Archive of Our Own

Astarion

A fine afternoon.

Sure, it’s rainy and a tad drafty, and the leaves no longer crunch beneath his feet and instead squelch against his rubber rain boots. But, Astarion has more than enough to look forward to tonight. After all, he’s managed to snag a few of his favorite snacks and bottle of his favorite wine and was just in time to catch the early trolley. And though the sky is grayer than usual, the golden and red hues of the trees against it make it a lovely picture of late autumn.

​He glances at his watch as he steps off the bus. Right on time. It’s rare for him— for someone who typically runs on his own schedule—and it gives him little bounce to his step as he crosses the street.

So yes, it’s a fine afternoon, indeed, Astarion smiles to himself.

He spots his favorite brownstone building coming up just ahead and his grip on his plastic shopping bag tightens.

The nerves are not especially new.

It is after all for Gale Dekarios - the one person he's been crazy about since graduation. Perhaps even longer than that.

Ugh.

Oh, there’s that dreadful sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach again… Astarion tries to just ignore it and swallow the lump in his throat.

But what's he so worried about anyway? He’s smart, gorgeous and charming… He could flirt his way out of a paper bag if he ever needed to!

Though tonight would call for something with a touch more personalization than his usual ploys for conquest. He needs to find a perfect moment to lay out all his cards on the table, so to speak. And what better night than tonight?

Movie night used to be a weekly thing with their friends back in university. Oh the glory days of the six of them, living together in a shifty flat that dear old Ms. Ethel rented out for next to nothing. The parties, the scraping by on menial part-time jobs, the heartache—and all that while trying to pass their classes and survive.

Their lives were as chaotic and fragile as any university student’s life could be, though, he supposes…

Their cute little tradition was actually Gale’s idea, you know. They'd rotate movie choices among their little clique, ordering food and drinking cheap liquor. Everyone had their favorite genre. Jen and Wyll loved romantic comedies, while Karlach and Lae'zel opted for action flicks. Gale loved historical period dramas or bleak documentaries. But Astarion was always something of a loose canon with his choices. Sometimes it'd be an art house indie film or sometimes a cheap thriller… or when he was feeling especially impish, he'd opt for a movie that that bordered on the pornographic— if only, of course, to watch his friends squirm in the moment.

To be young again.

Over the years, with everyone moving on to their bright futures, those weekly movie nights turned biweekly… then monthly. And now, even managing that has become a feat with everyone’s schedules packed, life pulling them in different directions.

But as it turns out, that doesn’t bother Astarion in the slightest right now. In fact, he’s almost grateful that the other four couldn’t make it tonight.

After months of whining, bemoaning to their friends about Gale’s inability to pick up on his–what he thought were–obvious signals, he’s finally decided. Tonight’s the night he finally makes a direct move on his longtime crush and dear friend.

Astarion steps through the iron gate, the rusty hinges squeaking open as he closes it shut. The sight of the building makes him smile. It’s been dressed up for the season in a charming, if slightly tacky, way: strings of orange and purple fairy lights, carved pumpkins slumping into themselves, and those godawful sticky ghost window clings. When he rings the doorbell, he hears a fake woman’s automated scream, and well, he can’t help but cackle at how committed Gale is to Halloween this year.

“Just a moment!”

Astarion can hear Gale shuffling about behind the door before he finally swings it open, flashing him a smile from ear to ear.

“Come right in, Astarion! So glad you could still make it,” Gale leads him inside, slightly disheveled, “Apologies, I was just finishing up a bit of tidying, but please, make yourself at home.”

“I always do… but darling, take a breath. It’s just me!” Astarion makes his way into the warmth of Gale’s foyer, unwraps his scarf and hangs it up on the usual spot. With a little exhale, he pauses to look at the man struggling to contain his excitement and smiles.

There he is, in all his bookish glory. Time has been very kind to Gale, giving him slight lightening at the temples that only serve to highlight those wonderful deep chestnut brown eyes. His hair is pulled back in a half up-do, though more than a few strands have escaped the tie and fall around his face. He’s leaner than he was in their school days, though Astarion suspects that’s due to Gale’s nature of overworking himself, forgetting to eat, and subsisting on little more than coffee and pastries.

“Well, come here, then! It’s been ages!” He pulls Gale into a tight hug, trying not to make it obvious the deep inhale to take in Gale’s warm and spiced musk.

“I saw you two weekends ago!” Gale laughs as he squeezes him back.

It’s true, they had gotten happy hour cocktails in the city with their other former flatmates, Lae’zel and Jen. But when the others were around, it hardly left them any one-on-one time. And if Astarion were being honest - and he always was, mind - it wasn’t the same as what they used to have. They were the kind of friends who could talk for hours well into the night about damn near anything.

Yet, over the last year or so, Gale has seemed almost hesitant to spend time alone with him.

Astarion still isn’t sure what to make of it. Knowing Gale, it can only mean one of two things:

1. Gale already suspects Astarion’s lingering infatuation with him and is keen on putting a barrier between them to “let him down easy” so to speak. Astarion prays above all else that this isn’t the case. If it isn’t… well, then there’s only the other possibility…

2. Gale reciprocates Astarion’s feelings to some degree but, being Gale, doesn’t know how to approach the subject without turning into a rambling mess.

It’s possibly his ego in thinking it, but Astarion strongly suspects it is the latter, though he hopes he won’t make an ass out of himself tonight if it’s the former.

When they finally break apart, Gale looks Astarion up and down.

“Alright, I’ll admit… It's quite nice having some time apart from the rest,” the man says with a grin. “It’s been too long since it’s just been us. I was looking forward to a night with fewer overlapping conversations… Selfish as I am…though, I ask you to keep that to yourself.” He winks in Astarion’s direction.

The hope swells in Astarion’s chest as he follows Gale into the living room, setting the snacks and wine onto the coffee table and taking off his light jacket. “I was just thinking the same... I brought a bottle.”

“What a gentleman,” Gale smiles as he watches him set everything out. “I knew you would. I always look forward to your wine selections… They never disappoint.”

Astarion snorts a little laugh, trying to fight the warmth spreading up to the tips of his ears. He looks at Gale and imagines himself pushing him onto the couch, relieving himself of all pretenses. He’d straddle him, finally kissing him deep, their tongues dancing, until—

“Well, I—I am hoping everyone can still make it to the party next weekend.” Gale interrupts his shameful string of thoughts with a nervous chuckle of his own.

Shit. Was he just staring at him like a piece of meat just now? Reel it in, Astarion.

"We’re all looking forward to it, darling. That's probably why they didn’t feel too bad about missing tonight." He plops himself down on the leather sofa and sighs, "So - what's the plan? Did you finally decide what you wanted to watch?"

Gale’s grin doesn't quite hide his minor panic. He holds up a finger. “I did, but I… I need a moment. I have to change out of this disaster and into something clean.” He plucks at his damp shirt.

“Honestly, you’re usually at least fifteen minutes behind schedule— I thought I had more time to get myself sorted! The indignity of being caught like this!” He shakes his head, already backing toward the stairs.

“Pour us both a glass, will you? I’ll be right back.”

Gale turns on his heel and disappears up the staircase and Astarion is almost sure he hears him trip over himself.

He laughs a little hearing Gale argue with no one and uses the time to pour them both a generous glass of wine. As he sips from his glass, he peruses the stack of DVDs and Blu-rays on the shelf. There's a mix of everything, but the newest addition is a Blu-ray case sitting on top of the player still in its wrapper. Leave it to Gale to be old fashioned.

The elf picks it up, his brow furrowing slightly.

"Overture to Death?" The cover art is typical horror fare— a gaunt, spectral figure with elongated fingers reaching for a weeping woman in a tattered nightgown. The tagline reads: "Some melodies should never be heard."

He flips it over, recalling the previews from last year. From what he remembers, it’s a film that leans on eerie, suspense building horror rather than pure jump scares. Though there are a fair share of those in it. In fact, it even spearheaded a TikTok trend with people recording their friend’s reactions to certain scenes.

Perfect, he thinks with a slow creeping smirk returning to his face. A little fear will have Gale right where he wants him. He'll be clinging, vulnerable, and Astarion will be the strong, comforting presence.

It's a classic, foolproof plan.

Gale

For once in his life, Astarion was on time for a movie night.

The house was only mostly set up, but there was still a lot of tidying up to do all over the place. Gale had just finished stringing up the fairy lights along the apartment's tiny balcony when he had gotten caught in the sudden wet downpour. Of course Astarion had arrived not but 10 minutes later while he was still attempting to finish up everything indoors.

Now Gale is tripping over his own feet on his way into the bedroom, heart pounding in clinical arrhythmia, cringing as he replays his words.

"It's been too long since it was just us."

Gods, that too was obvious, far too honest… And then he'd nearly been caught staring at Astarion in all his elegant, autumnal glory, looking him up and down for far too long than was just friendly behavior…

He just wants this night to go well. To have a good movie night - and next week, a good Halloween party. The precious circle of friends they had become was beginning to splinter under the pressures of adult life, each gathering less frequent, less whole. Which was fine, par for the course of life.

But he can’t imagine not being in Astarion’s everyday orbit, even if it is just through simple texts and sending each other memes through their socials.

Gale is not going to ruin the strongest friendship he has because of this little infatuation he thought he’d buried long ago.

Tara blinks up at him from her spot on his bed, a back void curled atop the lavender quilt. Her gaze is one of feline judgment, the kind of look only a cat can give. It sees right through him.

You are a fool, Gale Dekarios, the look says. You are acting like a teenager.

"I know," Gale groans, running a hand over his face as he leans back against the closed door. "It's utterly ridiculous."

Why was he reacting like this? It's just Astarion.

But Astarion was never just anything.

He can't help it - the friendship he felt towards the other man had long ago morphed into affection, adoration… and then an absolutely inappropriate, unrequited crush. He thought he'd managed to bury the feelings, but they were stubbornly persistent.

He shakes his head as he stands up from the door, hastily stripping off his damp shirt and searching for something suitable. Avoiding Tara's luminescent eyes, he debates with himself over what to wear - it was a movie night, comfort over style was to be expected, and yet…

He only changes his shirt three times before his hand lingers on the cashmere indigo sweater, the one he knows looks devilishly handsome on him.

And that was the problem, wasn't it? He wanted to look good. He wants to look good and impress his friend and - then what?

What exactly does he want? He groans, running his hand over the scar on his sternum, thrown by his impulses, and by the memory Astarion's own recent behavior.

It had been so much easier when Astarion's charm was just a careless and universal force. He flirted with everyone, and that was just his way. He would use his charm to tease, to seize control of a situation, even to scornfully put down others - he'd once seen Astarion reduce an admirer to tears with just a few words and a smirk, and still almost made it sound like a compliment.

So he had never taken it seriously before, when Astarion turned that charm on him. He'd learned long ago how to suppress the butterflies in his stomach when Astarion batted his eyelashes, and had almost gotten complete control of his blush. He learned to deflect the flirtatious, meaningless remarks and guard his heart from meaningless remarks.

But now? Recently something has changed. Astarion has been seeking him out even more lately, and the flirting has become even more frequent. It’s left Gale even more flustered than usual, sick with uncertainty - What did he mean by it? Was it a joke to him, a game?

That must be it, Astarion always loved getting a good reaction…

He changes quickly into the sweater and some dark jeans, attempting to get his rambling thoughts under control. With a last once-over in the mirror he quickly checks his appearance - running his hand over his neatly trimmed beard, checking his breath - he catches Tara gazing at him in the reflection.

"Don't say anything. This is comfortable and stylish. There's nothing to be read into. It's just a movie night among friends!" Gale tells her firmly, forcing himself to sound like he actually believes his own words. "Just two, perfectly platonic friends."

Tara says nothing, of course, only turning her back to him as she curls back to sleep. The wind swells outside then, harsh and powerful, rattling the window he had left carelessly open. It was the kind his mother had always said brought strange tidings, he thinks as he closes it firmly - the perfect night for a horror movie between friends.

Friends, he tells himself again, more firmly this time as he opens the door and returns downstairs.

Nothing more. He wouldn't read into Astarion's behavior any more than he already had.

It's safer that way.

He walks back downstairs, attempting to look casual and composed. But he almost stumbles to a stop at the foot of the stairs, silently staring at Astarion.

Wine glass in hand, casually perusing the lounge room like he belonged there, Astarion looks comfortable and heart-achingly familiar.

And then he peers up at Gale, his sharp gaze sweeping over him so thoroughly that Gale could almost feel it. He smirks, tilting his head to the side.

"Well now! Don't you look cozy, darling. Is that new?"

Gale feels his heart rate spike once again, and the panic almost justifies the time he spent changing clothes. Gods, he was in trouble.

He clears his throat with an awkward chuckle, attempting to find the composure he had only just regained. It was just a compliment; it doesn't mean anything!

"I see you found the film," he says instead. He walks over to join Astarion in the living room, taking pains not to stand too close beyond what friendship might imply.

"It's supposedly based on the old myth of Orpheus and Eurydice, but with a vampiric twist of some kind. It's quite a trend, reworking ancient Greek myths in modern settings lately… though I've heard from the reviews it’s a bit gimmicky… Cheap scares and what have you…" He trails off, embarrassed by his flustered rambling.

Avoiding Astarion's eyes, Gale gestures lamely to the sofa. "But - that's hardly of importance. We could start it now? I was just about to bring out some chilli crisp popcorn before you arrived. Make yourself comfortable - I'll be right back."

Astarion

When Gale walks back from the kitchen, he places the bowl of popcorn between the two on the coffee table but remains standing as he pops in the DVD and adjusts the input settings. Working very slowly. Painfully slowly.

Astarion huffs.

“Are you planning on staying over there all night? I don’t bite… hard.”

He lazily smiles as he slouches against the arm of the couch. He idly tosses a few pieces of popcorn into his mouth and pats the cushion beside him. Gale mutters something in response but Astarion can barely hear anything with the floorboards squeaking under him as he frets about in the living room. What he’s doing, Astarion hardly knows.

What he does know is that Gale must have hated the wine, considering he immediately fixes himself a mixed drink with bourbon from his bar cart and then decides to perch stiffly at the far end of the couch.

“It was a joke, Gale—Gods. You can sit closer if you want.”

“I didn't want to crowd you…”

“You're quite literally about to fall off the couch. Sit closer or I'll begin to think I smell or something…”

Gale shifts a little and relaxes a touch, even daring to scoot right up against Astarion's thigh with his own.

“It’s… it’s getting a little chilly. I should turn up the heat—”

Too easy.

“We can do that without fidgeting with the thermostat, darling..." Astarion purrs over the rim of his glass.

And the doe-eyed idiot just tilts his head, confused.

"The remote for is broken… you know that…” He stands quickly and trots over to the opposite wall to tinker with the damn thing. “There we are.”

Alright, so that was a bust, but I can do better. Astarion thinks to himself.

When Gale finally decides to join him on the couch, Astarion decides now is as good time as ever to pull his sweater over his head and toss it aside. Underneath is a thin white v-neck, short sleeved, and just a tiny bit sheer. He’s hoping that Gale notices… that he comments on it. But all the bastard does is take a sip of his drink and hits ‘play’ on the menu.

“So, you’re still tied to boycotting all streaming apps, are you?” Astarion smirks, glancing at the DVD library under the flat screen.

“The picture quality alone—”

He’s heard this rant before. Astarion’s eyes practically glaze over as Gale goes on and on about the better frame rate, sound— how he doesn’t want to be a contributor to the downfall of ‘good television and cinema’. Astarion just smiles, watching this passionate tirade unfold yet again.

“Oh my Gods, Gale. I’m sorry I asked!” He takes another handful of popcorn and shakes his head, smiling. Lucky he’s so close with Gale and the latter knows not to take his usual biting words too seriously. Gale’s humored snort eases any sort of lingering doubt he had.

"Laugh all you want. I’m a man who knows what movies are worth, Astarion. Those streaming conglomerates won’t get a penny out of me.” Gale sticks his nose up in the air.

With a click of another remote the lights dim and the movie begins to play. There’s a rather eerie symphony swelling with each name card appearing on screen as the opening credits drone on. Astarion dares to steal a glance at Gale’s profile.

The man is a thing of beauty.

Furrowed eyebrows, strong roman nose with a slight divot at the tip, and wavy silk brown hair, peppered with light reddish hair that will surely turn grey in a few years time. It grazes just over his broad shoulders. The glow of the television only highlights the glorious little details of Gale’s face. Things said man often found ways to nitpick over, like his little scar over his right brow or the smile lines at the corner of his eyes. All perfect.

Sometimes Gale was quite an idiot when it came to appreciating his own self worth.

Astarion spots the basket of throws under the coffee table and gets a rather devilish idea. He pulls one of them that has wide weaving and throws it over their knees. Gale’s eyes flick to his lap and eyes him with another oblivious look on his stupidly beautiful face.

“I can turn up the temperature if you’re still feeling cold, Astarion.”

“Nonsense. I’m not going to be the reason your heating bill spikes this month… besides… this is much cozier." And as he says it, Astarion leans a little closer, pressing his shoulder against Gale’s. He winks.

Gale gives him a little lopsided smile and turns his attention back to the movie.

He doesn't even have the courtesy to look flustered. What a shame.

Astarion huffs a little sigh and tries for another tactic. He stretches a little, arching his back and letting his shirt ride up, exposing his ab line. As he relaxes back down, his elbow finds the back of the sofa, arm stretching horizontally, resting comfortably behind Gale.

That, Gale notices almost immediately. His head turns behind him to see where Astarion's hand is resting and raises his eyebrow. "Did you drop something?"

"No…" Astarion rumbles.

Instead of flushing or giving ANY hints that he’s picking up what Astarion is putting down, Gale just squints at him, then back at the screen.

Astarion waits a bit, trying to keep his eyes focused on the TV as a few minutes go by, and slowly lets his hand creep forward until his fingers are brushing against Gale's neck.

Gale jumps, nearly knocking the popcorn bowl over, and whirls to face Astarion.

"You bastard!" He nervously laughs, "Leave it to you to take a cheap shot like that at me."

"Yes... that was the intention, darling." Astarion deadpans but Gale only shakes his head.

"I'll get you for that, you devil!" The man grins as he sets the bowl aside and sits up straighter, “Now watch the movie and stop trying to scare me. I hear this film is quite the psychological thriller on top of its more obvious… paranormal thrills.”

“Well, if you get too frightened, you can always hold my hand… I’d be more than willing to help, darling…” He slowly extends his left hand, palm up, toward Gale’s knee, letting the back of his fingers brush his soft denim jeans.

This is it. The most overt, least-deniable move he's made all night. It’s impossible to misinterpret. He adds in a shaky smile that—regrettably for him—is genuine.

It stings when Gale merely glances down at his offered hand and a slight, almost patronizing smile touches his lips. He moves his knee and brushes Astarion’s hand away with a quick, dismissive swipe of his own.

“Oh, very funny, Astarion. That was one time!” Gale snips, entirely missing the point. He grabs a handful of popcorn, accidentally dropping a few kernels onto Astarion’s chest as he pulls his hand back. “Focus! You’re going to miss the exposition.”

Astarion just blinks at him, feeling like he had been sucker punched in the gut.

What did he do wrong? What the fuck did he do wrong?

“Fine. Be that way,” he mutters under his breath. He can feel the heat of his shame tickling his skin and looks back at the television, clearing his throat.

For the next twenty minutes or so, he honestly tries to watch the film. If anything, it’s a nice distraction from the epic failure his attempts have just been. He’s beginning to think he’s misread their situation all along, and Gale really is trying to let him down easy.

How godsdamned embarrassing.

But as he settles into the plot, he finds himself becoming... legitimately uneasy. Gale’s movie choice isn’t some cheap gory slasher; it’s atmospheric and off-putting. It uses long, silent shots punctuated by haunting, simple sounds, and the score is a heavy, droning weight—like something out of classic horror like The Shining.

And it’s absolutely getting under his skin.

He watches the protagonist, Orpheus, creep down a shadowy hallway in the dilapidated mansion.

It’s just a movie, he thinks, trying to hold onto his poise. he instinctively pulls the throw blanket up to his chin, drawing his knees to his chest on the leather sofa.

Forget seducing Gale; the goal now is simply not to look like a pathetic coward.

Violin strings swell… Orpheus, rounds the corner, holding a flickering candle in his hand. Astarion’s hands rise unconsciously, forming a flimsy cage over his face, braced for impact and—

The scene cuts violently. A decaying face, eyes wide in a silent scream, fills the screen, accompanied by an ear-splitting shriek from the speakers that makes the TV console shake.

With a sharp, undignified yelp, Astarion jumps sideways. He finds his face instantly slammed into Gale’s warm chest, his hand gripping the soft fabric of his cashmere sweater. His frantic, shallow breaths are muffled by the dark fabric, and he feels the rapid thump-thump-thump of Gale’s heart beating against his ear.

A beat.

Two.

Astarion realizes what he’s done and slowly pulls away a few inches, his eyes meeting Gale’s. And the look he has on him is… well, it’s unreadable.

How fucking humiliating.

Gale

Gale is trying to watch the film. Operative word: trying. He's been looking forward to this one—supposedly a modern horror classic, a psychologically disturbing tale of doomed lovers. How fitting.

But Astarion is making it almost impossible to concentrate.

First, there is the business with the temperature - but Gale is sure the apartment is at the usual comfortable temperature he keeps it.

Then he has to try and ignore the absolute vision that is Astarion lounging against the couch beside him - sprawled out like an emperor on a throne, thin white shirt showing off the lean muscles of his arms, his lithe physique—a hint of his abs. Such smug confidence really shouldn't be so attractive, but it is.

It is a good thing Gale is practiced at ignoring Astarion's unfair beauty, or he might have gotten caught drooling over him like an idiot. But Gale is an old hand at this. So he just sips the whisky he has just poured for himself - a stronger drink to help him quell his nerves for the night.

Next, Astarion reaches over and tries to scare him, tickling his neck just as the main character was turning to look into a mirror. Gale flinches so hard it's a wonder the bowl of popcorn didn't go flying.

Gale laughs it off, of course, though his stomach flips with twin emotions of relief and disappointment. Relief because his theory is confirmed - Astarion has just been teasing him; trying to get a rise out of him, probably attempting to scare Gale out of his skin. And disappointment because the fun evening he planned with one of his closest friends is turning into a game he really doesn't want to be playing.

And Astarion is acting so strangely tonight. None of what he's been saying has made any sense, random non-sequiturs he can't make sense of. Since when does Astarion care about his heating bills?

But then Astarion places his hand on Gale's knee and his confusion turns to annoyance. Astarion teases him about getting scared—and yes, there had been that ONE horror movie with the jump scare that had caught Gale off guard so much that he kicked the coffee table over—but that was years ago! It’s a low blow for Astarion to bring it up now.

Gale tries to focus back on the movie, and not the way Astarion seems to be sulking next to him. He shifts slightly so that their legs are only just touching, taking another long sip of his drink to occupy his mind with something other than the feeling of the heat of his thigh.

The screen flickers into the background as he watches his friend, the movie's flickering lights bathing his face in cool, otherworldly tones. The lights catch in the soft curls of his pale hair, and his fingers twitch against his glass with the familiar longing to feel those tresses against his skin…

He fights a smile, noticing the way Astarion begins to clutch the blanket tighter, bringing it up to his chin. But he's not going to fall for that trick—not now he's onto Astarion's game.

Suddenly, watching Astarion is much more captivating than the film. He sees Astarion begin to flinch, almost cowering on the cushions. His eyes flick between the elf and the television.

Then a scream pierces the air, made three-dimensional by the sound system—and suddenly his lap is full of Astarion, whose head is pressed firmly against Gale's chest, whose fingers are pulling at his sweater, pressing himself tightly against him.

Gale freezes, his whole body going rigid as the breath catches in his throat at the unexpected touch. He stares down at Astarion, eyes wide. Is this still Astarion trying to rile him up? He waits for Astarion to pull back and cackle at him.

But then he notices the way Astarion is trembling - actually shaking, really, his breath coming quickly in shallow pants muffled by the cloth of his sweater. His face softens, skepticism vanishing in an instant.

Gods, he really is scared.

Instinctively, his arms move to settle around Astarion's shoulders, his hand beginning to rub soothing circles on the small of his back. He can feel the tremors even stronger now, through Astarion's entire body as he seems to press himself against Gale even tighter, as though he's trying to hide in his sweater.

“Cheap scare… It got me, too.” He murmurs with a laugh, attempting to ease the tension in the room. But he can't help himself - this is the closest he's ever allowed himself to get to the elf. He leans his face closer, catching a lungful of the bergamot cologne Astarion always favors. "Are you alright?"

“Quite fine. You know me, darling, I thrive under pressure,” comes Astarion's reply, sarcasm muted against the cashmere of his sweater.

Gale huffs another laugh in response. "Of course. Never doubted you for a moment."

He turns his body to bring Astarion slightly closer, looking over the man in his lap, his hands still splayed out and caressing his back. Platonically caressing.

This is fine - he's just offering comfort to a friend. There's nothing wrong with it. He's allowed to enjoy the unexpected closeness.

Then Astarion tilts his head to gaze up at him, and Gale can't look away.

Astarion

Gale doesn't push him away.

In fact, he brings his arms around him, one hand moving to gently rub Astarion’s back through the thin cotton of his t-shirt. The motion is so characteristically Gale.

“Cheap scare… It got me, too.” Gale faintly chuckles—not smug or cruel—his bourbon-tinged breath warm against Astarion’s ear. “Are you alright?”

Astarion means to laugh. Truly, he does. But the sound that leaves his trembling lips is frail. “Quite fine. You know me, darling, I thrive under pressure.”

Gale hums in response, eyeing him. Astarion is suddenly very aware of how warm Gale is under his hand… and how close they are in this moment. It shouldn’t feel so intimate, so safe. Yet, here it is.

And damn it all, it reminds him why he’s here in the first place.

Gale isn’t just kind. He isn’t just sweet or clever or endlessly accommodating or brilliant or gorgeous— there aren't enough words in the dictionary to describe how wonderful he is. How he makes those around him feel.

How he makes Astarion feel.

Even when Astarion’s sharp wit was nothing but a defensive mechanism, when his charm was a tool rather than naturally given. Gale had been the first to genuinely laugh with him instead of at his ridiculousness. The first to call him clever instead of cruel. And he had every reason to call him cruel with the way Astarion initially acted early on in their friendship.

Over the duration of their painfully platonic relationship, Gale has been steady where others faltered—always offering gentle, unasked-for care in ways that made Astarion’s defenses crumble into ash. He still remembers the time Gale showed up at his apartment with soup and a blanket after a particularly vicious breakup, pretending it was just an excuse to “test a new recipe.” Or when he would stay up late into the night, helping him with job applications. Or when he slipped a note into Astarion’s coat pocket before his first gallery showing that simply read, “I’m so proud of you, Astarion. Never forget: You’re magical.”

Or the gorgeous bouquet that followed.

He feels Gale’s fingers, still tracing slow circles between his shoulder blades, and he’s suddenly exhausted with restraint.

Gods, he’s ridiculous for waiting this long.

Before he can talk himself out of it again, Astarion leans up towards his face.

Bolstered with the same confidence Gale has always inspired in him, his hand reaches upwards and curls around Gale’s jaw. He brings his face down to his own and then he finally presses his lips to his.

They’re so soft.

Softer than he’s dreamed. And—ugh—that sounds rather cliché, doesn’t it? But it’s true.

For the first few seconds, Astarion notices, or rather feels, Gale stiffen under him. He panics—he’s gone too far. He’s ruined everything. All of it. He should have never—

And then Gale sighs into his lips and presses them in harder, even slowly inviting a peak of his tongue into his mouth.

For what feels like ages—and yet not enough time—they finally pull their faces away from one another. Gale’s eyes are twinkling. Astarion’s about to lean in again when—

Another shriek from the screen startles them both, the two yelping with very different sounds; Gale’s reflexively pulls Astarion closer.

“Fucking movie!” Astarion jeers, snatching the remote from the coffee table and hitting pause with a sharp click. The sudden silence makes them both laugh, breathless and a little dazed.

Gale’s hand is still on him, fingers curled lightly at his waist. “I think,” he says with a touch of exasperation, “that’s enough of movie night for tonight.”

Astarion grins, playing with his ear. “Oh, I don’t know. I was quite enjoying the suspense…”

“Astarion… tell me that wasn’t an accident.”

Astarion finally sees Gale’s earlier confidence from the night for what it really was: confusion mixed with fear.

He bursts into laughter in response.

“Gale, let me put it this way, if I had wanted that to be an accident, I wouldn’t have spent the last decade practically standing under a metaphorical neon sign that read ‘I want you’ while you politely walked past it to make us both tea instead.”

He slouches back just slightly, enough to meet Gale’s wide, copper eyes. “Honestly, I’ve been waving semaphore flags since graduation, but apparently subtlety and the arcane arts don’t mix.”

Gale blinks rapidly with a flush creeping up his neck. “Graduation?! I…I thought you were just—well, forgive me but… I thought you were merely—being you. You flirt with everyone. I didn’t want to misinterpret or…”

Astarion lets out another sharp laugh that immediately turns into an exasperated cough—he’s so utterly fond of Gale's inherent Galeness. He shakes his head, eyeing the poor bastard.

“Yes, I was being me. Just the version that’s hopelessly in love with you and far too stupid to say it plainly sooner.”

He scoots up to Gale again, takes his hand, and brings their clasped knuckles between them. He sighs, long and shaky, before continuing. “But if you need me to be plain now… I will be. You’re dense, Gale, but I adore you. I have for quite some time.”

Looking up at him again, he worries his bottom lip and tilts his head. “And… I’m hoping you feel the same about me?”

Gale

Gale sits, stunned, his usually lightning-fast mind struggling to make sense of the last few minutes.
The kiss. The Confession. The kiss - gods, Astarion's lips against his. Semaphore flags?

He drops the glass of bourbon onto the coffee table with a clunk, going over the night with ice-cold clarity. Astarion's lingering touches, his hand on the sofa, the weeks of flirting - years of it, maybe.

He's a fool. An oblivious fool.

Astarion is still gazing up at him with wide, hopeful eyes, and Gale is utterly lost.

He lets out a rough laugh, running a hand through his hair.

"Do I feel the same? Gods, Astarion. I - Yes. Emphatically, yes... I've been loving you from afar for years—longer than I care to admit. I just never imagined that you would feel the same about me… I thought - tonight, I thought it was some kind of joke." He sighs. He's usually more eloquent than this.

"Joke?" Astarion pulls back, raising a delicate eyebrow at him with a look of utter exasperation. "Darling, I do hope you know I have a better sense of humor than that." His voice is flat, but there is a hopeful smile in the corner of his lips that softens the burn of the remark.

Gale feels stuck between wanting to hide his face and draw Astarion closer to him. He settles for squeezing Astarion's hand tighter. "You know I don't have the best track record when it comes to relationships. This is—you are too important. I didn't want to assume too much and ruin the friendship we have. I was happy to settle for hopeless longing."

Astarion lets out a bright peal of laughter, one hand raising to cup his face, long fingers carding through his beard. "You silly, dense, gorgeous man. You really would have let yourself wither away from unrequited love, like some gothic heroine?"

Gale feels his cheek heat but nods, leaning his face into the hand. "I probably would have," he admits with a smile. "Did you know I changed my shirt three times before I came down? I had to hype myself up before we meet up, so I didn't give myself away. I've given myself so many pep talks that Tara has started to leave the room as soon as I start!"

This whole night has been utterly surreal. Astarion is here, in his arms - and… did he say he loves him? He loves him! He can't believe how long it took them to get here. It's just like some ending of a cheesy movie, Wyll always cries over.

He closes the distance between them. Their lips meet, and this time the kiss is not a question. It's not fraught with panic or fueled by adrenaline. It's a long, slow, tender exploration, the two of them finding how they fit against each other. He hears Astarion sigh against his mouth, and his hands fall to his waist, gripping tightly. It's more perfect than Gale could have ever imagined. And he'd imagined rather a lot.

He's just pulling back enough to breathe, pressing Astarion back against the cushions of the couch, when one of them rolls over the remote. The hideous face on the television screen continues its loud, aborted shriek. Once again Gale jumps, startled so hard he pulls Astarion off the couch and into a tangle of limbs and blanket on the rug.

He fumbles for the remote, cursing as he finally manages to find the stop button. Sheepishly, he turns to Astarion, who gives him one look before bursting into helpless laughter.

Gale laughs with him. The absurdity of the situation and the utter relief at having his feelings reciprocated hits all at once.

"Right. Well. Maybe a no-jump-scare rule is in order for next 'movie night'." His lips still tingle from the kiss. Gale looks at Astarion, a crumpled, laughing heap on the rug, and feels a wave of affection.

Astarion stops laughing to breathe. "Maybe," he agrees with a wheeze, then smiles deviously at him. "And maybe you should take me upstairs - somewhere more comfortable?"

Gale matches his smile. "I believe I can accommodate that."