Work Text:
Ka—chunk.
The large wooden door closes shut, its sound echoing up the stairwell of their tower and reverberating across polished bricks and aged wooden panels.
One faint heartbeat. Another. Each is matched with a clicking step up the staircase, closing in on where Astarion now sits in the tower’s library.
But something’s wrong.
Gale hasn’t said a single word since entering the tower. Ears twitching and nostrils flaring, Astarion reaches out to confirm if– no, it’s no intruder. The half-wheezing breaths, popping knees, and radiant scent of weave and rosewater and Gale wash over Astarion’s senses in blanketing comfort.
An uneasy determination settles in Astarion’s muscles. It’s going to be one of those evenings, then. With a sigh he slips a ribbon into the pages of the book he’d lost himself in and takes a deep, steadying breath.
After moments of distant shuffling and creaking Gale finally shuffles through the doorway. Astarion’s half-smile greeting isn’t returned. Instead he’s met with sallow eyes and a shoulder-drooping sigh.
“Hells,” Astarion rolls his eyes, “it couldn’t have been that bad of a day.”
Regret washes through Astarion when Gale’s brow creases in hurt. Fuck, fuck, he’s still getting used to this whole “being a nice partner” thing.
He clicks his tongue and lounges back into the couch, taking a moment to pore over the man in front of him. What he sees is a far cry from the Gale of Waterdeep that proudly stirs three scoops of sugar into his tea while singing at godsdamned early hours, and an even further cry from the wizard who nearly had the means to challenge his spurned lover, the Goddess of Magic herself.
What he sees is a quiet, anxious man who can’t even look Astarion in the eyes.
He sees a man who needs a guiding palm.
“Sorry,” hisses out Astarion, the word tasting unfamiliar and forced on his tongue. He shakes off the feeling then beckons Gale over with a curled finger. “Come on now, get over here. The rug should do just fine.”
A small smile crooks the edges of Gale’s lips and he shuffles towards the couch. With a wince he gets onto his knees by Astarion’s slippered feet then peers back up at Astarion from behind deep-set brows. Expectation hangs heavy in the air.
“Take your coat off and put it on the floor. That’s where dogs belong, isn’t it?”
Gale shivers before giving an enthusiastic nod. Dexterous hands that shape pure magic into existence meander from clasp to clasp. The digits begin their work with trembling uncertainty and end honey-slow. He shrugs the thick coat off, letting it pool on the around his kneeling form.
“Good. Very good. Now it’s a shame my pet doesn’t have his collar on to remind him who he belongs to,” Astarion hums as he curls a hand underneath Gale’s chin. Fingertips stroke tenderly against the wiry beard hairs straggling down towards his neck. “But I’m sure we can find some other way to remind you, hm?”
The tendons in Gale’s neck flex with a shaky swallow and Astarion pushes down the urge to press his fingers tighter against the skin, wanting to feel everything. But that’s not what Gale needs from him tonight.
“Pups can’t speak. Pups don’t need to speak,” Astarion drawls out, “so tonight I’ll do the talking. As my sweet and perfect pet, all you need to do is listen and be a good boy for me.”
Astarion knows he’s stating the obvious. Gale wouldn’t dare act up, not when he’s in this state. When expectations and responsibilities weigh heavy on his shoulders he gets so overwhelmed his brain… shuts off. The effervescent connection between mind and mouth is severed, his brilliant mind bogged down with acidic frustration and dexterous muscles jammed with tar.
Even if Gale wants to speak, he can’t.
It took time and many challenging conversations for Astarion to realize what Gale experiences in times like these. Even now he doesn't fully understand, but understands enough.
So tonight Gale will be nothing but Astarion’s loyal pet. Quiet, loyal, obedient. He doesn’t need to think about his responsibilities, his failures, his discomforts; not when he’s a good boy and Astarion is in control.
Cool fingers scratch slow circles into the tender meat under Gale’s chin, pulling him closer to Astarion’s knee until he rests his cheek against it.
“There you go. That’s a pretty pet,” Astarion smiles, hand sliding over to cup Gale’s cheek. He leans into the touch and sighs when Astarion’s thumb trails along the ever-present dark veins wrapping down his face.
Tight facial features soften as Astarion continues his gentle strokes; muscles slacken, eyelids flutter shut, and heaving breaths even out into deep rolling exhales.
Gale looks good like this… especially when Astarion’s responsible for it. His hands no longer squeeze out the last choking breaths from pathetic prey. Now he can render Gale just as helpless with nothing but tender scritches to his chin.
These days the eternal starving churn in his stomach is abated with Gale’s daily prepared blood sausages and generously offered neck. Yet Astarion wants more. He craves the thrill of control and authority, of chasing and controlling each shadowed step until his mark submits to him with a shivering, helpless cry.
He’s not sure how much Gale is up for tonight, not when Gale can’t speak his desire, but he can ask in careful terms.
“Sweet thing, precious pup,” he coos, carding fingernails through Gale’s locks and pulling wayward strands of hair up and off of his forehead. “You aren’t making much use of your mouth this evening. May I occupy it in other ways?”
A rapid nod jostles against Astarion’s knee. Hells, that was quick.
Astarion spreads his clothed legs invitingly and shuffles his hips closer to the edge of the couch’s cushion. Gale leans in slightly before returning his cheek to Astarion’s knee and meets his gaze, expectation painted in beautiful strokes of blush across his cheeks.
The clasp of his pants opens quickly with Astarion’s practiced fingertips, exposing his still-soft cock to the evening air. Gale gasps at the sight, his cheek rubbing against Astarion’s thigh when he subconsciously leans inward. His chest expands in a blatantly deep inhale and Astarion, once again, wonders just what Gale finds so enticing about his scent. Bodily decay barely hidden behind herbs and flower essences is an acquired taste but one that Gale can’t seem to get enough of.
“Ah-ah-ah,” clucks Astarion, fingertips tightening against the roots of Gale’s scalp. “Patience, darling. I didn’t tell you you could indulge yet. Can you wait for me, pet?”
Gale nods and the motion pulls against Astarion’s gripping fingers.
“Good,” Astarion hums before loosening his fist and absent-mindedly stroking his fingers through Gale’s hair once more. It’s an easy gesture. Comforting, even. Gale takes good care of his hair now that he has access to his tower’s luxurious bathing facilities, fragrant soaps, and fancy oils. The strands are silky and soft under his fingertips and Astarion almost gets lost in the sensation.
But Gale’s slow breaths against his skin remind him to stay focused. Tonight is for his lover, not him.
“Well done. Such a patient puppy for me. I’m going to sheathe my prick in your mouth now,” continues Astarion.
Gale nods.
The hand in his hair slides down to cup Gale’s chin once more. A thin thumb drags along Gale’s plush lips which open so quickly and invitingly, surrounding Astarion’s digit with intoxicating heat. Despite his intention to focus, Astarion’s dick gives an appreciative throb.
“Open your mouth.” Authority sounds right from his lips. What’s better is Gale’s immediate obedience, his jaw dropping open to present Astarion’s thumb pressing hard against his wet tongue.
A strand of spit trails out when Astarion removes his hand and shifts his legs open further.
“Swallow me down to the base. Keep your lips there and don’t gag—good boys don’t speak with their mouths full.”
The molten heat of Gale’s mouth pulls a rough, snarling groan from Astarion’s lips and it’s a challenge to keep himself restrained. After a few heaving snorts he opens his eyes to see Gale below him, eyes shut in a blissful, peaceful repose as Astarion’s cock slides deeper into his practiced throat. Once his lips reach the base he swallows around Astarion’s cockhead to slip it right into place. The spasming flex of deep throat muscle around his prick has Astarion’s hands gripping tight against the back of Gale’s scalp, nails digging into the flesh and pulling a delirious whimper from Gale’s mouth that’s more half-choked gags than anything else.
“G-good pup, that’s my sweet thing,” Astarion grinds out. “Still breathing down there, I hope?”
Gale’s nod shifts his nose deeper into the thatch of pale curls surrounding Astarion’s cock. He inhales slow and deep, taking in the heady scent of Astarion’s genitals. Exhaled breaths ghost through Astarion’s hair and spread warm against his stomach.
If Astarion allowed it, Gale could stay like this all night.
But Gale has work tomorrow and his knees won’t like this, regardless of any healing spells that might alleviate the pain. And if Astarion isn’t careful he might get too hard. Gale’s hot tongue and the strands of drool dripping out of the corners of his mouth to paint glistening pearls in his pubic hair are an indescribable temptation.
So instead Astarion picks up his neglected book and flips back to where he was. He shifts his hips to get comfortable and, over the top of the cover, checks in on Gale.
Shoulders slacken as his chest is comfortably supported by the couch’s cushions. His hands aren’t visible but, given the lack of suspicious movements, Astarion has no reason to believe he’s touching himself. Gale wouldn’t dare, not tonight, not when he’s being such a good boy.
With Astarion’s other free hand he resumes stroking long, scratching marks through Gale’s scalp. Going from tight circling scritches to long carding pulls from root to tip, gently working out all the snarls and tangles that formed after his long and arduous day. It’s an easy, practiced motion.
Returning to his reading comes easy, too. Words flow smooth and slow across the page, pockmarked by the occasional crackle from the library’s fireplace and the slow breaths from below.
Warm. He feels so warm like this, so wrapped up in love and attention and appreciation.
Astarion sneaks another glance down at Gale to see a slow drip of tears sliding down Gale’s cheeks. A hot flash of anxiety sparks in Astarion’s stomach and he freezes, fingers suspended mid-stroke behind Gale’s ear.
“Everything alright, darling?” his voice only wavers a little when he asks.
Gale’s eyes slide open and he stares up at Astarion. He smiles around the soft length filling his mouth, watery eyes crinkling at the edges, and nods slowly. Even like this he’s trying his hardest to be good. The realization sends a throb of… something warm and radiant deep in Astarion'schest.
Love, Astarion reminds himself, it’s love. Gale loves me.
After clearing his throat with a polite cough that pushes down a slowly-growing urge to cry in happiness, Astarion returns to his book. “Well, glad to hear it."
Gale’s tears are hot against Astarion’s thumb as he rubs them away. When Astarion resumes scratching his short-clipped nails into the sensitive nape of his neck, Gale’s eyes slip back shut like a morning glory in the first radiant beams of daylight.
“You’re doing an excellent job at keeping my prick well-warmed. Careful not to suck too much, darling, else I’ll get hard. Not that I wouldn’t mind a sweet thing like you swallowing down my seed,” Astarion quickly corrects, “but I’ve got plans for us this evening. I intend on savoring this… savoring you. Every delicious second of my sweet, darling puppy.”
The pleased, sighing exhale Gale breathes out into Astarion’s groin speaks more in thanks than any words could.