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After what he’s dubbed the Incident in his head, Gale does as he always does when he is overwhelmed by a situation. He hides in his study. It isn’t very logical to retreat into the room where the Incident has taken place, but he is a creature of habit. So he sits at the desk his houseguest has made him see stars on and tries very hard not to think about it. (It’s not working very well.)
He’s seriously considered replacing the desk, but Astarion would surely notice and say something and Gale would die. Of embarrassment or arousal he isn’t sure and not keen to find out.
Despite his best efforts to avoid Astarion until the mere thought about him doesn’t make him flush beet-red anymore, he keeps running into him around the house anyway. So far, Astarion has been kind enough not to make fun of Gale for the Incident. But Gale suspects he just hasn’t had the chance yet, as Gale flees back to his study as soon as he can come up with a reasonable excuse.
His arguably not very well-thought-out plan to just hide until his head sorts itself out works for exactly two days. Then Astarion is at his door, waving a bottle of wine at him and demanding his attention. Gale tries to argue, but resistance is futile and he’s dragged out of the study and into the drawing room and pushed into his favourite seat by the fire. Astarion pushes a glass of wine into his hands and doesn’t stop chattering about what he thinks of Waterdeep, city gossip and how delightful Tara is until Gale has finished it.
The alcohol helps. He’s never been good at holding his drink, so he’s already pleasantly warm and relaxed, when Astarion slides in unnecessarily close to take his empty glass and set it on the side table and then stays right where he is, body turned towards Gale, one arm thrown over the armrest, so close, but not quite touching. Gale is doubly glad for the wine now. If Astarion asks, he’ll just blame his red face on the alcohol.
“See, dear, this isn’t so bad, right? Spending a little time with your friendly tower vampire? Boy’s night? Having a drink with your friend, your buddy , your pal …”
“Not at all, Astarion. I enjoy your company dearly.”
“Thank you, darling. You know, I’ve had this odd feeling that you’ve been avoiding me… I didn’t do anything to offend you, did I?” Astarion asks and Gale immediately feels terrible.
“N- No, Astarion, you didn’t,” he says. Astarion’s squinting at him like he’s not quite sure if he should believe him so he quickly tacks on: “Really, nothing at all. And boy’s night sounds delightful. I do need to get out of my study more often.”
That seems to work. Astarion smiles at him. The same kind he’d smiled during the Incident, the one Gale just can’t figure out.
“Wonderful, dear. Now, you’ll have to excuse me, I don’t really know what one usually does during Boy’s Night. Consider me out of practice.”
“I guess, we just… talk? Drink? I’m not exactly proficient in socialising either,” Gale says and looks around for the wine bottle in futility. He’s sure Astarion set it on the table earlier, but he can’t spot it now. Probably for the best. Drinking to keep his nerves at bay had turned out so well last time.
“Just talk , huh, why not,” Astarion hums. “I do like the sound of my voice. And yours isn’t half-bad either. But let’s talk about something interesting. Tell me a secret, Gale? Something deep and dark and embarrassing?” He inches closer still, fingertips brushing Gale’s shoulder where his arm is draped over the backrest.
“Are you sure that’s a good idea?”
“Why not, darling? Can you come up with anything better?”
Gale tries to come up with an alternative topic, really any topic, but Astarion’s fingers have started playing with his collar and suddenly it’s very hard to think.
“Come on… I’ll tell you one of mine in return?”
Gale gives up. Like he can deny Astarion anything.
“As you wish. I warn you, I’m really not that interesting. And you already know all of the orb and my foolishness…” Gale says and frowns. Embarrassing, he has requested. He can tell Astarion, how utterly captivated he is by him, or that he’s touched himself three times already while thinking about the Incident. Yes, that would certainly fit, but, as previously stated, Gale is not keen on dying on the spot.
“I had an awful lisp well into my Blackstaff days, bit of a stutter, too,” he tries.
Astarion coos. “Now that doesn’t count. That’s just adorable. I was thinking a little more dirty…”
Gale huffs. “Well, if you insist on dirty, I once let a friend fuck me over a ridiculous bet,” he blurts and immediately regrets it. Gods, why did he say that?
Astarion only smiles, shark-like.
“Darling, I was there. That’s hardly a secret.”
Why are things going south again? How the hell did they land on the topic of sex again? Is Astarion trying to kill him?
“Now, don’t pout. One more try? For me?” Astarion coaxes.
“In my early twenties I, uh, needed some money-”
“Oh, I like where this is going!” Astarion crows, delighted. “ Do go on!”
“Well, I developed some spells for a manufacturer of, uhm, marital aids. The royalties still pay the tower mortgage. Is that sufficiently dirty and embarrassing?”
Astarion’s eyes shine with glee.
“Oh, Gale, aren’t you just perfect? Tell me more!”
“It’s really not as vulgar as you think,” Gale mutters, glad that he’s managed to fulfil Astarion’s request without revealing too much. “They asked for a spell that transmits touch and I delivered.”
“Transmit touch? Whatever would they do with such a spell?” Astarion says, smirking.
“Oh, I wouldn’t know. I wasn’t involved in that part. They send me a package now and then, but I never bother to open them.”
“Not even once? Where’s all that insatiable curiosity of yours?”
Gale huffs. So long for not revealing too much. He thinks about deflecting, but Astarion is like a bloodhound (Ha!) regarding people’s weaknesses. Best to just get the truth out.
“My… Mystra, ethereal being that she is, has little understanding of physical needs. Be it sleep, be it hunger, be it… need for release. She… disapproved of any… self-gratification.” Gods, can this get any more uncomfortable? “Nevermind, that the aides my spells were applied to are meant to be enjoyed with a lover. No point in taking any such devices into the weave, where thought is reality.”
Astarion stared at him with an indiscernible expression on his face.
“Are you telling me, you never actually got off while you were with Mystra?”
Gale frowns. He’s never really thought about it like that.
“Well, not in the material realm, but the weave-”
Astarion groans loudly . “Oh, hells, I can’t believe this,” he snarls, unfolds himself off the sofa and stalks out of the room.
Great. Gale has really fucked it up this time. Excluding anything to do with Astarion’s literal slaver, he’s never seen him so angry. Or is it disgust? He hasn’t told him that the Incident has been the first time in a decade or so that he's actually had sex in the physical plane, but Astarion is smart, he probably came to the conclusion immediately. And now he’s understandably upset. Gale should have probably told him, but in the moment-
Before Gale can spiral any further, Astarion returns and throws a brown package at him, then clambering back into the spot half in Gale’s lap he’d just left.
“I don’t give a shit about what you did in the weave with What’s-Her-Name, but she had no right to forbid you from touching yourself,” he says matter-of-factly and hands Gale a paper-opener. His tone softens into the lilt that makes Gale’s thoughts go syrup-slow. “And it’s an absolute shame you never got to enjoy the fruits of your labour.”
Gale examines the package in his lap. The sender’s address matches. It had been in the mail some days ago and he hadn't gotten around to throwing it away, so it just sat in the mail pile on the kitchen table.
“Astarion,” he mutters. “While your concern is touching-”
“Don’t tell me you don’t want to open it,” Astarion croons.
Gale does want to.
He sighs and slides the paper-opener under the twine holding the package closed. The string gives without much fuss and then he’s already unfolding the cardboard.
His first instinct is to slam the top back shut.
His experience with sex toys is minimal, but anyone could recognize the intended purpose of such a device.
“Would you look at that,” Astarion hums and picks up the fleshlight.
It’s purple, hefty and somehow squishy-looking and perhaps more importantly, it’s in Astarion’s hands. Gale’s head is spinning. The evening had started so well.
“Darling, did we ever specify the stakes of our little bet?” Astarion asks casually.
Gale chokes on his spit.
“I don’t believe so,” he grinds out.
“You owe me a favour then. Is that fair?”
“Perfectly,” he says and tugs at his collar. What is happening?
“Wonderful, I’d like to call it in,” Astarion declares and finally looks at him. “You may refuse of course. It was just a friendly bet after all.”
Gale nods, not trusting himself with words right now.
“I’d like you to put this on.” Astarion fishes a necklace out of the package. Gale easily recognizes the hum of the spell embedded in the violet stone as the one he crafted all these years ago.
“Is that appropriate for boy’s night?” Gale asks, hoarse.
Astarion grins. “That depends entirely on your definition of it.” Then he frowns. “Are you telling me no? Please do tell me no, if you don’t want to.”
He should. This is insane. Playing with fire. This will never end well.
Gale shakes his head instead. “I’m- I’m not saying no.”
Astarion smiles his enigma smile again. “Wonderful, dear. Are you still feeling the wine?”
“Barely,” Gale says.
He’s doing this, they’re doing this. This is madness.
He takes the necklace from where it dangles on Astarion’s fingers and slips it over his head before he can come to his senses.
“Thank you, darling. You can take it off whenever you like, alright?” Astarion whispers into his ear, then stands and flings himself into the armchair across from Gale, all bedroom eyes.
For a moment, that's all they do, simply look at each other. Gale can imagine what he looks like. Frazzled and flushed, hands fisted into the worn fabric of his tunic, an anxious mess. Is this a game to Astarion? Let's torment the wizard, it must be great fun.
Gale just can't believe that he actually sees anything in him. Mystra had chosen him for his talent and kept him around for his devotion and she’d cast him aside with ease when he’d defied her. Astarion cares little about his mastery of the weave, so what could possibly draw his attention to a middle-aged eccentric with questionable social grace? Astarion doesn't eat, so he can't even cook for him. Gale’s blood is bile to him, so he can not feed off him. And when he reallycares for someone, Gale is just too bloody shy to put on the airs of the Wizard of Waterdeep and sweep him off his feet like he deserves. He needs to face it, Astarion has no reason-
“Whatever place in your head you just went, I'd like you to come back,” Astarion says softly.
Gale takes a deep breath and bats the thoughts of his inadequacy away like flies.
“Sorry,” he mutters.
“Nothing to apologise for, dear. Still sure you want to give this thing a try?”
“Yes,” he breathes. “Please.”
Gale is not above begging. While his rational mind disagrees, his body insists that they see this through. He's almost unbearably hard at this point. So what if it's a game to Astarion? Let Gale be his willing toy.
“As you wish,” Astarion says and runs a finger over the opening of the toy. Gale almost launches himself out of the sofa. He'd know what to expect, it's his spell after all, but the ghostly sensation of a caress over his hole comes out of nowhere.
“Your clever little spell is working then?” Astarion lilts and does it again.
Gale bites his lip and nods.
“Haven't we been over this last time? I want to hear you.”
Gale complies and removes his teeth from his bottom lips.
“Thank you. I want you to enjoy yourself, darling. And want to hear you sigh and moan and I want to see you squirm,” Astarion hums, as if savouring a treat, finger still idly running over the toy. “You have a gift for that.”
“For what?” Gale chokes out.
“For squirming.”
Astarion stops his ministrations, granting Gale temporary relief. He digs into the pocket of his trousers and pulls out a familiar jar.
“You just carry that around with you?”
Astarion snorts. “What can I say, I like being prepared.”
He unscrews the jar unhurriedly and dips a finger into the gooey creme.
“Say, does your spell transmit all kinds of sensations or only the pleasurable ones?” he asks conversationally as he slips a greased fingertip into the toy.
“Guh,” Gale says, eloquently, and drops his head against the backrest. His skin feels too tight and he desperately wants to take off his clothes.
“Jussss- Just pleasure,” he groans. It's disconcerting, the clever finger dipping into him teasingly, opening him unhurriedly, the slippery oiliness of the slick that's being fed into him, and the knowledge that all of it is an illusion.
“Oh, perfect,” Astarion says and there's the rustling of laces being undone. Gale snaps his eyes open and his head back up to watch as Astarion pulls his cock out, one-handed, as his other hand is still busy with the toy.
Just like during the Incident, it doesn’t look like he’ll bother with even unbuttoning his shirt. Gale suddenly needs to see more of him.
“Can you- can you maybe take off your shirt?”
Astarion looks surprised but quickly breaks into a wide grin.
“My, my, Mister Dekarios, aren’t we being forward tonight?” he says and sets aside the jar and the toy to tug the shirt over his head swiftly.
“While I’m at it, you don’t mind, do you?” Astarion asks and shimmies out of his breeches, kicking off his velvet house slippers. He sprawls in the armchair with not a stitch of clothing on him, all long limbs and confidence, his cock jutting out obscenely. He gathers a generous helping of salve from the jar and sighs happily as he strokes himself. The ointment leaves him glistening invitingly.
Gale curses his non-existent talent for the visual arts.
“I suppose, it’s only fair,” Astarion says and picks up the toy again. “After all, I got to see you last time.”
“Quite,” Gale says, pretending to be just as unconcerned about the Incident as Astarion seems to be. On second thought it doesn’t seem quite fitting anymore to call it the Incident, when he is right in the middle of a second Incident. This is a pattern now.
Astarion breaks him out of his musing by sliding the toy over his cock in one smooth motion.
The cry that escapes Gale is as much surprise as it is a pleasure at the feeling of being penetrated so quickly. He clenches around nothing, wriggles his hips against nothing, but the spell doesn’t care. There is no pain, only the overwhelming sensation of fullness.
“Look at you, love,” Astarion says and gives his cock a slow pump with the toy. Gale moans, fingers digging into his thighs. “You’re simply edible like this. It's a shame your spell only works in one direction. This feels good, but I know for a fact that you would feel better.”
He finds a rhythm then. It’s slow and leisurely and makes Gale’s toes curl.
“What does it feel like?” he asks with genuine curiosity.
“Like, well, like you’re fucking me,” Gale says, struggling to keep his voice from cracking.
“You’re enjoying yourself, then,” Astarion says and looks at him through his lashes.
He is, Hells, he is. Gale itches with the nonsensical urge to spread his legs and roll his hips, but doing so would change absolutely nothing about the sensation the spell is feeding straight into his brain. Sure he’s just sitting here, fully dressed, but Astarion is just as much in control of his body as he was bending him in half on his desk. It should be disconcerting, but Gale loves it .
“Now, that I think about it,” Astarion goes on, voice slowly getting gravely. “It’s almost like I’d tied you down, isn’t it?”
Gale nods and turns on the part of his brain that houses his analytical capabilities with some effort.
“Yes, well, I suppose that is part of the selling point. The, ah, recipient can’t exactly exert any influence on the stimulation.”
Astarion giggles. “What an odd way of saying that you’re at my mercy right now. And you like that, don’t you, darling?” He gives the toy a sharp thrust, making Gale gasp. “How delightfully perverted you are. You were entirely wasted on someone who didn’t appreciate that.”
At this point, Gale can’t help squirming in his seat. His cock is throbbing insistently and he hesitantly grips himself through breeches, squeezing himself for some much-needed relief.
“Yes, darling, do go on. Touch yourself. You’re being so good for me, you deserve it,” Astarion purrs.
Gale whines and tugs his belt open with urgency. His hand feels cold on his overheated flesh. Astarion laughs with joy at the animal noises he makes as he strokes himself roughly, the slide only smoothed by the precum beading at his glans.
At least Astarion is also starting to be affected by what they’re doing. The softest of pink flushes is making its way down his neck. He’s idly worrying at his chest and Gale watches with rapt attention as his nipples start to pebble under his attention. He’s breathing heavier too and watching Gale just as intently.
“Just like that, love. Just sit back and relax and savour getting fucked,” He rumbles, then snorts suddenly. “You know, I watched you eat that eclair a couple of days ago. The look on your face is remarkably similar.”
Gale laughs, breathless. “I, hngh, assure you, I wasn’t aroused doing that.”
“Oh, thank the Gods! I’d hate having to get jealous of a cream puff or something!”
Before Gale’s overtaxed brain can catch up and question why Astarion would get jealous over him, Astarion picks up the pace. Gale keens and closes his eyes against the onslaught of sensation. Astarion is correct, there is nothing for him to do but relax into it and enjoy the feeling of Astarion’s cock moving inside of him.
“Can you cum like this?” Astarion asks. He sounds close to panting.
“I’m already trying not to,” Gale bites out.
“Haaah, hold on a little longer for me, my sweet, I’ll be right there with you,” Astarion groans, frantically pumping the toy on his cock. “I wonder, darling- Is there a limit to the distance your spell can cross? Maybe, if you’re ever up ffff- for a little game, you can, hnn, wear your pretty necklace out to town, while I stay in.” Gale moans and grips the base of his cock tightly. “Oh, you like that, don’t you? Would you let me fuck you in public? Maybe a nice trip to the library? Let’s hope you’re sitting down when I start- Oh Gods, look at you, you’d let me do it, you little deviant, I- hnngh, fuck, Gale, fuck, cum for me!”
Gale sobs as Astarion keeps fucking him through his orgasm. He's ruining his tunic with spurts of cum, but he couldn’t care less. It's good, it's too good, rapidly approaching the edge of overstimulation, but Astarion is still going. Gale is about to rip off the necklace when Astarion's movement inside of him finally starts to slow.
Astarion has thrown back his head, exposing the long column of his neck. Finally, he slides the toy off, letting it fall to the floor with little care. His chest is heaving and his cock is covered in the silvery remains of his spend.
If Gale’s legs worked right now, he’d probably think about crossing the two-step distance between them and give a helping hand with cleaning up. Or tongue rather. But his body has turned into a puddle of happy post-orgasmic goo or at least that's what it feels like.
Astarion makes a noise somewhere between a whine and a groan, lifts his head and gives Gale a bleary-eyed look.
“That was fun,” he declares and rises from his armchair on unsteady legs. He crosses the distance between them and half sits half falls onto the cushion next to Gale.
“I had fun,” he repeats, squishing himself insistently into Gale’s side with all the regard for his personal space Tara usually shows when he hasn’t given her sufficient attention in half an hour.
Gale has no idea what to do with his arms, so he does the natural thing and wraps one around Astarion’s back. Astarion’s naked back. Because Astarion is still completely bare and curled up half in Gale’s lap. Gale has no idea what's happening, but he's not going to complain. He runs his hands over his flank experimentally and earns himself a happy noise, so he keeps doing it.
After a while Astarion wriggles until he's quite literally lying in Gale’s lap, looking up at him.
“Did you have fun?”
“I did,” Gale says. He just came his brains out and now Astarion is lying in his lap. Fun is a bit of an understatement.
“Good.” Astarion closes his eyes. Then cracks one back open, squinting. “You should stroke my hair.”
“Right,” Gale says and does as he's told. The curls feel as soft and silky as they look. He can hardly believe he's allowed to do that. Maybe he's had another lab accident and phased into a dream dimension, it wouldn’t be the first time. But he’s too sated and happy to care.