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Astarion hisses as the needle jams through the fabric too quickly and into his finger with a sharp motion. He pulls away from the pale blue linen before the little bubble of blood can stain it, but in his haste manages to tug the needle so harshly the thread frays and snaps, sending the blasted thing flying somewhere behind him. He groans and tosses the garment onto the floor, blinking up at the room and rubbing at his eyes as they try to focus on something not two inches from his face.

The room is darker than when he last looked up, but not nearly as dark as the skyline behind the panes of his charmed window. Instead of the magically harmless sunbeams he most enjoys seeing behind that glass, this evening only has fat raindrops and ominous black clouds on offer. It sours his mood further for a moment, until he remembers he hadn’t bothered to light any candles when he’d begun his project several hours ago.

Turning from the terrible weather, he looks around the room and finds all the candles remain unlit. Instead, the brightness of the room is emanating from a lovely little display of dancing lights swirling across the ceiling. He smiles, despite himself, and wonders when Gale had managed to slip in here without him noticing.

He had heard him return home from Blackstaff what feels like a few minutes ago, but must have been a few hours by now, calling up his usual greetings. Astarion had not responded, too caught up in his latest design to deign him with random pleasantries. Such a thing is a rather common occurrence though and clearly Gale had not been too slighted by it. The unnecessary gesture (Astarion can see just fine in near complete darkness thank you) almost makes the dreary evening redeemable. Alas, even his wizard's thoughtfulness does little more than make him extra annoyed at the idea of venturing out into the storm.

He huffs and looks at the crumpled pile of satin and taffeta then back at the storm beating against the side of the tower. If he’d only gone out yesterday night… If he hadn’t decided he must finish the dress before seeing Mr. Haldark again, or if he hadn’t gotten distracted by reading the latest Drizzt book for three full days, then perhaps Talos would have refrained from punishing him.

Biting at his thumb nail, he considers his options. He could wait another night, an easy and practical idea, but it would mean going without his usual evening serving of blood. The thought should not rile him up so much; he’d had the last serving of his blood stores just this morning. Yet, in the few months he’d been making a home of the City of Splendors, he’d grown very accustomed to at least two full meals every day.

Morena had been the one to connect Gale to her old butcher friend and the one to introduce Astarion to his wife and daughter, who gleefully accepted his tailoring as payment for the butcher’s discretion. Between the first truly reliable source of meals Astarion had ever known and the ladies’ eagerly deployed word of mouth, he’d grown quite fond of the entire family. The dress he’d been tirelessly stitching is meant to be a gift for the daughter, Kirana, for her help drawing up the poster for his budding tailoring business. He’d wanted to bring it with him for this tenday’s pick up, so she’d have something nice to wear for the Fey Day parties in only a few days' time.

It’s nearly finished now and with another night of hemming, should be complete enough to serve its purpose. Bringing it with him as an exchange for the blood had seemed less charged, less revealing of his fondness for her, but honestly, he’s been invited inside their home several times at this point and can just deliver it to her directly. No, he’s grown too used to the dullness of his ever present hunger, to the sated warm feeling of safety his months in Waterdeep have brought him. Going without for a night is out of the question, blasted storm or not.

The only question that remains is how miserable he will be on his trip to the Haldark’s shop. A question that is best answered by seeing how easily he can needle Gale into venturing out into the horrid evening with him. With that decided, he stands and takes a moment to smooth out the dress and lay it across his ornate table. Gale had bought it for him when they’d turned this extra room into his tailoring studio and as much as Astarion teased him for the filigree on the thing, he rather likes the rich look of it now.

He gives a cursory effort to locate the thrown needle, but when it doesn’t show itself immediately, gives up and decides it will make itself known or it won’t. He has plenty of others. With another pleased look up at the delicate lights swirling over the ceiling, he heads out into the hall to find his sweet man.

It is much darker, curtains drawn tight over the windows Gale has yet to charm for Astarion. He promises they’ll have every one open to the sun one day, but their bedroom, Astarion’s workshop and the large bay window in the living room had been priorities. Even without the view, the wind and rain are still ever present as he moves through the space. It nearly drowns out the sounds of Gale moving through the kitchen, but the clink of glasses and soft footfalls guide Astarion on.

Gale is standing with his back to him, putting away the detritus from the meal he’s clearly just finished. It seems the hour is not quite as late as Astarion feared; he will have more time to convince Gale before the shop closes for the night.

With a comically loud and theatrical huff, he tosses himself over to their small dining table, sitting precariously on the edge of a chair and laying his chest flat against the wood. Gale doesn’t so much as startle.

Astarion huffs again, louder and longer as he spreads his arms out across the table and presses a cheek against the wood. He’s only a few feet from Gale’s back and watches as it flexes and shifts while he slides a clean plate back into the cupboard.

His fingers brush against the vase at the center of the table and he considers knocking it off the edge. It would certainly get Gale’s attention on him, but it would also count against his efforts to convince him to go out into the storm. No, Astarion will have to be the one to break the silence.

“Gale.” He whines, putting as much pathetic sorrow into the single word as he can manage.

“Yes, my love?” Gale replies immediately, tone indulgent, as it always seems to be when Astarion is making a menace of himself. It takes a lot of effort not to grin at the back of his head.

He gives another huff, nearly falling off his chair with the force of it, but gracefully managing to keep from slipping off. Gale still has not turned around, so Astarion glances at the bay window, the hideous weather displayed in it, and decides to just start his manipulation now. “When you asked me to come here with you, you did not tell me how miserably wet it would be!”

Gale finishes with the last small plate and turns to glance out the window; he can certainly see Astarion from the corner of his eye, but makes no move to fully face him. “It’s just a spring thunder storm, it’ll pass.”

“It’s a deluge!” Astarion whines back, flailing his arms up and around to see if that will get Gale to pay him attention. Blessedly, it works and Gale turns to give him an unimpressed look, eyebrow raised and arms crossing. There is a fondness in his eyes though, so Astarion just pouts and adds, “…are we sure there isn’t some terrible weather curse on this place?”

“It’s supposed to rain in early spring.” Gale assures him, leaning back against the worktop. He looks so good like this, relaxed in his undershirt, sleeves rolled over his elbows and hair tied up in a messy half-bun. If Astarion wasn’t so focused on his plan, he would go and get a taste of him. His undershirt is loose around the collar, exposing the line of his throat, the bit of hair at the top of his chest. If all else fails, Astarion is sure he could convince Gale to give a donation.

The effort needed for such a thing is too minimal though, and Astarion is having much more fun thinking about Gale reluctantly going out into the storm just to please him. Besides, they do try to keep feeding to a minimum on ‘school nights’ as Gale calls them. Potions only do so much and if Astarion hasn’t already fed, he ends up taking too much to keep Gale feeling well enough the following day. As much as he loves his flavor, Gale’s blood is not for sustenance, it is for savoring.

Gale is still watching him, a smile playing at the edge of his lips. Astarion blinks, moving his focus from warm tan skin back to the matter at hand. He pouts, but it doesn’t seem to move Gale very much, so he tries whining. “First we have to wallow in endless night and snow and now we have to wallow in endless rain and misery.”

“You loved the snow.” Gale laughs, pushing away from the worktop and stepping closer to the table. Astarion has to sit up to keep looking at him, shifting back in the chair and crossing his arms. “How many afternoons did you pull me out to go walking in it as soon as the sun went down?”

“That is entirely beside the point.” Astarion tells him, frowning deeply at the humor in Gale’s voice. While it is true Astarion enjoyed the feel of fresh crisp snow under his boots and Gale’s bright laugh as he drew crude images in it, he only tolerated the horrid weather.

Gale takes another step closer, resting one hand on the table and looking at Astarion with a patient expression. He has clearly worked out that Astarion is up to something, and it’s all Astarion can do to not grin up at him.

“Just because I managed to find some piece of joy in the bleak northern winter does not mean I liked it.” He continues, voice as irritated as he can make it with Gale fighting back his own smile so poorly. “I am just a joyful person.”

Gale laughs, loud and absolutely unrepentant. “Yes, you’re right. That is what everyone says about you. ‘Oh, that Astarion, he really is a ray of sunshine on a cloudy day.”

“Excuse you! I am your ray of sunshine.” Astarion whines at him and collapses back onto the table, arms crossed and face turned away from the rude wizard he can’t believe he puts up with.

“More like my puddle of misery.” Gale says, under his breath, but still clear enough. Astarion shifts so his back is more fully to him. Sighing, Gale steps closer still and plays a hand through Astarion’s hair. “…right now, at least.”

His voice is still light, but it has a little bit of genuine worry in it and Astarion latches onto it greedily.

“I’m starving.” He sighs, still looking away from Gale and trying his absolute hardest not to have too much of his grin bleed through into his voice. Although he is a tad hungry, he could easily go several more hours before his hunger would even start to bother him properly.

Gale’s fingers run further into his hair and Astarion can practically see the little furrow he gets when he’s worried about Astarion’s comfort. He would feel bad for tricking him this way, except that Gale really needs to improve his ability to read people and Astarion feels it is his duty to teach him.

With a deep, sorrowful sigh, Astarion goes in for the kill. “And I forgot to stop by the Haldark’s yesterday night and now I am without any sustenance in this gloomy prison you call The City of Splendors”

“Oh, is that all?” Gale says cheerily and Astarion spins to glare at him. “Take heart, you aren’t going to wither away any time soon, my love.”

There is not even the ghost of worry on his face and if Astarion weren’t so aghast at his lack of care, he would almost be impressed at how well he’d just been played. He feels real, actual, indignation flare in his gut and opens his mouth to demand Gale at least pretend to care about his very real plight.

Gale's smile grows as he drops his hand, gesturing to Astarion’s special chilled pantry. Astarion, well and truly annoyed now, can only gasp at the brazen cruelty. Why would this man - who keeps a closer eye to Astarion’s feeding schedule than a mother to a newborn’s - rub the lack of available blood in Astarion’s face? After everything they’ve been through, after all their months together, Gale would tease him so terribly?

When Astarion does nothing more than glare at him, Gale laughs, actually laughs, the bastard and clarifies, “I stopped on my way home today.”

All annoyance, feigned or otherwise, falls off of Astarion’s face in an instant as he blinks between the pantry and Gale. He feels off balance almost, chest suddenly light and shoulders falling in his shock. A moment ticks by and then he meets Gale’s eyes again, voice coming out achingly soft, as he asks, “You did?”

Gale’s smile gentles at that, any pretense from their little game forgotten. “I noticed you pouring the last of it this morning and with how dark the clouds were today, I, correctly, assumed you’d rather stay in, than make the walk out tonight.”

Astarion just blinks at him again, somehow still surprised, after all these months, at the way Gale cares for him. With a soft touch to Astarion’s hand, he steps away and heads over to the cupboard. Astarion just watches him, breath stuck in his throat.

It should have stopped at some point, these little acts Gale performs so easily. Yet, the longer their relationship continues, the more they seem to increase. From the letters Astarion finds discussing elaborate sun protection rituals with Rolan to the bolts of fabric delivered mere days after Astarion made a comment about wanting to find a specific color or blend. The dancing lights on the ceiling, the windows, the table, the blood and the charmed cabinet it’s stored inside: all things Astarion never even thought to ask for and all given without comment.

It’s a tender, aching thing, the way Astarion loves it. He’s a disaster, a menace bothering Gale constantly, stealing his robes when the chill starts to annoy him and demanding his company at every opportunity. Astarion had intended to drag him out into the rain, just to have someone to whine at about it, just to steal Gale’s warmth by clinging to him the entire way.

Gale is pulling out a large jar, the label marking it as Ox blood in Kirana’s elaborate scrawl. His back is to Astarion now, as he moves to place it on the worktop, probably planning to get right into preparing it, warmed and rich in Astarion’s preferred goblet. Astarion stands and moves to him, unable to resist a moment longer.

His arms wind around Gale, pulling him back against his chest and rubbing his chin into the meat of his shoulder. Starting a bit at the sudden affection, Gale lowers his arm from where it reached towards the cupboard. He leans back into the embrace, fearless and so deliciously warm, placing a hand over one of Astarion’s arms.

Astarion slides his chin to lower his cheek onto Gale’s shoulder so he can press his cold nose into his neck. It makes Gale shiver just slightly, but he doesn’t pull away, simply lets Astarion nuzzle into him. Crowding in closer, Astarion presses a lingering kiss to the underside of his jaw before pulling back and laying his head on Gale’s shoulder, far enough back to see the side of his face. He sighs, squeezes his arms tighter and tells him, “You are so good to me.”

It is only because he is so close that he notices the subtle stiffening. Gale’s jaw clenches, for a moment, as blood pinkens the tip of his ear, then rushes to his cheek and nose. It lingers and just as Astarion notices the quickening of Gale’s pulse, he speaks, “It was nothing; Haldark’s is barely out of my way.”

His voice is a touch too high and Astarion eyes him curiously, an idea niggling at the back of his mind.

“Still,” Astarion whispers, once again nosing along the line of Gale’s neck to find a soft place to kiss him. After lingering in it a moment, he pulls back to watch Gale’s face and finishes, “You are always so good for me.”

This time the reaction is more obvious, a hitched breath and a darker shade to the blush building on his face. It makes Astarion’s smile turn from something soft to something more predatory. He does love when Gale gets worked up, when he flushes and sighs so beautifully.

Gale clears his throat, tilting to look away from Astarion and smoothing a hand over the jar lid, the other fidgeting at the fabric of Astarion’s sleeve. When he speaks, his voice is artificially light, straining slightly. “It’s my pleasure. After all, I am keeping you captive in this ‘horrid northern wasteland.’”

The joke doesn’t quite land, not with the nervous energy radiating off of Gale in waves. It’s fascinating, a delicious little tease at something Astarion is suddenly very eager to figure out. He pulls back, hands lingering at Gale’s sides long enough to squeeze. With a final lingering pat, he steps away to sit on the table.

When Gale does not so much as glance back at him, makes no move to admonish him, Astarion’s curiosity increases intensely. He’d meant his praise as purely that, a gratitude for Gale’s boundless consideration, but now he finds himself eager to give it for entirely less altruistic reasons.

Gale is still standing, hand fidgeting with the jar lid and making no move to turn around or continue the task he’d clearly been set to do. So, Astarion decides to press, to test at the edge of this new discovery and tells him in a smooth, but stern voice, “Fetch me a goblet.”

Immediately, Gale straightens, casts a fleeting glance back at Astarion and, oh, the flush to his face is bright and undeniable now. He half expects Gale to say something, to furrow his brow and be annoyed at Astarion for teasing him or make some excuse to explain away his very obvious reaction. Instead, he lets out a heavy breath and turns back to grab the chalice.

“Thank you.” Astarion says when Gale sets it next to the jar and goes back to fidgeting with the lid. It doesn’t seem to inspire the same feelings in him, though his shoulders do relax slightly. With a hum, Astarion considers him and decides to press further. His voice is hard this time, less a request and more obviously a demand, “Warm it for me.”

Gale stills for a moment, uncertain, but Astarion can see the excitement in the way he shifts, can hear it in the speed of his heartbeat. He unclips the lid with a flick of his thumb and lifts it to pour with a steady hand. The goblet is filled quickly and Astarion waits, watches as Gale hesitates again. His hand lingers by the stem and his shoulders rise in a deliberately deep breath. Then, he closes the jar, picks up the cup and turns to face Astarion.

His cheeks are gloriously pink and his eyes catch Astarion’s for a moment before he’s glancing away. The gesture stirs something in Astarion’s chest, pulls a vicious, hungry grin across his face. With a quick movement of Gale’s wrist and a soft few words, the blood’s color shifts just slightly. He steps forward, back into Astarion’s space, closer than necessary to pass the warmed drink into a waiting hand.

Gale watches, eyes fixed on the rim, as Astarion brings it to his lips and tips the goblet just enough to feel the heated blood against the edge of his tongue. It’s perfect as always, but based on the intense focus of Gale’s eyes, testing it first was the right choice. Another shift and Astarion pours himself a mouthful, coppery and fresh, and relishes in the way Gale mirrors his deep swallow.

He keeps the cup close, edge resting on the end of his chin and smiles, sweet and pleased. It takes a moment, but when Gale finally looks up, finally meets his eyes, Astarion says, “Good boy.”

The reaction is immediate: a sharp quick whine, startling and beautiful. Nostrils flaring, Astarion sucks in a shocked, delighted breath and lets his grin grow darker.

Gale is still looking at him, focused and flushed as he opens his mouth as if to speak, but nothing comes out. Helplessly, he watches as Astarion takes another pull of blood, savors it in his mouth, and swallows.

“You like that.” Astarion tells him, using the same firm voice that inspired Gale’s delicious obedience. When Gale just continues to stare, fidgeting with the hem of his sleeves, Astarion drops the performance and asks gently, “Why are you so embarrassed about it?”

“I-” Gale tries and then looks away, reaching out with one hand to steady himself on the edge of the table, thumb nearly brushing Astarion’s thigh. “I’m not embarrassed.”

“No?” Astarion asks, reaching up with his free hand and running a finger over Gale’s red cheek, down his chin. Grasping it between his thumb and forefinger, he adds, “Could have fooled me.”

“Astarion.” Gale starts again, but nothing more comes out. Instead he just swallows and leans closer, now with both hands on either side of Astarion’s thighs. For all that he’s the one caging Astarion in, it’s the fingers on his chin keeping them in place. His eyes are a little lost, his breath unsteady. It makes Astarion want to press further, find the exact edge of this little display and trail his fingers along it.

“You know you are, right?” He asks, keeping Gale in place as he starts closer again, holding him back with the lightest pressure on his chin. “You are always so good for me.”

The words are barely out before Gale’s pupils blow wide. His knees buckle a bit, weight shifting forward and onto his palms for a moment as his mouth opens to let out a delicious little gasp.

Astarion wants to throw his cup to the ground and pull Gale into him. He wants to push Gale to the floor, climb into his lap and whisper filthy lines of praise into his ear for the rest of the evening. The desperate edge to Gale’s expression is devastating, pulling at Astarion and making him ache with how horribly he wants Gale’s hands on him.

Instead, he leans back, drops his hand and takes a less theatrical sip of his blood. It would be too easy to push the advantage here, to take exactly what he wants from the sweet man in front of him and he’s even mostly certain Gale would thank him for it. This is new though, unexpected, and there is something delicate about the shape of it. Astarion finds himself almost desperate to treat this with the same care Gale shows him everyday.

He waits, lets Gale breathe in and out a few times, watches as he relaxes back into something more familiar.

“Why haven’t we explored this before?” His voice is back to its usual quality and he drinks casually from the goblet without putting any effort into the appearance of the gesture. Gale watches him still, but the focus is less intense, less consuming, and his breathing has evened before he moves to speak again.

“It’s not something I’ve been lacking, if that’s what you’re thinking. I just…” Gale starts and then clears his throat to look away. The embarrassment now is more difficult, just as honest, but tinged with an edge of shame that Astarion wants to crush between his palms. “I enjoy knowing I’ve pleased you.”

“Yes, I know.” Astarion replies gently. He slides his free hand over the top of Gale’s, calming the clutch of it against the table and rubbing his thumb in a soft circle against it. Even without the response Astarion’s praise has garnered this evening, he’s known that Gale enjoys his appreciation. Anytime he can see Astarion is pleased or happy with his actions he gets a delighted little quality to him. In more intimate moments, he almost seems to feed on the sounds and displays of Astarion’s pleasure more than any touch or sensation.

Until now that has mostly resulted in Gale controlling the situation to best ensure Astarion is writhing and incoherent with delight by the end of every encounter. That has been a wonderful, beautiful thing that Astarion has no intention of ever going without. This is just a slightly different angle of approach and it uncoils something deep in the core of him, like a flower pressing up through the cracks in cobblestone.

With a squeeze of the hand beneath his own, Astarion adds, “But, this feels a little different.”

“I wasn’t expecting to have such a… visceral response to your words.” Gale replies after a breath, the embarrassment still catching at him. Astarion can see the twist of his mouth, the little shifts that imply he’s chewing at the inside of his cheek. With another squeeze of his hand, he pulls Gale out of the tic and brings his eyes back into focus. Gale hesitates, but they’ve talked about more difficult things than this and with another deep breath he continues, “I’ve enjoyed praise before, but, something about the way you said it…”

“Made you think of other ways you could be good for me?” Astarion asks, still keeping his voice neutral and not letting the heat he feels at the idea show again. A myriad of delicious thoughts play in his mind and it’s with great strength that he keeps his hold on Gale’s hand loose, keeps himself from spilling any blood in his eagerness.

“Yes.” Gale says, followed by a harsh swallow and Astarion can see a tiny shiver pass over him. He wants to press him against the wall, lick his neck and thank him for every tiny, wonderful thing he’s ever done.

“If you thought you’d enjoyed it, why not bring it up before? You’ve never shied away from sexual discussions.” Astarion asks, swallowing back the last of the blood, setting the cup aside and sliding his newly freed hand up to play at the ends of Gale’s hair.

It’s not entirely true. For all that Gale will boldly flip through the pages of a steamy romance novel and read passages aloud to inquire about any new positions Astarion might like to try, he’s never been very forthcoming about his own opinions on the matter. Astarion believed it to be a genuinely boundless deviance, at first; a breadth of enjoyment that made him reluctant to settle on any one thing for himself. After months navigating this tender romance with him though, he can see it for the desperate desire to be of value that Gale doggedly pursues from every avenue.

“It isn’t something I require.” Gale tells him sincerely, leaning into the hand at his nape and smiling at Astarion like that touch alone is enough praise to sate him. He glances away with a rueful edge pulling at his grin and adds, “Besides, how do you ask someone to tell you you're good?”

“Just like that, I imagine.” Astarion replies immediately, shifting to place both hands on Gale’s neck now, winding his fingers through the hair there and pulling him a touch closer.

“Astarion,” is all Gale manages in response. It’s not clear if he means it as an admonishment or a plea, as his eyes flick down to look at Astarion’s lips.

“Truly, I think it is that simple.” Astarion tells him, pulling him closer to feel Gale’s shivering exhalations against his own lips. He considers the ways this can play out, the places he can direct and pull and take Gale to; how he can best take care of the lovely thing in his hands. “Do you want me in charge? Want me to take care of you, or use you?”

Gale hesitates again, eyes stuck on Astarions’ lips, watching as the words fall from them, as they shift into something flirtatious, something a touch cruel. He shakes his head and blinks as if pulling himself out of a trance, voice low as he replies. “No, I mean… if you’d like that, of course you can. I’m sure it’d be very enjoyable, you-”

“Gale, I’m not asking because I want that. I’m asking because I want you to have what you’d like.” Astarion cuts off, gentling his hands and shifting them up to tuck a few stray hairs behind Gale’s ears. He looks back up to his eyes, big and so uncertain that Astarion could have something of a cry about it. Instead, he switches from the conversation a bit, back to the teasing, to see if it’s easier, if Gale can be more honest without the shame nipping at his heels.

“You’re always so sweet for me.” Astarion tries first, shivering when Gale whines, when he leans into the hands on his face without an ounce of hesitation.

“Always, so good and thoughtful.” He adds, opening his legs so Gale can crowd in closer and doesn’t stop him when those hands jump off the table and find his hips. They don’t pull, don’t demand, just hold, like they alone can keep Gale upright.

“You make me so happy, make me feel so loved.” This is said softer, an admission as much as a praise for Gale’s enjoyment. Whether it’s the honesty in his voice or the words themselves, it breaks a dam. Gale is pressing forward, head tucking up under Astarion’s so he can kiss desperately at his neck and he is pulling now, gathering his arms around and yanking Astarion so he’s just on the end of the table.

It’s delirious, the frenzy of his desire and Astarion almost falls back, easy as anything, into their usual pattern. He wants Gale to give and give, take him hard against the table and hold him there until Astarion can’t think of anything but the warm lover between his legs. It would be so easy and Gale would be lovely, would do just as he always does: take such wonderful care of him and be good.

He wants Gale to be the one delirious, though, wants Gale under him and whining as Astarion thanks him for everything he could do, would do, has done without a thought. So, he pulls at that soft hair, hard enough that his bun is lopsided and even messier as Gale comes back up to stare at him with bright, needy eyes.

Astarion just holds him there for a moment, frantically studying his face: the open mouth, the slack jaw, his wide beautiful eyes and the hysterical desire in them. Astarion’s voice is that same hard sharp thing he’d found earlier, when he says, “I want you to tell me exactly what you’d like.”

He delights in the dark pupils that consume nearly all of Gale’s lovely brown eyes, and smirks sharp as his daggers as he asks, “You’ll do that won't you, be a good boy and tell me?”

Gale groans, neck going limp, head held up only by Astarion’s grip on his hair and the hand now pressed up to cup the soft juncture of his jaw. “That, that is-” is all he can manage for a long moment, fingers clenching and relaxing against Astarion’s hips. He blinks, rapid and fluttering against his ruddy cheeks, then finishes with a crackling voice, “That’s what I want.”

“To do what I ask you?” Astarion teases, tightens and relaxes the hand in Gale’s hair just as he lets his other pet softly over Gale’s beard.

Both hands are jostled by the intensity of Gale’s nodding, which only stops when Astarion pulls him still. With fluttering eyes and a breathless voice, Gale answers, “And have you tell me you like it, that I’m… good for doing it.”

“Oh, darling.” Astarion says, and maybe too much affection seeps into his voice for the role he’s trying to play tonight. But, he can’t help himself, can’t do anything more than desperately love the creature cradled in his hands. “You are so lovely.”

“Yes, that-” Gale agrees, eyes slipping closed and head tipping back into the hand in his hair, leaning towards the other that still pets over his face. “I want that.”

He’s stunning, beautiful and rosy at the cheeks, over his nose. His chest is moving quickly and Astarion can hear the rapid thumping of his heart. It’s all for Astarion, all because he let Gale take care of him and thanked him for it. Everything about this seems impossible, precious and delicate, hotter than anything. He groans, loud and long as he lets his hand slip from Gale’s hair to hold his face and kiss those parted lips.

Gale folds into the affection, opens like fabric under a sharp blade and lets Astarion lick deeply into his mouth. There is hair falling over his face, some gets caught in their kiss and Astarion doesn’t even care. He just keeps kissing, pressing himself up tall where he sits at the table and pushing on Gale’s face until he bends at the knees so he’s tilted back. It’s wild, frantic and Gale just lets it go on and on, sucking in air every time Astarion allows it like he doesn’t expect another chance.

Eventually, he pulls back, knowing Gale can’t hold this position for too long with how his knees ache in weather like this. As he does, Gale chases after him, eyes still closed and mouth open, hair a mess and bun completely tilted to one side of his head.

“Ah-” Astarion says, sharp and firm as both his hands go to dig into those broad, warm shoulders. “Wait.”

Gale’s eyes open, and he stops in his forward fall, only straightens enough to take his weight out of his knees. Otherwise he freezes right where Astarion has him and just looks and looks and doesn’t do more than breathe. If Astarion thought him beautiful before, the sight before him now is a devastation. Hair tangled and messy, eyes glazed and lidded, mouth red and hanging open as he sucks in large, desperate gulps of air.

“Good boy.” Astarion whispers, but Gale still reacts as if he screamed it. Jolting, shivering and letting out a whine so delicious Astarion wishes he could live on that instead of blood.

Even so, Gale stays in place, standing with his hands still on Astarion’s hips and waiting for any other thing Astarion would ask. It’s horrible, addicting and Astarion wants to protect him from the entire world, kiss his forehead. It’s delicate, precious and Astarion wants to break him to pieces, keep going until he shatters those too.

“Oh you lovely thing.” He breathes, sliding his hands up Gale’s neck, back to gently pull the tie from his hair and then forward to smooth the flyaways into place behind his ears. “Would you just stand here and wait all night?”

The gentle touch almost seems to crack at Gale more than the rough, devouring kiss, as he nods and looks on with a broken, lost expression. Astarion swallows, cups his cheeks and pulls him so he can kiss that forehead, so he can nuzzle into his hair line. Still, Gale doesn’t move his body, doesn’t slide his hands to wrap around Astarion, though they tremble obviously with the desire. A shuttering breath leaves Astarion and he needs, needs to love Gale so well tonight.

“Gale, darling, you need to remember something for me. Alright?” He asks softly against the warm skin and soft hair beneath his lips.

“A-alright.” Gale says and his voice is not nearly as far away as Astarion worried it might be. He pulls him closer, reaches down with one hand and signals Gale to hold him, to wrap them together in an awkward embrace. The table is pressing into Gale’s thighs and Astarion is not tall enough for Gale to be that comfortable hunching under Astarion’s chin so sweetly. Still, he sighs into it, flutters his lashes against Astarion’s neck and wraps his arms fully around his waist.

Astarion pets the side of Gale’s face, smooths over his neck and down his shoulder. He thinks back to those first few times between them, after rediscovering it on his grave, the delicate way Gale had navigated them through all the twists and turns of Astarion’s truly free body. He can hear Gale’s voice in his mind as he speaks the words, sweet as anything against the top of Gale’s head. “If you don’t like something, or want to stop, or become uncomfortable, you only have to say it.”

He hears a light chuckle, feels the gentle shake of the shoulder under his hand and smiles when Gale replies, “I know.”

“No, really.” Astarion says with his own light laugh and then directs Gale back again. Makes him pull fully away. Makes him drop his hands to his side and stand so they can face each other. Even so, Astarion can’t keep his own hands to himself and starts running them over the hem at Gale’s neck, following it down so he can pull one half of the wrap shirt out from where it’s tucked into Gale’s trousers.

“As you’ve told me many times, ‘enthusiastic participation or nothing happens.’” Astarion recites again, untying the string that keeps the shirt closed tight and letting it fall open. Gale is still standing, letting Astarion do as he pleases, but the words have him looking less bleary-eyed. “This is only fun if you enjoy it,” he continues, reaching around Gale’s back to get the shirt fully untucked and then back to slide it open, to expose his chest and stomach. “And as much as having you listen to me will make me very happy. You telling me no if you need to, will make you the best boy.”

“Astarion.” Gale groans and Astarion is rather sure his point has gotten across, so he splays his hands over the newly exposed skin, presses his hand into the delicious swell of Gale’s belly and runs it up through the dark hair and over his chest.

“Just so it’s clear.” Astarion tells him and then pressed up with both hands to shove the cloth over and off Gale’s shoulders. He knows Gale won’t like it laying on the kitchen floor all night, but for now it will be fine right there. Besides if the rough quality of Gale’s breathing is anything to go by, he’s glad to have Astarion rubbing over his bare chest.

Astarion leans forward, presses a kiss just shy of his left nipple and grins up at Gale when that makes him grunt so sweetly under his breath. “Now, I think you’ve been very patient.” Another kiss, a touch closer and then Astarion pulls fully back to look at the delicious treat before him. “And patient boys deserve to get a treat.”

“Yes.” Gale agrees, breath still heavy, but he’s clearer-eyed and Astarion can’t wait to tease and press him back into the needly little creature they’ve found tonight.

“I’m the treat, in case that wasn’t clear.” Astarion clarifies, both hands smoothing over his chest and catching quick to pinch at both nipples before smoothing back down.

“It was clear.” His voice is strangled now, chest arching into the pale hands petting up, down, across and over his torso. Astarion has always loved how soft and hairy his sweet wizard is and he never gets to pet over him enough to satisfy.

“Just trying to be completely ‘open and honest’.” Once again it’s a recitation, Astarion even goes so far as mimicking Gale, though it’s a poor imitation with how focused he is on squeezing over the meat of Gale’s sides, the swell of his belly and chest.

“I’m going to leave you here.” Gale grinds out through his teeth. His arms are shivering slightly at his sides with the effort not to reach out, to stay just where Astarion has placed him.

“You’ll do no such thing,” he almost sings, teasing through the air like a bell, sweet as the smile Astarion casts him. He licks over his bottom lip, showy and shivering as Gale watches the movement. “You’ll stay right where I want you. Won’t you, my dear?”

“Yes.” Gale agrees immediately, painfully honest and deliciously desperate.

“Good boy.” Astarion all but moans, hips shifting a bit as he unconsciously chases after the hot body just a touch too far to satisfy. Gale outright moans, higher than Astarion’s ever heard from him and suddenly it’s all Astarion can do not to climb onto him, throw himself down at his feet and suck him deep into his throat. Gods, but he wants to hear that noise all night.

“Step back, darling.” He orders, hands up to press Gale back enough that he can stand close, face to face and relish the slight way Gale has to tilt back to keep looking in his eyes. He bites the apple of his cheek, lightly, but enough to have Gale gasping, then takes his hand and pulls.

The fire is going strong, warming Astarion as he leads them fully into the sitting area and when he turns back to face him, he sighs at the way it makes Gale’s skin glow faintly. They’ve circled around the plush blue loveseat so Gale’s back is to it now, knees brushing over the edge. He doesn’t move, doesn’t shift, just looks at Astarion with bright eyes, with warm cheeks and slightly parted lips. He’s perfect and Astarion could consume him, could love him until the whole world cracked under the weight of it.

“Sit, my love.” He whispers and releases their held hands so he can smooth both of his over those broad shoulders, direct even, as Gale listens so sweetly. “Relax and let me do what I want with you.”

“Please.” Gale begs, settling fully back into the chair and pressing into the soft cushion. The rich blue suits him, makes him look like some romantic painting, all masculine lines and warm firelight on his dark features. Astarion lets one hand slip through his hair, over his scalp and down to brush it smoothly over the back of the couch so it won’t pull. His other runs along the rounded top of the couch, plays over the smooth fabric lazily.

“You bought this for me, didn’t you?” Astarion asks him, looking away from the play of his fingers to smile sweetly at Gale.

“Yes.”

And Gale had, only a few days after they’d started making this house into their home. The two chairs that used to sit here were beautiful, ornate and expensive, perfectly comfortable to sit and drink a late night brandy or read side by side. Astarion had hated them, hated the delicate little table that sat between them and kept Gale so far away. After crawling into his lap and complaining about being unable to steal all his warmth one night, Gale had smiled and promised to correct his error. A few days later this seat appeared and Astarion refuses to call what they do every night since cuddling, but does press himself all along Gale’s side nonetheless.

He leans back, stands straight and smooths over the front of his loose shirt. He plays over the hem so Gale will swallow, so he’ll get caught looking so intently at where he wants Astarion bare. Pale hands catch on the fabric and lift ever so slightly and Astarion grins sharp at the way those dark eyes follow the movement, at the way Gale shifts in the seat. It makes the man’s trousers pull tighter over the hard line of his cock and soft swell of his thighs.

“You bought it just so I could sit close to you, steal your warmth and smell you while we read together.” The words have Gale’s eyes back on his, big and hopeful, like he didn’t know how much Astarion loves this, like Astarion never properly thanked him. Maybe he hadn’t, maybe he never made it clear and that makes him yank at his shirt, makes him nearly tear it off so Gale can have what he’d like, so Gale can see the way Astarion’s chest heaves with his desire, pointless breath rapid and desperate.

“Don’t you know how much I love being by you?” Astarion asks, demands, as he tips forward again, as he licks up the side of Gale’s neck and clenches hard on the back of the couch. He pulls back to see Gale in the cage of his arms, back arched and yearning. “I love feeling you close, listening to your heartbeat, knowing you're all mine.”

Gale looks so lost, so devastated and joyful at the words. It’s better than his neediness earlier, more fragile and, oh, oh gods, Astarion will take such good care of it. He’ll cradle it and worship it and make sure Gale has the black, obsessive love Astarion feels for him burned into his very skin.

“I feel so safe with you near me.” He whispers, tilting only far enough away that he can hold his weight in his legs, clench his stomach and bring both hands to start at the ties of his own trousers. Their faces are still close, he can feel the huffs of Gale’s breathing against his cheek, hear the shattered whine play out almost directly into his ear.

“I get so lonely without my soft warm human, my sweet boy.” Astarion admits, breathy and wild as he yanks off underwear and all, fabric wet and sticking to the side of his leg a moment as they slide off. His own cock throbs, pulses as he stands back to step out of and kick the trousers away. Gale can surely see how red and swollen his lips and cock are, but his eyes are stuck to Astarion’s face, latched onto his mouth as he continues to speak. “I’d keep you right here, bare chest and all mine, if only I could.”

“I’d let you,” falls from Gale’s mouth, breathy and low, so horribly honest. Astarion needs him, aches through his entire body with how badly he needs this wonderful man. Without a thought, he falls to his knees, hands sliding up Gale’s thighs and over the hot bulge of his cock. He looks up, smirks at the high whine and pleading eyes as he presses down with his palm. Gale’s hands clutch and flex at his sides and Astarion tilts his head in thought, picking at the strings at Gale’s waist with his free hand.

“Get your fingers wet for me.” Astarion tells him, nodding at one hand as he relents and stops pressing so harshly into Gale. Hips tilt up, flex and then fall back into the couch as Gale listens and quickly presses three fingers into his own mouth. He’s messy about it, eyes so dark, huffs of breath falling out between broad licks across each.

“Good boy.” Astarion groans, head falling down so he can nuzzle into the line of Gale’s waist band, press his nose into the soft spill of skin and fat. When Gale groans, deep and guttural between his fingers Astarion can’t help himself and starts violently yanking on the cloth beneath his hands. He twists awkwardly, arches so he can keep his face pressed against Gale, can keep smelling the musk and sweat of him as he pulls. Gale uses his unoccupied hand to press himself up as much as he can with Astarion’s face nuzzling into him so insistently.

Through sheer force of will they manage to wrestle Gale bare, trousers pooled at his feet and cock standing proud at the side of Astarion’s face. Astarion mouths at his stomach, over the crest of it and into the dip of his hip, hands rubbing up the sides of his thighs. He lets his fangs drag across the skin, catch every so often so he can hear the wet whines Gale gives him in response. With a rough movement, he presses his thighs wider, making them twist open to accommodate the way his ankles are still kept close by his trousers.

He licks the juncture of one hip, and then wildly drags his face along the soft hair of one inner thigh, breathing deeply at the light scratch. He feels drunk on it, the feel and smell of Gale’s plush skin as he pressed his nose hard into it. Nails scratch down, enough to see little red lines in their wake and Astarion’s mouth waters at the sight. He opens his mouth wide, teases his fangs at the inner swell of Gale’s right thigh and twists to see the face making such horribly needy noises above him.

“Yes, sweet boy?” He asks, chest heaving as he watches Gale fuck his own fingers between his lips, pressing down on his tongue and practically gaging himself in an effort to listen to Astarion’s previous instruction. Those wide, lost eyes are zeroed in on his mouth, desire wild and alive in the gaze as his hips jerk and tilt to try and press into Astarion’s fangs. When he holds them steady, forces them down hard into the velvet, Gale practically wails, eyes rolling back and chest shivering in terrible delight.

“Take your fingers out and tell me what you want.” Astarion barks out, harsh and dark, entire body starved and aching at the sight of saliva dripping off Gale’s large fingers and stringing between them and his lips. He keeps his hand raised, close, hovering just past his chin and so clearly ready to press back in, should Astarion want it.

“Bite me, please. Please I want it, gods please bite me.” Gale whines, voice high and thready, rough from the force he’d used shoving his fingers against his tongue. It makes Astarion shiver, makes him squeeze his own thighs close together in some poor attempt to get some friction, to stifle the whine as he feels himself clench around nothing.

“Oh, how could I not?” Astarion agrees, looking away and licking a long stripe over warm skin. With a harsh few deep breaths and another quick glance up at Gale, he sighs out, “you smell so lovely and asked so sweetly.”

“Yes, yes.” Gale agrees, unsoaked hand shifting closer, clutching at the cushion helplessly to keep from grabbing Astarion’s head like is his habit. The sight pulls a rough growl from Astarion and he pushes down hard on his legs when Gale rocks up into the noise. He wants that hand in his hair, but oh so much more he wants Gale to listen and wait and only do what Astarion asks.

“Fingers back in your mouth.” He commands and then opens his mouth wide to bite hard into Gale’s inner thigh. It is impossible to decide if the rich coppery flow or the broken gasp leaking past Gale’s hand is better, if either is the reason Astarion shivers and closes his eyes. Both drive him mad, make his own hips jerk and he considers briefly trying to twist and pull Gale’s shin between his legs. It would be awkward, the angle too lopsided to really give any kind of relief, but the thought of Gale’s thick leg hair wet with Astarion’s frantic need almost makes him give it a try anyways.

He needs to be fucked, hours ago at this point, but he also needs to drink and listen to Gale gurgle and whine above him. Needs to look over and see the white knuckles of Gale’s desperate restraint. It’s so heady, so delicious and Astarion could gorge himself if he’s not careful. With reluctance he pulls off, laves over the perfect pinpricks of red on Gale’s olive skin and leans back to look up at Gale’s devastated face. Slowly, he reaches up, grabs Gale’s wrist with one hand as he uses the other to press himself up from his knees.

“Touch me,” Astarion tells him, pulling Gale’s wet fingers away from that sinful mouth and moving them lower as he comes to kneel over Gale’s lap. He keeps their eyes fixed, watches every small movement of Gale’s face, every shift of his lips as he gulps in air like a drowning man. When those soaked digits slide over his mound, Astarion lets go of the wrist to catch his weight against the back of the couch. “Feel how wet and hard I am for you already? How badly I want you?”

“Astarion.” Gale sobs, free hand flying up to clasp the armrest like he’s the one moments from collapsing. The slick glide of his fingers as they slip over Astarion’s cock make them both gasp, the bundle of nerves hard and twitching into the touch.

“That’s it, oh, I love your hands.” Astarion tells him, giving up on keeping his composure and just tossing both arms over Gale’s shoulders, pressing the side of his head into Gale’s hair. When Gale pushes further, when it becomes apparent the saliva on his fingers is nothing compared to the filthy drip between Astarion’s folds, they both groan.

“Oh, Astarion.” Gale whispers, two fingers dipping in slightly, tips just teasing in and then back out once, twice. On the third press Astarion meets it hard, sliding his legs wider and pushing his hips down desperately.

“I love to have you inside me.” Astarion admits, arms shifting so he is holding Gale’s back and pulling them closer together. It makes Gale’s cock bump into the juncture of Astarion’s hip and thigh and pulls a rough breath from them both.

“Love it...” Gale replies, possibly a question or maybe just a proclamation about the way his two fingers press in fully, the way the base of his palm presses up hard against Astarion’s cock.

“You feel so wonderful,” Astarion whines, grinding down and forward, chasing the pressure of Gale’s hand and the feel of his hot flesh rubbing against Astarion’s hip. He clutches tight, swirling his hips to try and force Gale’s fingers impossibly deeper. “I could have you do this all day, just sit in your lap, full with your fingers or your cock, keeping you so, so close to me.”

“Gods, I-” Gale tries, but the breath is punched out of him as Astarion leans back just enough to slide a hand down Gale’s soft chest. He pinches hard at a nipple, then rubs over it briefly before sliding lower. “I’d let… you can… anything!”

The last word collapses out of him, broken and high as Astarion slides his palm over Gale’s cock and presses it hard against his stomach. He shushes the whine, petting up and down the length, and rocks his hips when Gale stops grinding his fingers in.

“I’m-” Gale tries, an apology on his lips as he starts to finger Astarion in earnest, curling his fingers in and up then pulling them as far out as their position will allow.

“No, no, don’t worry.” Astarion shushes, pulls on the arm still holding Gale’s back as he rubs his face along the side of Gale’s. “You don’t need to say anything, my beautiful boy.”

Gale tries to nod maybe, or possibly just nuzzle himself. It drags the soft hairs of his beard against Astarion’s cheek and pulls a light breathy laugh from Astarion’s mouth. He loves Gale so much, feels so terribly full with it and his fingers, still fucking in and out with as much finesse as Gale could possibly achieve with his arm pinned under Astarion.

“Just enjoy it, just feel good.” Astarion whispers, tilting so he can kiss over his cheek and drag his mouth down so his breath fans across Gale’s sweet round ear. “You are such a lovely, darling boy for me. Let me take care of you, let me love you.”

“Yes. Yes yes yes yes.” Gale chants, hips straining and pressing up into Astarion’s hand as it continues its teasing pets over the hard line of his cock. Astarion lets his forehead fall down, closes his eyes and just feels, rocks down as he pets up, then reverses the motion. He loves the feel of Gale’s cock, loves the slide of foreskin as it bunches up by the head, loves how he can’t quite circle even his long fingers around its impressive girth. Loves to have it pressed inside his cunt, unyielding and so gloriously huge.

The idea makes his thighs shake, makes them slip wider, one knee hitting the arm rest and making him lean slightly off center over Gale’s lap. It pushes Gale’s hand harder into him, makes the ball of his palm slip up and back down over his cock. Astarion groans into the space between their chests, “Good boy, press harder.”

Gale listens, shoulder shifting and arm flexing as he shoves up into Astarion’s wet hole. It makes Astarion tremble more, makes him clench tight and desperate around the too small press of his fingers. Gale is huffing desperately, his free hand scrambling up and over the side of the couch. It’s so sweet, the way he grinds up with his hips unconsciously, the way he keeps working hard in and out of Astarion while wanting so clearly to grip, to fuck.

“More, another finger.” Astarion demands, head still resting on Gale’s warm shoulder and gaze flicking between his heaving chest, his leaking cock and his clutching hand, that perfect display of Gale’s obedience. It’s awkward, clearly difficult. The movement jostles Astarion’s head as Gale twists his arm, slips a third finger through the mess of Astarion’s arousal and pops it in with a harsh flick. It’s perfect, rough and so much closer to the fullness Astarion is craving.

“Fuck them, press in, make me feel good.” He demands, squeezing over Gale’s cock and pumping it faster. The whine that gets him is nearly as perfect as the curl and flex of Gale’s hand as he tries so hard to obey, to listen and be such a wonderful, perfect boy.

Astarion loves him, loves this, loves how safe and powerful he feels pried open and soaking in Gale’s warm lap. With two more quick strokes he pulls his hand away, shushing against Gale’s cheek when it earns him a broken cry of loss. He pulls himself up to look down at his beautiful creature, newly freed hand reaching to grab Gale’s and pull it over to hold his hip. With the permission, Gale’s grip is hard and with the added space from Astarion’s new position, Gale’s fingers thrust harder, turn and tilt so he can press up against Astarion’s cock with his thumb.

“You are so good at this, so perfect.” Astarion tells him breathlessly, thighs shaking and hands sliding up and over his shoulders, around to hold on either side of his neck. It does something to Gale, being able to see Astarion’s face as he speaks the praises. His eyes are wet, wide, and focused on Astarion like he is the only thing in Gale’s entire world. It’s devastating, horribly arousing and Astarion feels his peak barreling towards him, so deliciously close.

He lets it come, breath growing more and more ragged, thighs trembling and cock pulsing against Gale’s hand. As it starts, as it zips up his spine, he wills himself to keep his eyes open, to keep them locked on the blown wide pupils and pleading look in Gale’s. He wants Gale to see how perfect he is, how wonderful he makes Astarion feel. It’s impossible to say the words now, with his mouth hanging open in a soundless scream, with his teeth mashing together and his eyes squeezing closed despite his best efforts.

It’s so good, Gale’s fingers curling and flicking so deep, his thumb pressing and circling exactly how Astarion likes best. He doesn’t let up, keeps going to drag it out, to pull every pulsing flex of Astarion’s stomach, every punched out breath. It isn’t until Astarion is whining, keening and twisting away that Gale relents, stilling and gentling until his hand is limp and his fingers just rest inside, keeping Astarion full and warm.

The hand at his hip clenches and relaxes, squeezing a reassurance, a bit of comfort as Astarion shivers and comes down from the high. It’s lovely, familiar and calming. It makes Astarion smile as he pulls Gale’s face closer to kiss him, wet and open mouthed. He can’t stand it, feels his own eyes wet as he pulls his weak thighs tighter so he can press down and dive completely into Gale’s wet heat. He wishes they could fuse, that he could never exist without Gale inside and under and all around him.

He needs more, needs it to last and last until they are both shaking and sore, until Gale knows how perfectly wonderful he is, how desperately Astarion adores him.

“Pull them out and touch yourself.” He says into Gale’s mouth, growls along the plush red line of his inviting lips.

Gale, the perfect boy he is, listens as he has all night. He’s soft about it, slow and gentle as he pulls his arm back and lets his fingers slip out with a wet squelch. Astarion pulls back enough to watch, to look down at Gale’s open face and the movement of his hand across the tiny space between Astarion’s hole and his bright red cock. Those eyes are so bright, open and searching Astarion’s face as he starts to slide his hand up and over himself.

“You like how my wetness feels on you, don’t you, sweetling?” Astarion asks, sitting back further and relishing the way Gale follows with his eyes, with the tilt of his head. Hair is sticking to the sweat along his forehead and his cheeks are so vibrantly red Astarion almost wants to bite and feed from them.

Gale moans, open mouthed and his head falls back to rest against the sofa like he’s the one coming down from orgasm. It’s faint, but Astarion can see that he is nodding, trying so preciously to answer the question.

“Good boy.” Astarion tells him gently, slipping one hand up to pet across his face and up to tuck the loose hairs behind his ears. It sounds like something else, like a confession of the affection Gale must see in Astarion’s wet, awed eyes.

Gale doesn’t jerk himself, doesn’t do more than trail his fingers around and over, coating every corner with the sticky slick dripping off his hand. He stares at Astarion as he works, a few tears spilling over and running down his flushed cheeks. It’s perfect, and Astarion must tell him that too, must lean over to kiss the rounded shell of his ear and confesses, “You are everything to me, my dear. Everything.”

He should wait a bit longer, his legs still tremble slightly as he lifts himself up higher and even the brush of Gale’s stomach hair makes his cock tingle with oversensitivity. It’s impossible though, he can’t help himself, can only reach down to pull Gale’s hand away. It takes just a slight tilt of his hips, a tiny shift in direction of Gale’s hard cock and the head pops into Astarion’s swollen, desperate entrance.

He’s so large, so warm and hard as Astarion settles down, taking it slowly, hungrily into himself. Gale’s breath punches out of him and both hands fly up to clench at Astarion’s hips, shaking with the effort not to pull. The action yanks a languid sigh from Astarion’s lips and he pets up the swell of Gale’s belly, slides his fingers over the soft hair there as he focuses back on Gale’s face.

“No moving, stay still.” Astarion tells him softly, grasping Gale’s neck with one hand and continuing his petting with the other. “Let me take what I want from you.”

“Yes, please.” Gale agrees and his voice is so broken, hoarse as he flexes his hands over and over on Astarion’s hips. When Astarion finally takes it all, when he sinks all his weight down into the bowl of Gale’s pelvis, more words tumble out of Gale’s panting mouth. “Please, Astarion. Anything, everything. All yours.”

“Good boy, fuck, gods, you are so big. So warm.” Astarion groans as his head falls back, as he flexes and rolls his hips to just feel the terrible fullness. Gale’s hands keep him steady. The heavy thump of his heart as Astarion pets higher and presses his palm against it, keeps Astarion tethered by a thin thread. He could cum again just like this, just from the pressure alone, the way Gale twitches inside him, the way every breath presses and pulls against the rim of Astarion’s hole.

“I wanted to do more, make you wild, but I just-” Astarion whimpers, eyes pressing closed, harsh as he rocks back and forth, whining at the way Gale’s low stomach rubs so perfectly against his own cock. This position drives him so deep, presses so insistently inside that Astarion knows he can’t last long. “I need it, I need you so bad, darling. Want you all the time.”

“Please.” Gale groans, hands holding tighter still and legs shaking nearly violent under Astarion’s ass. It’s so lovely, so precious, so perfectly the sweet heart of Gale to wait, to hold himself back and listen to Astarion’s pleas. They could shake like this forever and Gale would take it, would quiver beneath him and let Astarion take and take, give so completely of himself and still find more to offer.

Astarion loves him acutely, painfully, sharp as a blade and beyond anything he ever thought himself capable. He needs him like blood, needs him to live, to continue to exist for any length of time. His cock is perfect and Astarion wants it to fuck him senseless, wants it to shove and fill and take anything Gale wants from his body.

He moans and uses every bit of strength he can find to open his eyes and focus back on Gale, to wind his arms up and around his shoulders and to pull his legs tighter so Gale slips out just enough that it will feel so good when he presses back in again.

“Grab me.” Astarion starts, and Gale’s hands tighten, span impossibly further around the narrow rise of Astarion’ships. Still he keeps waiting and looking up at Astarion for his next request. With a ragged breath Astarion nods and demands, begs, “fuck me, take what you need, sweet boy.”

And Gale listens.

His legs flex suddenly, his hips thrust immediately and then sink back down just as quickly, over and over, rapid and exactly what Astarion asked.

“Yes, oh gods, yes.” Astarion wails, falls forward to bury his face in Gale’s warm neck. It’s so hard, so fast, pulling on the walls of his swollen cunt and creating such delicious wet slapping sounds. With Astarion pressed forward, collapsed with his arms clinging to Gale’s shoulders, the angle is exactly right. Gale’s head is hitting and then sliding past the sore tender spot that makes Astarion’s cock throb almost painfully. The swell of his stomach gives just enough that Astarion can grind and rub as Gale pulls and yanks his hips down.

“So good, such a good boy, so perfect.” Astarion is babbling, his eyes rolling back and his body falling limp. Gale holds him so well, fucks up into him with a power that makes Astarion want to cry, want to scream wildly into the open kitchen he looks out at.

“Harder, gods, harder” He begs pointlessly, Gale is already driving into him with abandon, already squeezing so hard Astarion hopes he may be blessed enough to bruise. He thinks he might be cumming again already, the pleasure cresting and roiling over him like a raging storm. It stings almost, hurts gloriously as Gale keeps pounding and pressing, his moans loud and precious in Astarion’s ears.

“Gale, Gale, Ga-” Is all he can manage, cut off with a choking sob, his hands scrambling because now, now he’s cumming, spasming and clenching so hard around Gale’s cock it’s a wonder the man can still keep moving, still drive and pull without a moment's pause. His arms tremble, his breath punches out in what might be Astarion’s name, but it’s so broken it could really be anything. Still he keeps going, sweat almost pouring down his forehead, hips working so hard, mind so clearly focused on doing exactly what Astarion asked of him.

“Cum, gods, please cum in me. I need it. I need it, Gale.” Astarion’s voice is so high, threaded as his body wars with oversensitivity, as pleasure assaults him, rips and pulls at his body like it plans to leave nothing left by the time it’s done. “Be a good boy, cum inside me, please.”

Gale speeds up impossibly, rhythm flying out the charmed bay window, tossed into the fireplace at Astarion’s back. It shouldn’t be better, it shouldn’t be possible for Astarion to cum again, but the feeling is there, clawing at his mind, scratching down his back and making him sob broken and wet in Gale’s neck. He can’t take it, he can’t possibly go a moment without this blinding pleasure, without Gale so warm under and inside him.

“That’s it, so good! So good for me.” Astarion cries, and Gale’s rhythm breaks again, his voice shattering halfway through a low shout as he stills. Hips raised and hands pulling on Astarion’s hips, he presses his cock in so far, so completely, Astarion can almost feel it in the back of his throat. He is silent in it, only the smallest grinding shifts of his hips make it clear that time hasn’t completely left them. Astarion takes it, shivering and breathing ragged at the utter bliss of Gale inside him.

“Yes.” He whispers, whole body falling even more limp, held up and caught in Gale’s glorious heat. He hopes it never ends, hopes Gale fills him fit to bursting, hopes Gale knows how perfect and wonderful Astarion finds him.

Of course, Gale eventually settles back down, collapses more like, against the soft cushions as his hands loosen their death grip and slide to pet over Astarion’s back. They pay no mind to the scars, just pet up and down, circle around and pull Astarion close and safe into his chest. They breathe, fast and ragged at first, but slowing more and more as they gentle and guide each other with pressed chests and faces curled into necks.

“So lovely.” Astarion tells him, curling closer and pressing his lips in the imitation of a kiss to Gale’s pulse. His chest keeps rising so far, pressing Astarion up and then back down. He could listen to it all night, stay here well into the morning and longer still. Gale is so warm, so sticky with sweat and he smells better than anything else. Those big hands hold Astarion so perfectly, feel so wonderful as they cradle him tight and comfortable.

The fire is a blanket along his back and Gale’s sweaty body is the best bed he’s ever laid on. The beat of his heart and the slowing waves of his breathing are the single most soothing noises this side of the Trackless Sea. Oh, how Astarion loves him.

Time is a syrup, pulling thin and dripping over their minds as they rest, connected and quiet.

It isn’t until Gale’s cock has started to soften that Astarion even manages to think anything more than vague happy sighs. He is sore, tender around his rim and aching somewhere behind his low belly. Even with it slowly shrinking down, Gale’s cock is large and stretching him so wide. He can feel the pulsing of them both there, feel each subtle shift as it starts to slide out.

“Gods, Astarion, that was…” Gale’s voice is barely a whisper, breathy and fading away as he summons strength enough to lift Astarion and let his cock finish its exit.

“Perfect.” Astarion assures, settling closer with his hips as he shifts back at the shoulders so he can look at Gale’s flushed face. His eyes are still a bit far, floating and peaceful, so Astarion pets down one cheek and tells him sweetly, “You were so good for me.”

Gale smiles bright and his eyes flutter as he takes in a large, long breath that seems to tether him back from whatever soft place his mind found tonight. The smile is still dopey when his eyes focus again, but Astarion knows his own is far from somber either.

“I love you.” Gale’s voice is more present, more familiar and achingly honest. So, Astarion can’t be blamed for the way he sighs and pulls those lips to him. He sips at them, drags the bottom one gently between his own and licks lightly over the soft bow when Gale opens.

It’s more sensual than anything, calming and slow, just another way to hold each other and Astarion sighs out every bit of tension still left in his body. Into the air they share, he whispers, “Thank you.”

Gale chuckles, squeezing his arms tighter for just a moment, then his head falls back against the couch. His smile is so easy when he asks, “for what?”

“Letting me take care of you.” Astarion sits fully onto Gale’s thighs and slides both hands through Gale’s damp hair, combing it back and over his ears. “You looked so… so beautiful like that.”

“I’m glad you liked it.” Gale teases, but his eyes are bright, happy and more peaceful than Astarion’s ever seen them. The look fills something in Astarion’s chest, slips over the little cracks in his old armor and seeps deep to swell full and delighted in his heart.

It’s too silly a thing to cry about though, so Astarion rolls his eyes playfully instead. “I more than liked it, you gorgeous thing.”

Gale laughs fully, hands slipping to tiredly rub down Astarion’s sides and settle against his thighs. He looks so adorable when he gets sleepy and Astarion can’t even feign his annoyance. He just tips forward to lightly bite at Gale’s cheek again and whisper, “I have so many more things I need to thank you for.”

“Fuck.” Gale groans, eyes slipping closed and smile still so easy and relaxed.

Astarion nods, falls to rest his head on Gale’s shoulder and snuggle in close. “Yes, I think so.”