at the touch.

“Since you asked for it, I think I’ll take my time. Find all your most sensitive spots. Sound good?”

Right as Gale opened his mouth to reply, Astarion changed tactics, fluttering his fingers over Gale’s sides. The wizard made a high-pitched yelping noise and thrashed. He would have fallen off Astarion’s lap again if not for Astarion’s arms being conveniently placed to hold him steady. 

“I’ll take that as a yes.”

Astarion continued tickling him, but once the surprise wore off, Gale found it wasn’t as intense as he’d expected. He was able to suppress most of the giggles threatening to leak out, although a few snickers did slip through. And while he squirmed constantly, his movements were more compact than they had been, hips no longer stuttering into Astarion. The rogue hadn’t lied: he was taking his time now. He seemed to be enjoying himself, playing with Gale. 

“My,” he mused as he worked, “you’re a wiggly little wizard, aren’t you?”

If it were possible to die of embarrassment, he would have expired right then, squirming away. His cock throbbed with pleasure at his plight. 

“Let’s see how else I can make you wiggle.”  

Over the next several minutes, Astarion’s hands explored Gale’s torso: his ribs, his waist, his hips, even his neck and ears. Wherever they roved, they quickly discovered how to push Gale to his limit and keep him there, fighting to contain himself, almost but not quite losing all control. Mortifyingly, when Astarion crept under his arms, only one finger was needed on each side to achieve this effect. 

“Tickle tickle, little wiggle worm,” Astarion cooed.

Being kept on the precipice of insanity was torturous. It was as if Gale’s entire body was one big erogenous zone: every brush of Astarion’s fingers went straight to his cock, teasing him relentlessly. The longer it went on, the more desperate he became for release.

Astarion relocated his controlled assault to Gale’s inner thighs. Being touched in such an intimate spot sent his arousal to a fever pitch, and the wizard broke. He started bucking his hips into Astarion deliberately, seeking the friction that would make him feel good. 

“Aw, is the wiggly wizard feeling a bit pent up?”

Forming words was beyond Gale’s current capabilities. He whined—or tried to, anyway. The sound was breathy and cracked more than once as a laugh tried to make its way out at the same time. He hadn’t thought it possible to be more embarrassed than he already was, but he managed to surprise himself.   

Astarion chuckled, giving Gale’s thigh a final squeeze. “Okay, okay, I’ll ravage you properly. Desperate little thing.”

Both hands backed off, and Gale thought he was being given a chance to catch his breath. He gulped in air, trying to regulate his heartbeat. He was so focused on his breath and his pulse that, when one of Astarion’s arms settled on his back again, hand curled around his side, he didn’t realize he was being held down.

He was mid-exhale when he felt it. Something soft and light made contact with his inner thigh, and he almost choked. He recognized it immediately: a feather. Astarion must have grabbed a quill and flipped it upside down. 

Finished with his games, Astarion didn’t bother to start slow. He swept the feather over Gale’s skin in quick strokes, using his wrist to prevent the wizard from closing his legs. Gale squealed, flailing. 

“Is this what puppy wanted?” Astarion asked as his other hand joined the attack. The ball of his hand still held Gale on his lap, but his fingers started tickling the wizard’s side, sliding between the most sensitive places he’d found - up to his armpit, down to his waist, up, down, up, down.

Meanwhile, the noises coming from Gale had reached an impossibly high note. He thrashed wildly, his rutting into Astarion’s leg now completely unintentional but also much more satisfying. Pleasure blossomed in his cock, strong enough that he noticed despite the overwhelming assault on his senses. He would have moaned wantonly if he were able. If he could think, he would have thought that yes, this was exactly what he’d wanted. And also that he liked being called “puppy.”

The feather moved up to his balls, ripping a scream from him, making him see stars.

“Cootchie cootchie coo…”

Oh hells, baby talk. 

Gale couldn’t take it anymore. The shame of being talked to that way, the humiliation of losing all control of his body movement, the heavenly pressure of Astarion’s thigh on his cock… even the tickling itself. They all compounded, bringing him to his peak. He came, hard, laughing the whole time.

Once the orgasm abated, Astarion finally stopped torturing him, tossing the quill aside. He let go of his hold, but Gale stayed on his lap, breathing heavily as he came down from his high. Astarion stroked his back soothingly.

“There we go,” he crooned. “Good pup. You needed that. You did so well.”

And, much as Gale would have liked to disagree, Astarion was right: he had needed that. The pleasure had broken the chokehold that his conversation with Elminster had had on his attention. His situation hadn’t changed, but he was at least capable of thinking about other things.

“Thank you…” he said, closing his eyes. “…Master.”

REDACTED VERSION

Gale cleared the remains of the camp’s dinner away in silence. The day had been… rough, to say the least. After doubling back through the Underdark, they’d run into Elminster—no, that wasn’t right. That sounded accidental. Elminster had found them. He’d been looking for Gale, to pass on a message from Mystra. His Goddess had ordered him to find the Absolute and detonate the orb in his chest, taking the threat—and himself—out with it. After explaining this, Elminster had promptly disappeared, leaving the group to just… continue on with the day as planned. That meant entering the Shadow-Cursed Lands. There, they had discovered the Harpers and the Last Light Inn. After conferring with Jaheira and Isobel—and protecting Isobel from abduction by the Absolute’s minions—they’d made camp next to the Inn, still within Isobel’s protective shield. 

At dinner, Gale had spoken little. Halsin had offered to clean up even though it was usually one of Gale’s responsibilities, but Gale had waved him away, saying that he preferred to stick to his routine. That was sort of true. Really, he just wanted to be alone, and he knew his companions would worry if he stewed in his tent. Any time spent cleaning was time he wouldn’t have to spend socializing by the fire.

“Gale!” 

He looked up at the sound of his name. Astarion was calling from his tent. “I’m having trouble getting this healing potion to set.” He gestured to something inside. “Be a doll and fix this for me, would you?”

Gale rolled his eyes. Apparently time to himself was too much to ask. He went over to Astarion’s tent and stepped inside…but failed to find any potions. 

“Where’s the alchemy set?”

Astarion had shut the tent flap behind him and was tying it closed. He scoffed. “You believed that? Oh, darling. I don’t make my own potions. I steal them from you.”

That made sense, actually. Gale made potions frequently, but when it came time to use them, he never had as many as he expected. He’d chalked it up to forgetfulness—either he hadn’t made as many as he thought, or he’d used more than he remembered. It seemed his memory wasn’t so bad after all. 

He couldn’t even bring himself to be mad at Astarion. The stealing didn’t matter. Nothing did.

He folded his arms. “So why am I here?”

“Because you couldn’t keep it up.”

Gale’s eyebrows shot up. “Excuse me?”

“Your magic. You couldn’t keep it up today. Every concentration spell failed.”

Gale’s eyebrows returned to their resting position, though a light flush crept into his face. It was true. They’d had to fight a shadow horde as well as the would-be kidnappers, and he hadn’t exactly been in top form. A Slow spell he’d executed on the shadows had reduced their movements for less than a second before they were back to full speed. At the Inn, he’d cast Magic Weapon on Karlach’s Returning Pike, but the spell fizzled out before she even had a chance to throw it. 

“I thought nobody noticed.” The spells had failed so quickly that he hoped his companions simply hadn’t realized he’d cast them at all.

“Oh, honey,” Astarion said pityingly, “Everyone noticed.”

Silence hung in the air for a moment. Gale looked at the ground, digesting the information. There was some shame there, but not nearly as much as he’d usually feel. He’d just been handed a death sentence and told to tie his own noose. He could probably be forgiven for not pulling his weight in battle. 

Plus, the group had fared well even without his help. Shadowheart had carved through the shadows with Spirit Guardians, and Jaheira was a big help in the second attack. They hadn’t taken any casualties—it wasn’t like he’d failed when they’d really needed him.

Astarion picked up where he’d left off. “But there’s no need to fret. I have a solution.”

Gale understood where this was going now. He huffed, exasperated, and started heading for the exit. “Not today, Astarion.”

Astarion caught him by the wrist. “Yes, today, Gale.”

Gale turned to face him and was surprised to see what looked like genuine concern in the rogue’s eyes.

“I know what’s happening to you. You’ve just been told something awful is coming. And even though there’s a gulf between you and this awful thing, you can’t see anything in between. All you can do is watch as it gets closer.” 

Astarion’s grip on Gale’s wrist had tightened. It wasn’t enough to hurt, but it felt… desperate.

“But Gale, you need to look away. If you keep watching, it’ll consume you. And I…”

Astarion seemed to come back to himself. His face returned to its usual haughtiness. He released Gale’s wrist, instead using that hand to smooth out his hair with a flourish. 

“…I said I’d take care of you. And what sort of master would I be if I let my pets drown in emotional turmoil?”

Gale smirked—his first smile of any kind since he’d spoken to Elminster. “Oh, you think you’re my master now?”

“I don’t think it, I know it.” 

The rogue went to sit on a stool a few feet away. Once he was settled, he patted his lap.

“So come. Let your master take care of you.”

Gale felt a gentle warmth permeate him. That did sound… nice. 

He turned from the still-sealed tent flap and stood before Astarion. Waiting for orders.

“Here, now. Over my knee.”

He did as he was told, laying stomach-down over Astarion’s lap. He was too big. His head and arms dangled, and his toes still touched the ground. 

Above him, Astarion spoke.

“You’ve been naughty, little mage.” 

He wrenched the back of Gale’s pants and smallclothes down at the same time, exposing his butt. Gale felt his cheeks bloom red, and he bucked minutely into Astarion’s leg. 

“You’ve lacked focus.”

He reached under Gale and repeated the motion, freeing his cock as well. It was already starting to harden.

“It seems you require… discipline.”

--

“That’s enough, pup. I won’t make you endure any more punishment today.”

His words spoke of mercy, but Gale didn’t want mercy; he wanted to come. 

“But…” Gale said dumbly. Astarion had felt Gale’s cock pushing into him. He’d commented on the precum seeping onto his thigh. He knew that Gale was getting off on his “punishment.” So why…?

Oh. 

Gale’s face burned. Astarion wasn’t being merciful. He was forcing Gale to ask for more.

“But what?” Astarion asked innocently. “Come on, pet. Use your words.”

“I… please, Astarion…” 

Astarion gave Gale a look that made it clear he needed to correct himself.

“Please… Master…” he tried again. The title felt… significant on his tongue. Until this point, Gale could tell himself that these trysts with Astarion were meaningless—nothing more than the inevitable result of two people with complementary proclivities being in the same place at the same time. But to call Astarion “Master” was to verbally tie himself to the rogue. He was acknowledging that there was some sort of relationship here… and he knew his place in it.

Astarion smiled, the cat that got the cream. Gale inwardly shivered at his predatory gaze. He found himself wanting to be devoured.

Alas, it seemed Astarion was the type to play with his food.

“Yes, pet?” he prompted. “Is there something I can do for you?”

--

Once the orgasm abated, Astarion finally stopped torturing him. He let go of his hold, but Gale stayed on his lap, breathing heavily as he came down from his high. Astarion stroked his back soothingly.

“There we go,” he crooned. “Good pup. You needed that. You did so well.”

And, much as Gale would have liked to disagree, Astarion was right: he had needed that. The pleasure had broken the chokehold that his conversation with Elminster had had on his attention. His situation hadn’t changed, but he was at least capable of thinking about other things.

“Thank you…” he said, closing his eyes. “…Master.”

Chapter Text

They stayed like that for a little while, Gale lying on Astarion’s lap, until the wizard’s spine began to protest. He slid off Astarion’s legs, onto the floor, and Prestidigitated Astarion’s pants clean without having to be asked. Then he hovered his hand over himself, eyes flicking to Astarion’s for approval. The rogue nodded. Permission granted, Gale magicked himself clean and pulled up his pants. 

Astarion found a book and began reading, just as he had at the crèche. Gale understood that the metaphorical ball was now in his court. He could get up and leave, returning to the solace he had thought he wanted, putting the weight of Gale of Waterdeep back on his shoulders. Or he could stay, remaining his master’s pet for a little while longer.

Perhaps unsurprisingly, he found he wasn’t ready to return to the real world. 

Still on the floor, he reached out timidly for Astarion’s ankle. Before he made contact, he paused. He’d never been the one to initiate touch—he wasn’t sure if Astarion would accept it. Just because the rogue was willing to indulge his sexual desires (for reasons Gale still couldn’t fathom) didn’t mean he’d accept other kinds of intimacy. 

“It’s alright.”  

Gale’s eyes snapped up. Astarion was still reading, but there was a little smile on his face.

“You’re allowed.”

Gale curled himself by Astarion’s feet, laying a hand on his ankle. From there, it felt natural to rest his head on Astarion’s lap. He was rewarded: a hand came down to stroke his hair. 

Gale felt it again: the gentle warmth that had bubbled up when Astarion had told him to let his master take care of him. The feeling of being nurtured. He let himself be petted, slipping into a blissed-out haze. 

A question drifted up from his subconscious. It was one he’d pondered many times in the past tenday. Until now, the question had usually been accompanied by suspicion and anxiety. Now, though, it brought only curiosity.

He didn’t mean to say it out loud. Whatever this was with Astarion, whatever they had, it felt like a dream—and in dreams, asking questions was a good way to make things fall apart. Better to enjoy the dream while he could, even if it meant leaving his curiosity unsatisfied.

Unfortunately, in his hormone-addled state he didn’t have very good control of his mouth, and something slipped out.

“Why…”

“Hmm?” Astarion asked, glancing down at him.

Gale’s cheeks and ears pinked. He buried his face in Astarion’s thigh. “Ah, nothing. It’s nothing. Ignore me.”

The hand on Gale’s head stopped moving, though it didn’t pull away. Astarion said nothing. Gale held his breath, waiting. 

A moment passed. Then another. Then another. 

“Okay,” Astarion said.

“Whyareyouhelpingmelikethis?” Gale blurted at the same time.

Rogue and wizard stared at each other. Astarion’s face shifted from surprise to resignation. Alarm bells went off in Gale’s head. He snapped his mouth shut, pressing his lips together as if he was trying to keep the words inside, despite the rather inconvenient fact that they’d already escaped. What had he just done? 

Astarion started petting him again, and he relaxed… a little. The rogue sighed.

“Do you know the difference between a vampire spawn and a ‘true’ vampire?”

Gale blinked up at him, baffled. It took a beat for his sluggish mind to supply an answer. “You… can’t turn into a bat, or mist. And you can’t make another vampire.” 

“Very good,” Astarion said, caressing the shell of Gale’s ear. The wizard melted, making an unconscious sound of pleasure as he savored the praise. He tried to lean into Astarion’s hand, but it retreated.

“There’s something else, though. A ‘true’ vampire is beholden to no one. A spawn, on the other hand… A vampire’s spawn is less than a slave. They’re a puppet. We have no choice but to obey our-” 

Astarion paused briefly, eyes narrowing at something Gale couldn’t see.

“…our sires’ commands. They speak and our bodies react—it’s part of the deal.”

Gale hadn’t known this. Did that mean Astarion was…

“Cazador, my sire, had me go out into Baldur’s Gate and fetch him the most beautiful souls I could find. It was a fun little ritual of his—I’d bring them back and he’d ask if I wanted to dine with him. And if I said yes, he’d serve me a dead, putrid rat. Of course if I said no, he’d have me flayed. Hard to say which was worse.”

The wizard gaped, horrified. Astarion continued:

“Once, rather than answering, I spat in his face. He was furious—angrier than I’d ever seen. I thought I’d be whipped until sunrise. Instead, he sent me back to my room. My punishment, he said, would be carried out in ‘due time.’” 

The rogue gritted his teeth.

“For the next ten nights, I was a wreck. I could think of nothing but when my punishment would come, and what it would be. I was still expected to bring him a new victim each night. By that time, I’d had decades of practice; hunting was as easy as breathing once was. And still, two of those nights, I failed. I came home at sunrise empty-handed, and was beaten for those failures.”

He closed his eyes, lost in the memory, face contorted in rage. Gale curled tighter around his leg, hoping that the contact would help pull Astarion back to the present. To his relief—and no small amount of amazement—it worked. Astarion opened his eyes, expression softening somewhat as he gazed down at Gale. 

“Finally, after the tenth night, my punishment came. It was… awful. I won’t pretend otherwise. But Cazador was trying to hurt me, and looking back on it, I can’t help but think I made it easier for him.”

Astarion ran a thumb down Gale’s cheek.

“I know what it’s like to be consumed by dread. To have your sanity eaten away. No one should have to go through that. Least of all, you.”

Gale had been attempting to get his jaw off the floor and cobble together an appropriately sympathetic response to Astarion’s story, but that last sentence knocked the wind right out of him.

Least of all… me?

What in the nine Hells did that mean?

Before he had a chance to recover, Astarion’s expression changed again. He took on a look of wry amusement, similar to the one he’d worn when he let go of Gale’s wrist.

“Not that your situation is entirely the same. As awful as Cazador is, he never told me to kill myself. And as awful as Mystra is-” Gale gasped at that, scandalized, “-you don’t have to obey her. In fact, you shouldn’t obey her.” 

Here it was, Gale thought: the impassioned plea to save himself. He had gotten it from several of his other companions already, and while he knew they had good intentions, it just made him feel like no matter what he chose, he would be disappointing someone. He braced himself.

“Blowing yourself up to destroy the Absolute—it’s just a waste of a perfectly good cult that we could be controlling.”

And despite everything—the tadpole in their heads, the orb in his chest, Mystra’s burden, the revelation of Astarion’s appalling past—Gale laughed. 

“Oh, you think that’s funny, pup?” Astarion asked, smirking. “I’ll give you something to laugh about.”

With that, he pounced.

—

Later, in his own tent, Gale thought about what Astarion had said. The rogue had answered one question only to raise several more. Yes, Gale now knew why Astarion had sought him out today. However, he still had no idea what had motivated him at the goblin camp, or in the Underdark, or at the crèche…or, for that matter, what might motivate him to spend time with Gale in the future. Gale was quickly becoming addicted to Astarion’s attention, and not knowing what triggered it meant he couldn’t know if it would continue.

More importantly, Gale recognized that each dalliance was a gift—one that, until he knew what Astarion was getting out of the situation, he was woefully unable to repay. Today in particular felt precious. Not only had Astarion pulled Gale back from the brink of despair, but he’d actually allowed himself to be vulnerable as well. Given how guarded he’d been with their companions—which, given what Gale now knew of his history, was perfectly sensible—Astarion’s choice to let Gale in was significant. Intimate, almost. It made Gale want to do something for Astarion in turn. To show that he understood the gravity of what he’d been given.

A thought occurred to him. As clueless as Gale was, there was one thing that could do that he knew Astarion would like. He approached his alchemy set, flipping the nearby instruction book to one of the few recipes he’d never tried. 

Before he got into his bedroll for the night, Gale put a fresh Elixir of Bloodlust into his pack. By the time he woke up in the morning, it was gone.

Chapter Text

“Glacies!”

The shadow bellowed as the Ray of Frost speared its chest. Gale squinted through the darkness and ice, hoping to find his foe had perished. To his dismay, it was still standing—and getting closer.

The wizard clenched his jaw. He’d lost count of the number of times he’d hit the thing, and it just refused to go down. Since it had no visible wounds, he couldn’t even tell if he’d injured it. The shadows were vulnerable to Shadowheart’s Radiant spells—that much was clear—but any other attacks failed to do obvious damage, and Gale had no Radiant spells in his arsenal. Even if he had, he wouldn’t have the mana reserves to cast them: this was the group’s third fight of the day, and he was spent. He could only hope that the little flinches he saw when his cantrips connected meant he was wearing his opponent down.

He took a step back, trying to increase the distance between them, and cursed inwardly when his foot bumped against a rock face. He’d already been hit by the shadow’s claws once, and he wasn’t sure he could take another hit. The shadow was closing in. With no way to retreat, he did the only thing he could think of.

“Fulgor!” he yelled, swinging at the monster’s side. Lightning arced out from his hand, catching the shadow in a Shocking Grasp. He prayed that it would be enough.

It was. The shadow disintegrated, leaving only a vestige behind.

Still tense, Gale searched for his companions. He found them standing in the glow of Shadowheart’s weapon, the Blood of Lathander. It seemed they had just finished vanquishing the other shadows in the area. The fight was over.

Gale leaned against the rock at his back, panting heavily. Wyll was saying something to Rolan—the shadows’ original target—but he didn’t know what. Nor, at that moment, did he care. Blood roared in his ears. It felt like his body was a battery that was full to bursting. The excess energy took his breath away… and did something else to him, too.

He caught himself looking at Astarion. The rogue was watching the Wyll and Rolan exchange with some interest. He still had a knife in his hand, and was absentmindedly rubbing the grip with his thumb.

Gale tore his gaze away.

No, no, no, he chided himself. None of that. This is neither the time nor the place.

But as he approached the party, his eyes kept flitting to Astarion. It was like they had a mind of their own. Once, he saw Astarion looking back. Gale turned his attention to Wyll and Rolan as quickly as he could.

“I know when I’m outmatched,” he heard Rolan say.

(In the wizard’s peripheral vision, Astarion grinned at him, pocketing his knife. Gale’s heart pounded in his chest.)

“Why don’t we go with you?” Wyll offered.

Rolan looked equal parts dejected and disgusted. “Don’t bother—I’m leaving.” And without acknowledging the rest of them, he strode into the darkness.

“What was that about?” Gale asked, doing his best to sound normal. Shadowheart narrowed her eyes at him, clearly aware that something was amiss, but not sure what. Luckily, Wyll didn’t seem to notice.

“He was looking for Moonrise,” the warlock said. “Poor bloke. He’s worried about his siblings.”

Gale looked in the direction Rolan had gone, which was very much not the way to Moonrise. “And now?”

“Headed back to the Last Light. I think we should go, too. Rest up. It’s best to be fresh when you walk into a viper’s nest.”

They’d been headed for Moonrise themselves—a covert mission, hence Astarion’s presence—but since leaving camp they’d had to fend off a group of goblins with a drider, some nasty tree things, and now the shadows. It probably would be a good idea to just try again tomorrow.

“Agreed,” Shadowheart said. Gale nodded. He expected Astarion to complain about being dragged around for nothing, but no complaint came. He hazarded a quick glance at the rogue, only to see him staring back, still grinning. Gale’s breath caught in his throat.

“Well then,” he forced out, gesturing towards the path. “Shall we?”

The four of them started towards the Inn. Shadowheart and Wyll took the lead, and Gale followed. To his chagrin, Astarion fell in beside him.

“You look a bit flushed, darling,” the rogue said. “Is everything alright?”

Wyll glanced back at them, concerned.

“Fine, fine,” Gale insisted, not breaking his stride. “It’s, ah, it’s quite thrilling, to fight off such grim creatures as this region throws at us. I’m just a bit keyed up.”

Wyll smiled sympathetically and faced forward again.

“That reminds me—there was something you said in the goblin camp. About a book you’d read.”

Gale almost snapped his neck turning to face Astarion.

“You said it explained how danger could affect someone’s desire for… how did you put it?” Astarion pretended to think. “Oh, yes… ‘other forms of stimulation.’”

The wizard nervously looked back at Shadowheart and Wyll, fearing that they’d overhear. They were farther away now than they’d been—Astarion had slowed, and Gale had unconsciously slowed to match him. Neither of their companions noticed.

“So tell me, Gale…” the rogue said, sidling closer until their shoulders touched. “Are you, perhaps, in need of some… stimulation?”

Astarion stopped walking, and Gale did too. The light around them faded as Shadowheart walked away with her glowing mace.

“Astarion-”

Gale was cut off when Astarion shoved him into a nearby rock.

“That’s ‘Master’ to you,” Astarion crooned into his ear. One hand pinned Gale by the chest, while the other dipped under his robes to paw at the erection he’d had since he’d almost been killed. Even through his clothes, it was the closest Astarion had ever come to actually touching his cock.

“Master…” he moaned weakly, feeling Astarion stroke up and down. “Our a- ahh -absence will be noted. What if they come looking?”

“That’s what makes it dangerous, pet.”

A finger circled his cock head, and Gale shuddered, tipping his head back against the rock. His eyes, useless in the dark, fluttered closed.

“Tell me…” Astarion murmured, still circling, “Did you get horny, reading that book? Did it turn you on?”

Gale made an “mmph” sound, which wasn’t a reply, but did answer Astarion’s question.

“Did you rub one out with the book still open?”

“No,” he insisted. “I was in-”

He should have expected what happened next. After all, Astarion was touching his chest just like Shadowheart had been when he’d shown her the orb. He’d known what the tadpole would do then. He should have realized it would do the same now.

*****

Astarion found himself seeing through Gale’s eyes. Gale had been looking down at a book, but he looked up now to glance at his surroundings, and Astarion discovered he was in a library—the Blackstaff Graduate Library, if the lettering above the check-out desk was to be believed. The memory must be from Gale’s early twenties. (Despite being a prodigy, he had never mentioned graduating early.) 

Gale eyed the other library-goers—only a handful, none of them close by—and returned to his book. His ears were hot, and his hands pressed the pages flat with more force than necessary. It was an academic text about the use of mages in war. Gale was reading a passage about the body’s physiological response to danger:

One common feature of survival-mode emotional states like fear or anxiety is that they activate a stress response that will release stress hormones into the brain. Strangely, strong sexual desire has been shown to activate all the same main components of a stress response. Since all survival-mode states appear to release stress hormones in the brain, any such state can therefore potentially become confused with sexual desire. The journalist and war correspondent Chris Hedges has written of the "frenetic lust" that is typically part of the wartime landscape, and has noted how the violence and chaos of war often lead even the most conservative or sheltered men and women to "give themselves over to wanton carnal relationships."

Astarion felt Gale’s half-erect cock twitch as he read the words. His legs shifted, squeezing to move it between his thighs and against his pants. The friction was divine, making him harder by the second. He knew he should stop.

His eyes returned to the beginning of the passage to read it again.

*****

The memory faded, bringing the men back to the Shadow-Cursed Lands. Through the darkness, he heard Astarion laugh.

“Such a naughty puppy, teasing yourself like that in public! You were ashamed of yourself, weren't you? That’s why it felt so good.”

Gale just groaned.

The hand on his chest slid down, down, down, crossing his belt and finding the fold of his robe. It drew the fabric aside, then stopped.

“Gale…” Astarion said, all sultry tones gone from his voice, “What is this?”

Gale had a feeling he knew what Astarion meant, but just in case, he cast the dimmest possible Dancing Lights to see what the rogue was looking at.

He was right. Astarion was looking directly at his groin, where the hand currently palming his cock seemed to float in the air a few inches away from his pants.

“It, ah…” he stammered. He didn’t particularly want to explain, but there was no way around it.

“It’s an illusion spell. On my smallclothes. Warps the light around it and anything directly touching it—like my trousers—to look like they haven’t… shifted.”

Astarion stared at him.

“I, um… when the orb was active, I couldn’t enchant anything. Made it hungry. But I’ve had some close calls recently, and now that the orb is stabilized, I thought I’d…”

“You enchanted your underwear…” Astarion said slowly, “…to hide your hard-ons?”

Gale felt like he was burning up under Astarion’s gaze. 

“…Yes?”

Now that there was light, Gale could see Astarion’s face clearly when the rogue laughed at him again. His cock strained, moving Astarion’s hand with it, though his pants appeared to remain flat against him.

“You can’t control yourself at all, can you? Like a toddler wearing a diaper because they can’t hold it in. You wear magic underwear because you can’t control your needy, needy prick.”

He started stroking the shaft again, squatting to watch his hand trace the air. Gale’s legs trembled. Finding nothing to grip on the rock, he balled his hands into fists.

“Self-control is an important skill, you know. Perhaps once we get to Baldur’s Gate I’ll get a cage and lock Junior up for a while. Maybe that would teach you. What do you think, pup?”

Gale didn’t know whether to be horrified or very, very turned on. He whined.

“It’s not all bad, though,” Astarion mused. “I’ve given a lot of handjobs in my time, but never an invisible one. There’s a certain amount of novelty to it.”

He tried different movements: squeezing here, brushing there, never staying in one place for long. It seemed he was only trying to tease, the same way Gale had teased himself in the library. But his touches were doing a lot more than teasing. Each new sensation sent a thrill up Gale’s spine, pushing him closer to his peak. This wouldn’t have been a problem, except that his trousers were still on.

“Ast- Master,” he huffed, “If you keep - mmm, ah - playing with it like that…”

“What, like this?” Astarion asked innocently, twisting his fingers in a way that made Gale keen.

Since Astarion was being obtuse, Gale made to untie his pant laces himself. Astarion batted his hand away.

“Ah ah ah,” he scolded. “No touching.”

“But-”

“Hands behind your back.”

Wide-eyed, Gale complied. He bit his lip as Astarion resumed his ministrations.

Gale hadn't come in his pants since he'd finished puberty and escaped the plague of nocturnal emissions. It wasn’t something adults did. The very idea was mortifying.

…Which, come to think of it, was probably exactly why Astarion was going to make him do it.

“Astarion? Gale?” Shadowheart’s voice rang out in the gloom. Gale’s blood pressure spiked, doing nothing to cool his lust.

“Whatever nasty thing you’re doing, please hurry it up. I told Wyll I’d look for you, so I’m stuck out here ‘til you’re done.”

Gale looked down at Astarion, wide-eyed. The rogue still hadn’t stopped touching him, and he was nearing his limit.

“Coming!” Astarion called back to Shadowheart.

And, indeed, Gale came.

The Dancing Lights winked out as his concentration failed. In his smallclothes, Gale felt the warmth of his spend. The shame of it made the pleasure all the more potent. Though he fought to be silent, he was unable to stop himself from making a strangled gasp.

When it was done, he turned on the Dancing Lights again.

Astarion smirked at him.

“Didn’t Mystra teach you to maintain your concentration?”

Glancing at himself, Gale was relieved to see that the illusion had held: he still looked completely un-debauched, despite the cum in his underwear and any that might have leaked into his trousers. He Prestidigitated himself clean without asking for permission this time—he certainly wasn’t about to go see Shadowheart with wet underpants—and then threw a rueful smile at Astarion.

“Not always.”

Chapter Text

“Apologies, Shadowheart,” Gale said as he approached. “Didn’t mean to make you come fetch us. We were just…”

He glanced at Astarion, hoping the rogue would jump in with a believable cover story. No such luck: Astarion didn’t even seem to be paying attention to the conversation. Gale turned back to Shadowheart.

“…gathering some alchemy ingredients Astarion spied off the path.” 

Proud of himself for improvising, he put on his best ‘act-casual’ smile. “Elven night vision is truly extraordinary.”

Alas, Gale had never been a great actor.

“Yes…” Shadowheart replied icily. “Our hearing is impressive, too. Of course, mine isn’t as good as a full elf’s. But I did pick up a great deal of cackling from Astarion’s tent last night.”

Gale froze. His Dancing Lights spluttered out as color rushed to his cheeks. 

“Any idea what that was about?”

“An unfortunate misfire of Tasha’s Hideous Laughter,” Astarion answered smoothly. Gale hadn’t noticed the rogue snap out of wherever his mind had been, but he was immensely relieved. He tried to collect himself as Astarion put on a smirk and added:

“I really shouldn’t be trusted with scrolls.” 

“I see.” 

Shadowheart crossed her arms, exasperated.  

“Look,” she said, “it’s fine if you’re fucking-”

“We are not!” Gale stammered. His companions ignored him.

“-but if you don’t want anyone else catching on, I suggest you work on your subtlety. I know Halsin heard that misfire yesterday as well.”

“We’ll take that under advisement, should any fucking occur,” Astarion said coyly. Shadowheart rolled her eyes.

—

Back at camp, Gale was about to head to his tent when Astarion yanked the wizard into his own tent instead.

“You know, this is rather the opposite of subtle-” Gale started to say.

“What did you mean, ‘not always?’”

He paused, blinking. “Pardon?”

“Before, when I asked if Mystra taught you to concentrate. You said ‘not always.’ What did you mean by that?”

“Oh. That.” Gale smiled bashfully, rubbing the back of his neck with a hand.

“Well, you know we were lovers. Sometimes she would, ah…” He cleared his throat. “…break my concentration. As - as foreplay.”

“Show me.”

The wizard stared at his companion, utterly taken aback. “What?”

“With the tadpole. Show me.”

“Why would - I cannot fathom a single reason you would want to see that.” 

Astarion glared in frustration. “Just trust me, alright? There’s - there’s something I need to see.”

Gale studied Astarion’s face, looking for any trace of joke or irony. To his surprise, he found none.

He pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to find the right words.

“Look, I know you and I aren’t romantically involved—I have no delusions about that—but we are… something.”

(Even though he was pretty sure of that, it was a relief when Astarion failed to object.) 

“And if just talking to someone about an ex is unwise, I can only imagine ‘immersing them in a memory of foreplay with said ex’ is significantly more so.”

Astarion opened his mouth to argue, but Gale held up a hand. 

“If it’s important to you, I’ll do it. But first I must ask: are you sure?”

The rogue nodded gravely.

“Okay.”

Gale moved closer, facing him.

“Put your hand on my chest, like before.”

*****

Gale was surrounded by Evard’s Black Tentacles.

Astarion’s alarm was quenched almost before it could manifest, replaced by a sense of satisfied confidence. It was coming from Gale’s memory: the rogue was feeling what the wizard had felt at the time.

After a moment, Astarion was able to separate himself, perceiving Gale’s emotions without letting them rewrite his own. Still, it was odd—when he’d seen Gale in the library, there had been no emotional transference. Was he getting more attuned? 

Taking in more of the environment, he saw that Gale was in a large courtyard, dominated in the center by a massive tower. Blackstaff, surely. There were groups of what looked to be late teenagers and young adults scattered about the yard—other students. A few were standing at the edge of Gale’s spell, looking on with a mix of awe, trepidation, and jealousy.

“It’s perfectly safe, I assure you,” Gale said as he strode among the tentacles. “Come, join me. They won’t bite.”

Two students looked at each other, appearing to make a decision. They were about to step into the area of the spell when a glowing purple figure appeared next to them.

Gale’s glee felt like a sudden burst of welcome sunlight. 

“Mystra! I’m so glad you’re here. I’ve been wanting to show you this.” He spread his hands, indicating the grotesque mass of limbs around him.

“I’ve found a way to bind them to my will. Obviously I don’t have fine control—I won’t be asking them to set out a tea service or tie my shoes—but they won’t attack me, or anyone else I tell them to ignore.”

Mystra had apparated into the courtyard with an affectionate smile on her face. As Astarion watched, her expression changed. The change was so subtle that, had he not been looking for it, he would have missed it completely. Gale, of course, didn’t notice it at all. But it was there: the faintest glint in her eye, the slightest tightening of her jaw.

“Leave us,” she said—ostensibly to the students next to her, though her voice boomed unnaturally about the courtyard, a clear hint that she was talking to everyone.

“Please,” she added, as if to make it a request and not the command it obviously was.

Gale’s excitement was palpable. Astarion remembered what he’d said about his time with Mystra—how he’d begged to be allowed to dip beneath the surface of the Weave. How he’d tried to prove himself worthy of the privilege. This must have been one of his attempts. 

Mystra turned her back to him as she waved at the students retreating towards the tower. She was, after all, their goddess as well. Gale was unbothered: soon, he would have her full attention.

A tentacle grabbed his ankle. Surprised, Gale tried to shake it off with his mind, only for another tentacle to wrap itself around his wrist. What was going on?

As the last student disappeared into the tower, Mystra turned to face him again. Gale hurriedly stuck his arms behind him, wrist holding captured wrist. If he could just prevent Mystra from noticing until he fixed this…

But when Mystra saw him, she took on a look of concerned curiosity. This time, she wasn’t subtle about it. In fact, she was so unsubtle that Astarion got the distinct impression she was exaggerating her reaction.

“Is something wrong?” she asked Gale. “You seem… distracted.”

“No, no,” Gale said. “Just excited to show you what I’ve been working on.”

As if to punish him for his lie, the tentacle securing his wrist yanked his arm out to the side and into Mystra’s line of sight.

Mystra laughed. “Are you sure? Maybe you don’t have as much control over them as you thought.”

Astarion could feel Gale’s embarrassment clearly… but there was no arousal to go along with it. The memory must predate his kink, then.

“Just some… technical difficulties…” Gale huffed, trying his hardest to get the tentacles to let go. They wouldn’t budge.

“I’ve practiced a dozen times, and I assure you, this has never happened before.”

“You said you bound them to your will, did you not?” 

Mystra approached. The spell parted before her, shying from her power.

“Perhaps they are sensing something you desire.”

Gale laughed ruefully, still struggling. “What could I possibly desire that requires this?”

From behind him, a tentacle licked up between his legs. The tip slithered over the front of his pants, teasing at his cock, while a thicker portion dragged under his balls. The stirrings of desire joined the increasing humiliation.

Gale gasped as Mystra laughed again. “I see,” she said.

“No, no,” Gale insisted, free arm moving to pry the tentacle off his crotch. Before he could, another coiled around his wrist. Both arms were now bound. 

“Goddess, I would never - not that you’re not - but I would never presume - to disrespect-”

The wise thing to do, at this point, would have been to dismiss the spell. But despite his superior intellect, Gale was not wise. He’d waited for this opportunity for months. If he could just salvage this, she would see he was ready for more.

He threw all his mental effort into wrestling the spell. The tentacle between his legs retreated an inch.

“Oh?” Mystra asked. “You’ve never thought of it? Not even during moments of self-pleasure?”

Her question exploded in his mind, a grenade scattering his thoughts to the winds. 

“What? No, I - that would - would be highly inappropriate-”

He had, of course. Not often. But once or twice, holed up in his bedchamber approaching the edge, it had been her image that had sent him over.

With Gale’s attention now focused on trying desperately to save himself, the spell was free to do as it pleased. The tentacle pressed into his trousers, swishing over his cock in just the right places. His defensive babbling was interrupted by a loud moan.

Astarion thought he’d be crushed under the weight of Gale’s shame. 

The only thing to do now was dismiss the spell and find a nice cliff to throw himself off. He was about to do just that when Mystra spoke.

“Keep concentrating.”

The tentacles wavered as Gale caught himself mid-dismissal. “But I can’t…” He groaned miserably. “I can’t control them.” 

“I know,” Mystra said gently, resting an ethereal hand on his cheek. “That’s the problem with reaching beyond your limit. It never goes the way you expect.”

Another miserable groan. 

Mystra smiled. “Worry not. Inability to control Evard’s Black Tentacles is not a personal failing. No mortal can.” 

But Gale usually could. He only wished he could show her that. How had it gone so horribly wrong?

The goddess’s smile became mischievous. “Perhaps we can try a more reasonable challenge.”

Gale had no idea where this was going.

 “I’m going to give you what you want.” Mystra gestured to the still-growing tent in his pants. He gaped, sure he was misunderstanding.

“See if you can maintain the spell.”

“What? But-”

Mystra did not wait for him to finish. Conjured mage hands made quick work of Gale’s trouser laces, pulling them down with his smallclothes just enough to reveal his half-hard cock. Gale gasped as cool air hit the sensitive skin. 

For a moment, he wondered worriedly if anyone looking out the windows of Blackstaff could see him. 

Then Mystra reached out and touched him with the Weave, and his worry was banished, replaced by all-consuming pleasure.

It was like nothing Gale had ever felt before. At the first touch, his cock hardened fully and began to leak. With a single, gentle squeeze, he came. The spell disappeared as he shook with his orgasm.

Mystra chuckled. 

“Perhaps you should work on your stamina.”

Gale blushed fiercely.

*****

In the present he blushed again, although not quite as fiercely.

“Well, I guess that one wasn’t ‘foreplay’ exactly…” He shrugged, giving a sheepish half-smile. “It’s just what came to mind. That was the first time we were… intimate. Embarrassing as it was, she did name me as her Chosen after that, and take me as her lover. So I must have done something right.” 

Astarion’s expression was still deadly serious. “Show me more.”

Gale didn’t think that was a great idea, but he’d already asked Astarion if he was sure—there was no point in asking again. He sighed.

*****

The memories came rapid-fire now, one after another: Gale practicing magic, Mystra breaking his concentration. 

She would start by teasing him good-naturedly about his skill. Then, once she’d made him squirm with embarrassment, she would arouse him until the spell dissolved. 

At first, Gale’s concentration failed only when he was at the cusp of release. But the more it happened, the earlier his breaking point became… and the more he associated embarrassment with arousal.

By the end, a single taunt from his goddess was enough to break his concentration and turn his attention to his cock.

Every single memory began the same way: with Gale performing a feat of magic that should have been impossible.

*****

Astarion recoiled as if he’d been burned. 

Gale, who'd emerged from the torrent of memories flushed and more than a little horny, struggled to understand his master's response. What could possibly have been so horrifying?

“She groomed you with an ‘off’ switch.”

Chapter Text

Gale laughed incredulously. “What?” 

He’d heard the accusation of “grooming” before, passed in concerned whispers between his mother and Tara when they thought he wasn’t listening. (At the time, he’d scolded them for discussing his private life and otherwise ignored the issue.) But this “off switch” idea was new.

“What are you talking about?”

“You said Mystra keeps mortals in check, right? That there are boundaries she doesn’t let them cross.”

“Yes…?”

“I don’t think those boundaries are real.”

Gale was dumbfounded. “Of course they’re real,” he replied. “While the Weave is boundless in its power, mortals are not. Mystra, the Weave incarnate, decides how we can wield it. Every wizard knows this.”

“But you didn’t really believe that, did you?” Astarion challenged. “Or you wouldn’t have tried to tame Evard’s at all.”

Gale blushed. Astarion’s “‘off’ switch” accusation had been so bizarre that he’d almost forgotten how horny he was. Now, with the mention of his first folly, he was reminded. He shifted uncomfortably, crossing his arms.

“Yes, well. I was young and foolish. Like many other young fools, I couldn’t quite accept a boundary until I had tested it myself. And you saw how that turned out.”

“Because Mystra interfered!” Astarion countered. “You’d almost recovered until she distracted you. And I’d bet all my gold that she nudged the spell out of control in the first place.” 

“Why would she have done that? You think she wanted to see a gangly eighteen-year-old stroked to hardness by a wayward spell?” Gale shivered at his own description, his cock twitching where it invisibly tented his pants. 

“She wanted to put you in your place. To make you fail so spectacularly that you’d disregard your prior successes as flukes. And to make that failure feel so good that you’d stop trying to succeed.”

“You’re talking nonsense, Astarion.”

“Am I? Did you ever try that trick with Evard’s again? Or did you just accept that it couldn’t be done?”

Gale pursed his lips.

“Exactly. She wanted to redirect you, and it worked. In fact, it worked so well that she kept doing it. Whenever you reached one of her ‘boundaries,’ she pulled you back before you realized you could keep going.”

Before Gale could process this, Astarion’s face darkened, rage defining his features.

“Concentration is a wizard’s greatest asset, and she conditioned yours to have a fatal flaw. She handicapped you.”

Gale scoffed. “My only handicap is the orb.”

“You lose your concentration when you’re embarrassed.” 

The wizard went beet red, momentarily speechless. Even though he didn’t believe it, the fact that Astarion did was humiliating in and of itself. 

“And before you deny it, let me remind you that I just saw your Dancing Lights spell go out the instant Shadowheart said she’d heard you laughing.” 

The reminder sent color spreading down his neck. He did his best to ignore his still-present erection.

“That—that’s only because it wasn’t important!” He protested. “If I really needed to keep my concentration—like if we were in battle—I could do it just fine.”

At least, he was pretty sure that was true.

“And besides,” he continued, “This whole concept of Mystra giving me a weakness is absurd. She wouldn’t do that. You don’t know her like I do.”

Astarion bared his fangs.

“Do you know how I caught my prey, Gale?” he asked, advancing on the wizard. Gale backed up a few paces, but Astarion kept coming, closing the distance between them.

“I seduced them. For 200 years, I used my body to lure people to their deaths. If there’s one thing I know in this gods-forsaken plane, it’s sexual manipulation. And what I just saw? That was a masterclass.”

Gale stopped retreating. 

His goddess was not a liar. 

She didn’t give him a weakness. 

And most importantly, their relationship had not been a sham. Mystra had cared for him. She had. 

Fists clenched at his sides, Gale looked Astarion straight in the eye and growled:

“Not everyone is a snake like you.”

Astarion's face went blank. He stepped back, turning away from Gale. “Get out.”

For a moment, Gale stood motionless. He racked his brain for something to say, and came up empty. Too many emotions roiled in his heart; his chest ached, not big enough to hold them all. Anger, hurt, regret, lingering arousal… and buried underneath, something he refused to acknowledge: a little seed of panic that Astarion might be right. 

“Out.”

Gale stormed out of the tent. 

Consumed as he was with their argument, he didn’t think about where he was going. His feet, working on autopilot, brought him to his tent. Yet as soon as he saw it, he knew he couldn’t go inside. In the days since he stopped worrying about being ambushed by Astarion, his tent had been his sanctuary: a quiet, private place where he could curl up with a book and forget the world. But tonight it only looked like a too-small cage. There was too much energy bottled up inside him—he needed to move.

Changing course, he went down to the lakeshore. It was outside of Isobel’s protective shield, but only barely. He had his own protection from the shadow curse—a reward for helping a fairy earlier that day—and there didn’t seem to be any monsters lurking about. 

Gale paced along the shore: back and forth, back and forth. His mind whirled. One moment he’d think of Astarion insisting that Mystra had manipulated him, and he’d be furious. The next, he’d remember what he’d said in response, and his anger would turn inward: how could he have been so cruel? Then he’d switch tracks again, poring over the evidence Astarion had given, anxiously searching for a flaw in the rogue’s logic—any reason it couldn’t be true. Finally he’d chide himself for even considering the possibility, and circle back to cursing Astarion for suggesting it.

He ran this mental loop over and over, pacing all the while, until he felt sick. Thankfully, his lurching stomach disrupted the frenetic thought spiral long enough for him to pull himself free. He stopped pacing and took a deep breath. 

Clearly, he wasn’t going to intuit his way out of this. But perhaps he could approach the situation academically instead.

Ultimately, Astarion’s argument came down to three claims:

1. The limits Mystra claimed to impose on mortal use of the Weave did not exist. Because the limits did not exist, 
2. She used sex to prevent Gale from surpassing them. In doing so,
3. She damaged his ability to concentrate.

Each claim depended on the prior being true. Therefore, to determine whether Astarion was correct, Gale only needed to test the last one. Which, luckily, was easily testable. 

The experiment was simple: conjure Dancing Lights, think of something embarrassing, and see if he could keep the Lights on.

Relieved to have a plan, he set to work.

-

In the darkness, Gale fell to his knees.

He’d tried more times than he could count. No matter how hard he focused on the spell, no matter how minor the embarrassment, the result was the same: the Lights always went out.

He could no longer deny it: Astarion had been right.

And it was worse than Astarion knew.

Mystra hadn’t just hampered his progress with distractions. She hadn’t just given him a weakness. 

She’d made him beg for power that was already within his grasp. She’d convinced him he needed her permission. He’d only sought out the orb to gain that permission… and it had consumed his power. Robbed him of whatever potential he had. Permanently crippled him.

None of which would have happened, had he known what he knew now.

And to top it off, once he was no longer a threat, she discarded him immediately.

Part of him felt like screaming. Another wanted to sob. In the end, he was too numb to do either. He knelt on the cold stone, staring out into a lake he could barely see.

–

When his eyes blinked open, he was on his side, curled up into a ball. He didn’t know when he’d fallen asleep. 

An orange glow drew his attention. He looked up to find a torch stuck in a rock crevice a few feet away.

In the torchlight, Astarion sat cross-legged, facing the lake. His knife was in his hands, and he fidgeted with it.

“You were right,” Gale said, putting his head back on the ground. His knees ached, but he ignored them. He didn’t feel like moving right now.

“I know,” Astarion said softly. He wasn’t gloating—just acknowledging a fact.

They lapsed back into silence. 

Eventually, Gale gathered the will to uncurl himself and sit up. “What are you doing here? After what I said…” 

Astarion sheathed his knife.

“I was furious,” he admitted. “I told myself I’d have nothing more to do with you. For as long as we were forced to travel together, I simply wouldn’t acknowledge your existence.”

That was about what Gale had expected, which made their current conversation all the more confusing. “So why are you here?”

“Something was bothering me.” He shot Gale a wry smile. “Aside from the obvious, I mean. There was something nagging at the back of my mind. I just couldn’t figure out what. Eventually, it hit me.”

He shifted, uncrossing his legs and bringing his knees up. 

“It was your face. Right before you got mad, before you said… what you said. There was a moment where you looked… hurt. And I realized I’d seen that face before.”

Astarion looked at the water.

“When I hunted for Cazador, after I seduced my prey, I’d bring them back to the Palace. I’d entertain them for a while, and then Cazador would come get them. When they realized what was happening, they’d run from him. Cry. Beg him to spare them. It was always the same. Except once.”

His face was impassive, but Gale could hear the hurt in his voice.

“His name was Sebastian. He was handsome. Shy. He’d never been kissed.”

Astarion wrapped his arms around his legs.

“I wooed him. Called him so many sweet things. I kissed him. And then Cazador came.”

He squeezed his arms tighter, as if wrapping himself in a hug.

“He didn’t run. He didn’t cry or beg. He just looked at me, so betrayed. Cazador wasn’t the villain of his story; I was.” 

Now he looked at Gale again.

“I’d hurt him so badly that it was all he could think about, even in the face of his own death. And I’d only known him for a few hours. Then I told you that the goddess you’ve worshipped your whole life, who you’d been with for years, had done the same thing to you. Even though you didn’t believe me, the very idea made you look just as betrayed as he did.

“I turned your world upside down, without a second thought. Given the circumstances, I suppose I can forgive a proverbial slap in the face.”

Chapter Text

Gale had loved Mystra. He’d tried to please her, and she’d punished him for it. She’d let him suffer the orb’s hunger for a year, refusing to communicate, ignoring his desperate prayers… and all along, she’d had the power to sate it. 

Meanwhile, here was Astarion, the man Gale once thought the epitome of selfishness… checking up on him. Even though Gale had lashed out.

The contrast was so stark it shook him from his emotional torpor. Numbness evaporated, and in its place, pain surged.

How could Mystra be so cruel? How could she lie to him, cripple him, then leave him in agony?

What had he done to deserve this?

Before he knew it, Gale was crying.

The tears fell in a constant stream, making salty tracks on his cheeks. His nose ran, and he did nothing to stop it. He didn’t bother to hide his face. There seemed to be no point. He hugged himself, the same way Astarion had when he talked about Sebastian, and wept.

He grieved for the man he could have become, never given the chance to manifest. He grieved for the boy he’d been, taken advantage of by the goddess he worshipped and adored. And he grieved for himself, broken-hearted, chest hollow but for the orb that could save the world—but only if he gave his life in exchange.

For a while, Astarion stayed where he was, silhouetted in the torchlight at the corner of Gale’s eye. Eventually, the rogue got up and left his field of view. Distantly, Gale guessed he’d gotten sick of all the blubbering and headed back to camp. He couldn’t blame Astarion for that. He wouldn’t want to be around himself right now, either.

At long last, Gale ran out of tears. He went to wipe his nose on his sleeve, but a hand caught his arm.

Gale jerked his head to the side and came face-to-face with Astarion.

“Now, now,” the rogue said. “Just because we’ve been traumatized doesn’t mean we have to act like savages.”

He held out a handkerchief.

Gale took it gratefully, cleaning the snot off his face the best he could. By the time he finished, Astarion had another offering: a water jug.

“Drink.”

Dazed, Gale obeyed.

When he gave the jug back, Astarion used it to dampen a washcloth.

“The backwash isn’t ideal, but it’s probably better than cursed lake water.”

He rubbed a bit of soap on the cloth. Gale reached out, ready for Astarion to hand it over. 

But he never did. Instead, the rogue cupped the wizard’s face and began to gently wipe the tear stains away.

If he hadn’t already exhausted himself, Gale might have cried again.

“I thought you left,” he croaked. 

“No,” Astarion replied casually, switching to clean the other side of Gale’s face. “Just raided your pack.” He nodded towards where Gale had left his pack, which was now open, with most of its contents strewn over the ground. Astarion’s own kit was nowhere to be seen—presumably, he’d left it in his tent. 

“I’ve had my fair share of emotional breakdowns, and while vampires don’t produce nearly as much bodily fluid, it was pretty easy to guess what you’d need.”

Satisfied with his work, he tossed the washcloth aside and set about repacking Gale’s belongings. He didn’t handle them with nearly the care that Gale would have, throwing them into the bag without a thought for organization, but he was certainly a lot faster. When he was finished, he stood, shouldering the pack and extending a hand to the wizard.

“Come on. Let’s get you to bed.”

Gale let Astarion pull him to his feet. It was a good thing, too: his knees, even stiffer now than they’d been when he awoke, nearly gave out rather than take his weight. Astarion managed to keep Gale standing until he found his footing. He expected Astarion would let go of his hand at this point, but the rogue simply began to walk back toward Isobel’s moon shield with the wizard in tow.

Walking behind Astarion, Gale finally clocked what was going on: Astarion was treating him like a kid again. This was the third time: he’d done it in the Mountain Pass (“You’ve been staying up past your bedtime…” ) and in his tent the night before, when he’d laid Gale over his knee to spank him for his lack of focus, then delivered a different-but-equally-childish “punishment” instead. The only difference was that now, instead of scolding Gale, Astarion was taking care of him.

Which was exactly what Astarion had promised to do, wasn’t it? That day in the pass, while Gale rutted desperately against his leg. At the time, Gale had assumed that Astarion only meant to take care of his sexual needs. Truthfully, he hadn’t even considered what else he could’ve meant. 

He wondered if he should take offense to being coddled. But it was hard to be offended when there wasn’t a hint of condescension in Astarion’s demeanor. Astarion wasn’t trying to make Gale feel less than ; he was simply keeping the promise he’d made, doing what he thought needed to be done.

And if Gale was honest… he did need this. As soon as he understood what Astarion was doing, he felt a wave of relief. He didn’t have to think anymore, didn’t have to figure out his next step—he just had to follow the rogue holding his hand. 

It was odd: he’d spent years trying to prove to Mystra that he could handle more power. That he had the will to control it, that he would use it responsibly. Years trying to be more to her than just a man. But now, he found himself happy to do the reverse—to lower himself, becoming a pet or a child—whenever Astarion gave him the opportunity. In fact, he practically jumped at the chance. 

Perhaps all that time striving had taken more of a toll than he’d realized. Now that the orb had wiped out any possibility of greatness, he was free to stop trying so hard. Free to find comfort in ways he would never otherwise have allowed himself.

Gale’s foot caught stone, making him stumble and yanking his attention back to the present. Taking in his surroundings, he realized he was at the entrance to the Last Light Inn—he’d tripped on one of the porch steps. But why were they here? Weren’t they headed back to camp?

Astarion had paused when he stumbled, which was the only reason he hadn’t gone sprawling. The rogue watched the wizard orient himself. That was lucky, because it meant that when Gale asked where they were going, he could see the sly smile appear on Astarion’s face.

“I already told you: to bed.”

That didn’t really answer Gale’s question, but it was clear that Astarion had a plan. So when Astarion continued into the Inn, Gale followed.

Inside, they headed towards the back of the main hall. Towards… the bar. Did Astarion think booze would help him fall asleep? Would it help him fall asleep? Gale wasn’t usually the type to get drowsy from drink, but perhaps in these circumstances…

His line of thought was interrupted when Astarion veered away from the bar and instead approached a simple door that Gale hadn’t noticed before. Gale chided himself for his obliviousness—he’d been in the Last Light how many times without seeing this?—until Astarion opened it and pulled him inside.

The room was well-appointed. To Gale’s right, an armoire stood. On the far wall, a cushioned bench butted against a set of windows. A large rug covered most of the floor space. Candles, currently unlit, lined the walls, with tapestries hanging between them.

Yet all of these things were immediately dwarfed in importance by the object in the room’s back left corner: an honest-to-gods bed. 

Gale felt as though it had been an eternity since he’d slept in a real bed. He knew that the Last Light had them, but he’d assumed they were all occupied. There certainly weren’t enough for everyone: the Flaming Fist soldiers and Isobel got beds, but the Harpers had their own camp, and Gale had seen the tieflings sleeping in the barn with the oxen. 

Shouldn’t the bed go to one of them? Did he really deserve to have it, when so many were sleeping on straw?

While Gale was gawping, Astarion had let go of his hand and gone to close the door behind them. Now he returned to Gale’s side. 

“More comfortable than a bedroll, don’t you think?”

He nudged Gale’s shoulder with his own.

“Go on.”

And even though Gale felt he didn’t deserve it, he couldn’t find it within himself to say no.

He approached the bed like he was approaching an altar, and sat down just as carefully and reverently. 

Astarion chuckled. He came over, kneeling to unlace Gale’s shoes. 

“I’m no expert,” he said as he worked, “But I’m pretty sure it will be more comfortable under the covers, hmm?”

Gale barely heard what he was saying. He was too busy marveling at Astarion’s continued willingness to dote on him as if he were a child. And reveling in it.

After pulling Gale’s shoes off, Astarion stood again, reaching behind the wizard to untie the bun holding half of his hair back. Once extracted, the tie was dropped next to the shoes.

“Up, up,” he said, coaxing Gale off the bed. Then Astarion unclasped his robe and helped him out of it, leaving him in his undershirt and trousers. Given that Gale’s camp clothes were in his tent, this would be how he slept.

Astarion smiled at him indulgently.

“There. All ready for bed.”

He lifted the covers for Gale, who slid in happily. Lying down was pure bliss. 

“Comfy?” Astarion asked, tucking him in. Gale nodded. “Good.”

He stroked Gale’s hair for a moment, then stood. “Sleep well.”

Gale’s eyes, which had drifted closed, snapped open. “You’re not staying?” he asked, voice small. Now that Astarion had soothed him, he was terrified of the rogue leaving him alone. He didn’t want to be alone right now.

“I have to hunt,” Astarion replied. “There’s almost nothing edible here, and I’m starving. I’m going down to the cellar to check for rats.” He moved towards the door.

“Wait!”

Astarion stopped. 

For a moment, Gale had the wild idea to get up and go with him. Even though he’d be giving up the bed. Even though he was more likely to scare rats away than help. Even though he would probably only cause problems.

Luckily, a better idea occurred to him.

“I, umm,” he stammered, trying to find the right words. “Now that the orb is stabilized, my blood might not taste so bad.”

He paused, and Astarion was silent.

“Probably better than rats, at least,” he added, fidgeting with the covers.

Still Astarion said nothing.

As the moment stretched on, Gale’s nerves worsened. He thought, hysterically, that maybe he should just go with Astarion after all.

Finally, Astarion sighed. 

“I suppose there’s no harm in trying.”

Gale’s stomach did giddy somersaults as Astarion came back to the bed. 

“How should I…” he started to ask, wondering how best to position himself. Astarion gestured towards him.

“Scooch over,” he instructed. Gale complied, moving over towards the wall. 

Astarion got on the bed, kneeling in the space he’d left. He braced his arms around Gale’s shoulders so that he was looking down at the wizard.

“Okay…” he said, seemingly more to himself than to Gale. 

For a second, Gale wondered why he seemed nervous.

Then he leaned in, and Gale’s capacity for rational thought fled.

The bite itself felt like a shard of ice in his neck—a quick, sharp pain that faded into throbbing numbness. When Astarion began to suck, though, it started to feel like something else entirely.

Gale’s breath caught, his pulse quickening. He couldn’t remember the last time someone’s mouth had been on his neck. He did, however, remember how much he liked it. 

He pressed his lips together, trying not to make a noise that would interrupt Astarion’s meal. His cock twitched in his pants. 

Soon, he began to feel light-headed. A voice in the back of his head insisted that he was losing too much blood. The voice was easy to ignore.

Astarion sucked again, and this time, Gale forgot to be quiet. He moaned, arching his back.

At the sound, the vampire froze. He unhooked his fangs from Gale’s skin, using his tongue to quickly lap up the residual blood.

“Ah! Apologies,” Astarion said as he sat up. “I was… very hungry. You'll be happy to know that yes, your blood is better than a rat’s.”

As… enjoyable as feeding Astarion had been, blood loss-induced wooziness overcame Gale’s libido. He patted the bed by his side, barely able to keep his eyes open. “Stay?”

Astarion blew air through his nose in an almost-laugh. “Alright. I’ll stay.”

“Yaaaaay.”

Gale waited for the rogue to settle next to him under the covers, then finally allowed himself to close his eyes.

“‘M sorry I called you a snake,” he mumbled.

He was asleep before Astarion answered.

Chapter Text

Gale opened his eyes the next morning and was confused to find himself under a ceiling rather than the tarp of his tent. It took a moment for the events of the prior night to come back to him. When they did, the whirl of conflicting emotions came with them. Rage and grief were first, of course. Gratitude towards Astarion followed close behind. And as he thought of the vampire, a new emotion arose. 

At first, Gale struggled to identify it. He could tell that something had changed, but couldn't put his finger on what. 

He lingered on the feeling, coaxing it to the fore. It was shocking, how easy it was. The rage and grief just slipped out of focus—still there, but not as overpowering. 

In their place, the new feeling was… warm. Comforting, with a tinge of shyness that was counterbalanced by an equal amount of excitement. 

Oh, for the love of Ao. 

It was a crush. 

The bed creaked, breaking him from his thoughts. He turned his head towards the noise and found Astarion perched on the edge of the mattress, facing away. He must have just sat down. Gale hadn't even known he was in the room; he'd stretched out his arm to find the spot next to him empty and assumed the rogue had left. 

The wizard felt a pang of giddiness. The practical part of him rolled its eyes: he was infected with a brain-eating tadpole, facing a threat that may end the world as he knew it, and rapidly approaching the moment where he'd have to decide if defeating that threat was worth blowing himself up. Now was not the time to have a crush. 

The rest of him was unmoved by this argument. 

Before he could get too wrapped up indulging in impractical emotions, Astarion spoke. 

“We need to talk.”

Four little words, but they felt like a cold bucket of water to Gale's face. 

Astarion must have sensed the sudden increase in his heartbeat, because he turned to face the wizard, bending one leg up on the bed to support his new posture. 

“Oh, it's nothing terrible,” the rogue added swiftly, raising both arms in a placating gesture. Gale was almost comforted, until those same arms fell back into Astarion's lap as he looked away. 

“Well, maybe it is a little terrible.”

Gale sat up, peeling the blankets off himself. This was not the kind of conversation to be had lying down.

Astarion let him get situated, then met his eyes again before continuing. 

“Look, I had a plan. A nice, simple plan—seduce someone, sleep with them, manipulate their feelings so they’d never turn on me.”

A rock materialized in Gale's stomach. 

“When I found you at the goblin camp, I saw my chance. It was easy—instinctive. All you had to do was swoon.”

Here, Astarion paused, waiting for some kind of acknowledgement. Gale tried to speak and found his tongue was stuck to the roof of his mouth, as if his saliva had become glue. It took him a moment to dislodge it.

“But… but you skipped a step, didn't you?” he said finally. “You didn’t manipulate my feelings. I followed you out of that prison cell wanting you to tell me you cared, and you didn’t. In fact, you all but laughed at me for suggesting it.”

A thought occurred to him. 

“Was that part of the plan? Embarrassing me again to make me want you more?”

Astarion chuckled bitterly. 

“Hardly. You may be deeply undersexed, but you’re also a romantic. I knew you were desperate for emotional connection. If I’d stuck to my plan, I would have confessed that I’d wanted you since the moment I set eyes on you. I’d have wrapped you in my embrace and kissed you passionately. And you would’ve been mine.”

Gale put his head in his hands. It was true. Despite the fact that he'd thought Astarion was selfish, and despite the fact that Astarion had never pretended to respect him—he would have believed the lie. And he would have convinced himself that he felt the same way. They would have been together, and he would've thought it was love. Just like he had with Mystra. 

He rubbed his face, then looked back at Astarion. 

“Tell me, is the word ‘rube’ written on my forehead, or do I just give off some kind of aura?”

Astarion put a hand on Gale's knee. 

“No, Gale. You're just lonely, and you wear your heart on your sleeve.”

For a moment, the rogue smiled. 

“It's… sweet, actually.”

The smile faded. 

“But it makes you vulnerable, too. To people like me.”

Gale shifted further from him, away from his touch. He straightened his back and schooled his face to neutrality, determined not to let Astarion see his misery. 

“Then why didn't you go through with it?” he asked.

Astarion sighed. 

“You know, for centuries, being close to someone—any kind of intimacy—was something I performed to lure people back for him. Something that only brought up feelings of disgust and loathing. But what I did with you, it was… different.

“When it was over, the negative feelings that I’d come to expect failed to materialize. Instead, I felt… curious. I wondered what else I could try, if we were in that position again. If there were other ways I could drive you mad.”

Gale blinked at Astarion. None of this was making any sense. 

“You have to understand: I couldn’t remember the last time I’d had a sexual encounter without feeling sick. I didn’t even think it was possible. I thought Cazador had taken that from me forever. But here I was, fresh off of making you cum, and not only was I not suppressing dry heaves, I was actively imagining doing it again.

“It turned my world upside down. I needed to be alone, to process, to think. So I got out of there as fast as I could.”

“And…” Gale said, slowly putting the pieces together, “…confessing fake feelings for me would have taken too long.”

Astarion winced. 

“Essentially, yes.”

There had been times, during Astarion’s explanation, that hope had started to seep in through the misery. Astarion had enjoyed what they’d done together. He’d set out to manipulate Gale, but hadn’t done it. Maybe he’d decided that Gale didn’t deserve the manipulation. Maybe the rogue had seen something worthwhile in him after all.

But no: Astarion hadn’t manipulated him simply because it hadn’t been convenient. 

In less than five minutes, Gale had gone from giddy to miserable to hopeful. Now, his emotional compass simply broke. He felt detached, like he was talking about someone else’s life, not his own.

Looking at it from the outside, he had to laugh. The situation was just absurd.

Astarion stared at him, alarmed. Gale didn’t feel the need to comfort him.

When he was done laughing, he was left with exhaustion.

“So what did you discover, then? What was so different about what we did?”

“Three things, actually,” Astarion said cautiously. When Gale failed to produce another outburst, he continued.

“The first was that even though I’d gone in planning to act my heart out, I didn’t end up having to do it. Most people want to be told how wonderful they are during sex—that’s why they call it ‘love-making.’ I have an entire arsenal of insincere compliments at the ready, but you didn’t want them. You wanted to be teased. That, I could do genuinely.”  

More pieces of data for Gale to process later, once his emotions came back online: 

• Astarion was genuine with him (good) 
• because he didn’t want to be complimented, and Astarion had no genuine compliments to offer (bad)

“The second thing was that I didn’t have to… be part of the action. My clothes stayed on. You didn’t touch me. And the focus was entirely on your arousal—mine wasn’t required.” 

The idea of being a selfish lover was so abhorrent to Gale that he actually managed to feel momentarily abashed. Strangely, though, it seemed Astarion was framing it as a positive.

“I’m sure it won’t surprise you that I have a…  complicated relationship with that particular sensation,” the rogue said. “Getting you off like I did allowed me to explore sexuality from a safe remove.”

• Gale didn’t make Astarion aroused (bad good???)

“And speaking of safety, number three: I was in control. Over you and myself. Before, even when I took the lead, I was never able to back out. I had to keep going, no matter how I felt about it, because I had to serve Cazador. Knowing that I was in charge—that I could decide what we did, even if that decision was ‘nothing’—gave me a level of security I hadn’t felt before.”

• Astarion felt safe with Gale (good)
• because he was away from Cazador (N/A)
• and in a dominant role (not about Gale, although he enjoyed it)

“That’s what I thought, anyway. But for all I knew, it was a fluke. So in the Underdark, when you came back to camp all hot and bothered, I thought I’d try it again. See if it felt the same. And it did. Better, actually. The fact that just my presence was enough to drive you wild… I got a taste of the power that Cazador had over me. But instead of using it to torment, I was using it to pleasure.

“In the aftermath, when you were hiding behind the pillow, it belied the power fantasy. That’s why I goaded you into baring yourself to me in the Mountain Pass. I wanted you to know that I had access to all of you—not through force, but because you wanted me to have it.

“It felt like a sort of revenge: putting myself in Cazador’s role, but wielding my power in the opposite way. I made myself your Master because that’s what he was to me, although I was a slave, not a pet. It was… therapeutic, for me. And you were enjoying yourself, too. It seemed like a win-win.”

• Astarion had made himself to Gale what Cazador had been to him (bad)
• so that he could do what Cazador hadn’t, and make Gale feel good (good… but also not about Gale. For all he knew, Astarion might have been equally happy to do the same thing to someone else)

That last bit was especially disquieting. Gale cut in before Astarion could continue.

“So…” he said, choosing his words carefully, “to be clear… was any of what you did… for me, in particular? If I was swapped out with someone else who liked to be teased, would it have made a difference to you at all?” 

“Not at first,” Astarion admitted. The logical part of Gale’s brain told him that he shouldn’t be hurt by this—after all, he didn’t like Astarion at first, either. Unfortunately, that didn’t prevent him from feeling a little stab of pain. Like someone had stuck a needle into his heart.

“But the more I interacted with you, the less that was true. If some random Harper came up to me today and asked me to wreck them, I’d politely but firmly decline. Now, I only want to share those experiences with you.” 

That didn’t take away all the other revelations of this conversation, which Gale would still have to process later, but it did provide a modicum of relief. At least until Gale realized it might not be true.

“How can I believe you? So far, there hasn’t been a random Harper offering to replace me. You wanted to manipulate my emotions when you saw me in that prison cell. Maybe you’re just doing it a tenday late.”

“You can be sure it's the truth because I’m not saying it to keep you,” Astarion said sadly. “I don’t want to do this with anyone else. But I can’t keep doing it with you, either.”

And despite the fact that Gale wasn’t sure how he felt about Astarion anymore, that still knocked the wind out of him. 

“What? Why?”

“Because every time I embarrass you, I’m reinforcing the weakness Mystra gave you.”

Gale didn’t know what he expected, but it certainly wasn’t this.

“But… it’s what I like,” he said quietly.

“I know,” Astarion said. He was gentle, now. “But it hurts you, too. You know it does. It damages your concentration.”

Gale looked away from him. Now that the direction of the conversation was clear, his emotional compass could finally give him a clear response: panic, despair, frustration, impotence.

Astarion leaned in close enough to put a hand on his cheek, guiding it so they were once again face to face.

“You’re incredible,” the rogue murmured, “And you deserve something real. But I can’t heal from my abuser by becoming yours.”

Chapter Text

After Astarion left, Gale flopped back down on the bed. The view of the ceiling was exactly the same as it had been when he’d woken up less than an hour ago. He laughed at that. How preposterous it seemed, that so much could change while the world itself remained the same. He found himself readying his hands for a cantrip, wanting to mark the wood somehow. A Fire Bolt would char it nicely. He could follow it up with a Ray of Frost to prevent the fire from spreading.

But no. It would be the height of conceit, wouldn’t it, to demand the world reshape to suit him. Futile, as well. He had enough challenges ahead of him already. It wouldn’t do to start tilting at windmills.

He let his hands fall. 

Now he extended his thoughts beyond the room, to the campsite where his companions were no doubt readying themselves for the day. They would start wondering about his absence, soon. Even though he was no longer getting up at the crack of dawn (proverbial, within the curse), he was still in charge of breakfast.

Gale considered what to do. He could stay in bed all day, if he wanted. He was sure that if he was missing for long enough, Astarion would cover for him. Probably he’d claim Gale wasn’t feeling well and was stuck in the outhouse. Not a very dignified excuse, but it would be effective. Then he could mope to his heart’s content.

Not that his heart would ever actually be content.

He sighed, getting up. As tempting as it was to wallow in his misery, he couldn’t stay behind today. They’d be resuming their mission to Moonrise, the supposed seat of the Absolute. The place where Gale might have to set off the orb. He wouldn’t do it today—they needed to get the captured tieflings to safety before he blew up the building—but if this was where Gale might die, he needed to see it for himself. 

It didn’t take much to get ready. He tied his hair back and put on his robe and shoes, making a determined effort not to remember how it had felt when Astarion helped take them off. Then he grabbed his pack and went back to camp.

Shadowheart and Wyll were in the middle of raiding the food stores when Gale approached. They seemed surprised to see him.

“Oh, Gale!” Wyll said, setting down the grapes he’d been eating. “Are you feeling better? Astarion said you were-”

“Yes, much better now, thank you,” Gale interrupted. “And hungry, so if I could just-”

“Oh, of course!” 

Gale had meant to pick out his breakfast for himself, but Wyll handed him a roll.

“Here, have some bread. Easy on the stomach.”

It was fortunate that Gale’s grimace could easily be mistaken for lingering gastrointestinal distress. He’d wanted some to rip his teeth into some cured meat, but he certainly wasn’t going to blow his cover. If he had to play queasy today, so be it. He took the roll begrudgingly. 

“Thank you.”

–

The trek to Moonrise was an uneventful one. They weren’t ambushed by any more tree monsters or shadow fiends. Shadowheart and Wyll would occasionally trade banter, but Astarion and Gale said nothing. If the cleric or the warlock noticed that their companions were quieter than usual, neither mentioned it.

Gale spent most of the journey lost in his own thoughts. Even when they arrived at Moonrise, he happily let Shadowheart take the lead, only vaguely registering what was happening around him.

It wasn’t fair. That’s what he was stuck on.

He’d been lied to, groomed, crippled. He’d been asked to die for the greater good. He’d found something that made him feel good—that let him forget everything else, even for a moment—and it had been taken away. Regardless of the current emotional turmoil associated with the rogue, the sex had been great. Submitting to him had felt great. Now Astarion was withholding that outlet, and… hadn’t he suffered enough?  

What did it matter, that his concentration was flawed? He wasn’t likely to survive the next few days anyway. All his talent had amounted to nothing. None of his skills made him a threat to the Absolute. He was simply a vessel for a bomb.

Astarion had distanced himself because he didn’t want to act as a stand-in for Gale’s abuser. But removing himself from that position wouldn’t do Gale any favors. If anything, it would make his final days harder. It was almost cruel.

Gale’s pulse quickened. Maybe if he explained this to Astarion—told him that the abuse was irrelevant at this point, asked him to just give him a bit more bliss before he died—the rogue might come around.

“I gave you my answer.”

Astarion’s voice was angry. Gale felt a stab of guilt. As he snapped out of his reverie, it took him a moment to register that Astarion wasn’t talking to him. 

The real target of Astarion’s ire was a drow woman, who was now looking particularly affronted. She turned to Shadowheart, indignant.

“Can’t you talk some sense into your obstinate charge?”

Gale bristled at the implication that Astarion was Shadowheart’s “charge.” He bristled still further when Shadowheart failed to correct the drow.

“I’m surprised, Astarion,” she said. “I thought you’d jump at a chance like this.”

There was a flash of horror in Astarion’s eyes before he recovered his mask, smiling politely at the drow.

“I’m sorry, could you excuse us for a moment?”

He took a step closer to Shadowheart to address her directly. 

“Are you actually asking me to do this?” he asked, and Gale thought he heard some desperation in the question. “Trading me for some potion?” 

The wizard’s eyes widened. What, exactly, was Shadowheart asking Astarion to do? 

“Because there’s something wrong with her blood. I can smell it from here—it’s rank.”

Shadowheart was unmoved.

“A potion that powerful could change our fates. Isn’t that worth a bad taste in your mouth?”

“That’s enough,” Gale said, stepping next to Astarion. He’d gotten enough context clues now to understand what was going on: the drow, for whatever reason, wanted to be bitten, and was willing to part with a special potion for the privilege. Astarion wasn’t interested in the trade, and Shadowheart was pushing him to do it anyway. 

“He said no. There’s nothing more to discuss.”

He glared at Shadowheart, daring her to object. She held his eyes for a moment, then shrugged. 

“Fine. There are other ways to get stronger. Hopefully they’ll be enough.”

Gale’s lips twitched, almost forming a snarl. Hopefully they’ll be enough. That was a dig to make Astarion feel bad for refusing. To make him worry that he might have just cost them a victory against the Absolute. Gale was prepared to pipe up again if Astarion caved, but the rogue remained silent.

Shadowheart turned to the drow. 

“We’ll be going, then,” she said smoothly, and turned to lead the group from the room.

Gale followed, careful not to look at Astarion. 

–

They found the tieflings in the lower level of Moonrise, imprisoned. A group of Ironhand gnomes sat in another cell. In an almost shocking stroke of luck, the gnomes already had an escape plan—and it included getting the tieflings out. All they needed was a hammer, which Shadowheart happily supplied, and someone to distract the guards while they escaped.

Astarion negated that second requirement by ascending to the rafters to pick off the guards one by one.

As the party waited for their assassin to finish his work, Gale’s thoughts turned inward.

“I gave you my answer.”

The remark hadn’t been for him, but it might as well have been. Gale was no better than the drow, was he? Astarion had been clear: he didn’t want to condition Gale the same way that Mystra had. Regardless of how Gale felt about it, he had no right to ask Astarion to cross that boundary. The man had spent two centuries being forced to pleasure people against his will, and Gale was so focused on his own satisfaction that he’d almost asked Astarion to keep doing it. 

Forget the drow—Gale was as bad as Cazador.

The thought made him sick. But once it occurred to him, he couldn’t let it go.

By the time the gnomes smashed through the stone at the back of their cell, Gale was grateful for his plain breakfast. 

A switch in the guard tower opened the cell gates, allowing the companions and tieflings to follow the gnomes into a rocky tunnel behind the prison. The tunnel led to a small cove with an even smaller dock. Chained to the dock, a boat floated unsupervised. This would be their key to safety.

As the rest of the procession piled into the boat, Gale hesitated. The Absolute was here, in Moonrise—he could feel it. For now, the prison was quiet, but eventually someone would come in and find the cells empty, littered with dead guards. It would be obvious who was to blame. If the party ever wanted to come back here, they would surely have to fight their way in.

Might it be better for everyone if Gale did set off the orb today? He could wait until the boat was out of reach of the explosion. 

The realm would be free of the Absolute, and free of him.

He looked back towards the tunnel, meaning to retreat… but his feet wouldn’t move. 

There would never be another opportunity to take out the threat without any innocents getting caught in the blast. This was the best possible scenario. Taking advantage of it was the right thing to do.

So why was it so hard? 

For the second time that day, Astarion’s voice cut into his thoughts.

“Oh no you don’t!”

A cold hand grasped his, yanking him forwards, away from his fate.

Before he knew what was happening, he was shoved into the boat, landing on the front-most bench with a thud. Behind him, Astarion hopped in much more gracefully. 

The rogue addressed a couple of irritated-looking tieflings with oars:

“Now we can go.”

Chapter Text

Once again, Gale found himself gazing blankly into the darkness over the water. It was poetic, really. He’d been staring into this same abyss the prior night when he’d realized that Mystra had used him. Now it was the sight that greeted him as he realized she’d been right to do so.

What a coward he was. Here, he’d had the chance to make a difference, to save an untold amount of suffering—and he’d balked. All to preserve his own worthless life.

Because what lay ahead of him, anyway? Even if, by some miracle, they managed to defeat the Absolute without using the orb—what then? Surely Mystra wouldn’t continue to sate its hunger after he defied her so brazenly. He’d be back to scavenging, endlessly searching for the next treasure whose destruction might grant him a few more pitiful days of existence. 

Mystra must have seen his failings from the beginning. Despite his good intentions, he was weak of character. That made him dangerous. Who knew what sort of destruction he might have wrought had he been allowed to grow to his full potential? 

She’d tried to guide him back to the right path, but he wouldn’t listen. He always thought he knew best—better even than a goddess. Better than his goddess. In the face of that kind of hubris, it was no wonder that she resorted to subterfuge. Even then, she’d tempered his power in the gentlest possible way, making him her Chosen and showering him with pleasure. 

He hadn’t deserved those blessings. Maybe that was why Mystra had let him suffer for so long with the orb: so that he might finally face the consequences of his flaws.

And still he struggled against her wisdom, unable to do the one thing she’d asked of him even though he knew it was right. 

Perhaps he was just a lost cause.

A cheer went up around him as the boat rounded a corner, and the Last Light came into view, its shield of moonlight shining like a beacon. Whoops of excitement mixed with sighs of relief: the prisoners of Moonrise were finally safe.

But they’re not really, are they? Gale thought miserably. The Absolute’s forces knew about the Inn. They’d attacked it once already. They could do it again at any moment.

No one would be safe until the Absolute was gone. 

And though he’d had the chance to destroy it, it remained. 

From now on, any blood the Absolute shed was directly on his hands.

Gale barely registered when the boat scraped ashore. Distracted as he was, he didn’t immediately realize that it was time for him to move. 

Astarion, however, had no such impairment. He grabbed Gale’s hand again, hauling the dazed wizard onto dry land. 

(Despite everything, Gale’s heart fluttered to see their hands entwined. Somehow, it seemed his crush had survived the events of the day.) 

Shadowheart and Wyll were helping the tieflings and gnomes dismount, and organizing a party to pull the boat fully out of the water. Astarion walked right past them, ignoring their requests for him to help. Gale, helplessly towed along behind the rogue, shrugged at them, hoping they would understand that running off like this wasn’t his idea. He threw out a sheepish “Sorry!” for good measure. 

When they reached the campsite, Astarion all but tossed Gale into his tent.

“Sit,” he commanded.

Confused though he was, Gale obeyed, sinking onto a cushion as Astarion tied the tent flap shut.

“Astarion, what-”

“Oh good, you remember my name.”

The rogue finished with the tent flap and turned back to Gale, holding up a hand with his pointer and middle finger extended.

“How many fingers am I holding up?” 

Gale looked from Astarion’s hand to his face.

“...Two?” he tried.

“You’ve still got your eyesight, then,” Astarion said, crossing his arms and tapping a foot irritably. Gale blinked at him, uncomprehending.

“I’m just trying to understand why it was so difficult for you to get in the boat. So far, we've ruled out sudden-onset amnesia and blindness. What else could it be?”

Oh.

“Oh!” Astarion snapped his fingers as an idea struck. “Do you have a history of seasickness? Traumatizing experiences with boats? I’d expect a man ‘of Waterdeep’ to be comfortable seafaring, but you never know.”

Gale rubbed his face in his hands.

“No, I don’t get seasick.”

“Well then, I don’t understand what the problem was, Gale,” Astarion threw back. He was pacing now, although there was very little room to pace in the tent. It almost seemed like he didn’t know what to do with himself.

“Because it can’t be that you were going to blow yourself up. That would be idiotic.”

“Idiotic, how? It’s the only way to defeat the Absolute.”

Astarion stopped pacing, whirling to face him. “You don’t know that.”

“Yes, I do. Mystra-”

“-is a lying, manipulative bitch.”

Gale’s mouth fell open.

“She’s a goddess!”

“And also all those other things, Gale! She lied to you for years. Pretended to support you while she hobbled you instead. Then discarded you without a word. Now she says you need to kill yourself to save the realm, and you’re just going to trust her?”

“None of that would have happened had I heeded her counsel in the first place,” Gale countered. “Don’t you see the pattern, Astarion? Time and time again, I’ve ignored her, always to my detriment. Every choice I’ve made has come back to haunt me. Maybe it’s time to finally follow her lead.”

Astarion could scarcely believe what he was hearing.

“Giving in to her is also a choice, you absolute buffoon! There will still be consequences. You think you can absolve yourself of them if you’re ‘just doing what you’re told?’ Well, too bad!”

He jabbed a finger at Gale.

“Under no circumstances are you allowed to kill yourself. Do you hear me? I don’t care if the Absolute is a hair’s breadth away from total world domination, you will not blow yourself up.”

That done, his hands settled on his hips.

“There. Mystra’s told you to kill yourself, and I’ve told you not to. Now you can’t just ‘do what you’re told.’”

Gale laughed ruefully.

“And what gives you the right to tell me to do anything?” he asked, rising to his feet. 

“Mystra, whatever else she may be, is still a goddess—specifically, my goddess. Meanwhile, what are you to me?”

A lump formed in his throat, but he did his best to ignore it. His unrequited crush wasn’t important right now. He just needed Astarion to understand that his fate could not be so easily changed.

“Because near as I can tell, as of this morning, you don’t want to be anything.”

“Then you’re even stupider than I gave you credit for,” Astarion sniped back.

The next thing Gale knew, he was being pulled into a kiss.

Chapter Text

To say that Gale was unprepared for the kiss would be a massive understatement. 

He was unprepared to face the Absolute. He was unprepared to tell his mother about the city-leveling bomb in his chest. He was unprepared to cook this evening’s dinner. These were sensible things to be unprepared for. 

The kiss, however, was another matter entirely. Gale was unprepared for it in the same way that he was unprepared for gravity to suddenly turn off. It simply hadn’t entered the realm of possibility. He would have been less surprised to wake up in Mystra’s arms, having dreamed the entire last year of his life, than he was to find Astarion’s lips on his own.

And yet, there they were. 

For a moment, Gale froze, eyes wide. His brain desperately tried to make sense of what was happening, to match it with the reality he knew. 

The pressure on his lips lessened minutely, as if Astarion was preparing to pull back. Immediately, all attempts at sense-making went out the window. If he had fallen into some alternate dimension, then so be it—he wasn’t going to let this opportunity slip by. 

Gale closed his eyes as he leaned into the kiss. His heart pounded, bursting with excitement. His hands found Astarion’s hips, and he held them like a lifeline, anchoring himself lest he be swept away. 

Against him, Astarion’s lips were cool and impossibly silky. Gale gave them an experimental lick, and they parted enough for him to slip his tongue through. 

Gale explored Astarion’s mouth slowly, his movements reverent, as if uncovering an altar. His tongue traced fangs, and he remembered how it felt when Astarion fed on him the prior night. Gods, what he wouldn't give for Astarion to suckle at his neck again. He shuddered at the thought, groaning hungrily.

Then the kiss ended, as abruptly as it had begun. One moment, the men were entwined; the next, Astarion was shoving Gale away, his expression a mix of fear and disgust. Gale staggered backwards, stunned. 

“Astarion?” he asked, holding out his arms in a placating pose.

Astarion recoiled from the gesture. 

“Don’t touch me,” he snarled.

“Ok,” Gale said quietly, hurt. He took another step back. Whatever madness had possessed Astarion to kiss him, it had apparently passed. “I’m sorry, I thought-”

“Don’t apologize, either!” 

Astarion’s hands were balled into fists, but they stayed at his sides, not raised in threat. Gale was starting to get the impression that the rogue’s anger wasn’t entirely directed at him, even if he was the one getting yelled at.

“It’s not your fault. Well, technically it is, but you didn’t do anything wrong.”

He exhaled slowly, opening and closing his fists. By the end of the breath, his rage had cooled to frustration. 

“You didn’t do anything wrong,” he repeated, hugging himself. “Something… stirred. In me. Something that hasn’t stirred for a long time.”

“Oh,” Gale said, not understanding. 

“Oh!” he said again a moment later, when it clicked. Unbidden, his eyes flicked down to Astarion’s pelvic region.

“Yes, Gale. That.” 

Gale raised his gaze again, abashed. Astarion was half smiling now, charmed by his lack of subtlety.

“You see? I didn’t call things off with you this morning because I don’t like you. I did it because I’m broken.” He chuckled bitterly, smile turning sardonic. “I’ve been dying to kiss your stupid face, and I couldn’t even enjoy it.” 

Several thoughts swirled through Gale’s head, vying for attention:

Astarion… likes me?

He 'stirred' because of me!

But it’s upsetting to him.

He thinks he’s broken—he is not broken.

He wants to kiss me.

I want to kiss him, and he wants to kiss me.

He wants to kiss me.

He wants to kiss me.

All other revelations of the past minute would have to wait: he needed to explore this one first.

“Did… did you enjoy the first part?” he asked timidly. 

Astarion cocked his head, quizzical. 

“The beginning. Before… it stirred.”

The rogue was silent for a moment as he considered.

“…Yes,” he said finally. “Yes, I think I did.”

Gale took a cautious step closer. “Would you like to try it again? Just the first part.” 

His heart leapt when Astarion came closer still. “Yes.”

Scarcely daring to breathe, Gale cupped Astarion’s face in his hand and laid a slow, chaste kiss on his lips. 

“Do it again,” Astarion said.

So Gale kissed him again.

And again.

And again.

“I still haven’t forgiven you for trying to blow yourself up, you know,” Astarion said.

Another kiss.

“I know,” Gale responded. “And I’m still not convinced I shouldn’t. But perhaps we can leave that argument for another time.”

Kiss.

“Fine. In the meantime, I’ve got my eye on you. You hear me? There will be no sneaking off to go explode.”

Kiss.

“I wouldn’t dream of it.”

Astarion laid his head on Gale’s chest, sighing, while Gale wrapped his arms around the rogue’s waist. For a while, they just stayed like that.

“So…” Gale eventually ventured, “Would it ruin the mood to ask what this makes us?”

Astarion laughed, disentangling himself from Gale’s embrace.

“Yes, but I’ll humor you anyway.” 

He picked up one of Gale’s hands in his, lacing their fingers together.

“Honestly, I have no idea what we’re doing. Or what comes next. I still can’t give you the kind of release you crave—that hasn’t changed. Much as I enjoy teasing you, I meant it when I said I couldn’t do what Mystra did. But this?” 

Astarion looked at their hands.

“This is nice.”

“Noted,” Gale said, smiling. “I would be glad to do more of this.” 

“But I hope you’ll understand if I have to…” He blushed, clearing his throat. “…excuse myself sometimes. To… take care of things. I promise I won’t involve you at all.”

“Well, when you put it like that, I feel left out,” Astarion said, smirking. “Kidding. That’s perfectly acceptable. I’ll pretend I don’t know what you’re doing.”

Gale gulped, certain that he would not be able to pretend Astarion was in the dark. In fact, he probably wouldn’t be able to stop thinking about how Astarion knew exactly what he was up to. But surely Astarion knew he’d be thinking about it, too, and he didn’t seem to mind. Thank the gods for small favors.

“Ah,” Gale said when he regained the power of speech. “Yes. Very good. And… if you ever decide you want to try something new…”

“You’ll be the first to know.”

The two of them lapsed into silence. Gale stared at their hands, antsy. The last part of their conversation had left him a bit riled up, but he didn’t want to say anything. The timing felt inappropriate. He searched, in vain, for a change of topic.

In the end, Astarion rescued him from his plight.

“Yes, Gale,” he offered amusedly, “you may be excused.”

“Thank you,” Gale breathed. He planted a final, gentle kiss on the rogue before hurrying off to his tent.