Archive of Our Own

Gale had never thought he would crave anonymity until it was taken away from him by fate and by force.

He was a Chosen of Mystra. Then he was the disgraced former Chosen of Mystra. Then he was a Hero of Baldur’s Gate. It would be thrilling if it wasn’t so taxing trying to walk down the streets of Waterdeep without being stopped for an autograph. He loved his city deeply, but there truly was nowhere to hide within it.

His students were very little help either. He could hardly get through a lesson without someone raising a hand to ask a completely unrelated question that he would have to redirect or risk losing their attention. Sometimes he wished he was just another professor to them, who they would forget about completely as soon as the last bells of the day tolled and they were released back into the wild.

Still, he didn’t begrudge his adventures. He had friends again for the first time in over a year, people he could talk to who weren’t his relatives or seeking some other boon from him. And yes, he did wish that said friends would not come crashing into his Tower every few weeks, because he was one of the only ones with a permanent domicile and few other obligations, but he never felt as though he could turn them down.

He adjusted the mask over his face as he looked out the flap in the tent. There was a sizable crowd gathered in Waterdeep’s ridiculously named Virgin’s Square. Long before Waterdeep was built, it was said that virgins were sacrificed to the dragons that plagued the lands on this very spot. Now, it served as a performance space for a variety of entertainments. Today’s crowd gathered for the finals of Waterdeep Mud Wrestling.

Waterdeep had always been a place of contradictions. It was a city of intellectuals and academia, yet the mud wrestling tournament had taken place every Flamerule for four hundred years. It had started, so the stories went, when Aghairon had challenged Halaster Blackcloak to a duel. To stop him using his verbal components, he had shoved him face first into the mud, stopping his mouth and gaining the advantage. Gale personally thought the story was a load of bunk and Waterdhavians wanted to try and make two grown men rolling around in dirt sound more highbrow than it was.

He had been wrestling as The Wizard since his return to the city. The battle against the Absolute had built his strength and left him with a yearning to test it. Entering on a whim, with an elaborate face mask to conceal his identity, he had made short work of his opponents. The city was buzzing with rumours over who The Wizard might be – after all, Waterdeep had an abundance of them. So far, however, Gale’s name had not been mentioned. Nobody suspected the mild-mannered Illusions professor seeking a quiet life.

He wasn’t out of place in his mask either. Celebrated as the sport was, it was still a little frowned upon to actually partake. A number of contestants chose to remain anonymous, with disguises ranging from small half masks to full head and face coverings. Gale chose to wear the latter, hiding his hair and beard, which he was becoming rather known for. Apparently they were coming back into fashion because of his exploits as a hero. The thought was mortifying.

He hadn’t expected to be as successful at wrestling as he had been. The use of higher levels of magic was banned, but certain cantrips and weaker spells were permitted, provided their use were non-lethal. Wrestlers usually chose either a fully martial or magical approach. The Wizard, however, tore through the roster with his unique blend of both. Gale was well versed in having to use all his skills at once: now that his opponents weren’t trying to tear him limb from limb as an offering to the Absolute, firing off a quick ray of frost to freeze the mud around their feet before tackling them was child’s play.

He hadn’t yet faced today’s wrestler, however. Another fully masked newcomer, Mercury, was whispered about just as much as he was. He flowed as smoothly as his namesake, often avoiding even dirtying his mask in his victories.

The nature of the tournament meant that they were facing each other for the first time today. Gale had watched a number of his matches with a quiet fascination. He was going to have to use all of his wits and tactics to defeat him.

He had no doubt that he would defeat him, of course. None whatsoever. It definitely didn’t bite at the base of his skull as he pulled his mask into place.

He did his best to channel Karlach as he burst out of his tent to thunderous applause. Puffing out his chest, prowling the edge of the mud pit with his arms held high, the roar of the crowd rang in his ears.

Vain as he was, Gale had always liked the notion of being worshipped. Even though he was grateful that his friends had talked him out of chasing ascension, he had sometimes wondered afterwards what it would have been like to be a god. Of course, when he’d moved back to Waterdeep, he had quickly discovered he would always be celebrated and recognised, and just as quickly he decided he would prefer to simply enjoy his life. But this gave him a taste, on his own terms, without worrying for the responsibilities.

The cheers faded as he took his position, tentatively stepping into the pit. The mud only came up to mid shin, thankfully warmed in the sun, but he felt it drag against his legs as he shifted into his beginning stance.

Mercury strolled out of his tent as though he had all the time in the world. He leisurely strolled around the edge of the pit, barely acknowledging the cheers – which only made them scream harder, desperate for acknowledgement. Gale couldn’t help but roll his eyes at the peacocking.

When his opponent hopped gracefully into his corner, Gale finally had the chance to observe him up close. He was a slim build, more lithe than Gale. He was entirely covered by his costume, save for the small holes in the mask for his eyes and mouth. The mask had some kind of illusion effect on it, as though liquid flowed around his face and head. It was a little disconcerting to look at, almost as though Gale’s gaze was constantly drawn away from Mercury’s eyes.

He would not be distracted by such petty parlour tricks. Gale steeled himself, doing his best to look him right in the eye and show no mercy as the referee directed them to get into their opening hold. A hush of anticipation fell over the crowd.

He blinked.

This close, he was suddenly face to face with a very familiar crimson. He’d spent enough time musing on the creases in the corners of those eyes to know exactly who he was staring down.

“Astarion?”

The name slipped out before he could stop it. It echoed around Virgin’s Square, amplified by the quiet. The echo began to blend into the whispers of the crowd. They knew that name. Everyone knew the vampiric Hero of Baldur’s Gate, after all. And everyone knew he had long since vanished underground to lead the spawn he had freed from the city. It was inconceivable that he would be here, in the City of Splendours, participating in something as ridiculous as their mud wrestling tournament.

But when Mercury staggered back in shock, almost tripping in the mud, his reaction left no doubt that he had been identified.

Those red eyes narrowed at him through the holes in the mask.

The air was driven from his lungs as Astarion bodily tackled him, his shoulders driving into Gale’s midsection as he leapt with a ferocious speed. They both went splashing into the thick mud, Astarion doing his best to pin him.

They had always been well matched in strength. Gale managed to wrangle them both onto their sides before the referee observing could reach the three count. He tried to grab at Astarion’s arms to shove him off, but Astarion was quick as lightning, never letting him get a proper grip for longer than a moment.

“How did you know?” he hissed, the familiar fangs bared. Gale wondered just how nobody had noticed they were wrestling a vampire in his previous bouts. Probably distracted by how he pressed his body against his opponents, a hand flicking over their chest to distract –

No. Focus. He knew Mercury was Astarion, but Astarion clearly didn’t know who The Wizard was yet.

He wasn’t sure he wanted him to know, either. He was still quite cross that the most he’d heard from Astarion was the occasional letter over the past few months, and now he knew they were all lies anyway.

He knew how Astarion fought, though. He had become intimately familiar with both his strengths and weaknesses on the battlefield. It was information he could use against him.

“Your skin is entirely covered,” he said with a grunt as Astarion did his best to flip him onto his back. They both managed to get onto their knees, locked face to face. Even under all the mud, he still smelled like bergamot and brandy. A scent that had haunted Gale, that he had never quite managed to recreate despite dreadfully misusing his alchemy set to try. Not for any nefarious purpose; he just missed the smell, sometimes. “Your eyes are red, your fangs push against your lips. You’re so clearly a vampire spawn I’m surprised nobody noticed sooner.”

“Be that as it may, there are a plethora of vampire spawn wandering Faerûn these days,” Astarion snapped back. He shoved Gale back to get to his feet, wiping the excess mud from his sleeves with a grimace before settling into a defensive stance. “You seem awfully convinced that I’m one in particular.”

“Well, your reaction rather gave you away,” Gale said, staying on his knees for a moment to catch his breath. Besides, he favoured wrestling on all fours – it was more stable this way. “And I only know one vampire who’s as much as a showoff as you.”

He couldn’t help himself. Astarion had always brought out his petty side.

“So you actually know me, not just by reputation,” Astarion said under his breath. “But who could you be? Not one of the spawn, or your skin would be in cinders. Perhaps someone from the Grove? But why would you be all the way out here in Wa-“

Gale quickly swept his feet out from under him as he saw Astarion’s eyes widen. Shit. Shit.

He clambered on top of him, quickly casting blur on himself to make it harder for Astarion to buck him off. He pinned him with his full weight, pressing Astarion down on his back into the mud. Astarion kicked and flailed underneath him.

“Don’t you dare say a word,” he hissed, as the referee began the count.

“Gale, you bastard –“

Thankfully, the reply was whispered back as Astarion managed to kick out from underneath him. The referee held up two fingers to the booing crowd. Astarion sat up, spitting mud and glaring at Gale.

“I should have known,” he grumbled as they locked arms again. “Only you would be so egotistical as to name yourself The Wizard. And so unimaginative.”

“You’re the one who named yourself after a translation of your Elvish name,” Gale said crossly. “You cannot accuse me of not being creative, you bloody hypocrite.”

“What I don’t understand is why you’re doing this in the first place.” Astarion tried to knock him off balance with a gust of wind – Gale had forgotten Astarion was quite adept at magic when he chose to be – but a quick counterspell rendered it moot. “The great Gale of Waterdeep rolling around like a pig in shit.”

“Again, I could ask the same of you.” Gale knew Astarion would be expecting a spell from him. He also knew he would have forgotten just how physical he’d learnt to be by the end of their adventures. So he knew full well he wouldn’t be expecting a quick jab to the stomach.

Astarion gasped in shock as his legs collapsed under him for a moment, giving Gale the chance to throw him onto his back in the mud once more. He quickly slid his leg between Astarion’s, making it harder for him to kick out of the pin.

He immediately moved it when he felt a hard bulge against his thigh.

“Astarion, are you enjoying this –“

He lost his concentration for a moment too long, and found himself staring up at the Waterdhavian sky, Astarion’s hands around his wrists and his back engulfed by mud. And that hard bulge pressed very insistently against his quad once more. Astarion was glaring down at him, panting hard.

The referee finished the three count, somewhere off in the distance. Gale was too busy staring into Astarion’s eyes to notice.

“Mercury? Mercury!”

Both of them turned to look at the very perplexed referee, who was standing at the side of the mud pit, arms folded. The audience of Virgin’s Square were divided, some ecstatic at Mercury’s slightly odd victory, some bitterly disappointed for the mysterious Wizard’s surprising lack of form.

“You need to come and hold the trophy,” the referee said. Gale groaned as he realised Astarion was still on top of him, their very compromised position at least semi-hidden by the mud.

“Oh, right, darling, of course,” Astarion said smoothly, finally getting off of Gale. “Apologies. Just savouring my victory over the great Wizard of Waterdeep.”

When he stood, Gale could have sworn he heard him mutter the incantation for ray of frost under his breath.

He sat up in the mud pit, watching Astarion peacock around the square, the WMW trophy held high. Clearly, his time in the Underdark hadn’t taken his desire to be the centre of attention from him. That should have been Gale’s trophy. This was a Waterdhavian sport, and Astarion had cheated by distracting him with his body. He should notify the referee immediately, demand a rematch.

The problem was, he couldn’t stop looking at the way Astarion’s full body suit clung to his lithe figure, even with how it was still dripping with mud. It clung to his rear, dripping off the shelf and catching on the back of his calves.

Astarion put the trophy back on its podium as the audience began to filter out of the square. The sun was beginning to set, dipping behind the buildings and casting long shadows over them both. It didn’t take long for the square to empty completely, leaving the two of them stood in an awkward silence.

“You’re probably safe to take your mask off,” Gale said, looking at his mud covered knees instead of at Astarion.

“I’ll show you mine if you show me yours,” Astarion replied with a wink. Then, to Gale’s surprise, he climbed back into the pit, plopping down besides him and splashing him slightly. Looking up at the skies, he tentatively pulled at his glove, revealing a tease of alabaster skin. When it didn’t immediately start smoking, he sighed with relief and yanked his mask off.

He looked almost exactly as Gale remembered. Same neat curls, if a little squashed and sweaty from being confined for so long. Same dagger sharp cheekbones. But it seemed to Gale as if his laugh lines around his mouth were a little deeper.

“Your turn,” Astarion said, grabbing at the back of Gale’s mask and tugging insistently. His fisted hand caught Gale’s hair underneath with the fabric, and Gale gasped in surprise at the sudden sting. He batted Astarion’s hand away, grateful that the mask was hiding his rapidly deepening blush.

“I will in my own time, thank you,” he said rather primly. “I just need to make sure we won’t be seen first.”

He spread his arms in a wide arc, creating a shimmering golden dome over the pit. He’d cast this spell so many times on their adventures it was practically second nature. To the average passer by, the square would simply look empty, the illusion ensconcing them entirely.

“Oh, so you couldn’t have done that before I took my mask off,” Astarion said petulantly as Gale finished casting his spell, unlacing his mask at the back. “Thanks very much, wizard.”

“You’d cause far less of a scandal than I would,” Gale said. He sighed, staring out across the square. “If the citizens of Waterdeep found out I was The Wizard, I’d never live it down.”

“Gods, your ego is the size of the bloody Netherbrain,” Astarion said with a huff. “Nobody would care, Gale. Maybe they’d gossip about it for a week or so, then you’d be yesterday’s news again. No offence.”

“Astarion, this city loves to make my life its business,” Gale said bitterly. “They still talk about the time I summoned a slaad at the Academy and that was nigh on two decades ago. My reputation is the best it’s ever been, I cannot sully it by being found out.”

“You clearly don’t worry too much if you’re still taking part,” Astarion pointed out. “What is it? The fame? The adoration?” He smirked. “Rolling around in the mud to try and pin down other attractive men?”

He cackled as Gale glared at him.

“It’s not that last one, don’t cheapen it,” Gale said crossly. “No, I suppose – well, I suppose I like being celebrated and then not having it brought up everywhere I go. It’s contained to this square.”

“Rather apt, I suppose.”

Gale raised an eyebrow, not quite sure what joke Astarion was making. Then it hit him, and he groaned.

“Very funny. Because it’s Virgin’s Square –“

“And you’re a virgin and a square, yes. Are both of those still true?”

“I’m starting to regret telling you anything.”

They had talked about it in the Grove, long ago. Astarion was recounting some orgy or other and Gale had remarked that it had all sounded rather messy. He had made the mistake of saying how everything was perfection in the Astral Plane, how spirits and souls had entwined when he was Mystra’s Chosen. Karlach had asked how long he had been with Mystra for. When he answered, earning himself a sympathetic look from her that he didn’t particularly care for, Astarion had gleefully asked if Mystra was all that Gale had ever known. Gale had tried to defend himself. Mystra deserved better than a messy corporeal coupling. Astarion had laughed so hard he’d cried.

“That’s not a no, darling,” Astarion teased, throwing an arm around Gale’s shoulders. “You are such an odd little fellow. Surely you have a line around Waterdeep of suitors trying to bed one of the Heroes of Baldur’s Gate.”

“Yes, well,” Gale said, the blush he’d managed to fight off rising on his cheeks again, “that’s rather the point. I’d like it to be with…well…”

“Someone who cares?”

Gale nodded. That was what it came down to, after all.

“Me too,” Astarion sighed. For once, Gale knew with certainty that he was telling the truth. “Obviously not the virgin part. But now that I’m free to do what I want with whoever I want, it feels like the first one should be important.”

He felt Astarion’s hand start to toy with the hair at the nape of his neck.

“Someone who knows me,” he continued, the pair of them still staring at the edge of the mud pit. “Someone I can trust. Who isn’t just bedding me for the sake of bedding a Hero of Baldur’s Gate.”

With a start, Gale felt Astarion’s lips press gently against the side of his neck, where the mask had kept it mud free.

“Astarion –“ he stuttered.

“Someone who has been at my side,” he murmured, his lips brushing against the skin with every word. “Someone who has seen me at my worst and didn’t leave.”

“I did leave,” Gale said, keeping his eyes very firmly fixed on the wooden beam in front of him. “That last day. You fled from the sun, and I didn’t follow.”

“You were searching for the Crown, darling, I don’t begrudge you that,” Astarion said softly, starting to kiss his neck slowly. “And by the time I came to Waterdeep, you were settled into your little life here. It didn’t seem as though I would fit into it the way the others do.”

“You could have asked.” Gale pushed him gently back by his shoulders. “Astarion, you would have been more than welcome at the Tower. Where have you even been staying?”

“The Yawning Portal,” he said a little sheepishly. “Someone said I might find you in the audience for this. I came in disguise and the organisers mistook me for a participant. Sort of got the bug for it after that.”

“I watched a few of your matches,” Gale admitted.

“Oh, did you, pet?” Astarion swung a leg over Gale’s, the mud squelching as he settled on his lap. “Anything in particular you enjoyed?”

“You, um…” Gale’s train of thought was lost momentarily at both the sight and feeling of Astarion’s erection straining against the bodysuit. “You’re very fast.”

“Not in all things.”

“And you, er, have an innate knowledge of an opponent’s weakness,” he continued, doing his best not to be distracted by Astarion. Which was difficult, because the man was leaning in to kiss at his jaw again. “You adjust within seconds.”

“You seem like you could adjust too, darling,” Astarion murmured in his ear, before taking the lobe into his mouth and biting it very gently. “Am I right?”

Gale made a very undignified whimper in lieu of a response. Astarion chuckled, his arms wrapping around Gale’s shoulders to pull himself in closer.

“I seem to recall you’ve always had rather a penchant for battle,” he purred, rolling his hips down onto Gale’s lap. “What was it you said to Lae’zel in the shadowlands? You read a book on it once?”

“Oh, gods, you heard that?” Gale groaned, pushing himself back so his back rested on the edge of the pit. “It was a moment of madness. She came to my tent that night requesting that we duel so I could prove myself worthy of her obsession.”

“I suppose nobody wants their first time to begin by being beaten to a bloody pulp,” Astarion mused.

“And this is different?” Gale shot back, trying not to gasp as Astarion grabbed the wooden beam behind him for better leverage.

“Of course it is, darling, we barely bruised each other,” Astarion murmured. His face was unbearably close. “Besides, I know you’d never really hurt me. Not…not the way I have been.”

Gale shook his head. Without quite realising it, his hands came to rest on Astarion’s waist, sliding through the mud until they settled in place.

“Am I truly what you want?” he asked in a small voice. “I don’t think I would particularly please you.”

“Darling, you have no idea what would please me, and that’s part of the appeal,” Astarion said. He leant in, and pressed a soft kiss to Gale’s lips.

It was quiet and tender and perfect. Gale forgot he was sat in the middle of the city, in a now quite cold mud pit, barely concealed by his own illusion. It felt almost as though he was somewhere else, somewhere floaty and sweet. But it wasn’t like the Astral Plane. He was still in his body, his hands on something solid, Astarion’s weight heavy in his lap.

“My tower isn’t too far from here,” he said in a hushed voice, as Astarion set to kissing along his jaw again, apparently fascinated by the beard he’d kept.

“Here is fine.”

“In a mud pit?!”

“At the seat of my victory,” Astarion said with a little cackle. “Besides, taking a virgin in Virgin’s Square? It’s too perfect, darling, I can’t resist it.”

Gale opened his mouth to protest, and was promptly silenced by Astarion shoving his tongue in instead. He knew Astarion well enough to know that when he set his mind to something, there was very little that could turn him from it. He may as well enjoy himself.

“At the very least let me clean some of the mud out of the way,” he said with a sigh, waving his hand to prestidigitate the mud around them. He quickly froze a little wall of it in place, creating a basin for the two of them where they sat.

“Clever little wizard,” Astarion said approvingly, looking around them to admire his handiwork, and Gale felt a little jolt of pride in his navel. Well. Pride and arousal. He did always rather like when Astarion gave him a compliment. They were few and far between on their travels. “Think you could do the same with our clothes?”

Gale blinked up at him at the question.

“I beg your pardon?”

“Well, this is rather a pain to take on and off,” Astarion said, gesturing at the catsuit. “Has to be entirely sun proof, you see. And I would quite like to take you against the edge of this pit sooner rather than later.”

“Must you be so crass?!” Gale said indignantly.

“Right, sorry, it’s your first time and the maiden must be pampered,” Astarion said with a roll of his eyes. “Gale, come on. I’m begging to fuck you here. Me. Begging.”

Gale groaned, but with another snap of his fingers, their clothes disappeared with a soft pop and a hint of rosewater, reappearing just by the side of the pit. He closed his eyes, feeling the air suddenly rush over his skin.

“Don’t say a word,” he said, eyes still tightly shut. “None of your teasing, Astarion.”

But instead, he heard only a small exhale. He opened one eye to see Astarion staring down at him, a finger reaching for the scarred skin on his chest.

“She took the orb from you,” he said softly. “It looks different now.”

He didn’t have to say who she was. They both knew.

“Gone, in return for the Crown,” Gale said softly. “I became plain old Gale Dekarios after that.”

“You have never been plain anything, Gale,” Astarion replied. He bent forward, bestowing a kiss onto the blackened mark, long extinct.

Gale’s eyes wandered over Astarion as he began to lavish attention on his chest. He was a little fuller than he remembered, now that his clothes no longer hid him. He could no longer count his ribs, his collarbones pronounced instead of harsh. He even had a little bit of a tummy roll where he was bent over.

“You look good,” he blurted out. “You’ve been eating.”

Astarion looked up, looked down, and then laughed.

“Thank you for noticing,” he said, straightening back up. “Though I would thank you not to point it out quite so tactlessly next time.”

His mouth was on Gale’s again before he could apologise. Gale ran his hands around to the small of Astarion’s back, the ridge of his scars just above, and pulled him closer as Astarion deepened the kiss.

Gods, he had been missing out. The Astral Plane could never compare to this. To the slick of Astarion’s tongue teasing at the roof of his mouth, to the warmth of their chests where they pressed together, to the wandering of Astarion’s fingers –

“Voco arvinina,” Astarion muttered against Gale’s mouth, and Gale felt a now very slick finger press gently against his rim. He groaned into Astarion’s mouth, shifting his hips slightly forward so Astarion could reach underneath him a little easier. Astarion laughed into his mouth. “Very good, pet. Just a little more.”

Astarion climbed off his lap, nudging his legs apart with his knee so he had more room to work. Gale let his neck rest against the wooden beam behind him, his arms draped around Astarion’s shoulders. Astarion was lazily circling the muscle, gathering the grease he’d summoned.

“Does that feel good?” he asked him softly.

“Different,” Gale said shakily, closing his eyes to try and decipher how he felt. “Not bad, per se. Just different.”

“How about this?” Astarion pushed a slender finger into him, curling it as precisely as he would pick a lock. Gale’s eyes flew open as a gasp was driven from him.

“Oh, that’s good,” he moaned, his hands tightening as Astarion repeated the motion, over and over. “That’s very good indeed.”

“High praise, wizard,” Astarion laughed softly, but for once there was no malice to it. He was watching Gale with an intensity he’d rarely seen on the vampire’s face. It was almost as though he was afraid.

“It feels good,” Gale said, aiming to sound reassuring and hitting rather whorish instead. “Gods, it feels better than –“

He yelped as Astarion pushed his finger a little too hard into him.

“Don’t say her name,” Astarion said, steel in his voice. “Not here. Not now.”

“Wasn’t – wasn’t going to,” Gale panted, patting Astarion’s shoulder to try and placate him. “Better than anything.”

It was a terrible lie and they both knew it, but Astarion seemingly chose to accept it. Gale moaned as he managed to open him enough to insert a second finger. He could feel the grease dribbling from him.

He tried to forget that Astarion’s drawing on the Weave would likely have caught Mystra’s attention. Then again, he wasn’t sure if he minded. Maybe she would see what he looked like at the height of true pleasure.

The thought made his cock twitch eagerly.

“Are you enjoying yourself, darling?” Astarion murmured, his fingers scissoring him open, and Gale decided not to tell him about his particular train of thought.

“Very much so,” he gasped, trying his best to stay coherent as Astarion began to pump his fingers lazily in and out of him. “You’re very good at that.”

“I’ve had plenty of practice –“

“Don’t.” The word came out harsher than he meant it. “If I can’t talk about her, you can’t talk about that.”

Astarion’s fingers stilled inside of him, and he had to bite back a needy whine. Astarion watched him for a long moment. Then he smiled.

“A fair bargain, I suppose.”

A third finger as a reward. Gale cried out, very grateful that the illusion they were under would silence their noise. His back arched away from the dirt. Gods, he wanted Astarion to kiss him again. He wasn’t sure he could ever go without, now that he knew what that felt like.

“Hips up, darling,” Astarion said, patting his arse as he withdrew his fingers. He wiped the grease on himself, moaning slightly at the touch. Gale summoned his own puddle, reaching between them, but he paused before touching.

“May I?” he asked quietly. Astarion looked up, a flicker of surprise on his face. Gale felt a pang in his heart as it occurred to him that nobody had probably asked before.

“Of course, sweet thing,” he replied, his features quickly schooling into a smirk. He reached for Gale’s wrist with his clean hand. “Let me show you what I enjoy.”

Gale wrapped his hand around Astarion’s cock. He couldn’t help but stare at it as Astarion began to guide his hand. He was bigger than Gale in every way; thicker, longer, the foreskin dragging over the head in a manner that Gale found hypnotic. He wasn’t quite sure how tight to make his grip, and settled for a loose hold.

“I appreciate the care, Gale,” Astarion said with a small breath, “but you can take hold a little harder. It won’t snap off.”

Gale chuckled despite himself. He flexed his fingers, and when Astarion sucked in a breath, kept his hand at that tension. The grease squelched through his fingers with every stroke.

“Gods, that’s enough, darling,” Astarion said, pulling his hand away and waiting for Gale to prestidigitate it clean before pressing it up by his head, their fingers intertwined. He positioned his cock against Gale’s empty hole, notching the tip into place. “Are you ready?”

Are you sure? The unspoken question hung in the air between them. If they still had their tadpoles, Gale could tell him just how certain he was. He had trusted Astarion with his life by the end of their journey together. Of course he trusted him with this.

He nodded. Astarion carefully pushed his hips forward.

They both groaned in unison, a discordant harmony, as Astarion sank forward inch by excruciatingly slow inch. He was gripping Gale’s hand so tight he could barely feel his fingers, but his attention was focused entirely elsewhere.

“Here,” he panted, taking hold of Astarion’s other hand and cleaning it with a word, before letting him pin him entirely.

“Oh, you are far too eager to please,” Astarion huffed, laughing as he bent forward to kiss him. Gale returned it eagerly, swept up in the ecstasy of being filled. This felt correct. This was what his body was for, what he had been craving without realising it all this time. He was made for Astarion.

When Astarion started to move, using Gale’s hands for leverage, Gale almost blacked out. He’d never known pleasure like this. He would likely never know pleasure like this again. He whimpered pathetically as Astarion whispered soothing words in his ear, fingers flexing in his grip.

“You’re so tight, sweetling,” Astarion whispered, every thrust a burst of fire in Gale’s gut. “You take me so well. How does it feel?”

“Good, so good,” Gale whined, trying to free his hands. He wanted to touch him, he wanted to hold him close to his heart.

“Be gentle,” Astarion chided softly, but he released him. For a moment, Gale stared up at him.

“Why would – would I be anything else?” he asked, reaching up to cup Astarion’s cheek and pull him back into yet another kiss. He was desperate to please him. Desperate to show him that he was worth choosing for this highest of honours.

He felt Astarion laugh, then moan, into his mouth as his other hand landed on the side of his neck. Astarion’s hands began to wander, over the scar he was so fascinated with, over the hair on his chest, and down across his stomach.

“You don’t have to,” he murmured, as he felt Astarion hesitate at his navel. “This is enough – gods, this is more than enough –“

Just saying that seemed to reassure some worry in Astarion’s heart, and as he felt Astarion’s clever fingers wrap around his cock, Gale keened. Astarion trusted him. Astarion wanted him to feel good.

The thought brought him perilously close.

“As-Astarion –“

“I know,” he said. Gale felt his hips start to stutter against him. “I know, Gale. I can feel it. Fuck, I can feel you tightening somehow. Gods only know how. I want to feel it. I want to feel all of it.”

There was no stopping himself. Not when Astarion was pouring gold into his ear. Not when he was stroking his unbelievably hard cock in time to each of his quickening thrusts. Not when he wanted this just as much as Gale did.

He could shout nothing but Astarion’s name as he came. For once, there were no other thoughts in his head. Only the pleasure of being known, of being brought to completion for the first time in the mortal plane. Of feeling everything in his body, and in not the theoretical.

Well, save for the sheer brilliance of hearing Astarion calling out for him in turn as he spilled himself into Gale. Nobody had ever said his name with so much feeling.

Astarion’s forehead was resting against Gale’s shoulder as they fought to catch their breath. The sounds of city were kept at bay, their panting only amplified by the magical cocoon. Gale didn’t want to say anything to break the spell they had found themselves under.

It was Astarion who chose to.

“Next time,” he said, still panting as he lifted his head, “we’re doing that in a bed.”

“I did offer,” Gale pointed out, but he grinned from ear to ear when it registered that there would be a time to come.