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A/n; I want Xaden kisses. This man is just so so fine
The "You're Mine" Kiss
It’s not subtle. Never with Xaden. He doesn’t ask; he declares. These kisses usually come when someone’s pushed his buttons, stirring that fierce, protective side of him—or when he’s feeling the slightest flicker of jealousy. Whether it’s a lingering glance from someone else, a whispered comment he doesn’t like, or your casual flirtation with danger, his reaction is immediate.
Xaden’s hand curls around the back of your neck, his fingers threading into your hair, while his thumb presses lightly against your pulse. It’s deliberate, as if he’s savoring the way your heartbeat quickens under his touch. His other hand finds your waist, holding you firm, anchoring you to him.
When his lips crash against yours, it’s not a question—it’s an answer. There’s nothing tentative about the way he kisses you. It’s fierce, unapologetic, and possessive, the kind of kiss that takes and keeps, like he’s trying to carve his name into your very soul. His tongue brushes against yours in a commanding and relentless way, until the world fades into the heat of his touch and the fire of his kiss.
When he finally pulls away, your lips are swollen, your breath uneven, and yet he still doesn’t move back, his forehead resting against yours. His dark eyes lock onto yours, smoldering with an intensity that sends a shiver down your spine. His voice is low, roughened by the kiss, as he mutters against your lips, "Don’t forget it."
The Silent Apology Kiss
Xaden doesn’t stumble over apologies. He is honest—sometimes brutally so—and he rarely sugarcoats his words. It’s just who he is. But that honesty cuts both ways, and when his temper gets the better of him, the feeling of his regret is visible in the aftermath.
He doesn’t apologize right away. Instead, he clutches his fists tight enough that his knuckles turn white, jaw set in frustration, and leaves the room to cool off. It’s not anger at you—it’s at himself.
Later, when the quiet stretches too long and the sharp edges of the fight haven’t dulled, he finds you. You’re sitting alone, arms wrapped around yourself, the anger still coiled between you like a living thing. Xaden pauses in the doorway for a moment, as though gathering the resolve to step closer.
When he does, he doesn’t say a word. He crosses the room with quiet stubbornness, his shadow stretching long across the floor. Without hesitation, he kneels in front of you, his dark eyes meeting yours, raw and unguarded, willing you to see his apology. His hand moves to your chin, tilting your face toward him with a touch so gentle it almost breaks you.
Then his lips press to your forehead—warm, steady, and conscious. The kiss lingers, longer than normal, like he’s trying to say everything he can’t put into words. You feel his breath against your skin, the slight tremor in his exhale, and the unspoken apology that hums in the quiet between you.
When he pulls back, staring into your eyes, his fingers still resting lightly against your jaw. “I shouldn’t have snapped,” he finally mutters.
But you both know the words aren’t necessary. The kiss already said it all.
The Teasing Peck
These are the kisses that catch you off guard, the ones that leave your thoughts scattering like leaves in the wind. It’s usually when you’re rambling, your mind spiraling in a dozen directions while you pace the room, oblivious to his gaze. Xaden leans lazily against a doorframe, arms crossed, his infuriatingly smug grin tugging at the corner of his lips.
He doesn’t interrupt—yet. He’s watching you, his eyes following the gestures of your hands as you emphasize your points, but you’re too focused to notice the way his thoughts wander. He’s imagining you in ways he probably shouldn’t: sprawled beneath him, lips swollen from his kisses, cheeks flushed as you—
“Xaden, are you even listening to me?” you snap, finally noticing the far-off gleam in his eyes.
He doesn’t answer. He just steps forward, closing the space between you with ease. His hand grabs yours, the roughness of his fingers distracting you for a split second before he dips down and presses the quickest of kisses to your lips.
It’s fleeting—barely more than a brush—but the warmth lingers, and before you can even process it, he’s pulling back. You’re frozen mid-sentence, the words catching in your throat as you gape at him, completely derailed.
His smirk deepens, satisfaction rolling off him in waves. His eyes glitter with amusement as he says, “I am now.”
Then he steps back, leaving you standing there while he saunters away like he hasn’t just turned your entire train of thought into a pile of rubble.
The "I’m Proud of You" Kiss
Xaden’s praise is rare, which makes these moments all the more significant. He’s not the type to toss around compliments lightly—they’re earned, and when he gives them, you know they’re sincere. It’s after you’ve done something he didn’t expect—holding your ground in a heated argument, outmaneuvering him in a sparring match, or catching him off guard by being a step ahead of his usually unshakable intuition.
He won’t show his admiration immediately when there are other eyes watching or more pressing matters at hand. That’s not his style, particularly when serious things are going down. But once the adrenaline fades and it’s just the two of you, that’s when you see it.
The moment comes quietly. His hands finding your waist with a confidence that feels like second nature. His touch is familiar yet tender, like all he wants in that moment is to hold you, to ground himself in you. His gaze softens, the hard edges of his usual intensity melting into something gentler, more vulnerable.
“You amaze me, you know that?” he says, his voice intimate, meant only for you.
There’s no smirk this time, no teasing gleam in his eyes—just quiet reverence as his lips find yours. The kiss is slow, unhurried, and meaningful, carrying none of the urgency or fire you might expect from him after a meeting. Instead, it’s full of something deeper, something that speaks volumes more than words ever could.
His hands tighten slightly at your waist, pulling you just a fraction closer, as though to keep you in the moment. It’s not about heat or desire; it’s about acknowledgment, admiration, and the way he sees you as someone who continually surprises him, challenges him, and is there for him.
When he pulls back, he lets out a soft exhale, as though saying the words aloud was as much for him as it was for you. The corner of his mouth lifts in a faint smile, his thumb brushing over your side as he adds, “I love you.”
The Protective Kiss
These kisses come when fear shadows his features—something you rarely see. Xaden seems unshakable, the rock in any storm, but when it’s you, when it’s your life that’s been on the line, that unyielding façade cracks.
It might be after a battle, when the adrenaline is still coursing through his veins and the memory of you being too close to danger burns fresh in his mind. Or maybe it’s in the quiet aftermath of a dangerous mission, when the reality of what could have happened finally catches up with him.
His hands are on you before you can even speak, his grip hard, almost bruising, as they settle on your arms. His dark eyes sweep over you, searching for any sign of injury, his jaw clenched so tightly it looks like it might snap. It’s as if he’s trying to convince himself that you’re really here, whole and unbroken, standing in front of him.
He doesn’t say a word—he can’t, not yet. Instead, he leans in, his lips finding yours with a desperation that borders on frantic. The kiss is desperate, unrelenting, like he’s trying to breathe you in, to memorize the feel of you against him. There’s nothing soft or measured about it; it’s raw, primal, and filled with the kind of fear that only comes from almost losing the one thing that matters most.
His hands slide down to your waist, his fingers curling into the fabric of your shirt as though he’s afraid you might disappear if he lets go.
His voice, when it comes, is low and hoarse, laced with an edge of anger that’s born entirely of fear. “Don’t you ever do that to me again,” he murmurs, the words both a command and a plea.
You can see the tension in his shoulders, the way his jaw tightens even further as he pulls you into his chest, holding you close like he needs to feel your heartbeat to steady his own. And in that moment, you realize just how much power you hold over him—and how much he’d risk to keep you safe.
The Slow-Burn Kiss
This kiss doesn’t start with lips; it starts with a look. A glance that’s lingered far too long, one of those smoldering gazes that sets your pulse racing and makes the room feel suddenly too warm. Xaden’s been giving you that look all day—subtle, deliberate, the kind that curls low in your stomach and leaves you wondering if he’s toying with you or if he’s just biding his time.
It’s not just the look, either. It’s the small touches: his hand brushing yours as he hands you something, his fingertips ghosting over your lower back as he passes by, the way his thumb lingers a fraction too long when he presses it to your cheek. And yet, somehow, he’s avoided your lips. He’s kissed your forehead in the early morning light, his lips soft and fleeting, and later, he brought your hand to his mouth, his eyes never leaving yours as he pressed a kiss to your knuckles. But your lips? Not once.
It’s a game, you realize—a maddeningly obvious one. He’s drawing it out, savoring your growing impatience with the kind of quiet control that only makes you want him more.
When he finally moves, it’s with an intended slowness that feels like it’s meant to unnerve you. He steps closer, his presence overwhelming, and the space between you vanishes until he’s right there. His hand comes up, his fingertips tracing the line of your jaw, his touch impossibly soft.
He leans in, his breath warm against your skin, and for a moment, you think he’s going to kiss you. But his lips brush against yours so lightly it feels more like a question than an answer, a whisper of what’s to come. It’s intentional—teasing, torturous—like he’s testing your patience, drawing out the moment until it stretches impossibly thin.
And then, finally, when you tilt your head and close the gap, he lets you have it. His lips press to yours, a kiss that’s all-consuming without ever feeling rushed. His hands slide around your waist, pulling you flush against him, and the world around you fades until there’s nothing left but him—the warmth of his touch, the steadiness of his breath, and the unspoken promise that this moment is entirely yours.
It’s not just a kiss; it’s a claiming, a vow in its own right. And you can’t help but wonder how you ever managed to breathe without him.
Disclaimer! What you are about to read contains the following: GAMEPLAY SPOILERS! & ROMANCING ASTARION SPOILERS! Mentions of canonical violence, Astarion POV, angst, with comfort (it ends nice I promise), slow burn, depictions of anxiety, depression, anger, insecurity, guilt, manipulation, blood drinking (of course), and it’s long as fuuuuuuu
& what I have to say is… As it turned out, I had played all of Act 2 out of order, and stopped doing that before I did some irreversible damage to my Moonrise Tower to-do list. Which means when I began to write this fic EVERYTHING WAS OUT OF ORDER. It still might be but idgaf anymore. Even the mf confession scene (I WIN! I WIN AND I DIDN’T EVEN TRY TO CHARM THAT VAMPIRE MF) I was sitting in my room, phone on my chest, Baldurs Gate in my hands googling ‘what to do before moonrise’, ‘moonrise or mausoleum first in bg3’, because I explored much more than I should have, apparently… So this fic has been Frankenstein-ed to death, and the word count has greatly exceeded my expectations. It’s kind of my baby so be nice and give it a little love if you like it… or don’t! I appreciate you either way. And Special thanks to E.P. for the prompt and her friend in SoCal because I was about to screw myself OVEEERRR!
Everything seemed bleak on the way to the Light Inn. Nothing magical or charming about the glowing mushrooms anymore and the air felt as thick as water. Astarion faithfully trudged behind you through the mud, uneven trails, and hostile shadowy figures. But sometimes you would squint at the marker on the map or linger a little longer than you should have. He would watch you squeeze your right hand with your left as you studied the hastily blotted spot, then you would trace the drawn pathway with your left hand while the right one would cover and squeeze your mouth. Beyond scenery, and new objectives, everyone was adapting. They had to; he had to. But you were changing faster than others, faster than him, and much faster than he could keep track of.
Astarion felt like he was watching you disappear, or feeling you slip out of his hands the way blood from deep wounds squeezed between desperately closed fingers. From kind traveler, comforter, and hopefully hopeless leader, you burned with a desire to be it all. In front of other wandering bodies, the mere strangers swimming through the Underdark, Astarion watched you hold this fire with outstretched, kerosene-soaked hands, just to give someone else light. You might never see these people again, but you did it anyways, even if all it did was burn. Whether it be fighting at some poor soul's side or offering words of comfort, once the rescuee turned to leave Astarion watched to see whatever leftover flame danced in your palms. Some nights he couldn’t even call it that despite you cradling it close to your chest.
Often times Astarion thought of taking over your dealings even if it meant they’d get a little lost in his blind, apathetic advice. He knew that you were the most levelheaded person to lead but gods you started to look as lost as he already felt. The Inn was just a bridge away, before it was it was a group of protective Harpers away. Before anyone could find a place to lay their heads Astarion felt his patience thin when having to save Isobel was thrown into the mix. But you fought fearlessly. Always saving people without a second to spare, or a second to think.
Lately, Astarion wondered just where you had been all these years.
“If possible,” you spoke in soft whispers to Jaheira about your accommodations. “Could I have a single room for tonight? I-I can pay I just-”
With a quick hand over yours and a warm smile, Jaheira reassured you that after keeping their Selûne Warrior safe, the least she could do was let you have a room to yourself. “It has two beds, but you can push them together for one big one.” You nodded and thanked her with a long breath out.
Astarion for a moment pretended to be looking at a patron nearby as you walked toward him. But he couldn’t help trying to keep you in scene before you could arrive. Trying to read your shoulders, eyes brows and hands. Truthfully Astarion was looking for something soft in your inventory; he wondered if tonight you might have anything to spare.
“If you’re hungry,” your worn out, dim voice and all-knowing watch cut in. “You can feed on me tonight if you’d like.”
“I was just so hoping you’d ask. But are you really looking for alone time?” Giving you a tilted head and lopsided glance was enough to tell him where he stood. “Or are you looking for alone time with me, darling?”
“I was going to pretend you weren’t obviously eavesdropping, but you’d love that wouldn’t you?” You were warm enough to keep up with a quirked a brow and an equally lazy grin. “After today I feel like everyone can smell me from outside the Inn. So, until I can shower... I don’t even want to think about doing anything other than sleeping in a bed.”
“I’m sure you don’t.” He whisked behind you and whispered, “But if change your mind, at least think of me.”
“Aha, I’ll be seeing you later,” the back of your hand smacked your forehead as though you were swooning. “Tonight.”
A small guilt tugged at his chest before you nodded off and up the stairs. Astarion would lounge around in the waiting area while Karlach gushed over Jaheira from afar. Shadowheart walked alongside her to study the Inn with wholehearted skepticism. Audibly muttering her thoughts about the moon maiden, the area as a whole, and how Shar’s worshippers must have had their reasons. She broke away from Karlach and headed to Astarion with her eyes stuck to Jaheira. “We should probably get to our room them?”
“Right.”
On cue, Karlach caught them both headed up the stairs and followed. She waved to Jaheira, still gushing. “Gods isn’t this exciting- oh, hey? Where’d our little leader go?” Karlach asked upon arrival.
“She might’ve beat us to bed.” Shadowheart smiled. “I wouldn’t blame her if she’s fast asleep, she’s earned it.”
Astarion thought about letting them know about your requested ‘alone time’ but figured you would come around to telling them after they find you.
Little drops of drying water decorated the wooden floor in a trail that led down the stairs. Astarion followed the trail with his eyes alongside Karlach who noticed it too. “Wait, Shadowheart,” she called.
None of them had noticed you pass by with freshly washed hair and a towel around your shoulders. They all backtracked down the staircase, Karlach stood near a game of chess, Shadowheart by the banister, and Astarion some feet behind you while you knelt in front of a hairless cat. You seemed more at ease tonight.
“Hello, your highness.” You let your hand keep you steady on the ground as you spoke. “I’ve come to admire your beauty.” The cat sat tall and proud, lifting his head so you can awe at his hairless self. “And what a beautiful cat indeed.” You cooed without reaching to touch the animal.
The cat nodded and swiftly made its way over to its bed, dismissing you with its whole, hairless body. You stood up, stretched your arms above your head before catching the group lounging nearby. Nothing was said as you politely waved to everyone before turning your attention to a man and child playing chess.
From behind you couldn’t tell just then who you were looking at but as you rounded the table to get a good view of the game, Raphael and Mol, the Tiefling child who spoke on everyone's behalf earlier, seemed to be in a heated match. Raphael was going to win despite giving Mol pointers. If anything, his pointers were just to remind Mol that she was going to lose no matter the move.
The child's pouting seemed to give you an idea. You took a drawn-out stretch being sure to overextend your arms and back. Astarion knew exactly what you were doing before you ‘lost your balance’ and knocked into the board. The pieces tipped and rolled in every direction and Raphael shot a knowing look at you, only turning back to the board after his opponent had pieced it back together.
“Well, go on, Mol.” The devil muttered.
With one move Mol won the game and shot up from their seat. “Well, that settles it. Fair and square!” They exclaimed proudly.
“Sure, fair and square.” Raphael nodded up to you. “But before you go,” Mol looked over her shoulder. “Think about my offer.”
Up and away she went while Raphael turned to his leftover audience. “Fancy seeing you all here, and so far away from the sun.”
“I didn’t know you struck up deals with children.” Your tone surprised Astarion.
“Don’t you worry, it’s only a necessary evil. She’ll come around to the only option she has,” Raphael expectantly looked past you to Astarion. “But I have a feeling your little friend has a question they want to ask me.”
“I do,” Astarion’s eye contact wavered. “I have a proposal.” Raphael mocked him before mentioning something about his how drinking blood would burn more than whiskey. “This is serious business, devil.” Astarion hardened his voice as he explained the runes. From the corner of his eye, he watched you stiffly fold your arms and size Raphael up with a glare. Astarion felt some comfort in that. “I want to know if it’s maybe a contract...”
“Well, what could it be?” Raphael melodically taunted. “A lover letter, a deed, a contract?” He waved his hand in front of Astarion’s face like he was introducing the opening act in a play. “But I need time to think. I will have to get back to you on that.”
Astarion whined, reiterating just how serious this was to him before asking, “Just how soon will you get back to me on that?”
“Soon.”
At some point you fidgeted with the fabric of the towel around your neck before steadily pulling it to one side of your shoulder. “Don’t worry,” the devil reassured both of you, “I am most inclined to help.” With dramatic flair, Raphael disappeared in a quick plume of smoke.
All eyes but yours turned to Astarion, and Astarion with his on you. It was clear that Raphael’s attitude had rubbed you the wrong way as you blankly stared at the spot he vanished from. “I’ll get back to you on that.” you mumbled. Your damp hair had soaked into the neck of your top. The towel dangled in your balled fist at your hip. The cool breeze sent shivers up your neck before you put the cloth back onto shoulders. After another moment of thinking, you turned around to head to your room.
“Darling?” Despite it being barely audible, his voice seemed to reach you anyway as he caught your subtle hesitation before decidedly going on your way.
Karlach and Shadowheart both began to say something but in vain as you were so lost in thought still that you couldn’t hear. They turned their attention to Astarion who intently watched you. “Is something going on between you two?”
“What?” Astarion snapped his head to Karlach.
“Sorry.” She snorted. “It could’ve been Raphael but she just seems way more tired than usual.”
“Well, we are in the Underdark, Karlach.” He said obviously. “It’s dark down here, and I’m sure that the dark makes most normal people tired.”
“Don’t be rude Astarion.” Shadowheart butt in. “Are you sure that feeding on her every night wouldn’t be a contributing factor along with ‘the dark’?”
“Haven’t you been healing her up every morning?”
“I have not. Not since we’ve been down here.” Karlach watched in awe between the stairs and then to two bantering at the bottom. “So, if you’ve been feeding on her still, well... She hasn’t had any of her usual morning chats with me.” Shadowheart finished.
Karlach watched as Astarion’s eyes round in realization. The guilt grew, pushing his stomach up into his neck. “Oh Fangs, you didn’t know. It’s okay, I think.”
“Is it, Karlach?” Shadowheart interjected, shooting a venomous glare at the ill looking vampire. “It started with a dagger to her neck, which she forgave. Then she’s understanding of your hunger, even defending you to Gale after you go at her neck again without permission.”
“That was once- only twice-!” He pushed his finger out to correct her.
“And all you can do is give half-hearted compliments and bat your eyelashes whenever you need something. A potion, a moment, a warm body to bleed. I mean, have you even said thank you?”
Karlach put her hand between the two. “Shadowheart, I know you’re worried about her but you know that it’s can’t just one person's fault. It might not be anyone’s fault let alone Astarions.” She waved it up and down. “I think we’re all just tired-.”
“Don’t act like you’re physically incapable of talking to her yourself!” Astarion retorted above and below Karlach’s hand. “And my attempts to thank her have been pushed aside, thank you very much!”
“Ever try a full-fledged, verbal ‘thank you for feeding me every night, I appreciate you letting me suck you dry, Darling.’ ever?” She took a deep breath in, and on exhale she let her shoulder drop.
“Let’s just go up and check on her then.” Karlach successfully cut in.
Shadowheart reached into a small pouch on her person and thoughtfully brought out the little idol of Shar you gifted her the moment you could dust it off. “Do you know just how much she puts into our group?” Her voice was coated in adoration, and it made Astarion sick. “Or how much she’s already put in?”
Astarion knew. Of course he knew. He was well aware of how much he took, as well as often as did. But he always knew just when to stop, or at least he thought he knew. But that was before he started to find you in even the smallest corners of his mind, before he found himself keeping an eye on you in battle, before the guilt got harder to swallow. If he pushed your sincerity aside with closed eyes as he held out a beggar's hand, the weight of what you gave him would mean nothing if he didn’t have see what you were left with.
The strangers, travelers, your kind demeanor and hopeful act. Looking back to the Harper woman that marked your map, he wondered if the Light Inn was going to be enough to keep you going tomorrow. If it was enough for you to spare anything more after, or in the days to come. Gods, was the Harper woman a reflection of him? Where he only loathed her for sinning the same way he did; or for taking what he was saving for later? If anything, Astarion felt like he might as well just be another traveler to you. Someone that followed you around like hungry, dead weight. But he would never have to wonder how far you had carried him and six others, they had the map and markers. But he did wonder just how often he stole your living, breathing warmth.
Wasn’t that the plan, for him to bleed you dry? Then, now, and hopefully after?
“I don’t think Astarion would do anything to purposefully weaken her.” Karlach came to his defense. “That wouldn’t make sense, especially now. Besides, she is a big girl and can come to you if she feels like it.”
Shadowheart shook her head. “You know what? You’re right. And so are you, Astarion.” The little, rock carved goddess dramatically fell to her side alongside her hand as she turned. “Why am I even waiting for her to ask? I’ll be upstairs.” She ran and left Karlach to tend to Astarion.
“Fangs, you’re looking down, too. Don’t let Shadowheart get to you she’s been…” Karlach gave a sympathetic smile. “You know you can always talk to Mama-K.” Her laugh was aimed at herself as Astarion playfully rolled his eyes.
The two of them watched the floor before Astarion looked up to her. “Do you think I’ve done it this time?”
Without a second thought Karlach shook her head enthusiastically. “You might be right about the Underdark. There’s more on her mind than just you and me. Well, in her mind… I should say.”
“In our minds.” a pathetic laugh bubbled from the nausea. “I think our dark princess would have to agree with that. At least to some extent.”
Karlach met Astarion’s gaze with another sympathetic smile “I know you care,” she seemingly said out of nowhere. “I’m not the only one who sees it when you look at her. Even if it’s just a little. I think she at least knows that you care about her if Shadowheart doesn’t, ya’ know?”
Astarion slowly nodded with a confused look before Karlach lead the way to their room. When Shadowheart returned from her check-in with you, she paid no mind to Astarion for the rest of the night. Instead, she went straight to Karlach, and to what his eavesdropping could gather, he safely assumed that he was in the clear. He guessed you really did just need alone time.
After his vampiric rest, he lied still. Whatever light from outside cast patterns on the ceiling, and he cut them out into little pieces with Shadowheart’s steady breathing and some occasional snoring from Karlach in the background. Then he wondered what you sounded like while you slept. He hated that he didn’t pay attention the one time he could. Did you snore? If you did, were they raspy, hollow breathes or loud snorts that echoed? Maybe you were the restless dreamer where the shuffle of blankets and pillows would tell him you were just about to wake up.
Astarion found himself wanting to know and shot up before he could want to know more.
The wood was cool on the bottom of his feet. Without creaking, cracks, or splinters Astarion was able to move quietly out of the room into the hall. Lit candles lined the hallway to your room which felt more meaningful to him than it should have but he shook coincidence away and out of his mind. Instead, Astarion thought about how you pretended not to hear him earlier, he thought back to hands holding flames and he froze, feeling sick at your door.
I’m hungry, he told himself. I feel sick because I am hungry.
You sat on the edge of the bed, clearly expecting him with your hair pulled to one side and the right side of your neck exposed. “You’re late.”
“Only a little, darling.” Astarion made his way over to plant his right knee beside your thigh, his left leg between your own. “I hope I haven’t kept you waiting.”
“Hardly.” you whispered to the door behind him. “Besides, I can’t let you go hungry, can I?”
Astarion decided not to press you. “I suppose not.” He smirked as the breath of his reply sent goosebumps all over your neck and shoulders.
Tonight, you didn’t close your eyes in anticipation. There was no shiver down your spine or shudder in your breath when Astarion held both of your shoulders while he slowly sunk his teeth in. Hells, you didn’t even whine. It felt like kissing someone who wouldn’t close their eyes or kiss him back.
Astarion made it quick, hardly getting his fill. As he arose and took a step back to search you up and down for any sign of discomfort. There was nothing out of the ordinary, you paled like usual, especially in your lips, but your expression was unreadable. Visibly there was nothing wrong, but he wanted to listen to your beating heart just to be sure nothing was moving faster or slower than it should. Then without thinking, he suddenly and loosely embraced you in his arms to put his head to your chest.
“Woah, h-hey.” You jumped back on your elbows, crawling a step back on the bed.
Astarion’s hands shot up in the air. “I was just,” The look of innocent surprise that coated your body was cute until he remembered why you looked so venerable. He furrowed his brows as he massaged the bridge of his nose, coming off of the bed. “I-I didn’t, or- I don’t mean to insinuate anything, my dear.”
“Then...” The bed shook under his knee as you relaxed onto your hands, upright but leery. “What were you trying to do?”
“Nothing, really." He massaged his neck. “Unless-”
“Unless nothing.” You wildly grinned. “Unless nothing, Astarion. I really mean to have my alone time.”
“Are you-” Astarion squared his gaze onto the litters of goosebumps on your chest and shoulders while you self-soothingly rubbed your arms. “Are you cold?” His chest tightened once he realized you were suppressing the chatter of your teeth with a trembling jaw.
“A little.” The movement slowed as you stiffly squeezed your biceps. “Blood loss tends to do that.”
That’s right, he thought. Astarion of all people, or undead things, should know that the lack of blood meant a lack of warmth.
“Don’t you look so concerned. That’s not like you.” You coyly laughed. “I’ve been okay before, and I’ll be okay now. I am sitting on top of a completely made bed, you know?”
Astarion stretched his neck and sighed. “Of course.” He gave you a weak chuckle. “Well, I guess I’ll take my leave then. But if you need a little warming up, you know where to find me.” The rustle of sheets as you climbed under the covers made him scrunch his nose insecurely at the door. “Good night, darling.”
The following morning, Astarion could found sitting at the chess table, replaying the night before. Not for Raphael but for you. It more so that he was cringing at himself and his lack of control. The way your reacted to his embrace compared to his bite made his head spin with wonder and disappointment. The fact that his teeth breaking your flesh was better received than his concern was astounding. Realizing that if he was going to pull you into him, it was expected that he take and not give.
Was it that obvious?
You descended the stairs, the two followed behind, and you were practically glowing. Immediately Astarion felt relieved to know that Shadowheart likely made sure to cast a restoration of some sort today. He sat up a little as you wordlessly greeted him, watching you feel the right side of your neck with your left hand while your self-conscious chuckle furthered his optimism.
Sigh, last night, “Again, I didn’t-” Astarion started to apologize.
“Hush.” You made big eyes in reference to the two behind you. “You’re alright in my book.” Sheepishly grinning, you tilted your head and scrunched your nose before heading out.
As per usual, everyone followed your lead in battle. Successfully you collected the Moonlantern, freed a pixie from inside, and were already thinking about the next move back at camp the morning after. “I think we should scope out Moonrise before meeting with any head honchos.” You said near the empty fire pit at camp. “I’ll do my usual hoarding while we get a good look at the place. And this,” you pointed to a little circle with question mark inside, “I can hardly remember what for, but I think it was marked for some rumored supplies.” You wiggled your fingers in the air with feigned enthusiasm. “I would like this to be priority, actually.”
“Yes ma’am.” Karlach affirmed. “And I see that good ol’ Gale will be joining us today?”
“I shall be at your disposal, yes.” He smiled genuinely before it grew sheepish. “Of course, with the hopes that I would not be disposed of.”
Astarion rolled his eyes.
“Never, Gale.” You playfully smiled at Astarion. “You’re the last person here I’d do that to”
“Oh, don’t look at me,” he scoffed but you did, playfully through your lashes.
“Whatever you say.” You sung before quickly tucking the map away. “But today we’re just scoping, taking, and talking.”
Everyone nodded, and without another word were off to Moonrise.
To everyone’s surprise, the guards could not care less about your party going in. The parasite was like a VIP pass inside and the tadpole-less guests praised your every step. It was odd to be so easily trusted and to roam freely. Usually at least one person challenged your worm infected autonomy, but this was a nice yet eerie change.
But to nobody’s surprise nothing could ever go according to plan. Gale had opened the biggest and most obvious set of doors upon entry and interrupted a meeting between some goblins and Katheric Thorm. To the very left of where Katheric was sat stood Z’rell, the cult advisor that the guards outside said everyone must report to. And again, to not no one’s surprise, the meeting was nothing short of incredibly memorable with a show of immortal strength and the opportunity to sacrifice a small goblin herd at trial.
Astarion was curious to see what your heroic self would do when the fate of the goblin crews' lives was hurriedly placed in your hands. So, when you had asked them to stop speaking, ‘to not even breathe’, his heart raced with confusion and excitement.
That’s my girl, he thought. “But by the gods, I hope she’s okay.”
“Me too.” Karlach swallowed with disappointment.
Astarion cupped his mouth, not meaning to have said the second half of his thought aloud.
Karlach looked over to him, “I guess the Underdark really is doing a number on her.”
“It would seem so.” He kissed his teeth.
You waved everyone over to follow Z’rell upstairs. A whole new mission got added to the list and Astarion took in this small laugh of disbelief you gave him. In response he tucked in his chin and raised a brow as though to wordlessly ask what exactly had you expected after everything leading up to this.
The Tower was big, full of locked doors and overly trusting guests that roamed and for a moment there was some pep in your step as soon as you finally got everyone back on track. But once a broken wall produced just under 200 gold and a spell scroll, your disappointment was obvious as you bit your knuckle at the open chest. Without enthusiasm, you drew a little check mark beside the rumored supplies you prioritized this morning. Astarion would normally have something snarky to say but the glowing girl from earlier was having her light put out by her own optimism and he wanted nothing more than to do or say something that could bring back a spark. A pixie, perhaps. But before he could reach out to you, Karlach pushed through a door and on the other side of it was Araj who would come to make things worse.
The blood lusted alchemist was off to a bad start when she immediately noted Astarion as the ‘Pale Friend’, drawing a more than uninterested look from you as she spoke. “I can make one of a kind potion, just for you, from you.” She modestly smiled. “One prick, a drop of your blood and it’s yours. But I keep the rest for myself.”
After some curious questions, Astarion was surprised when you held out your hand to be poked. But then thought about how stupid it was to be surprised at that after the night prior. Instantly a potion was produced and carefully placed into your hands.
“Thank you-”
“Before you go, there is one other thing I would like to discuss;” she interrupted moved closer to you, but only to get a better look at Astarion. “Your friend.”
Astarion knew that he stood out in a room to anyone who knew anything about the undead. They could and often did sniff him out wherever he met them. So, when she inquired of his being a Vampire or spawn, he naturally reassured her that as a part of the absolute that everyone serving in Her name was safe in his company.
“Oh no, I hope for quite the opposite.” Araj watched you expectantly. “I assume he belongs to you?”
“Belongs?” A distasteful curiosity bled from your voice. “Excuse me, but he’s his own person.”
She smiled mockingly. “I’m sure he believes that.”
Distaste was a little soft, you looked and sounded appalled. Actually, to everyone in your corner, your face gave that word another meaning. The drow hardly asked for his name, if anything she flatly commanded it from the wide-eyed Vampire.
Your finger flew back to shush him, “Astarion” he too quickly answered. “But wait-.”
“Good.” She smirked. “Now-”
Your finger made its way around to her before she could continue. “Watch it.” You warned.
Astarion looked over to Karlach and Gale who were also caught just as off guard as you were. But she paid no mind to your hand as she explained her life-long, born from childhood dream of being bitten by a vampire. She looked too comfortable swooning as she talked about losing her blood in between life and death. “I’ll even give compensation. A potion of legendary power.” Araj bribed.
Astarion knew where this was going as Araj gave the details of the potion. He knew where he was and knew everyone had just a taste of power these cultists had. He knew that most people would be persuaded with this once in a lifetime offer. Who wouldn’t want guaranteed strength in a bottle? Most people would be, but he hoped that you weren’t most people because was unsure he would say no if you asked him to. He knew he owed you that much.
The Drow asked Astarion if he would bite her to which he kindly declined. Then she faced you, clearly taken aback. “Well, can’t you do something about him? About your spawn?” Astarion held his breath.
“He said no.” Relief flooded his body, causing his shoulders to drop despite his fixed posture in surprise. But you were stiff, straightening your neck as disappointment spread across Araj’s face. “What part of that did you not get the first time?”
“Soldier,” Karlach leaned to your ear. “I think we should get going.” She nudged your foot with hers. “We’ll be seeing you, Arash.”
“It’s Araj.”
“Right, sorry.” Gale apologized on Karlach’s behalf and bowed on the way out. Astarion followed behind him through a door that took everyone back outside.
Karlach seemed to be calming you down, and until Karlach mentioned it, Astarion didn’t realize that while Araj spoke you began to pet a dagger on your hilt. “We don’t need to get into trouble while we’re still on the Absolute’s ground. Not before we’re ready to be.”
Surely it wasn’t on his behalf, was it? No could care about anyone that much let alone another Vampire’s Spawn.
“I should’ve just done it. The doors were closed and who knows? Maybe she had the potion already on her. Or maybe not.” Astarion raised a brow as his stomach sank. “Fucking weirdo.” You muttered.
“Wow,” Karlach laughed. “Fucking weirdo, I couldn’t agree with you more, Captain.” She ran up as you walked around the tower.
Astarion blankly watched the back of your head from two people away as you grew quiet and stayed that way. He wanted to know what you were thinking and whether or not you were mad at him for being so unwilling or if your silence was left over from Araj. But there was also nothing planned after scoping out Moonrise, at least nothing anyone mentioned. Everyone settled on blindly following your lead as you spotted a hill with some makeshift graves.
“Gale,” you stopped suddenly at the foot of an overgrown root. “Can you head back to camp and grab Shadowheart?”
“Are you sure?”
You nodded. “I’d really appreciate something warm and hearty when we get back, and I love her but-.”
“No need, I get it.” Gale smiled, bowed, and waved everyone off.
Astarion watched Gale leave before he caught you and Karlach now raced to a patch of dirt. When he caught up with you, Karlach was watching out for Shadowheart as you picked through some choice graves.
“Sweetheart, are you robbing from dead Justiciars?” His shadow hovered over your hands. “Why have her join at all?”
“I’m sure she might know something about this site. But not a word about my scavenging, please.” With steady hands your swiftly placed the stones back the way they were.
Astarion’s index finger and thumb drew a line in front of his lips as he sealed them shut and threw away an imaginary key. “My lips are sealed.”
You snorted and smacked the dirt off your hands before Shadowheart materialized out of thin air, having everything to say about Shar’s faithful fallen soldiers. As she knelt to one of the graves, reverently running her hand across the rocks, Astarion caught sight of a dimly lit entrance. Karlach saw it too and pointed.
“Maybe we can check it out before we look for supplies in the buildings, we passed by…” her booming voice trailed off when she saw him, then everyone turned.
Raphael was mumbling to himself at the bottom of some steps at entrance of a cave. As Astarion began to walk only to see you were once again leading the way over. Again, in disguise, the devil gave the details of his deal to the whole group. All they had to do was kill an old enemy of his if Astarion wanted his scars decoded. The deal seemed sweeter than what he expected, simpler, maybe too sweet. But no one was sure what price was to be paid for translation.
Karlach leaned over to you. “Again, I really don’t know about this.”
Astarion rolled his eyes before he turned away from the cave. He just missed your response, and how Karlach retorted didn't fill in any blanks. “I don’t want to be tricked into doing that evil fucker's errands for free or find out that this order is for more than any of us can afford fill.”
“Well, for now,” Shadowheart shot Astarion a raised brow to measure. “I think should head back to camp. I think we could use a moment to relax.” She tilted her head to you with her eyes locked on Astarion.
You nodded mindlessly. “Yeah, or at least a moment to think”
Astarion began to open his mouth when Shadowheart chimed in again “Right,” sounding uncharacteristically chipper. “We should plan a little just before heading inside.
“I’m sorry you came here for nothing-”
“The graves of Justiciars are not nothing. Besides, I’m glad you thought to have me, even if it was just for a moment.”
Shadowheart was good at that. Being soft when you needed it. And Karlach was good at melting you into a giggling mess when she could. Most of the time Astarion could find something obscene enough to say, that pulled you out of your head to laugh. But lately he felt like him just being there was making it impossible for anyone to distract you from yourself.
You looked pensive the whole walk back to camp. After everything that had happened today from Moonrise, to goblins, to devils, Astarion could not pinpoint if it was one specific thing or everything that weighed heavy on your mind. What he could gather was how drastic the dip in your mood was after Araj, and Raphael. Both of those things happened to be tied to him and he got that funny feeling again. The feeling that he was taking from you without realizing it. That his mere presence was enough to make you bleed.
Astarion wished he had just said yes to drinking the Araj’s foul-smelling blood. He shouldn’t let you fight his battles and make his deals; he didn’t want you to anymore. Astarion was centuries older than you and yet you were the one holding his hand through the Underdark. Staying up late night after night so he could eat. And he found himself pondering it all too tenderly.
Scratch and the Owlbear cub zipped past you, hopping around giddily despite the gloomy scenery. Astarion felt a bit pensive himself. You were just as distant as you had been lately but tonight you were especially cold. Sure, you were healthier today than you had been for a while, and nothing seemed to tire you out. But there wasn’t the light and witty banter you spewed so effortlessly that he loved. He missed your observant and borderline judgmental comments on anything you stole from buildings and corpses. Even in Balthazar’s room inside Moonrise Tower, which brimmed with separated limbs and cold jars of blood, you made no snarky comment in correlation to Astarion’s diet. It would’ve have been easy, low hanging fruit by his standards; but at this point he was pulling on the branches for you to reach, you wouldn’t even need to jump. Astarion just wanted you to pick up something, anything really to throw at him.
“Hey,” You called out, making him unusually hopeful.
“Yes, darling?” He gave his most honest grin.
“Do you think we can trust him to keep up his end of the bargain? Raphael, I mean?”
“I trust a devil over a vampire any day. Besides,” with his hand on his chest, Astarion leaned back. “I think he likes us.”
How you slowly blinked and nodded flattened his hopes. “It’s your only lead, I suppose...” Scratch and the Owlbear nearly ran into you again, but you didn’t smile, flinch, or notice the animals despite watching them pass you two by. You were millions of miles away from everyone. Millions of miles away from him.
“Yeah, it is our only lead. My only lead.” Astarion reiterated defensively.
“I know, I know.” Your eyes screwed shut as you nodded some more. “Maybe we can go to the house of healing in case there’s something on Ketheric. Then after we can go to the cave.”
“Only after…” What was cause for worry before was now cause for slight agitation.
“Yes, well, I mean-” You threw your head back and up to the sky like itmight give you a clue. “Or..? Gods, I don’t know.”
“What don’t you know, sweetheart?”
“I-I don’t know that either. I don’t know what I don’t know, I guess.” Self soothingly you cupped your face and took a deep breath in. “What I do know is that’s it’s on my list.” You were staring at his neck, struggling to look up any further.
You sounded unsure of yourself, and while that made him sympathetic, it did more to make him anxious. “I guess I can only hope that it’s high up there. Afterall, this is the first chance I’ve had at deciphering my scars.” Astarion apathetically reminded you, unable to help his tone when he leaned into your ear uncomfortably close.
“Be a dear and don’t get in my way.” He spat.
“I won’t?” You turned to him equally defensive. “Don’t you know by now that you can just-” Astarion faced you, practically touching noses but nothing about the tension was romantic once he caught what looked like tears pooling in your eyes. “Y-you should know by that you can just...”
Karlach glanced over to what she likely saw as two people incredibly close to one another, “Oh, don’t look now but there’s PDA on the campgrounds,” she announced. Wyll let out a dramatic ‘Oo~’ that made her laugh.
Astarion was horrified inside and unable to think despite having that same snippy look on his face. But once the tears fell, he quickly pulled away, finally softening his demeanor. Karlach eventually looked over at you two when she hadn’t heard any smart mouthed response.
“You j-just have to ask.” You whimpered between labored breathes.
Karlach ran to your side before Astarion could think to speak. “What happened?” The concern in her voice caught Gale and Shadowheart’s attention. Gale quietly watched Astarion from a few feet away while Shadowheart raced over to place her hands on your shoulders the moment she arrived.
Shadowheart did what she did best lately, give dirty looks at Astarion from in the background. She had her head on your shoulder while Karlach tried to get some sort of response out of you. Shadowheart took her turn with her own line of questions when all Karlach could get was a pained look on your face. But there you were in the center of them making him sick again.
Astarion couldn’t handle himself as you cried. Never in his life had he so quickly regretted saying something to someone, let alone someone he grew so fond of. He felt worse as found himself noting how pretty you looked with tears down you face. All you needed was a break, maybe another night to yourself and right now he would give you all of them if he could help it. But he couldn’t, he never could. Astarion had to be sure that you were still on his side, and that you’d be waiting for him in his corner as though standing up for him in Moonrise Towers wasn’t enough.
Worry grew as Astarion thought about freedom of choice, and how much time had passed from the Tiefling party. You repeatedly declined his advances to have sex again, but he hadn’t made any significant or particularly tempting advances. In fact, he didn’t want to. Until now, he didn’t think he had to. In-between what he knew and what he wanted, Astarion wasn’t sure he would truly feel better if you just used his body like he needed you to. But if you wanted to, he would let you. It would be fair. It would make everything easier. It was what he thought he deserved. But there you were in front of him, reminding him that all he had to do was ask and it was his. He knew that if he said that aloud you would convince him otherwise, even if you had to do it sobbing.
That’s exactly how you made everything harder. Without your hands, without a leash, and without control, you had successfully made him care. When exactly that had started, Astarion couldn’t be sure but it was unsettlingly that the feeling crept in without a sound after he was so sure about having his heart set on using you. Maybe it started as selfishly as all things start, where wanting part of someone becomes needing everything else, they were. When being protected meant taking care his protector and being feed meant cleaning up after. Astarion wanted to switch roles to take care of you for once, he just didn’t know how to yet.
Shadowheart was about to call Gale over when you finally moved to wipe away your tears with the sleeves of your top were pulled over your palms. “Please don’t.” You pleaded with a nervous grin. “It’s nothing.”
“It is clearly not nothing.” Shadowheart squeezed your arms, her chin bouncing on your shoulder as she spoke. “You know you can talk to me. Or Karlach.” The Tiefling had her hands on her knees, crouching and nodding while Shadowheart spoke. “Or I can go grab La’zael but I don’t actually know what she would do for you. I don’t think she’s ever cried in her life...”
You let out an estranged laugh at the mention of Lae’zel. Shadowheart and Karlach’s whole demeanor eased up as they laughed with you. Coincidentally, Lae’zel started sharpening a blade which echoed throughout camp and softened the air significantly. Karlach headed to Lae’zel’s tent to have her shut off the wheel, Shadowheart kept her arm around your neck, guiding you behind Karlach. Astarion watched as each breath hiccupped in your shoulders, ignoring Lae’zel’s blunt form of comfort while he left to accompany Gale.
“You know Astarion,” he slowly stirred the strew from the very bottom of the pot to keep anything from sticking and burning. “She keeps a close eye on you when we’re out.”
“Don’t be ridiculous.” Astarion couldn't even try to pretend he meant that.
“I’m not trying to be. As cold as you are, no pun intended, I think most of us can tell she has a keen interest in your wellbeing, and I would suspect that you maybe return the sentiment.”
“I’ll have you know that not one of those earlier statements is funny or true.” Astarion tried to be coy. “Especially not now.”
“Deflect all you want my sharp-toothed friend, but I know you do.” Gale poured a bowl for himself, and a second one for Astarion.
“Don’t sound so sure of yourself.” He eyed the stew. “And Gale that’s just rude.”
From the corner of his eye, you watched him expectantly, with the same look you had when he drank you up at Light Inn. Shadowheart was shaking her head and rolling her eyes while Lae’zel spoke. “She doesn’t have to explain anything more. If she wants to sulk right now, let her.” Your Githyanki friend had this way of sounding harsh while looking concerned in her own funny way as she spoke. “Do you need more information to comfort someone you supposedly care for? Are those the teachings of Shar?”
“You’re one to talk,” Shadowheart huffed.
You were back and forth, looking between the two while seeming entertained.
“Astarion, my friend.” Gale held out the bowl to him. “I’m sure you know what I’m doing.”
He did. “Give me that.” He hissed and swiped your portion of food from Gales hand.
You watched Shadowheart as she turned to face him. “Astarion.”
“Shadowheart.”
“Good evening to you.” She avoided eye contact as she folded her hands.
Astarion bowed in a gentlemanly manner, tiling his head as he spoke to you. “I come bearing sustenance, my dear.” As you took the warm bowl from his hands Lae’zel tsked, and Karlach gave him a thumbs up despite pursing her lips.
“I see Gale made stew?” Shadowheart kept curt.
“I mean, I hope this is stew because if it’s not then I have no idea what she’s about to eat.” Astarion said sarcastically. “Although, in that case it’s better her than me.”
Astarion couldn’t tell if it was a good or bad sort airy laugh you gave him before you took a bite. But you with a free hand you motioned him to lean in again. You placed the bowl between your lap on the stool to cup his ear with both of your hands. Astarion tried to get a good look at you from the corner of his eye before you left his peripheral.
“You can feed on me again, if you’d like.” Gods you looked so pretty and venerable.
“I think…” Astarion thought about your breath and hands on his ear and tried to shake away the thought, “I think we need to talk, later.”
With the spoon in your mouth, you nodded again. “Okay, later.” You scooped up another bite.
Shadowheart was about to say something when you put your hand on her arm and shook your head. “I’m good. This is good,” was said so sincerely she didn’t try to fight it.
Astarion paid no mind to how the others reacted as he turned away to sit in his tent. The night couldn’t drag any slower even if it tried. You had disappeared into your tent after you ate, and so from in his own tent he was left to watch the rest of the weirdos interact and pretend that nothing happened. He stopped listening when Wyll started sharing some heroic tall tale and could only hope that you would still be awake after everyone else had fallen asleep. Truthfully Astarion had no reason to worry, he always found you waiting for him.
Your lashes were wet as though you just finished crying a second time, or maybe you hadn’t stopped. “You’re early.” You massaged your jaw as you spoke. “Or have I kept you waiting?”
“You haven’t kept anyone waiting,” he reassured. “And what’s with your jaw?”
“Just tense.”
Astarion hummed and squatted onto his ankles. “But you want to feed me anyways.”
The question caught you off guard. “Yes? Well, if you need to...”
“Hmm,” Astarion watched the ground. “You know, why do you do that to yourself?”
“Do what?" He watched as you played with your fingers, squeezing your right hand with your left and had realized that you were studying him.
“Weren’t you just crying earlier over something I said?”
“It was more than that.” You caught yourself before you could elaborate and Astarion felt himself growing impatient again.
“What do you mean more? More how?”
The tips of your fingers turned white as you continued to squeeze and contort them. “It was just more. Beyond you, and them, and me.” As soon as you looked down at your hands you finally stretched them out in front of you for some relief. “Didn’t you say that you wanted to talk with me?” You pointed to yourself in an awkward attempt to lighten the mood.
Astarion sucked in his lower lip and sighed. “I did, didn’t I?”
Astarion stared at you through his lashes as he made his way onto his knees. “My dear, I wanted to talk to you-” A scornful Shadowheart appeared in his head and he winced. “Well. I more wanted to thank you.”
“Thank me?” Your head shot up from your hands in your lap. “What did I do? You’re being a little mushy on me.”
“I know, aren’t I full of surprises?” There was a pause as he thought about how to word what he wanted to say next and saw how the silence made you anxious. “But you stood up for me in Moonrise Towers when you didn’t have to, and respected me when I said no. I can’t even remember the last time anyone’s done that for me.”
“Oh.” You smiled. “Of course.”
Astarion was unsure of how to explain himself but he wanted to try. “I know I’ve talked about Cazador and the things he made me do. I would use my body to lure in any pretty thing with a pulse and push aside all the disgust that came with it because I had to.” Your hands balled up in your lap. “For a long time, it has felt like that was the only thing I know how to do. Cazador's commands became second nature, his voice still lives in my head. It’s like I forget I’m not under his control. You’ve helped me remember I don’t have to do those awful things anymore.”
Self-consciously, you hugged yourself at your elbows and took another deep breath in. Your mouth opened to speak but only let all the air out.
“You can ask me questions.”
“If it filled you with disgust, if it was awful, then why did you...” You squeezed your eyes shut like you didn’t want to confirm some sinking suspicion. “Why did you sleep with me?”
Astarion didn’t like your cautious tone. “Why are you asking like that?”
“No, you just said- why did you sleep with me Astarion?” Your eyes bore into his. “Please just answer.”
“I needed you to protect me,” He observed your body as he had been while he spoke. “I needed to ensure you’d never want to leave me.”
With your palms upright you stared at the space between you two. Astarion waited for you to say something but wasn’t sure what he expected. He didn’t know what he wanted to hear.
“I hope you know, I would never.” was unexpected, welcome even, but it was not enough to satisfy his guilt.
“Are you not upset with me?”
“Do you want me to be?” Your eyes rounded with curiosity. “I just told you that I want you to know I would never leave your side, not willingly I should say.” Your voice trailed off in reflection. “I had never thought to, actually.”
After centuries of being beaten down, torn apart and stripped of reason, you were just going to tell him that it was, okay?
Astarion wanted to feel relieved. Astarion wanted to believe you without trembling, without balling his fists over his knees, without something telling him that should know better than to expect understanding. For years he had to get used to knowing that in Cazador's eyes he had always been below forgiveness. Especially the kind that needed no proof of his repentance.
“What’s wrong?” Your hand fell into view, hovered above his lap and without touching him you guided his chin up so he would face you.
Once again you were putting yourself aside to comfort him with a face that was drenched in concern. “I feel awful, you know. And you’re making this too easy. I have spent most of our time trying to seduce you, which was easy at first but then you just stopped. You just kept giving without taking which was just what I had hoped for. It was what I wanted- until suddenly it wasn’t.” Astarion shook his head when you nodded in understanding, “You knew it all along, didn’t you?”
It was maybe a few seconds of silence but it felt like a lifetime while in his self-appointed judgement seat.
“Not all along.” You looked up thoughtfully, “I didn’t think much of it until you wanted to bed me again."
“Oh?” His own curiosity spoke cut through the doubt. “What gave me away?”
“It was when you said,” Astarion winced as you cleared your throat and sat tall to give him a vivid visual of his act. “‘How about I try everyone's favorite? Just three little words? I love you'... Well,” You looked at his lap again, “it’s funny now.” You weakly smiled. Your hands flew over your mouth as your face twisted in embarrassment as Astarions mouth fell slightly open. “I realize that sounds like I wanted you to mean- well no. Yes- wait, no! I-It's not because I,” Your hands fell into your lap before you rolled your head from the ceiling down to him. “The realization hurts, but I guess conformation is worse.”
Something about you losing your spark flitted across his mind again and without thinking, Astarion leaned in to cup your face tenderly. His cold hands clearly caught you by surprise but you didn’t move away. In his hands he held your swollen bewilderment and kind eyes. He wished he could see what you did in him. “If you’ll let me,” He traced lines over your chin, up to your eyes, the tip of your nose, before he made it back to your gaze. “I would like to have the chance to give you something real.”
A warm smile in-between repose and disbelief made him weak. Another moment of silence passed as your eyes mapped out his expression. “Oh, shit,” you said with a slow falling simper that made your bottom lip tremble. “You mean that, don’t you...”
“I do.” He whispered tenderly as his thumb moved to still the shake. “But only if you’ll let me.”
You closed your eyes and let your head complete relax in his hands. Astarion took this as an opportunity to lift you closed to his face while your brows knitted together in anticipation. Slowly, he placed a kiss on your chin, your left cheek, then your right, before bringing your forehead to his lips. Your hands latched around his wrists as you pressed your head into his right hand. “Does this not bother you-?”
“Not one bit.” He mirrored you. “But on that note, I think I need more time for intimacy. Or, maybe I don’t want that at all anymore. After everything.” His eyes dropped to your chin.
“I can wait,” You reassured. “Whether or not that’s in vain. I don’t mind; we don’t have to have sex.”
Astarion could feel his whole face open as he straightened his posture, and yours. His usual wit and charm were coming back to him. “Well, we’ll see if that proves to be a challenge.”
You rolled your eyes and were about to pull away when his fingers pressed into your face to keep you still. “Yes?”
All he could see were your lips, “May I?”
Astarion was already moving in before you closed the distance. With your lips on his, his hand on the back of your neck, while another cradled your jaw, the only thing he could think about was just how warm you were, how soft and alive you felt on his mouth. But even in his hold he felt like he needed to chase you. You were being too gentle for his taste, too safe on his lips. Astarion was sure you could feel his growing hunger as his hand snaked to the base of your head to hold you by your hair, guiding each kiss with his neck before you finally opened your mouth, inviting him in.
Still, it wasn’t enough.
Astarion stood on his knees, not once letting you back away for air as he craned his neck to deepen a kiss that nearly pushed you onto your back. A drawn-out, reverberated whine melted in his ears as you pushed into his waist. But when you let go of him to support yourself, Astarion dragged his teeth on your bottom lip with a final peck before breaking away. You were panting as he sat back on the floor, smiling in his hold as his fingers were still tangled in your hair. Astarion pulled you into his arms, guiding you head into his shoulder before he drew circles on your back. As your heaving slowed, he pressed you flush against his chest like he’ll lose you if he couldn’t feel your heart against his own. “I’m sorry-”
“Don’t be.” You held him just as tight and that seemed to finally satisfy him.
“Thank you, my love.”
Astarion nearly purred when you pecked his neck. “Don’t mention it.”
astarion x reader, gale x reader, halsin x reader, karlach x reader, shadowheart x reader, wyll x reader
gender neutral reader
CW: none this is toothrotting fluff
BG3 Masterlist
Astarion
“I do believe you should place that one a little to the left.”
You turned your gaze from the needled branches in front of you to glare at your lounging lover. Astarion was perched against the cushions, wine glass in hand that he sipped with a smug smirk. “Perhaps you would like to come help me?”
The white-haired man laughed, as if the very idea was amusing. “Why should I, when the view from here is so much more appeasing?” As if to emphasize his point, Astarion dragged his gaze appreciatively from your head down to your toes, dramatically running his tongue over his top teeth.
You simply shook your head, however, not so easily swayed by his seductive glances. “If you want a say in how the tree looks, then you should come put up the ornaments by yourself.”
“And deny myself the pleasure of watching you fuss and stress over every single glittery decoration? I think not.” Astarion settled further into the couch, eyes as red as the sphere in your hand looking over your work with delight.
You sighed, rolling your eyes to yourself, but you simply continued to decorate, making sure that every spot on the snowy tree was filled in. Astarion managed to bite his tongue for a little while, though you pretended not to hear the muttered commentary he maintained for his own amusement.
Finally, when you felt like you could no longer stare at glittery ornaments and shining lights, you moved back from the tree, picking up your now slightly cold mug of hot chocolate. “Does it look even to you?”
“It looks wonderful, darling.” Astarion replied, appraising the tree with his gaze.
“Do you think it looks uneven?”
Astarion smiled, quirking his expressive eyebrows as he turned his gaze to you. “You just spent the last hour and a half placing each decoration, and you think it looks uneven?”
You huffed, your own eyebrows drawing together in concern. “Maybe I need to move-”
As you began to walk back towards the Christmas tree, you feel Astarion’s hands grasp onto your hips, firm and demanding as he pulled you down onto the couch. The moment you were seated in his lap, his cool lips found the warm skin of your neck, pressing kisses there. “It’s perfect, my love.” He murmured, his long fingers sneaking their way up under your sweater, caressing the skin of your waist. “You are perfect. Now, come enjoy this perfect evening with me.”
You couldn’t help but relent, relaxing against his chest, finally allowing yourself to simply admire the hard work you had put in. Astarion’s white hair melted into yours as he leaned his head against your shoulder, holding you tightly to his body. The two of you basked in the twinkling lights, knowing that the best Christmas gifts you would receive under the tree was the presence of your lover.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Gale
“Did you know that Christmas trees actually existed long before the Christian holiday?”
You paused, hand in mid air as it placed an ornament, tilting your head to look at your lover on the opposite side of the Christmas tree. “What?”
Gale glanced at you, smiling brightly as he continued placing the decorations. “The Winter Solstice was the original cause for the winter celebrations. Many ancient people believed that the sun was a god, and that winter meant the god was sick; therefore, the shortest day, which also marked the beginning of the recovery of their god.”
You nod slowly, fighting back your smile of mild amusement at his seemingly random knowledge. “I see. So where did the trees come in?”
“Well, it wasn’t always necessarily a tree, but many ancient societies chose evergreen flora because it reminded them of how everything would be green once more when their god was healthy again.” Gale replies, sounding more and more like a professor with every word. Not that you truly minded; it was quite endearing seeing him in his element.
That amusement was challenged, however, as you moved over to his side of the tree. Where you had carefully considered the placement of each bauble and bow, Gale seemed to have simply hung up the ornaments with no rhyme or reason to them. You were grateful that at least you had chosen a color scheme, or else your tree truly would have been in trouble.
“Germany is the first recorded source of Christians decorating trees for the yuletide. And then, of course, there was the English Queen Victoria, who brought the tradition as we know it now.” Gale rambled on, blissfully unaware of his tactless decorating decisions. “Not that we still use candles to light our tree. Though I would not be opposed to the attempt, were everything else not so flammable. Though perhaps if we removed the curtains from the windows…”
“I think the electric lights are perfect.” You interject, knowing that he might very well attempt the hazardous idea.
Gale smiles down at you, nodding approvingly. “Quite right, my dear. Why waste the delights of modern technology. Especially when we have created such a spectacular tree!”
You felt his warm chest press into your back as he moved to you, his lips pressing a tender kiss to the top of your head. You relaxed, letting his body support you as you gazed at the tree. Despite the ornaments being uneven, you couldn’t help but smile at the glowing tree. “We did pretty good.”
Gale smiles brightly, hands affectionately squeezing your hips. “Of course we did. We are an excellent team! And now, we are fully prepared for the holiday celebrations.” He pauses, dipping his and bringing his lips to your ear. “Though, you are the only gift I wish to unwrap. Perhaps you will even let me do so under the tree?”
And who were you to deny wishes at Christmas?
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Halsin
It was huge. Absolutely massive. And Halsin couldn’t have looked prouder.
“One Christmas tree, as requested.” His warm voice rumbled, pleased as a cat with a mouse.
You tried to school your expression, but it was difficult to do so when your lover was standing at your door, a real, previously live spruce tree laying in the snow beside him. “How did you…?”
Halsin looked down at the snow coated evergreen, crossing his arms over his broad chest. “I went out to the woods, and I came upon this conifer. I would have counseled with you to ensure it was the kind you wanted, but I wished to surprise you.” He added, a soft, almost sheepish smile curling on his lips.
“I’m certainly surprised.” You say slowly. You had merely mentioned that morning that you needed to pick up a Christmas tree, and here Halsin was in front of you after quite literally cutting one down for you. You looked up into his face, matching his smile with a warm one of your own. “I love it.”
Within a short time, the burly man managed to bring your tree inside; it looked a little cramped in the corner of your living room, the very top having barely enough room to fit, but you could not deny the appeal of the real tree. Everything smelled of pine, and even though Halsin was covered in sap and pine needles, it only added to this charm.
“Do you want to help me decorate?” You look over to your lover, heart warmed by the sight of his rosy cheeks as he warmed up from the cold.
“I will leave that in your skillful hands, my heart,” Halsin chuckled, holding up his hands. “I do not pretend to hold the talent for such things. Though I will most gladly assist you in whatever way you need me.”
You smiled at him, even more endeared by his giving nature. Heart full of gratitude, you crossed the floor to him, getting on tiptoe as you wrapped your arms around his neck, hugging him tightly. He immediately reciprocated, lifting you off your feet as he pressed you against his chest, his strong hands splayed across your shoulder blades and your backside. It never ceased to amaze you how much feeling he could pour into a simple touch, making you fall more in love with him every time.
Tilting your head back, he quickly captured your lips in a deep kiss, all consuming in the movement of his mouth against yours. You practically melted in his hold, unbothered by his sappy hands as they worshipped your body.
“I spotted a bit of mistletoe on my walk back.” He murmurs against your lips. “I will bring it tomorrow, so that we might uphold the tradition to its fullest.”
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Karlach
You heard your lover come in through the door, familiar heavy footsteps musically knocking off snow as she wiped her feet. Your delight, however, was soon mixed with confusion, as you didn’t hear her usual jovial call of, “I’m home!” Tentatively, you came out of the kitchen, moving into the living room of the house.
There, the muscular woman was tiptoeing across the floor, and you could see little sprigs of pine peeking around her. “Karlach?”
Like a kid caught with Santa’s cookies, Karlach’s head turned, eyes wide as she looked over her shoulder at you. “Hello beautiful.” She greeted, giving a sheepish smile. “How was your day?”
“It was good.” You cross your arms, slowly walking towards her, only for Karlach to step away a little. You pause, raising an eyebrow. “What are you doing?”
Karlach hesitated a moment, looking down at whatever was in front of her, then back to you. She seemed to come to a decision, letting out a big sigh. “I saw a Christmas tree farm on my way home, and I…”
The tall woman stepped aside, finally allowing you to look upon her mystery: the ugliest christmas tree you had ever seen. Standing at barely four feet tall, it was a symmetrical nightmare, the branches too small at the base and too large toward the top. That was, what branches did exist, the rest of the tree full of gaping holes. The trail of pine needles from the front door across the living room did not give you confidence in the tree’s ability to live. It was, all in all, the saddest little evergreen to exist.
But when you lifted your eyes to look at Karlach, your face contorted in confusion, her big, orange eyes were like gazing at a newborn puppy. Her expression was a mix of pleading and fondness, her lower lip unconsciously pouting a little.
“You bought a tree…” You say slowly, trying to be careful with how you said it.
“Look, I know its not exactly one of them big, fancy trees like in the pictures. But this little guy was on the side of the road, and he was just calling to my heart.” Karlach looks down at the scrubby tree with a tender smile. “I promise, we can get a proper tree, I just couldn’t leave him there. He needs a little love at Christmastime too.”
You give a soft huff of laughter, smiling to yourself; Karlach’s big heart was seemingly endless, which was one of the things you adored about her. “He…he’s beautiful, Karlach. I’m sure with some lights and a star, he’ll be the perfect tree for us.”
Giving up the idea of a picture perfect tree was well worth it when you saw the smile that lit up Karlach’s face. She let go of the tree, rushing forward and gathering you up in a bone crushing hug. “Oh I love you! Thank you, thank you thank you!”
You laughed, wrapping your arms around her and pressing a sweet kiss to her warm lips. “Don’t thank me yet. You haven’t seen me put lights on a tree yet.”
By the end of the evening, the two of you had the most unique and odd looking Christmas tree to exist. But in your eyes, it was the best tree you had ever had, a reminder of the loving and caring hands that brought it to you.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Shadowheart
For your entire life, you held the annual putting up the Christmas tree as one of your favorite occasions. You would set aside a special time just to dedicate yourself to perfecting it, indulging in a rare moment of complete holiday bliss.
In comparison to Shadowheart, however, your tradition was but a mere pittance in the name of Christmas.
On the morning of November first, you were peacefully asleep in your shared bed, resting after a late night of Halloween festivities. You briefly stirred, reaching out to wrap your arms around Shadowheart, only to find an empty, cold mattress under your grip. You noticed, with a smile, however, that she had carefully tucked her worn and weathered stuffed cat next to you, as if to replace her in her absence.
Slowly you got up, stretching and allowing your body to adjust to its conscious state. You meandered out of your bedroom, heading down to the kitchen, the scent of pancakes and maple filling your nose. Your sight takes over your senses next as you spot your wife at the stove, her long dark hair piled on top of her head as she cooks.
You pad across the kitchen tiles, coming up behind her and wrapping your arms around her waist, pressing a kiss to her shoulder. “Good morning.”
Shadowheart glances at you, her lips pulling into a little pout. “Aw, you’re awake. I was going to try to bring you breakfast in bed.”
You give a soft laugh at her expression, letting her go and moving to the side so she could flip the pancakes. “What’s the occasion?”
Shadowheart finished expertly tossing the pancakes, the golden brown side now facing upwards. She gave you a look, her eyebrows quirking upwards. “It's the first day of the Christmas season, which means that we need to go get a Christmas tree from the farm!”
“My heart, Christmas trees only last four weeks.” You give her a gentle reminder.
Shadowheart simply smiles at that, shrugging. “I know that. That’s why we’ll get a new one when December comes. This is our November tree.” She softens her gaze, giving you a look you can’t resist. “I just can’t wait to celebrate Christmas with you.”
Your heart melted, and you pressed a sweet kiss to her lips. “Then let's go get a tree together.”
The delight that appears on her face is so sweet and so genuine that it warms your heart. “Oh, I’m so excited! I’ve been doing this for years.” She takes your hand, leading you over to the table, which she’s laid with cute plates and silverware. “No need to worry about deciding on an outfit, I already have these matching sweaters for us. And once you’re dressed, I can do your hair in that way that you like. Oh, and I got us matching boots; we’ll need them.”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
You had laughed then, but as the time denoted the approach of a third hour at the Christmas Tree Farm, you realized just how serious she was. You had certainly enjoyed your time, drinking peppermint hot chocolate together, taking cute pictures in the snow, and admiring the hand crafted christmas decor. But as Shadowheart led you around the lot a fifth time, you were beginning to wonder if this was going to ever end.
“My heart, what is it exactly that you’re looking for?”
“The tree.” She replied, her tone indicating that she thought it was a full answer.
“What exactly is the tree supposed to look like?” You tentatively press further, trying to understand what the dark-haired woman was looking for.
“None of these.” She scoffs, giving a dirty look to one tree as she passes by. “Our tree must be perfect.”
You think of saying something about how nothing is perfect, or suggesting maybe that she should lower her stands for real live trees, but you ultimately decide to remain quiet, seeing how this was important to her.
As Shadowheart stopped to analyze a blue spruce, you decided to wander a little looking around for yourself. As you walk around, you notice out of the corner of your eye a little pathway between the trees, leading to an area you hadn’t seen before.
“Shadowheart, come look at this.” You called, intertwining her hand with yours as you guided her through.
It was the edge of the lot, the snow dusted ground mostly empty as it stretched out to the rest of the fields. But sitting there, standing tall and proud, was a thick, dark green Christmas tree, its boughs forming the ideal cone. As you saw it, you heard Shadowheart gasp, her fingers tightening around yours.
“You found it.” She whispers almost reverently, her eyes gleaming with joy.
“I did?”
She turns to look at you, her face as lit up as a Christmas tree itself as she smiles. “It's the Christmas tree. The most perfect, christmassy tree I’ve ever seen.”
You mirror her smile, feeling pleased that you were able to make Shadowheart happy in this small way. “Let's take it home then.”
“You wait here, and I’ll go find the guy with the saw.” Shadowheart instructs, and she begins to walk towards the red barn, but then she pauses, turning and giving a little run back to you. As light as a snowflake, her lips press against yours, a rush of affection flowing from the kiss. “I love you.”
“I love you too.” You say softly, your heart melting for her despite your chilly surroundings.
She begins to stride away once again, full of purpose to claim her tree. “Enjoy your little break, because once we get home, we have a lot of decorating to do!”
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Wyll
“You made these?”
You look over your shoulder from where you perched on the step ladder, trying to adjust the ribbon at the top of the tree. You spotted Wyll at the coffee table, looking down at your cardboard box full of Christmas decorations. His hand dipped inside, carefully pulling out a weathered and slightly dismal reindeer made from popsicle sticks. It was obvious that this had been a product of some festive childhood activity, the wood stuck together with globs of glue, the sparkly pipe cleaners contorted in all kinds of directions. Poor Rudolph only had one eye, the other one most likely lost in his years of service on your family Christmas tree.
You smiled fondly at the ornament, getting down from the stepladder to go over to Wyll’s side. “I think I made that in the 3rd grade. I wanted to use the glitter glue, but this snobby girl in my class kept hogging it for her reindeer.”
Wyll chuckled, amused by your anecdote. “Careful babe, you sound a little bitter.” He let you take the ornament, his arms wrapping around your waist, pulling you close.
“Of course I’m bitter!” You huff dramatically, tossing your head. “Can you imagine how cool this would have looked if this had glitter?!” You look down at the dilapidated reindeer in your hands. “And her’s didn’t even look that good.”
Wyll laughs, squeezing you a little. “Don’t you think you’re taking this a little far?”
You give him a look of mock shock. “No? This was a serious act of injustice against me!” You insist. “Did you never have to fight off the other kids for crafting supplies at school?”
Wyll’s smile faded a little, his eyes looking down. “We never did crafts at the academy. They were deemed too frivolous of an activity that would take away from our studies.”
Your heart ached for Wyll, recalling his upbringing at the private boarding school his wealthy parents sent him to. “I’m sorry.” You say softly, placing your hand over his heart. “Every child deserves to make their own ornament.”
Wyll shrugged, placing a kiss against your temple before letting you go, returning to pulling out the decorations from the box. “It doesn't matter now. I’m glad I get to treasure your memories with you.”
Despite his reassurance, your heart hurt, thinking of everything Wyll had been denied, experiences that he should have had. As you watch him, however, you get an idea, and you slip away with non-specific promises of returning.
After about ten minutes has passed, Wyll looks around the living room, wondering why you haven’t returned. “Babe? Where did you go?”
“Coming!” You call down the stairs, and after another moment, you excitedly reenter the living room. Your arms are overflowing with materials, cotton balls from the bathroom, old makeup, foil from the kitchen, and an assortment of tapes.
“What’s all this?” Wyll asks, quickly taking some of the items from your arms before they spill over. Together, the two of you take them to the coffee table, laying them out.
“We’re going to make our own ornaments. Together.” You say warmly, upturning your face to him.
For a moment, Wyll is taken aback, not expecting the gesture. But as he looks into your eyes, seeing the sheer love and care you are displaying for him, his heart feels like it's too large for his chest. “I’d like that.”
The two of you sit side by side, backs against the couch, spilling glitter and bits of paper onto the carpet. But in the moment, there is so much whimsy and joy, and the smile on Wyll’s face makes it all worth it.
Disclaimer! What you are about to read contains the following: fluff! melancholic fluff and impatience!
& what I have to say is… I hate the Underdark Act 2. But I like it better Act 1. But I hate the Underdark and wish that everyone in this forsaken wasteland dies either by my hand or... well actually no I will singlehandedly wipe out everyone in that joint if I have to. But besides Baldur's Gate I decided to take this hyper fixation on such a bratty vampire as an opportunity to create the art that a high school Honors Art course burnt out of me. Needless to say that drawing him is making me delusional...
“You’ve spent an awfully long time staring at my nose.” In the late evening sun insecurity bled from Astarion’s tone as he watched you diligently map out whatever it was that needed to be adjusted this time.
You leaned in, “I want this to be as accurate as possible...” Tracing the space between his brows in the air before repeating the movement on the paper. “So, shush for a second.”
Astarion flattened his eyes. He was beginning to feel restless, and you were trying to be very patient with him as he unconsciously lost interest in holding still. “You doing that is going to change your whole face, my love.”
“Seriously, darling?”
“Yes.” You peeked over your journal. “Seriously, darling.”
Astarion sighed and did his best to revert into his less impatient pose.
After watching you draw portraits from memory, Astarion marveled at your skillful pastime. There was a fluidity in your art, in how you mapped out faces and their intricate details. Sometimes he would watch you go over the same lines after erasing them repeatedly and wondered what his untrained eye was missing. “That line looks almost identical,” he would comment over your shoulder or “I thought you already adjusted that eye.” Very kindly you would explain the seemingly meaningless adjustments to him, and Astarion would nod and hum in feigned understanding.
The request for his portrait was rhetorical. You weren’t meant to say yes, and it wasn’t meant to make him anxious. After spending so long in the dark of his reflection, Astarion now sat in his velvet cushioned stool unsure if he wanted you to stop drawing or if he wanted you to hurry up. It almost felt like being on a first date as he held still and somewhat patiently waited as you worked. Occasionally he would glance over at you on the floor while you studied his face and shoulders, leaning in with a closed eye and your pencil to measure features that were muddled in his mind. He could tell when you didn’t like how something was when you got off your bottom and stood up on your knees to get even closer to the feature in question. You lit a candle as the sun began to set, and focused on his mouth before you lost all the daylight.
“Soft,” you whispered to yourself.
Astarion lifted his brows at your steady stare. “Are you asking if they are?” Without a response from you, he lowered his eyelids and grinned. “Did you want to feel them for yourself-?”
“Your cupids bow.” The tip of your pencil tickled his upper lip as he scrunched his nose and jerked back. “It’s softer than I originally drew…” The obvious invitation to kiss him flew right over your head.
“Darling,” he tried again.
“Yes?” You slowly withdrew from his mouth to his eyes.
The innocent and earnest look in your eyes stirred something in his chest as he thought of what to say. His confidence faltered but regardless he leaned in again to cup your chin. You just as quickly retracted with wide eyes and a nervous smile. “Oh,” like a switch his confidence was glowing. “So, you get to be a mere inch away from my lips but I can’t close the distance?”
You avoided his heavy watch as you sat back down, shyly grinning. “Sorry.”
“For?”
“Being so close.” You sighed.
He tiled his head. “My sweet, I just want a kiss.”
“And I just want to draw your lips.” Your knowing grin and thinning patience were apparent in your slouched position. “I promise to kiss you when this is...” your tone died, “finished.”
With a slight shake of your head, you got right back to drawing. After five minutes Astarion had unconsciously moved again, and you had to ask him to lift his chin up. He couldn’t sit still. Every time you gave yourself some quiet praise, he held his breathe thinking he’d get to see the finished piece until you quickly moved to the other side of the paper. Then his leg started bouncing which quickly caught your attention.
“Is something the matter?”
“Hmm?” Astarion didn’t notice until the end of your pencil gestured to his knee. “Oh, sorry.”
“No, it’s fine,” you set the paper on the table beside him. With the pencil overtop and the blank side up you were up on your knees again. “If you want to stretch that’s fine,” you cracked your knuckles and rolled your head. “Or did you want to finish this up tomorrow?”
“No!” Astarion gently but quickly placed his hand over yours. “I mean it’s fine. I can sit still some more.”
A small laugh escaped your lips as you pulled your hand away. “Some more,” you lightly teased while reaching for your supplies. “I’m almost done with the shading. It’s just your hair.”
“What about my hair?”
“Nothing. Er-well,” Astarion looked bored and made a face. “I just have trouble with light hair. It’s the shading, or lack thereof.” You said thoughtfully. “Now hold still.”
Nothing about his hair seemed to be right to you. Scribbling, erasing, with more scribbling and erasing. Astarion had dropped his head a couple times as ten minutes turned into twenty before he combed his hand through his hair and nearly misplaced every curly strand.
“Astarion.” You said flatly.
He sighed and stretched. “Let me get my comb,” he stood up.
You waited as he brushed his hair back into place before you got right back to the scribbling and erasing.
“I appreciate you doing all this. But is my hair that awful to draw?”
“Do you want it to be perfect?”
“Hmm,” Astarion asked himself sarcastically. “I mean, yes that would be nice.”
With a deep breath in you crinkled your nose in growing annoyance. “It would be. So be patient.”
After two minutes he started flirting. “I feel like you might be dragging this out on purpose. I’ve been told I’m easy on the eyes, aren’t I?” When you wordlessly looked at him, tilting your head with a sigh, he continued. “I mean honestly, I’m surprised you didn’t ask to draw me first. But clearly, if you’re having a hard time capturing my ever-lasting undead beauty why not just-”
“Well, if you’re going to be noisy...” The best smile you could give him was in the shape of a thin line.
Astarion nostrils flared as he thought about it, muttering the spell to himself with folded arms.
“Don’t do that.” Without looking up from your paper you said, “I can tell you’ve moved again.”
“My head didn’t move.”
“Unfold your arms.” Was said as a soft warning that blanketed the impatience within your skills and his attitude. “Please.”
He groaned. “Fine. But how much longer-“
“Astarion,” you snapped onto your knees into, or more between his open lap. “Good Gods, I swear on if you cannot sit still for 5 minutes without moving, I-” A calming breath in interrupted your threat before you waited and sighed. “I don’ know, I want to be finished too.” You admitted.
Astarion was speechless as he watched the careful studious nature of your eyes dim into insecurity. “I-I’m sorry, my love.” He leaned in on his knees.
“No, it’s not you.” Your smile seemed genuine. “I just want to you know what I see when I look at you.”
“Surely you mean my timeless and undying beauty?” A raised brow teased.
Something in his still heart fluttered around as you met his gaze, smiling still as you shyly shrugged your shoulders.
“I knew I upset you when I mentioned your smile lines and the curl of your hair around your ears.” You set the portrait in your lap, but Astarion did not care to look as you spoke. “But I love that there’s proof of your striking smile. And that proof creases around your eyes. Speaking of your deep, red eyes. Gods, they could put me in a trance. They have.” Your eyes had gone over every feature you mention, and he watched as your gaze now connected with his. “And when I called you beautiful, I meant it.” You quickly looked away. “The whole of you is bewitchingly beautiful in my eyes, my love.”
Astarion could feel whatever blood he had in his body rush to his cheeks and ears. The attention you paid him now was bordering too much. Looking down to see the pure adoration on your face felt embarrassing. But before he could think he reached out to cup your face.
“My sweet…” he let out in a low hum.
“Even now, just looking at all the things that make you up is enough for me.”
In wide eyes and a shyness that showed, Astarion had trouble putting up his usual act. “Here I was, scared I had really upset you this time.” He said too sincerely.
The snake of your head eased him. “You did.” A grin made it easy to get back into the swing of things.
“Well, I guess I can sit still a little longer if you can keep that lavish flattery going.” But he held his breath as you looked over the paper.
“I could say, and honestly, I think I am done with your portrait.” You sounded unsure of yourself, but you knew that you couldn’t adjust his likeness forever. “Yeah… I’m sorry for the lack of speed in skill.”
Like a little kid handing out valentines, you shyly placed it on his lap before covering your mouth in wait. Astarion flipped it slowly, feeling unsure of seeing his likeness for the first time in just under three-hundred years. As he traced over his features and carved the image to memory, he felt his own face with a pensive grin. Under his fingers simultaneous with his eyes, he felt those smile lines you admired; his soft cupids bow you traced and the tip of his nose you struggled with. “I wish I could honestly tell you that this looks just like me, but this...” melancholy stained his tone as he found the words. “Thank you.”
At some point you stood beside him, watching as he looked up to you. “I tried.” You smiled.
Astarion quickly wrapped an arm around your hips, bringing you close as he pushed his cheek on the top of your tummy. He stared through his lashes with a toothy grin. “Well, we can confirm with the group just how true to me this portrait is, later. But right now, I think I remember my sweet treat promising me a kiss.”
CW: Depictions of mental illness, body dysmorphia, self loathing, descriptions of anatomy, nudity without sex, hints at a past of self harm. Please read with caution.
A/N: This fic is dedicated to the most incredible woman I know. Here's to you--and all of you--finding your healing. <3
bg3 masterlist
You knew you were being stupid.
You had seen villages that suffered under oppressive rule, slain monsters that had shed the blood of countless innocents, fought off gods and demons alike to remain true to yourself. You had seen so much evil, felt it’s burden on your heart, and yet, your greatest battle was waged within yourself.
It was no dark possession, no cruel and unjust leader that opposed you so vehemently; rather, it was your very own skin you existed within. Or perhaps it was rather your mind, turning within itself to destroy you from the inside. You detested the very body that gave you life, that had carried you through every day of your life. And yet you hated it with a darkness that could put the very nine hells to shame.
The silvery reflection you gazed upon only furthered your displeasure, the light seeming to glint off the various imperfections that built up the frame you no longer recognized. Your chest, uneven to your scrutinizing eyes, was so lacking that it was a mockery to call them breasts. Where your largeness did come in was from your stomach, as soft and pliable as a baker’s dough, and yet it was considerably less useful. It was duplicated on your thighs, the circumference making you frown the longer you stared. You felt all together uneven, as if some potter had started shaping his clay and had left you out to dry, half finished and altogether defective as a human being.
It didn’t help that you were covered in marks; your skin looking more like a mis pieced quilt to your eyes than the body of a woman. Scars from various battles stitched the fabric of your flesh, showing off your failures in battle. Worse, however, were the scars from the battle within yourself, where you failed to protect your own skin from your gleaming blade. The shame that each of those marks carried made your body burn coldly, unremorseful yet full of regret.
You weren’t even sure what your lover saw in you on the rare nights you let him have you wholly. In the occasions where you did not shun the light or keep yourself partially dressed, you let your mind be overpowered by the sensations of his own body, perfect and glorious as it made love to you in the way only he could. You would forget yourself for a while, until the darkness creeped back in and dragged you from the safety of his arms. Somehow you always came to the conclusion that he must have hated you more than he loved you, and that physicality was a poor excuse for the burden you were upon his life.
You wanted to punch the mirror where it stood proudly in front of you, mocking your very existence, your futile attempt at being somebody. You envied your lover, cursed to never see the art of his features ever again. It was an undeserving curse, one you wished would be placed upon yourself rather than the beautiful elf. Yet you would not be free from your aesthetic burden until your traitorous eyes were plucked from their sockets.
“My love, you would not believe what Gale-” The voice of Astarion at the entrance of your tent sent you scrambling, snatching up your cloak to wrap around your body. The pale elf stopped, his crimson eyes reflecting his smile as he looked you up and down. “Forgive me, my darling. I did not realize that this was an art exhibit.”
His words sunk in your stomach like lead in mud, slowly, yet inevitably gathering at the bottom, unable to ever be useful again. You glanced back at the mirror as he approached from behind you, wishing for once you could see his reflection with you instead of just yours.
His pale, veiny arms snaked around your waist, pulling you back against his chest. You felt the light sting of his pointed teeth as he dragged them over your neck, inhaling the scent of your freshly washed hair. “Or perhaps you are offering dessert, my love?”
Perhaps another night, you would have offered yourself, gone through the same ritual of letting him baptize you in pleasure and adoration, praying to his heart that it cleansed you of your offensive form. But tonight the hatred in your heart weighed too heavily; you feared spilling it onto Astarion and staining his affection for you.
“Have I fallen from your good graces, my dear?”
Astarion’s voice broke you from your ruminating thoughts, and you realized you had been silent a little too long. Astarion looked at you, face pinched in a little bit of defensive concern. Your own face had betrayed your thoughts, your own features contorted into a look of disgust when he had spoken his teasing proposition.
“No, no. you are perfect.” You quickly tried to remedy, hoping your tone sounds lighter than your thoughts feel.
“Then why do you look like you walked past Halsin a little too closely?” Astarion says lightly, resuming his sassy attitude after your reassurance.
You give a half-hearted laugh, amused at his dig towards your fellow companion, but still too deep within the darkness of your own mind to enjoy the lightness.
Astarion’s smile softens, and he holds you a little tighter in his arm, his left hand coming up to cup your jaw. You instinctively lean into his touch, your chest becoming feeling more like a cage for your lungs as tears threaten to reveal your weakness. “What is it that troubles you so, my love?” Astarion murmurs, his voice making your body tingle and ache like being close to a fire after a long night in the cold.
“It is nothing.” You mumble, casting your eyes down, not trusting your emotions to remain in check if you looked into his eyes.
Astarion’s cool finger presses against the hollow of your jaw, trailing forward to force your chin up. His smile holds a hint of his playful demeanor, but holds so much more love and affection. You briefly wonder if he would still smile that way if he knew just how abominable you were on the inside.
“It is clearly not nothing if it has stolen the light from your eyes, my dear.” Astarion says gently, his eyes searching yours for your untold burdens. “I am usually so skilled at bringing it back; yet I see that this is an affliction my jovial words cannot ease.” He leans down, pressing his lips to your furrowed forehead. “If my words cannot be of comfort, allow my ears to be.”
You studied the face of your lover, noting the delicate features and marks that you had come to know and love. “You’re so beautiful.” You whisper, reaching up to lightly trace his cheek.
Asatrion’s eyes lit up, delighted by your complimentary words. He grasped your wrist, bringing those fingers to his lips, pressing intimate kisses to each one. “As are you, my love.”
The sour feeling bubbled again in your stomach, and you wondered if you were going to throw up. “Don’t say that.”
Immediately, Astarion’s features darken, his silvery eyebrows drawing together in a mix of irritation and concern. “Why not? Am I not allowed to return the sentiment?”
You shook your head, feeling very small, and yet taking up too much space. This was it, you were sure, this was going to be the night he walked away from you forever more. He was finally going to see you exactly as you were. “Not when it’s not true.”
Astarion’s eyebrows rose up from their tightened position, now expressing the astonishment and incredulousness within his chest. “I do not lie to you, my dear.” He says, trying to resist the irritation he feels at being doubted.
You huff, unconvinced as you pull away from him. “Then you have been blinded. I am not beautiful.”
Astarion’s fingers curl around your wrist, not allowing you to stray further than his arm’s reach. “No, you are not beautiful. You are gorgeous, a treasure among men, more rare and bewitching than any goddess.” His words are spoken so earnestly, so confident in the truth of them. “You forget, my heart, that I have lived far too long, and seen too many pretty faces. And yet you are more exquisite than any of them.”
“You don’t have to flatter me anymore.” You say bitterly, keeping your face turned away. “You know you have my trust.”
“I’m not–” Astarion starts to snap, but he stops himself, taking a deep breath. He looks at your avoidant face, his heart stinging with doubt. “I thought I made myself perfectly clear about my sentiments.” He says quietly, forcing his voice to remain calm. “I do not continually pursue you because of survival. I do so because I love you. My undead heart is entirely yours, and any affection I express to you is entirely truthful.”
Guilt gnawed at your already heavy heart, making you feel like an even filthier person than you were before. You knew Astarion was being genuine, you had no reason to blame him. Yet you felt like a caged dog, scared, and biting to find its freedom. “You shouldn’t love me.” You say lowly, unable to keep the disgust at your own behavior out of your voice. “I’m no good for you.”
Astarion bristles a little at this, giving a unbelieving scoff. “You are the best thing that has happened to me in my cursed existence. You cannot stop me from loving you any more than you can stop the sun from rising in the morning.” He steps closer to you, his grip on your wrist sliding down to intertwine your fingers with his. “Why are you running from my love?”
His words spoken so gently, without any accusation or judgment, break your fragile heart. Your lips pull into a frown, but you cannot stop as tears rush to ease the burning in your eyes, watering your cheeks in streams. Your breathing becomes choked, every inhale a struggle to get enough air as you stifle sobs.
Immediately, Astarion comes forward, cocooning you within his embrace, as if the sheer strength of his arms could keep you from breaking. You bury your face into the linen on his chest, your crying violent as it drags up all the self loathing, all the dark thoughts and ideas that had settled into the walls of your body and mind. Your hands cling pathetically to Astarion, trying to ground yourself amongst the sea of your pain.
He doesn’t let you go, instead holding you to himself, trying to support your trembling body as the tears streamed from your eyes. He didn’t say anything, didn't try to give any meaningless platitudes to smooth over your emotions; all he did was let you cry, pressing his lips lovingly to the top of your head, almost as if he could push out your harrowing thoughts with each kiss.
Time seemed meaningless and yet all too present as your soul rained down upon Astarion’s shirt. Every time you attempted to calm yourself, to try to regain some grasp of the traitorous emotions, the tears would simply wash over anew, sending you right back into your linen hiding place.
By the time your body finally wrung itself of its tears, you were left feeling thoroughly spent, tired and melancholy, the embodiment of gray itself. Astarion’s hands left your body, coming up to cup your face, pressing soft kisses to your forehead, down your nose, and across your cheeks before he pressed his head against yours.
“I don’t like myself.” You whispered, your voice raspy from the strain of your sobs. “I hate the way I look. I hate my body, and I don’t...I don’t know why you can't see it, or when you’re going to realize you could do better, and I…”
Astarion didn’t let you continue, pressing his lips against yours to silence you. His ruby eyes were shining with unshed tears, pain and worry twisting your empty chest. “You, my love...my treasure, my heart..” He shook his head, overcome with emotion for a moment. “You are utterly perfect to me. There is not a part of you I would change, or that I do not think is the most incredible sight to behold.”
The twisted feeling in your chest had risen up to your throat as he spoke, threatening to choke you entirely. “There is so much wrong with me.” You insist, unsure of whether you’re speaking of your physicality or your mind, but even further unconvinced of if it really mattered.
“There is nothing wrong with you.” Astarion’s voice was still loving, but each word was enforced with a firm tone, denying any argument. “Flawed, perhaps, but nothing wrong. And even if you are entirely flawed, that does not make you any less perfect in my eyes.” He paused, bringing his lips to your knuckles as he spoke again. “Or in my heart.”
Everything inside of you wanted to protest, wanted to fight back; perhaps if you hurt him he would finally understand what you were. But in your heart, there was a tiny flame of hope that craved his words, feasting upon the adoring look in his eyes. It was that hope that shone through your dark mind, a tiny thought blooming that perhaps he was telling the truth. Perhaps you did deserve love.
“How can you be so sure?”
Astarion’s smile returned, as assured and adoring as ever. “I wish I could show you the way I see you. To open up my heart and give you all my deepest thoughts and sentiments for you.” He gazed at you thoughtfully for a beat of silence, then kissing your hand once again. “Perhaps I cannot give you my mind, but I can still show you how I feel. If you would allow me.”
The instinct to run, to deny either one of you the chance to be open and genuine with one another, burned in your chest. But you loved Astarion, and so badly you craved to just let yourself be convinced that that could be enough. “Okay.”
Astarion’s eyes were full of love as he closed the distance between you; slowly, he let go of your hand, bringing it to your shoulder. He catches the edge of your robe against his nails, and he brushes it downward, letting the loose fabric slip off. Your body tenses, your heart squeezing, as if trying to tamp down the swell of emotions you feel towards the vampire.
“Breathe, my love.” Astarion softly whispers, his hand caressing the soft skin of your neck, worshiping the same patches of skin that you despised for their red roughness. “You need only speak your discomfort, and I will stop. But I only wish to show you my affection.”
The only discomfort you felt was from the fact that you existed as you were, but it was intoxicating to have Astarion so reverently touch you, crimson eyes so intent in their admiration. You could not find it within yourself to pull away. “I want your affection.” You admit softly, wanting only the elf’s long ears to catch your confession. Astarion smiles warmly, looking pleased with the opportunity your words presented him.
Tenderly, he removed your robe from your body, his actions not unlike how an artist reveals their work. His eyes, usually so hungry when he saw you naked, instead were marveling at your body, taking in every part as if you were a painting that needed to be understood as well as appreciated. “You are so beautiful, my love.”
Heat rises up your neck, feeling vulnerable and unsure of yourself under his admiring gaze. Yet you still did not want him to stop, your insides fluttering as he placed his cool hands on your waist. His smile unwavering, paralleled by his enraptured eyes, he guided you further into the tent, until he had you lay down on the bed roll. Astarion fussed over you for a moment, making sure your pillow was right, that the blankets were comfortable enough, that you were alright. It was an endearing turn of sweetness amongst the emotionally heavy atmosphere, bringing a hint of a smile to your lips.
Astarion knelt over you, his hands beside your head; his ruby pools swirling with devotion. “You are truly the light and love of my life. A thousand years attached to your side could never be enough to satiate the desire I feel to have you, body and soul. No matter how you view yourself, you must know that no flower that blooms, no gem set in gold, no god sent divination could ever give my eyes a sight that is more magnificent than you are.” You had only ever heard his voice this raw, this unaffected and meaningful in his words, the first time he told you he loved you. “I adore you. There is nothing that you could ever do to change that, certainly not by being yourself and not even by trying. My heart is entirely bewitched by you and I will not let you go.”
Your eyes felt misty, your body dried of its tears from your previous bout of crying. Your heart ached, but it almost felt good, to be seen in all your pain and hatred and still be told that you were loved. “Astarion...I love you.” Your voice is trembling, but earnest in its words.
“And I love you.” Atsarion murmurs back, leaning in to press his cool lips to yours. “More than anything. And I will tell you every moment until there is not a doubt left in your mind that you are my only religion, my goddess.”
Astarion moves his lips from your own down to your jaw, slowly pressing kisses of amorous devotion over your skin. Like a priest at the altar, he allowed his praises to be felt rather than song, pious in his utter worship to your body. Down your neck, through the valleys of your collarbones, making the pilgrimage to the heights of your breasts. Faithful and unwavering in his piety, he continued down your sternum, making no exception to any mark or hair or scar that came in path.
You internally cringed as he got to your soft belly, preparing for his disgust; instead, however, you heard his voice murmur against your skin. “Gods, I love you.” His hands splayed over your hips, grasping a little as he pressed his face into your yielding body, sending heat up your core. Your surprise was only furthered as you felt the light scratch of his vampiric teeth catching on your stretch marks, following the rivulets with intent.
As he moved further, he pressed a light kiss to your pelvis, giving it the affection he certainly knew it was worthy of, but he continued on, wanting his actions to be sensual, but not sexual; you were worth so much more than that. He certainly adored making love to you, but in this moment he wanted to simply convey his love for you through his touches.
His hands moved to your plush thighs, and he made another sound of contentment as he kissed the skin there, giving equal adoration to the scars you felt so much shame for. You braced yourself for questions, but he asked none, silently accepting that that would be a battle to face another day. For now, he simply kissed over the pocked skin over your cellulite, nibbling any part that seemed particularly alluring to him. Though that proved to only have his fangs bared constantly, every new ripple of your thighs only looking more appetizing as he continued.
Throughout Astarion’s entire ritualistic worshiping, you had slowly relaxed, melting into the bedroll as you experienced his sheer devotion. Your mind was pulled away from its dark thoughts, not in the way it usually was during passion, but rather feeling like the dark inner person within your mind had been calmed, wrapped in a blanket of warmth.
Astarion sensed that his efforts had done at least a portion of what he desired, and so he rested his cheek against your thigh, gazing up at you with lazy admiration. “Shall I continue? Will you be convinced if I should perhaps lick your toes?” He teased, a smirk curling on his lips.
“Ew!” You squealed, instinctively curling the appendages inward. “Astarion!”
Despite your disgust, Astarion felt content with his words as he heard you finally laugh, light hearted and easy once more. “There she is, my beautiful love.” He murmurs, pressing a kiss behind your ear as he comes up and lays next to you. His arms remain around your own frame, wanting to keep you as close as he could.
“Thank you.” You whisper, looking into his eyes, your heart warm and full from his adoration.
“No need for thanks.” Astarion insists, a leg coming over yours to pull you against him. “I love you. And for that, there is nothing I wouldn’t do to prove it to you, for as long as you need me to. You are mine, forevermore, and I will take every part of you and love you for it until the heavens do not rise upon our flesh again.”
I take my wallet out of my pocket and unfold it. It is empty other than a single moth that lazily flies out. The moth lands on the tap point of the card reader. There's a beat, and my payment is processed. The moth flies back into my wallet and I put it back in my pocket.
A/N: I'm currently reading Iron Flame so this is just based off Fourth Wing knowledge! Don't come for me lol
Song: I, Carrion (Icarian) by Hozier
I feel lighter than I have in so much time
I've crossed the border line of weightless
One deep breath out from the sky
I've reached a rarer height now that I can confirm
All our weight is just a burden offered to us by the world
The first sensation you notice when you stir from your rest is the weight of your lover’s arm around your waist. You can feel the way his hand rests just under your breast, gentle compared to its touch just a few hours ago. You keep your eyes closed, savoring the peaceful intimacy of this moment. Your hand lifts from the mattress, trailing your fingers over the lines of his forearms, not needing sight to trace the familiar scars. You’ve gazed at these arms long enough, felt their strength, that you know each muscle as if it is your own.
“Good morning, beautiful.” The husky morning voice of Xaden curls around your ear, the sound traveling straight down to your heart. You feel his hard chest press against your shoulder blades as he pulls you in closer, his warmth permeating your skin, heating you up from the inside out. You could feel the bridge of his nose as he pressed his face into your hair, lips finding the bits of skin through the curtain of hair that fell over your shoulders. His hand pressed a little firmer against your ribs, as if he could meld you into his body through sheer strength. Not that you would have minded; you never felt as complete as you did when you were right against Xaden.
It was difficult to say what moments with Xaden were your favorite. He was an all consuming sort of lover, always giving his most in every second he spent in your presence. Yet the soft mornings, when the sun had not yet dared to cast her gaze over the earth, you perhaps cherished most. Xaden was entirely yours in those moments; not a Wingleader, not the leader of a rebellion, but just the man who loved you. And the man you loved fiercely in return. The bond between the two of you felt as fierce as dragons’, a desperate need to be near one another, to share in every part of your being.
Unlike dragons, however, the world tore the two of you apart. Your assignment to the front lines brought a chill into your bed, one that not even all of Xaden’s affection could brush away. You longed to give into his touches, the kisses that made you feel as if you were high above the world, but the knowledge that every minute brought you closer to your departure forced you to be sensible.
“You’re thinking.” Xaden murmurs, the plush of his lips ghosting over the curve of your ear.
“Always.” You sigh in return, turning your head to look into his eyes. There’s a shine in his Onyx irises, a light that you proudly note you bring to his life. You reach up your hand, trailing it over the path of stubble that covers his jawline. He makes a sound of contentment, one that you feel rumble in his chest, and he presses his head further into your touch.
“You’re going to need to write down all of those pretty thoughts for me.” He murmurs, brushing his lips against your palm, following the map of its creases.
“Most of them are going to be about you anyways.” You give a soft breath of laughter, knowing you would willingly write down every word for him if he asked.
“Even better.” He insists, moving his kisses to the pulsepoint at your wrist, as if he could kiss your very heart. “That means they’ll match mine.”
Your chest swells, and suddenly it's like your ribs have been cinched in, making your throat close in on itself. Your eyes prick with tears, and you blink rapidly, trying to push them away. You slip your hand to the back of his neck, intertwining your fingers with the messy curls, savoring the silky sensation. “I’m going to miss you.” You whisper, the words only audible for Xaden, as if the walls themselves will hear you and shame your vulnerability. But here, in the bed, with only his ears listening in, you know you can allow yourself the emotions too often denied in the life of a rider.
“As will I.” Xaden replies, his tone low and gentle. “But you will be back soon.” He says the words so easily, voice as calm as the morning itself. But his arms tighten their hold on you, his hands pressing flat against your hip and your stomach, pulling your body as tightly against his as possible without crushing you. There's a desperation in his hold, and you think that he may be clinging to you rather than holding. Every time you leave, there's the unspoken knowledge between the two of you that you may not return. The uncertainty of life comes with the job, and with the warlike state on the front lines, mercy has turned her gaze away from the world.
“Promise me you’ll take care of yourself.” Your words are soft, but your tone is underlined with a plea. You know all too well how Xaden pushes himself when you are not there, pushing himself beyond his limit in his efforts to fulfill all the roles that fall on his–alebit perfect–shoulders.
“You’re the one we should be worrying about.” Xaden murmurs, his hands turning your body over so you’re facing him. His hand leaves your hip, coming up to stroke back your messy hair. “I hate knowing that I won’t be there to protect you.”
“I can protect myself.” You reassure him, your words truthful. You have more than enough skills to fend for yourself, and years of experience have trained you to be a dangerous opponent.
Xaden’s thick brows furrow, drawing together between his dark eyes. “You shouldn’t have to.” He growls, his fingers on your waist digging in a little, most likely adding a few more bruises to his marks littering your body. “I should be there to protect you, to make sure that you’re safe. I don’t want anyone laying a hand on you.”
The fire in his words burns straight to your heart, making your skin tingle with the warmth. Even though it's not possible to let Xaden defend you at all times, the very knowledge that he would so passionately protect you from all harm makes you fall in love a little more. “You’re needed here. The cadets have so much to learn, and they really can’t protect themselves.” You pause, your voice softening. “Especially yours.”
He nods, and you watch his shoulders tense as he is reminded of all the people he is responsible for. You’ve traced those 107 scars more times than you could count, kissed everyone as a silent promise to help him. So much rode on keeping those boys and girls safe.
“Just promise you’ll come back to me.” He says, his dark voice tinted with need.
“Always.”
And though I burn how could I fall?
When I am lifted by every word you say to me
If anything could fall at all, it's the world
That falls away from me
The hands of smoke are curled around your esophagus, choking out every last clean breath from your lungs. Your entire body ached, encrusted in your flight leathers from the amount of blood that you had been bathed in. Furthermore, it was unclear how much was yours versus the enemy’s, but you kept pushing yourself, knowing there would be no peace until every one of the Poromish fighters backed off, or more tragically, were dead. Your heart hurt even more than your wounded body when you thought of the innocent people who were dying, wondering how Nevarre would twist this battle to be blamed on the Gryphon riders and not the true enemy.
You climbed back onto your dragon, the two of you taking to the skies to evaluate the battlefield. The landscape was a nightmare painted by the cruelest of artists, the dirt turned to reddish mud from the sheer amount of blood spilt. It was a small relief to see the battle finally winding down, though it may only be because there was no one left to fight. You and your dragon flew out to the edge of the wards, continuing to look for anywhere that your aide might be needed.
Suddenly, your stomach turned into a sinkhole, swallowing up any seed of relief that might have been planted. The edge of the wards had moved, evidently from further weakening of the stones, and suddenly you and your dragon were exposed. Your dragon quickly banked left to dive back into the safety of Nevarre, but just a second too late. You felt metal hit your neck, right at the junction of your shoulder, pain shooting out like lightning from the point of impact. Your functionality disappeared with the jolt of pain, as suddenly you felt nothing at all. Except, the world was tilting, and rather than seeing the neck of your dragon, you were looking up at it, watching as it grew smaller and smaller. In the haze that surrounded your brain, you wondered if you were falling.
You wondered if Xaden had eaten that morning.
And then you thought nothing at all as darkness consumed you.
You have me floatin' like a feather on the sea
While you're as heavy as the world
That you hold your hands beneath
Once I had wondered what was holdin' up the ground
But I can see that all along, love, it was you all the way down
You were warm. Your entire body seemed to protest against its existence, but you were warm. And surrounded by softness. You opened your eyes–the action taking more effort than it should–and had to blink away the blearyness that blurred your vision. As you looked at the ceiling, noting the beams of dark wood that arched the ceiling, you couldn’t help but think that this looks like Xaden’s bedroom in Aretia.
Your eyes confirmed your suspicions as they slowly moved over the room, spotting the familiar wardrobe, dresser, and desk. All of which were places that you were familiar for far less than innocent reasons, but knew nonetheless. Hope slipped out of its cocoon, fluttering her new wings in your heart as you looked towards the door, looking for the owner of both the room and your heart. And your hope took flight, soaring through your body as you saw Xaden’s head resting atop his arm, his tall body slumped over the edge of the bed. His other hand grasped yours, a desperate need in his grip even as he slept.
You had seen the way his hands could wield daggers, swords, clubs even–not to mention the dark and powerful shadows that he could conjure with barely any movement at all. But to you, those hands held up your entire world. You knew that his calloused palms could hold you in a way that took away any fear, could convince you of his deepest affections, and could bestow a love within yourself so deep that you forgot to be insecure.
Softly, you ran your thumb over the curve of his knuckles, smiling to yourself as you gazed at your beloved. Despite your stiff muscles, you pushed through the ache to shift downward on the bed, curling up beside his head. At the sensation of the mattress dipping, Xaden’s head shot up, his hand constricting around yours. For a moment, his eyes are dark and wild, as if he’s ready to manifest that darkness around whoever threatens him. But then he focuses on you, and immediately they soften into the gentle depths that you’ve lost yourself in countless times.
“My love…” Xaden’s voice is hoarse, the usual strength gone as water wells in his eyes. His fingers flex as he resists gripping you so tightly, afraid he’ll break you.
“Hi.” Your own voice is soft, scratchy as it begs for water. But what’s more important is having the love of your life closer, and so you open your arms, wanting to feel Xaden fill them. He immediately responds, up from his seat in a flash and letting the mattress take his weight. His own arms envelope you, barely restrained from simply crushing your body to his chest. Your arms feel weak from lack of use, but you grip onto the man as tightly as you can, your fingers finding root in his dark curls.
You press your nose into the little gap between his neck and his uniform, inhaling deeply. An ocean of scent fills your mind, washing your body over with comfort and ease. He smells like the tall pines that surround Aretia, of the dark leather that was molded to his form, and the warm skin that laid underneath. It was the scent of home.
“Don’t you ever do that again.” Xaden’s voice is a growl, but you know him well enough to hear the worry and care in the rough words.
“I’m sorry I scared you.” You whisper softly, pressing a gentle kiss to his stubbled jaw.
Xaden lets out a shaky breath, hands tightening on your nightdress, seemingly unconvinced that you’re not going to suddenly disappear. “I should have been there.”
“There was no way you could have been.” You counter, trying to soothe him.
“I should have been there to protect you.” Xadens voice comes out dangerously low, frustration dripping off his words.
“You have a duty-”
“My duty is to you, dammit.” He takes a deep breath, trying to control his voice. “There is nothing I would prioritize over you. Let them strip my rank from me, let this whole rebellion fall apart again, I will not lose you.” Xaden murmurs the words like they’re an oath, like he needs you to let him dedicate his life to you. “If I need to live and die at your hand, then so be it. You are the only thing that matters. Nothing else.”
For a long moment, your words fail you, Xaden’s passionate vow stealing any protest or promise from your mind. “I love you” simply wasn’t enough to convey the depth of emotion and connection the two of you shared.
You leaned back a little, fingers brushing the curls at the nape of his neck as you gazed into his gleaming onyx eyes. “Then live at my hand.” You softly request, your own voice as insistent. “I don’t want your sacrifice. I want you, here, with me, until we both draw our final breaths.”
Now, it was Xaden’s turn to lack a response, the words weighing heavily on his heart. His whole adult life, he had been prepared to die for his cause, for what he believed in. But to live for something? To live for you? It was something he never considered; but if it was all you wanted, then by the gods he would do it.
“I’ll live for you, my love.” He murmurs, and he brings your empty hand to his lips, lightly kissing the tips of your fingers, then down to the palm, and finally kissing your pulse point. Your wrist throbbed steadily, reminding him of just how precious living was.
Leave it now, I am sky-bound
If you need to, darling, lean your weight to me
We'll float away, but if we fall
I only pray, don't fall away from me
Xaden meant it literally when he said he would live and die at your hand. He did not leave your side unless absolutely necessary, and even then he’d always drag one of his friends in to watch over you, despite your protests that you were fine. Still, it was a little endearing, seeing how much he cared for you.
The healing process was slow, the poison from the arrow having done a lot of damage to your body. But you made steady recovery, taking the medicine you needed to, getting rest as well, though the latter often had to be enforced by Xaden himself. It worked both ways, however, as you would often convince the man of shadows to rest as well by welcoming him into the warm bed.
Walking proved to be the most difficult task during your healing period. Your body had been so violently ill with the poison, as well as the wounds you took during the actual battle, that you had been greatly weakened. That, in addition to you being bed ridden for some time, only added to the issue. When you started to literally get back on your feet, however, Xaden’s arms held you, preventing you from collapsing, encouraging every step. In the moments when you would grow too fatigued, he’d scoop you into those same arms to return to his room.
At first, you were frustrated with your inability to do such a basic thing, feeling like a dead weight on Xaden’s shoulders. But as each day passed, you came to cherish those walks through the halls of his home, his arm around your waist, warm and sure. Xaden himself relaxed more during those times, allowing himself to speak freely and enjoy the borrowed time you two shared.
It was during one of these outings that the two of you wandered down a hallway you had previously not explored. It was quiet, with a few pieces of art or items that had been salvaged from the original house. And then your eyes landed on a portrait; it was vast, spreading across the majority of the wall, showing off the smallest of details the artist put in. There was a man, strong and proud, and a woman beside him, looking gentle and wise. But what drew your eye the most was the depiction of the young boy between them, head held high, dark onyx eyes staring directly at the viewer.
The same onyx eyes that stared at you.
“Thats Mom and Dad.” Xaden’s voice is soft, sounding more vulnerable and childlike than you have ever heard before. You glance at him, seeing the bittersweet smile that ghosts over his features. His strong hand grips at your waist a little tighter, as if he needs a reminder that you’re still here, that he didn’t lose you too.
“You look just like your father.” You remark, your voice as tender as your beating heart for Xaden and his family that you’ll never get to meet. “But your smile is like your mother’s.”
Xaden’s smile grows more real, his eyes looking over you, full of gratitude and hope from your words. “She would have liked you. Both of them, I think.”
“I would hope so.” You muse, studying the people in the portrait. You wonder what it would have been like to actually know them, to be able to note what traits your beloved shared with his parents. Seeing the portrait of his father seemed so different from the traitorous man depicted in all of the history books. “What was he really like?”
Xaden tensed beside you, as if the thought of what you must “know” about his father made him defensive. Yet he just squeezed your waist, perhaps a reminder to himself that you weren’t there to burn his memories too. “He was a good man. Not perfect, but a good man. The kind I wish I could be.”
For a moment you let the weight of his words sink onto the two of you, the air thick with the hopes and fears that formed your very lives. You both knew that you and Xaden would carry the blood on your hands for the rest of your lives; even if you won the war, there would never be a moment you could truly say that you were good. But perhaps Xaden’s father felt the same.
“We’re going to finish what he started.” You say quietly, placing your hand over Xaden’s heart. The motion draws his gaze to you, his eyes seeming to come back from whatever far off place his mind sailed to. “We’re going to make this world the kind he would have wanted.”
Xaden doesn’t say anything, just placing his calloused hand on top of yours, his thumb stroking your cool skin. “He wanted things to be better for me.” He whispers, his voice raspy with choked emotion. “I want things to be better for our kids. I want them to be able to choose who they are.”
The idea of “our kids” doesn’t go unnoticed, making your heart flutter as you are reminded just how much Xaden truly wants a future with you. “We’re making things better for all of us. For our friends, our future kids…” You pause, smiling a little, “For us. And we’ll be able to share the story of just how wonderful your father truly was.’
You could have been an angel from above, the way Xaden gazed at you as you spoke; his eyes were reverent, full of devotion, holy and unholy. “For us.” He echoes, like it's another vow to strengthen his heart. A vow that he seals with a kiss to your lips.
I do not have wings, love, I never will
Soarin' over a world you are carryin'
If these heights should bring my fall
Let me be your own
Icarian carrion
Once you fully recovered, Xaden still wanted to keep you in Aretia. The very idea of you returning to Baisgaith just to possibly be sent away again didn’t settle well with his protective heart. Still, you were determined, and just as stubborn as he was, so he begrudgingly agreed that you would return with him.
Despite your lover’s disgruntled attitude towards your decision, the flight back was gratifying for both of you. Side by side, your dragons never strayed from one another, and neither did the two of you. During the few stops that were made, Xaden was quick to encase you in his arms, often allowing himself to indulge in some kisses that increased the time of your journey. If Xaden had been doting before, the near loss of you had only made him even more devoted to claiming every moment he could.
This only became more apparent once the two of you returned to Baisgaith, reciting your perfected story of your terrible injury and how Xaden had managed to nurse you back to health. Leadership, of course, wanted to take you away so they could get the full report;you could have sworn Xaden was a dragon himself from his barely contained irritation at being forced to leave your side.
It wasn’t until the sun had set that you were finally allowed to return to your quarters, having had the details of your experience laid out and rehashed time and time again. Leadership could not find a flaw in your story, however, and eventually let you go with a welcome back to the citadel. You were a little tired, pent up with frustration at your lying authorities, and ready to be back in Xaden’s arms.
Your feet barely had time to step through the door, however, before shadows consumed you, slamming the door shut, nearly splintering it off the hinges. Immediately, heat rose in your body, Xaden’s desire palpable through the little control he had over his powers.
“Finally.” His voice whispers, low and husky with lust against your neck, his nose pressing into the soft skin. “I was beginning to think I’d have to come get you myself.”
You inhale deeply, the distinctive smell that you know and adore filling your senses as you lean back against his strong body. He’s already shirtless, his heated skin making you wonder how long he was waiting for you, like a predator ready to pounce and claim. “You know how long these things go. Trying to make sure I’m not a traitor.”
“Of course.” He darkly chuckles, pressing warm, open mouth kisses up the curve of your neck, biting softly behind your ear. “Don’t you know I’m filling your head with all kinds of nasty plans?”
“You certainly fill my head with filthy thoughts, my love, but I don’t think it's the kind the government cares about.” You hum in reply, smiling to yourself as you feel his hands wander down your body.
His long fingers find the buckles of your flight leathers, popping them open with practiced ease. “Well well, perhaps it should be my turn to interrogate that pretty little mind of yours.” His voice curls into a coil in your stomach, stirring up your desire. “I would love to know just what I can make you imagine.” His hands continue their work on your pants, continuing the progressive removal of your layers.
Once you’re undressed, he spins you around, his hands ghosting over the shape of your body before settling on your hips. His thumbs press into the hollow below the bone, his fingers splaying over the curve of your ass. It’s not unlike watching your dragons lay claim to their possessions, the way he grips onto you, but his possessive nature only stokes the fire in your belly.
“You’re so beautiful.” He murmurs, dipping his head down to kiss over your collarbone, his warm breath fanning over your skin. “Gods, I love you so much.”
“I love you too.” You murmur your honest reply, your skin tingling with the sensation of his touch.
“I mean it.” He murmurs, biting at your collarbone before lifting his gaze to meet yours. “My whole heart, it belongs to you. I am completely, madly, and truly in love with you.”
Xaden is always such a man of action that you’ve never really had to doubt if he loved you. But as the words melt over your body, casting warmth like the early morning sun, you are taken by just how truly loved you are. “I feel the same.” Your words hardly seem equal, but Xaden’s smile reassures you that he is pleased.
“I want you to always be mine.” His voice has dropped, as if he wants only you to hear his words. His dark eyes glimmer in the little light of the room, making your stomach turn with anticipation. “I want to be able to love you for the rest of our lives. I want to have a life with you by my side.”
You watch as Xaden takes your left hand into his, his calloused palms comforting against your own smaller hands. His thumb brushes over your ring finger, sending a thrill through your heart.
“I can’t make you any promises right now.” Xaden murmurs, love radiating off of every single syllable that leaves his lips. “And I want to do this properly when the time comes, with a ring, and a beautiful setting. I want to get down on one knee so you know that I’m serious when I say I want to worship you for the rest of my life.” He looks up, finding your eyes, giving a small, tender smile. “But for now, all I can ask is that you’ll be mine. In whatever comes our way, whether we have one minute together or one hundred years, I want to know that I get to give my time to you. If you’ll have me.”
You blink, your eyes filling with water as you listen to his words. “Xaden…”You whisper, your voice choked with emotion. You swallow your heart, unable to contain the smile on your lips as you cup his jaw, thumbs stroking the stubble there. “No matter how far we go, no matter what we do…I am yours. Truly and irrevocably. Even if we fall, I won’t fall away from you.”
Xaden feels his own eyes smart with unshed tears, and so he gathers you into his arms, burying his face into your neck. You can hear him murmur soft “thank you”s and “I love you”s against your skin, his hands running down your back. You smile at his reaction, and you slip your hand into his hair, lifting his face enough so you can press your lips against his, pouring out your heart to him through your touch. Xaden immediately reciprocates, his heart always hungry for you, and his lips move demandingly, pulling you in deeper.
He lets out a needy huff, and his hands find your thighs, lifting you up and wrapping your legs around his hips. “Let me show you how much I love you.” He requests against your lips, sounding like a man desperate for water.
“I’m all yours.”
Xaden holds nothing back as he kisses you again, his tongue demanding its way between your lips, savoring your taste on his lips. He swiftly moves across the room, his bed becoming his altar as he lays you down onto it. He takes a moment, eyes moving over your body, as if he could commit every mark and line to memory. He takes your hands, his own strong and capable, but gentle as they hold you, and he presses kisses over the ridges of your knuckles. “And I, my love..I am all yours.”
If the wind turns, if I hit a squall
Allow the ground to find its brutal way to me
If I should fall, on that day
I only pray, don't fall away from me
“Fen Xander Riorson, be nice to your sister!”
Xaden smiled to himself, hearing your voice carry over the springtime air. The sun was setting over the mountains of Aretia, the new grass soft under his body. As far as his eye could see, he saw the prosperous new settlements, the homes and businesses of his friends and family thriving within the new age. It was a sight he thought would only ever be fantasy at one point.
As he feels your familiar hands smooth over his shoulders, your soft lips pressing against his temple, he is reminded just how real his life is.
“That is your son.” You murmur in his ear, coming to sit beside him on the flowering hill.
Xaden chuckles softly, reaching out to snake an arm around your waist. “Our son.” He reminds you, nuzzling into your hair, inhaling your scent. Even after all these years and two kids, he still feels the intense need to just have you. “He gets his stubbornness from you.”
You huff, feigning indignation, but your wide smile gives away your true feelings. You lean against Xaden’s side, watching as your son ignores any reprimands and continues to chase his squealing little sister through the field. “He gets his rebellious side from you.”
Xaden lets out a small snort of laughter, his arm tightening around your waist. He doesn’t deny it, knowing that the two children both take after their parents. It was his greatest joy, being able to watch the very humans the two of you had created grow up and discover themselves. You had fulfilled your promise, after all; the world they knew was much kinder to them than it had been to him. His marks and his scars would always remind him of that.
Xaden’s gaze looks over you, the form of his beloved wife, and it only makes his smile grow. Gray hairs are beginning to intermix with your natural color, denoting the time that has passed within your body. You moan and complain about them, but he sees them as a mark that you two not only survived, but lived. Truly lived. And now, the fruits of your labor only grew in abundance every day.
“I love you.” He softly murmurs in your ear,, his hand brushing away the hair so he can press a kiss to your neck.
You smile up at him, a little surprised at the sudden words, but delighted by them nonetheless. “And I love you.” You reply, your words full of truth and affection.
The two of you return to watching the children play, and the sun continues to disappear with the last few moments of day. But now, you and Xaden simply note it as a passing thought, your love no longer on borrowed time. The night will only bring another day, with the promise of letting you cherish every moment, never to be parted again
Okay I will indulge you @dr-robert-chase-s-hair but since I preferably like having two names (just like thirteen) you get both sets (but I gotta do 5 each cause mobile)
CW: smut, masturbation, unprotected sex, oral (fem receiving), astarion being a brat
A/N: If you know me irl, no you don't (lovingly)- otherwise, welcome to my first smut fic (i need to be put down like a dog). Also shout out to S.H. for being an editor and proofreader, cause my asexual ass don't know shit <3 can't wait to live in the asylum with you when our delusions take over our brains
bg3 masterlist
You couldn’t fucking take it anymore.
Life out on the open road was exhausting, and often far dirtier than you’d like, and most days you just wanted to collapse into your bedroll once the night sky blanketed the camp. Although, when the travel was not so long and the days were a little bit calmer, your mind would finally be able to think of other things than sheer survival. But that was where the real battle lay, and you had no defenses against your opponent.
The most beautiful bastard to ever walk the earth, otherwise known as Astarion.
It was truly horrible. The elf vampire’s mere existence was enough to send your body fluttering. The way he would lounge by the fire, feet reaching for the warm, head tilted to face the heavens. Or when he would put on his armor, dexterous fingers flexing as he tightened leather straps. It didn’t help that Astarion was an outrageous flirt, who knew exactly how to lower his eyes just so, or how to change his voice to a vocal caress. Sometimes you wondered if he could possibly read your mind, if he was amused by how utterly pathetic you became the moment he said your name.
Perhaps it would have been easier if he could, because then you wouldn’t be caught in the dilemma you found yourself in. You know of Astarion’s background, knew that he was trying to undo two centuries worth of pain and hurt. And for that reason you didn’t dare speak your desires to him, not willing to chance the fact that you might ruin what little healing he had found.
At the end of the day, however, you still were just a woman. And it was in the twilight of a long day that you retired to your tent, hot and flustered from so much more than the campfire. Your core ached, desperate to find some sort of release for the sheer amount of arousal it was constantly put through. But of course, when you thought of pleasure, it was the face of Astarion that came to mind. But that was not a path you were willing to go down.
Tentatively, you moved to lay on your bedroll; even though you were completely alone, and well within your own right, you felt embarrassed as you took off your shoes, your pants soon cast aside as well. You lay back, taking a deep breath as you attempted to clear your mind, to relax and enjoy yourself. You began as you always did, fingers trailing over your opening, touching the spots that you knew would make you feel good.
Except when the first wave of pleasure hit, all your mind could think of was Astarion. His pale face, with those alluring ruby eyes filled your mind, and you found your lips longing to utter his name. It shocked you for a moment, but you couldn’t help but note the way the thought of him had made the experience more enjoyable.
You struggled within yourself, questioning the morality of thinking of Astarion for your own pleasure. You had no right to him, and aside from his flirtatious nature, you weren’t even sure he wanted you in that way. So you resolved to push any thoughts of your white-haired companion away, resorting to sheer pleasure to satisfy yourself.
You went for where the aching was in your core, fingers pushing through your own soft folds, gathering the slickness that had already collected in just the few moments. You carefully pushed into yourself, breath catching as you maneuvered through the first ring of muscle. Slowly, you pumped your fingers in and out, taking care to brush against your sensitive inner wall. To your dismay, however, the feeling of your fingers within yourself didn’t bring you nearly as much pleasure as you had hoped. Your mind betrayed you, focused on how it was woefully your own hand and not a certain vampire spawn companion’s.
You slipped in another finger in an attempt to help fill you up, and your mind drifted to Astarion. What would it feel like if it had been his cock inside of you instead, pushing up against your center. Would he be thick, stretching you out around him? Or would he be long, needing to encourage you to keep taking him in. Your fingers picked up their pace, desperation starting to take root as your longing for the real thing increased.
With a jolt, you caught your ruminating thoughts, heat burning through your face rather than your core as shame coiled in your stomach. Frustrated, you removed your own hand, a little miffed at how difficult your hopeless crush on the elf had made your life. You took a deep breath, moving onto a different tactic; if you couldn’t control your thoughts, you wouldn’t think at all. Your clit had already swelled a little from the arousal, and as you brushed your fingers over the bump, it produced a satisfying thrill up through your body.
You began working the bud with your fingers, a soft sound escaping you as you felt your pleasure increase in your body, responding to the stimulation. You allowed your mind to grow hazy with the sensations, little prickles of pleasure running through your hips and legs, giving your body the experience it had been craving.
You pressed on your clit more firmly, touching yourself with more intensity as your body grew hotter and hotter. Little noises escaped with your uneven breathing, the pleasure unable to be constrained to your body and escaping into the air. You had to be careful, your tent was in a circle of your companions’ after all, but your need overruled any real sense of propriety. You continued to vocalize your pleasure, whispered “pleases” mixing in with the quiet noises that escaped you the more you felt pleasured. You could almost hear Astarion’s voice in your ear, murmuring words of encouragement, of praise, enticing you closer and closer to your climax.
“Astarion…” You groaned, unable to resist the way it so easily came to your lips.
Little did you know that just outside your tent, crouched beside the very wall of tarp that you were next to, the man himself sat, pointed ears listening intently to your sounds. Astarion had no intentions of listening into your private moment as he had walked past your tent, but the moment he had heard his own name moaned out, your voice so sinfully needy, he had rooted himself to the spot. It didn’t take him long to deduce what was happening, the scent of your arousal, damp and slick on your hot skin, told him all he needed to know. So he sat there, listening intently, his own hunger growing, tightening the leather of his trousers.
Your breath came out in little pants as you felt the coil burn hot in your lower abdomen, ready to spring at any given moment. How you longed for Astarion’s actual touch, for him to help you along; instead, however, you contented yourself with a final swirl of your forefinger, and the coil snapped. Warmth swelled in the center of your body, and your body sank into the thin bedroll, satisfaction easing the tension that had plagued you for so long. You pulled your hand away from your body, letting it fall beside your trembling thighs. As soon as the initial high was over, however, guilt poisoning the ecstasy, leaving a bitter taste in your mouth. No matter how hard you had tried, you couldn’t get the beautiful elven man out of your head, the stupid bastard.
“You did so well, darling. So good, coming for me just like that.” You could almost imagine his voice purring to you.
Except you didn’t imagine it.
Your eyes fly open, and standing at the end of your bed was Astarion himself, a beautifully wicked smirk curled across his lips. His ruby eyes gleamed with gratification, looking as pleased as can be as his gaze drank in the sight of your dripping folds.
With a start, you broke from your blissful haze, scrambling to cover yourself; Astarion, however, had other plans, pouncing on you immediately, grasping your wrists and pinning them to your sides. “No no, darling, don’t get shy now.” He clicked his tongue, clearly enjoying your flustered state. “You don’t get to act coy, not when you called out my name. This is mine to enjoy, and you’re not taking it from me.”
Astarion punctuated his words by bringing your messy fingers to his lips, taking them into his mouth, tongue swirling around them as he tasted you. He groaned, eyes closing for a moment as he savored your flavor. “So sweet, darling…I simply must have more.”
Your mind was still caught in shock, lost for words as he shifted down your body, hands caressing from your wrists, following the path of your arms as he trailed further and further downward. He knelt into his position of worship, finding the altar between your thighs, more than ready to taste the wine of your body. Despite how needy he felt, he wanted to savor this moment, the way he finally had your truest feelings laid bare before him.
“Were you truly so desperate for me, love?” He purred, rubbing his nose against your soft inner thigh. “Our perfect little hero of the realm, fucking herself on her fingers, crying out my name. How perfectly filthy.”
“I...I just needed-”You feel beyond embarrassed, being caught in such a personal moment, but even more so being caught by the very man you were using to get off.
Astarion, however, was the furthest thing from displeased, chuckling as he pushed on your legs, sighing happily as his face was smooshed between your plush thighs. “I know what you needed, pet. You could have just asked, you know; I would have been more than happy to oblige.”
You inhale a sharp breath, pulling your lower lip between your teeth as you hesitate, a flicker of concern tightening around your heart. “I don’t ever want to put you in that position again…”
Astarion faltered, his heart melting a little as he realized what you were insinuating. He moved back up to hover above you, the cool leather of his pants stretched over his knees as they pushed up against your thighs, effectively keeping your legs wide open for him. He gently stroked your waist–better than the way you had imagined–his slightly dry fingertips soft as he mapped out the curve of your form.
“You could never.” He says, his creamy voice quiet as he spoke, the most earnest you had ever seen him. His eyes matched the color you felt in your heart, heated and passionate. “You are nothing like him, or any of them. You…” He leaned in, and he pressed his lips to yours. His whole body leaned into you, craving the warmth he could feel radiating off. “You have proven time and time again that you see me as more than a body.” Astarion whispered against your lips, his own still brushing them. “You have given me a place to call home, to not constantly have to protect myself. And now that I’m not just trying to survive…” He moved his lips to your neck, biting gently. “I find myself wanting.”
His meaning was clear in his words, sending tingles up your body from how much more it excited you. “You have to know now just how much I feel about you..how I adore you.” You reach up a slightly shaky hand, cupping his sharp jawline into your palm. He leans into it, hands tightening into a possessive grip on your waist, as if he couldn’t bear the thought of you leaving.
“It cannot possibly match just how much I adore you.” He murmurs, pressing a kiss into your palm. His eyes flit open again, glancing at yours. “And I would like to show you, if you’ll let me.”
Your breath catches as your heart skips, heat curling in your stomach again. Unable to trust your voice you give him a silent nod, the need evident in your gaze.
Astarion presses one last kiss to your lips before he returns to his irreverent worshiping, his slender hands wrapping around your thighs, nails pressing into your skin as if to mark you as his. He brings his face the slit between your folds, and he inhales deeply, a satisfactory sigh leaving him. You clench around nothing, his warm breath scattering across your damp skin making your body tingle with arousal.
“Look at her, already so beautiful and ready for me.” He murmurs, pressing his pointed nose into the little crevice above your clit. He darts his tongue out, flicking the swollen bud, smiling as he feels the twitch of your body in reply. “But look at her, poor thing…she deserves tact, and true pleasure, not just a brutish push to an orgasm. Never fear, my love..” He pauses, pressing a kiss to your pelvis, “I am here to take care of you as you deserve.”
Astarion rolls out his tongue, pressing it flat against the opening between your softness, and he drags it upwards. He hums with delight, just the hint of your essence making him greedy for more. He pushes through the soft flesh, dragging his tongue expertly up and down, lapping up the mixture of arousal and release that remains.
You can’t help the soft noises that escape you, no words being able to describe how you’re feeling, the sensations too strong to remain within you, finding their release through your vocal cords. This only spurs Astarion forward, however, who continues swiping his tongue through your vulva, unabashedly hungry in his consumption of you. The only breaks you receive are when he occasionally pauses to tell you how perfect you are, or how good you taste, or how much he adores you. The moment the elf finishes vocalizing his sentiments, however, he returns to your body, working his tongue over and over again.
You find yourself wishing you could have had this first, Astarion’s actions surprisingly better than your own, as if he was simply meant to know your body in this way. Had you not been so entirely consumed with the sensations his mouth were bringing you, you might have had the notion to be irritated, but instead you only found yourself delighted by his uncanny ability to find the places that pleasured you the most.
While Astarion could have happily just kept dragging his tongue over you like a man dying of thirst, he wanted to continue focusing on your pleasure. It delighted him, being able to give pleasure because of his affections he felt, with no ulterior motives, and he was determined to enjoy it to the fullest. His shifts a little, easing his tongue into your opening, his body jolting as he feels you gasp and tighten on the muscle. Teasingly, he moves his tongue, easing you open again, sliding it as far as he can get. He presses his face as far into you as he can, taking full advantage of vampires’ lack of needing air. He presses his nose against your sensitive clit, rubbing it slowly, building up a rhythm with his tongue as he moves it in tandem with his teasing nose.
He feels a surge of satisfaction as you moan, grinding your body against his face, letting him delve deeper into your soaking cunt as he gets more and more drunk on your taste. He can feel you getting close from all the stimulation, the way his hands have to keep you from closing your thighs around his head–not that he’d mind going that way, but he has other plans for you.
“You’re doing so well for me, my love….taste so sweet, being so filthy on my tongue.” He murmurs, rubbing his nose against your throbbing clit, and you nearly lose it from hope the vibrations rumble through your flesh. “You’ll be a good girl for me and come, won’t you? Let me taste my saccharine reward.”
“Astarion, I…” You’re not really sure what you’re trying to say, thoughts increasingly difficult to form with every flick of his tongue against your tense inner muscles.
“I’m here, my darling…my beautiful woman…” He presses a kiss with his lips to your labias, a sweet gesture compared to his demanding tongue and insistent nose. “Let yourself go. Baptize me in your glory, please.”
He’s begging you. Tongue pushed deep into your core, pointed nose steadily pressing into your bud, Asatrion is begging you to come on his face, and you don’t have the strength– nor the desire– to deny him.
“Astarion!” You moan out, hips bucking against his face as the tension snaps, your body going slack against him as warmth courses through your muscles.
Astarion feels a surge of delight and satisfaction as he feels his face dampen, and he forgets any rhythm with his tongue as it greedily laps at you, as if he needs every last drop of your release to survive. You can barely make out his murmurs, only catching your name and words of praise here and there. You whimper as he licks at you, the sensation bordering on overstimulation for your pleasured body, but you can’t deny the ache feels good.
Finally, Astarion’s face pulls away from your warmth, and he presses one last soft kiss to your swollen clit, inhaling deeply to take in your scent once more. He sits up, reaching a hand out to brush back the hair sticking to your forehead.
“You alright darling?” He asls warmly, smiling down at your flushed and dazed face.
You nod, taking a deep breath as you try to collect yourself. “I’m…I”m wonderful…perfect actually..” You glance over him, and feel your stomach flip as you see the obvious bulge in his pants. “Astarion, you-”
He waves you off, pressing a kiss to your stomach. “Do not push yourself, dearest. I wouldn’t want to break your pretty little body on our first night together.”
“I want you to break me.” You blurt out, heat rushing to your ears as you drop your gaze. As if you weren’t already a trembling and aching mess from the most thorough and pleasurable eating out you’d ever received. Yet somehow, with Astarion, it was never enough. “Please.”
For a moment, Astarion just gazed down at you, his wine-colored eyes deep in thought as he seemed to consider you. Finally, he smiled, and he reached down, untucking his shirt. “You are so perfect, darling, you know that?”
Even after all that you’ve experienced, your body burns with arousal again as you watch him remove his shirt, tossing it aside without a care. For a moment, you feel you might faint when he tells you you can touch him, but you manage to stay conscious. Your trembling hands caress over his smooth chest, feeling the cool, pale skin, and the lean muscles that it encases. Astarion shivers at your touch, adoring how he simultaneously feels both adored and wanted.
He unlaces his trousers, disposing of those and his underwear, watching your expression carefully.
The heat in your center doubles, and you already ache for friction, for him as you gaze at his body. His cock is long, erected upwards as he takes in the mess he’s already made. Veins curve around the shaft, dark against his taut, pale skin. You shudder as a thrill runs up your spine as you imagine how that will feel, and you wonder if you can die from anticipation.
“Is this what you imagined, darling? Or have your wicked fantasies bested me?” Astarion teases, his voice low as he returns to his position, howevering over you. He dips his head down, nibbling at your ear before moving down to press a trail of kisses across your neck.
“You are far better than anything I could have imagined, though...I’m not sure this isn’t fantasy.” You breathe out, feeling dizzy from his proximity.
“This is very much so reality, darling.” Astarion murmurs into your skin. “And I have every intention of proving it.”
He leans up a little, just enough so that he can grasp your hips, lifting them to meet his body. As you watch him bring his member to your opening, you wonder if you will ever remember how to breathe. But suddenly, you feel him push in, and suddenly all you can focus on is just how right it feels.
He takes his time, though it's easy for him to slip in, your body plenty wet from your arousal. He groans your name softly as he feels you clench down, as if your body is demanding to have more without delay. He happily obliges, pushing forward a little more intently, watching to ensure you are comfortable.
You have no qualms, however; every inch you receive sends little waves of pleasure radiating through your body. You wonder how you ever lived without this, the desperate ache inside of your core easing away as he fills you up. As he gets closer to his base, it becomes a bit of a stretch, your body not quite used to the length, but your moan is full of appreciation rather than pain.
Astarion bottoms out, a deep breath escaping him as he does. “My darling…” He murmurs, caressing his hands up and down your hips. His eyes are hazy, his body thrumming with heat, with the sheer ecstasy of being so deeply intertwined with you.
Your own body is pulsing, and you grow a little greedy, your hands grasping at his pale strands of hair. “Astarion...m-more…please…”
Astarion moans again, amazed by how he could have someone so incredible possibly want him. “Do not fear, my love. I have every intention of giving you everything.”
Astarion pulls back his hips, pushing them back in a little quickly, his stomach lurching as he hears the gasp that escapes you. He repeats the motion, building up a steady pace as he thrusts in and out of your warmth. It's like your bodies need one another, crave the most carnal and yet loving intimacy that can be had. Astarion's hands firmly grasp your thighs, wrapping your legs around his hips so he can thrust deeper, a little harder as he does so. Both of you moan, the pleasure intensified through the new angle. Astarion stops being careful, pumping in and out of your soft body at a reckless pace, needing to chase the pleasure that continues to rise higher and hotter between the two of you.
The two of you are lost to your ecstasy until you reach the height of it. You come hard and fast, your insides burning up from the tightly wound coil. You forget everything, calling out Astarion’s name without caring if others will hear it, clinging to him as your pleasure takes you. Astarion follows almost immediately after, hips stuttering before he just presses into you, allowing his hot release to fill up your body. Your thighs soon become slick as it spills out of your body, but you hardly notice, more focused on the sensation of Astarion’s body laying on top of yours.
For a few moments, you both just lay there together, panting heavily, minds spinning from the sheer amount of bliss the two of you have created. Your hands stroke through his hair, his own hands still cupping your waist as if you are the only thing grounding him to the earth.
“You are so perfect, my love..” Astarion whispers, his voice husky and low, barely a murmur in your ear. “Just positively divine.”
You smile, a little flutter of satisfaction warming your own heart. “As are you. I feel absolutely incredible, thanks to you.”
The white-haired elf chuckles, pressing a kiss to your neck. “Do not ever thank me, my darling. I’m almost ashamed to admit how much of this was for my own pleasure. You will have to force me to only think of you, next time.”
“Next time?” You echo, quirking a brow at him, hope fluttering in your chest.
Astarion’s smile curls across his flushed face, and he tucks your hair behind your ear. “Of course darling. I can’t have my beloved resorting to her own hands the next time she needs to feel good. Especially if I can be the one hearing you moan my name.”
Disclaimer! What you are about to read contains the following: suggestive, like more so than I have previously written, I think… jealously, biting, and it ends pretty abruptly because I don’t plan on posting smut here, so sorry about that y’all. If I missed any tags let me know! Please! Like fr send an ask my way and let chi know!!
& what I have to say is… This game has me in a chokehold. Baldurs Gate 3 has me in a headlock. Like unimaginably so. I’m hyper fixated all over again but this time a stupid fruity vampire calls me beautiful and asks to bite my neck and I asjdjwwsjidkekwakksdnb :) oh, and trigger warning for Halsin mention. <- E.P.
No eyeful sufficed; it was not enough to simply imagine being intertwined when the sudden ache began a week or so ago while Astarion had been playing with a blade. It was one of those things he did often enough to be called routine, ordinary, or unsurprising. What did not happen as often or routinely was how keen your attention had been on such fixed activities. A dozen times over you had traced his veins, memorizing when they were most defined on his knuckles, his forearms and whether it led to the toss of his knife or not. Worse than that, his sleeves were rolled up and around the two-minute mark he noticed your hypnotic gaze.
Curious, Astarion decided to see for just how long he could keep your attention as he made a show of stretching his fingers afterwards, adjusting his sleeves, rolling his wrists and shoulders before sitting onto the floor with his head in his hands to watch the fire from his tent. Only then did he turn his attention to you with a raised brow and all-knowing smirk. It was obvious you were unaware of your staring as you quickly turned away.
But it felt as though every ten minutes you would find something new about him to gawk at, and Astarion read you all too well. In frozen observation you hardly blinked in between shallow breathes. The deeper into thought you dove, the more your shoulders sunk, and the more your shoulders sunk, so dropped your eyelids.
The attention was reminiscent of your behavior at the Tiefling party. After he made his tipsy proposal, he carefully studied just how aware you were of the events to come in every interaction you had before the night ended. How restless you seemed when you lied coyly on your rolled bed. Or just how often you touched your face and neck as you met him in your shared hidden place. Astarion loved how clearly he took up your mind, how blatant it was. He reveled in your tunneled attention and patiently waited for you to give him the word, or a signal of sorts, feeling that it would be nice to have you initiate intimacy as he was secure in your thoughtfully lustful desire.
But no move was made.
Tonight, it seemed Gale had no issue making conversation with you from across the campfire as you two were loudly going over alchemy notes from a journal Astarion picked up just for you. You began to pull out leaves and branches from a pouch in your lap, holding them to fire for light as Gale leaned in studiously. It didn’t mean anything, Astarion was sure of it, but if he thought that if he was newly recruited or hadn’t known any better, he would’ve thought you and Gale were a thing within this flame lit scene which burned into Astarion mind as he replayed the last six days.
It was as though you were scared to be near Astarion, to get close to him, to talk to him, but with him alone. Watching him the way animals watch prey, but without any stalk in your stride, without a wiggle or means to pounce. Just heavy glances and light sighs. Karlach had snapped you out of this state a couple of times as it was in her nature to melt you into an easy, giggling mess. Wyll found something that reminded him of some grand adventure while walking a trail and you two seemed to bond over the found item, making Astarion snort. Shadowheart had also decided to warm up in your company and grew intent with whatever you had to say. The way she looked at you seemed far too soft and sticky for friendship and her demeanor buzzed inside of Astarion’s memory.
But the straw that broke the camel's back was Halsin. Despite you currently seated across Astarion, now handing over some mugwort to Gale, he could no longer ignore having overheard Halsin’s request to keep you company, and how inconsiderately close he was to Astarion’s tent moments ago. By then Astarion was just waiting for you to stop by to talk about it, unsure and indifferent to whether you wanted his permission to canoodle with Halsin. But when you b-lined to the campfire, a suspicious creeping feeling pushed him onto his feet to be seated on the log in front of you. Since he became aware of your careful watch, he noticed how keenly you avoided him and began to wonder if you watched him the way rabbits watch dogs; to run.
Gale would not stop talking, so Astarion took it upon himself to quietly appear beside him, peering over his shoulder with a tilted stare at you. When your eyes met and widened, Gale slowly, and unknowingly turned to Astarion before he could be cartoonishly and audibly spooked by the elven vampire's sudden appearance. Gale took it as a sign to leave and politely excused himself from your company. Those blood-soaked eyes followed Gale until he was hidden behind a couple bushes toward his tent.
Astarion seemed to be squinting, his eyes moving from yours, down to your mouth, before landing on your lap. You scrunched your nose when his gaze returned and he rolled his eyes before letting out an annoyed, airy laugh. “My love, should I be concerned?”
You were obviously uncomfortable with your lap sewn shut, and your posture too taut. “Concerned? About what?” Your brows furrowed before opening. Every muscle melted as you tilted your head, mirroring him. "I mean, I haven’t taken Halsin on any offer to play hunter and bear.”
He leaned back, deepening his stare, annoyed at your stiff disposition when that stupid wizard got to have you malleable and full of conversation.
You nervously smiled and averted your eyes. “You know I would ask if I ever wanted to-”
“Would...” He interrupted. “Of course, you knew I overheard his little, steamy proposal. But that’s not why I’m hurt.”
It was written all over your face that you were replaying the conversation with Halsin, trying to figure out where you may have gone wrong or if you sounded too open to the opportunity. Asatrion continued when you began to chew on your bottom lip. “Darling, you hardly look me in the eye anymore.” His chest deflated as he huffed out another whiny plume of air. “I mean, before I at least knew that you could talk to me about, well, all of this.”
All of this swiftly caught your attention.
“Astarion.” You calmly said, ignoring the ache you pressed between your thighs as you ran your hands over your lap. “What do you mean by ‘this’?” You could swear your heart was beating loud enough to let everyone in camp know that Astarion was the item of your mind consuming lechery. Gods, you could knead dough with how hard your palms pressed into your thighs in some feeble attempt to calm a carnal throb.
“This.” He whined with his hands apart, referring to you two. “Don’t be coy. You’ve been keeping an awfully close eye on me, and more than that you’ve kept your distance.”
“Oh.” You whispered, ripping away the steady eye contact.
“Oh? What do you mean oh-?”
“Astarion.” You stood up, awkwardly fidgeting your feet before you rocked back and forth from your heels to your toes. “Astarion can I... I can, um.”
Everything stiff and cold was interrupted with nervous stretching, like you were forcing yourself to warm up in his presence, and he was unsure if he should be bothered or relieved by it.
With mean sarcasm he said, “Your words, darling."
“Don’t- I mean.” You softly snapped, making him nervous. “Could we um… can we maybe speak somewhere private?”
Astarion shrugged, lifted off the log before motioning that you lead the way. When the way led to his tent, he got anxious. To him the conversation could go a couple of ways. One of them being you were too nervous to ask to be with Halsin, and that despite him willing to grant his permission, given his current mood, it would be reluctant permission to say the least. The other way was that you were unsure how to tell Astarion you couldn’t do it anymore. It meaning to be with him, and for that he couldn’t blame you, at least not honestly. The fear of you abandoning him after one good night, in what felt forever ago, grew as you motioned him to sit across from you, both of you on your knees as he watched you struggle once again to look at him in the eye.
He could practically hear it in your inhale, see it in your clenched fists over your knees, and in your eye contact as you finally faced him.
In your mind, everything felt intimate, close, hot even. You could feel your fingernails dig into your palms and you were sure you’d bleed if you balled your fists further. “I’m not sure how to word this without...”
He held in a vain breath, slowly nodding while you searched for the words.
“This is so stupid.” You grimaced, bring a knuckle to your teeth. “Astarion can I just-”
“You can see him.” He said with feigned relief.
“Who?” Your hands relaxed.
“Halsin.”
“What? No, wait.” Your whole body melted as you tried so hard to read the man in front of you. “What the hells are you talking about?”
“You don’t have to be so embarrassed, I mean,” Astarion leaned back, sighing more dramatically as he had already come to terms with surrendering you over to him. “I mean who would I be to keep you-”
“Stop.” You held out your hands, shaking them with the same vigor used to shake your head. “Good hells Astarion, no.” You laughed, finally feeling ready to be open about your needs.
Astarion shot back up with a raised brow, tilting his head again as he drummed on his lap. “Okay, well now I really don’t know what you want to talk about.”
The growing silence was easy to bear in the sight of your smile, shy and bashful, making him a little hopeful that this was going to be an easier conversation.
“Great because I’m going to sound stupid.” You sheepishly smiled.
“As if I just didn’t.” He sucked in his teeth. “Come on darling, spit it out.”
“Not if you’re going to ask me to spit it out.”
“My sweet.” The snap in his tone caused you to really look at his face, and he looked anxious. His brows were together and lifted, he may as well have been pouting but you were finally noticing it. “If it’s distance you want, I can provide.” He looked down past your head before his eyes trailed around his space. “I mean you don’t have to go as far as to fighting battles as far from me as humanly possible.”
“Oh, good gods no.” You leaned down to catch his gaze once more. “Wait no that’s not what this is.”
“Then what the fuck is this?”
“I’m just feeling very…” you flicked your hands in the air like you were pushing away the anxiety. “I’ve been feeling rather needy lately.”
“Needy?”
“I don’t want to spell it out.”
“I think I need you to.”
“Damn it, Astarion.” It was clear he was going to quietly wait, as he was also sitting in front of your exit. “Needy, needy meaning… aroused... I’ve been very horny, lately.” With both hands on your face, you hunched over. “I’m sorry,” was muffled into your palms before your hands slid down to see his reaction.
Astarion had a bashful but at ease smile on his face. He let out a sharp laugh until he finally really looked at you. You were gripping your thighs, your eyes dilated and round. The animal like stare and careful distance kind of made sense. “And I thought I scared you away, sweetheart.”
“Quite the opposite.” You whispered, unable to maintain eye contact “So, if you’ll excuse me-”
Astarion hummed as he dropped in. His hands planted themselves on either side of your lap, his nose inches away from yours. “And if I won’t?”
Paralyzed, you held your breath and could feel your resolve snapping. “Astarion, I just… I said… are you sure?” He coyly rolled his eyes, pretending to think about it. “I can be patient.” You breathed, leaning back before he quickly scooted in, catching your chin in his hand before you could retreat.
“Oh, don’t go running away again. Not when I want you.” He was studying your eyes and lips. You seemed so lost in his tent. “Not when I need you.”
“You’ve had me, and I promise I can wait.” You whispered. “Please don’t tease me.” The quiet begging pulled at his chest and his desire.
Then Astarion smiled wickedly. “Don’t think I can’t smell the arousal from less than a foot in front of my nose.” Quickly he snatched your wrist. If your hand were a rabbit, and your wrist its neck, he nuzzled his cheek against its head, playfully biting the neck of the rabbit before you could try to pull away. “And I don’t care to tease pretty things like you,” poisonous desire spilled from his mouth as he asked, “But when you say needy, what exactly to you require of me?”
Mindlessly you shook your head as you feebly fought to take your hand back.
“Your words, darling.”
“Astarion, please this is-”
“Embarrassing?” He purred.
You held your breath as he faced your palm, from the corner of he could feel the heat in your face emit on his as he sighed again. “This couldn’t be nearly as embarrassing as the competition I have, my love.” A shit eating grin plastered onto his face as confusion appeared on yours. “You know... when your hand gets more of affection than I do.”
Humiliated and hot. You were completely humiliated and hot as he waited for you to respond.
“I mean your I’m sure your fingers can only do so much for so long in my place.”
Past embarrassment you felt it necessary to say “Astarion, you know that I need you beyond anything you can do for me.”
“So, you have been touching yourself, naughty girl,” he kissed your middle and ring finger without breaking eye contact.
“I- Astarion I wouldn’t have,” you balled up your hand in which his thumb smoothed it open again. With little force you pushed forward to cup his face with him still latched in your wrist. “I just- gods I just worry you wouldn’t say no if you didn’t want to just because I’m asking.”
“I do say no, & I have.” His hold loosened as he pulled back, taking in the soft concern on your face before the thought of that hand between your thighs flashed in his mind. Astarion’s eyes lids dropped, your kind concern caused him to be hard with arousal while his ruby eyes glistened. “Must I worry you won’t ask even if I’ll honestly say yes?”
Your bottom lip was white between your teeth, so he reached out to hold your jaw, his fingers pressing in as you went doe-eyed and dazed. He was so close to your lips, so he whispered on your mouth. “Go on, my sweetheart. Ask.”
“Astarion…” his breath tickled your bottom lip as your stomach dropped.
“Yes, darling?”
“Please…” you voice trailed off as the humiliation of it all set in.
“Please what?” Astarion lifted you up as he lifted on his knees, looming over you as he brushed your hair behind one ear with his free hand. “I don’t think I know what want.”
With all the excitement this brought, you quietly asked. “I want you to please kiss me. Please kiss me, Astarion.” And without a second lost, he pulled you into his hungry kiss, cupping your face with both hands as he pushed into you.
Several months after your adventure's conclusion, Gale invites you to visit his tower in Waterdeep — and finally, he finds the courage to admit his feelings for you.
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pairing: gale dekarios x reader
word count: 36.0k
tags: 18+, smut with feelings (and a fair bit of plot), reader is tav, reader is fem bodied (but no gendered terms are used), love confessions, fic takes place after the epilogue, "you fell first but he fell harder", mild sensory deprivation, inappropriate uses of magic, gale talks a Lot, slight angst (but there's a happy ending, don't worry), dirty talk, fingering, handjob, multiple orgasms, oral (reader receiving), tender sex, slight mentions of blasphemy, i am not immune to his wizardly charms....
read on ao3
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this work contains explicit content intended for 18+ individuals. please read the tags and do not interact if you are a minor.
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When Gale wraps his arms around you, pulling you into a warm embrace, for the first time in ages, you can finally relax.
From your stiff shoulders, down to the ends of your toes, your weary muscles untense. It's as though he's cast a spell on you; which you know he could do, but he doesn't have to. A soft palm cradles the back of your head, and he pulls you in closer. You bury your head in his chest, the smooth velvet of his shirt rubbing your cheek.
Slowly, deeply, you inhale. You're enveloped in the familiar scent of him: the rich smell of pine, filling your senses with something tender. Something you've missed. The breeze that wafts in from his balcony veils you in a breath of the sea. Gale always found a way to smell the same as a book's crisp pages. He'd carry the faint aroma of the scrolls he often littered his tent with, or of his library, regardless of how long you spent surrounded by nothing but wilderness.
The intimacy of it is enough to make you dizzy. If you had things your way, you'd hug him tight like this, and you wouldn't ever think of letting him go.
"It feels as though it's been forever since we were last acquainted," Gale says in your ear quietly. Genuinely, with the slightest exhale tacked on at the end — and still, after hearing his voice for hours, watching as he lectured his pupils on some form of magic you've barely heard of, you believe you wouldn't mind listening for a few hours more.
"Our get-together wasn't that long ago, you know," You counter, voice slightly muffled, spoken into his chest.
"Yes, but surely you understand." His grip on you seems to tighten as you both rock gently, back and forth, "It's rather difficult to go from spending nearly every moment you're awake with someone, to only having the pleasure of meeting them on a few select occasions. Allow me to savor this moment, please. There may not be another one like it."
There may not be another one.
Gods, you know he's right. Both of you are busy, now. You live in two separate cities, lead two separate lives. There's others from the party you haven't seen; not yet, anyways. The only reason you saw Gale now is because back then, you had the foresight to plan to.
That inevitable prospect is one you aren't sure you want to think about. You don't want to imagine parting from Gale again.
Your friends would've called you sappy. They might've gone and teased you for taking forever to meet with the damn wizard in the first place. You obviously wanted to. The hug you gave him back then was hardly a friendly one. More like a I'm glad you're here, now don't you dare leave again sort of hug. Not to mention the way Gale himself eyed you for the rest of the party — as if no-one would notice.
Truthfully, your life has been busier than you hoped it would be, ever since your adventure's big conclusion. You did want to see Gale again. Of course you did. But simply wanting isn't good enough. The party was the first time you saw him since then, and this has been the first time after that.
You were hoping to relax for a while. To spend time away from the stress. You definitely earned it. Unfortunately, you've wound up doing anything but.
Make no mistake, you're unbelievably grateful to no longer be dealing with a world-ending threat, or a parasite in your brain. Helping to rebuild the city is nothing compared to the shit you've already dealt with. You're happy that you no longer have to worry over whether you'll even make it out of this alive. Whether any of you will still be alive, in the end. But you've hardly been able to settle. Not in the way you wanted to, at least.
For as many people that revere you, that now think of you as a hero, those words seem to do nothing for you. For as big and grand of a city as Baldur's Gate still is, and for as long as you've called it your home, it's only begun to feel like the loneliest place in the world.
And your friends — Obviously you'd wind up going your separate ways. It'd be stupid to think otherwise. You have different lives to return to, new struggles to face. You know that. It doesn't change how much you've grown to miss them.
There won't come a time where you'll stop missing those moments, you figure. The times when things were quiet, when you worked together, grew together. That's okay. Some allegiances aren't meant to last forever. In the end, it was an idea you made peace with. Until one of your companions stubbornly refused to leave your heart.
You peer up at him, as Gale looks down at you, before he lets go of you slowly, almost hesitantly. He pulls backward, meeting your eyes. This embrace reminds you of the one from back then. You don't fail to notice how his expression softens around the edges, how he takes your hands, gently squeezing them. Ultimately, he allows them to slip away, letting go.
You carried your thoughts of him with you, long after you'd since parted ways. The sound of his voice, the softness it seemed to take on whenever you're the one he was speaking to. The accidental touches, the brushes of fingers. An arm placed in front of you, to usher you behind him whenever he thought you might get hurt.
Without the ability to pry into his thoughts, you have no clue whether he fondly remembers things the same way you do. You were unmistakably close, once. In an earlier time, you brought your hands to his shoulders, you kept your eyes locked on his. Your words were shaky. Your heart was pounding, shaking against the cage of your chest. You can't lose him, you remember admitting, and Gale smiled, told you that you wouldn't. Even though you knew damn well there was more he wasn't telling you.
Hindsight would convince you the only thing he concealed was how truly scared he was. If you did feel more for each other, if what you thought you understood wasn't a lie — No matter what ways you tried, neither of you could hide it, but you certainly couldn't talk about it either.
It's difficult to search for the time to discuss unadmitted feelings when your lives are constantly on the line. Impossible, actually. Honestly, you weren't sure how you'd tell him, regardless of if you could. Nevermind the playful encouragement of your companions, or the listless jabs at your solitude from your undead resurrector, this sort of thing has never been your forte. Hey, I care for you more than good friends are supposed to, is that alright?
I couldn't stand to see anything happen to you, and I hoped you might notice, might do what I'm not able to. You could look into my head with a single word, and yet nothing but distance has grown in between us.
I'd travel it, if I was able. I want you to understand, I never hoped to part from you. I never want you to shut up whenever you're telling me about magic, or history, or any of the things you know everything about, even once you quiet down because you think I do.
How am I supposed to tell you that?
You can't, and you didn't. You both had the fate of the world in your hands, and the last thing either of you needed to be worrying about were your up-in-the-air feelings.
You would ignore the elated blankness in your head whenever Gale eased the tension with a smile flashed your way. You pushed down the giddiness in your chest whenever he gave a gentle yet pragmatic comment, one you tried not to read into. Over and over, you would pretend not to be flustered by his small touches, by the glances that lasted a little longer than they should. Despite the ache of your heart in your chest, you convinced yourself that you and him were friends. Nothing more.
Yes, friends who would sneak into one another's tents when everyone else was asleep to quietly talk, laughing together until the sun began to graze the horizon. Friends who kept each other going, who saw one another when they were weakest: torn apart by the Gods, with nothing left to do but pick up the pieces. Friends who are the only ones to know what the other is truly thinking, no spells or uncanny mind connections needed.
You're simply mere acquaintances. Two people on the same bloody path, who just so happened to be lucky enough to meet, and managed to grow closer than acquaintances ever should be. You were pushed together by circumstance. You chose to understand each other with purpose.
Has Gale ever yearned for more, in the way you've yearned for him?
Gale is observant. He knows you, he'd know if there was something up with you. Likely, he already does. More so, he's ambitious; he wouldn't forget about you, everything vying to push you away be damned. You've come too far to suddenly cast each other aside. But some things are better left unspoken.
Eventually, you expected you'd never find out the truth. You were too little, too late. The closest you ever got to a true confession was in the moments you found yourselves alone, and those are few and far between, these days. Now that you've run out of excuses, even now that everything is over, he's here and you are alive — You can't say a damn thing.
You think it's why you haven't seen him. You've been busy, yes, leading a new life and grappling with your newfound freedoms, but given the chance, you'd put every last thing aside to make time for him. When those feelings of yours are left to build and build, they threaten to drown. And drown you did.
It's strange, how meeting with him again can feel like finally being coaxed to breathe, and like suffocating freely, all at the same time.
You decide to breathe in once more, and break the silence at last.
"You're ridiculous sometimes," You scoff, shaking your head. Your tone is more fragile than you intended, as you catch yourself in your own hypocrisy. You still manage to throw him a warm glance. "I thought we were both past talking that way. We have all the time the world is generous enough to offer us. Do you really think I wouldn't plan on seeing you again?"
Gale's lips tip upward to form his usual smile, the corners of his eyes crinkled. To a combination of your bewilderment and delight, you're already melting.
"They say old habits die hard, I suppose," He replies, first shrugging his shoulders, and then standing up straighter. He clasps his hands together, positioning them uniformly behind his back. "And who knows? I wasn't sure how much enjoyment you drew from being an honorary professor for the day. Seemed as if you were a tad overwhelmed, actually."
"Of course I was. Well, I was anxious, more like." You're staring off to the side while you think, crossing your arms over your chest. "I mean, you said your students think of me as a hero. I was trying not to say anything stupid."
"In that case, I'd say you have no need to worry," Gale answers, "You sounded perfectly eloquent."
Meeting his eyes again, you huff, "I'm glad you think so. I enjoyed today. But seriously, I came here for you, Gale. Not because I was ecstatic about teaching."
You swear that if you were to squint, you'd see the smallest twinge of pure adoration on the normally-so-confident wizard's face.
Gale raises a fist to his mouth and clears his throat. "I understand your qualms, but truly, you did well. No-one finds teaching to be easy- I mean, it's an unbelievably stubborn process, if anything. I've always been the recipient of lectures. Never the other way around, until my newfound position. It took me quite a while to get a good grasp of things, believe you me."
"Really?" You raise a brow, "I, for one, thought your teaching was impeccable. I was looking forward to asking for some pointers from Professor Dekarios himself, actually."
"Oh, come on. Your flattery is far from needed," He replies, his tone breathy and playful. You exhale a faint chuckle, and when you grin back, his own smile seems to soften at the edges. A look reserved exclusively for you.
Gale continues, "You've seen my pupils for yourself now. You know how difficult they can be. In the face of such… stunning magic," His eyes narrow, he makes an open-palmed gesture of wonderment to illustrate his point, "Magic they themselves could learn to wield, it's rare to see them at least attempt to stay awake. I take some of the blame, of course. At certain moments, I thought you were teaching them better than I ever have."
"Nonsense," You roll your eyes light-heartedly, placing a hand on your hip, "They do well on their tests, right? I doubt your teachings are lost on them. Besides, it's like you said. Being a teacher isn't easy."
"True. However, I certainly think we make an impressive team."
With one last smile, and a nod of his head, Gale turns, striding over to his small wooden desk.
The space is surrounded by bookshelves, the desk's every surface littered in open books and scrolls of its own. He thumbs through the stack of papers he set there earlier, essays his students turned in — A paper about the history of magic was his instruction, if you remember right. Gale was less than satisfied with their results, but in his own words, he couldn't fault them.
They are the same as I was, when I was their age. A spitting image, really. Dodging written assignments, snoozing through most lectures. They're talented, there's no denying it. Preventing them from picking up my bad habits is where matters turn difficult.
He lifts the stack, tapping the papers against the desk to make them straight. Then, he sets them neatly aside. He clearly has a specific place for them, though you don't think you'd ever be able to make sense of the mess, yourself.
"Either way," He starts, organizing more loose papers and scattered books while he talks. His back may be turned towards you, but you can picture his face clearly: the lightest smirk, the pinch of his brows, "I'm sure my students were pleased to hear from someone other than me for a change. Dare I say when you were speaking, they actually paid attention."
Delicately, like the simplest of words are valuable porcelain, you mutter, "Is that so? I should come see you more often, then."
Gale freezes for a second. His next few sentences come out much sweeter than he intended them to, but by the time he's opened his mouth, he isn't able to stop himself.
"I'd enjoy that. I truly would," He says, and setting the books he's holding aside, he turns to face you. He swallows the lump in his throat, and when he's speaking next, he's talking with his hands as he tries — and fails, mostly — to hide his nervous cadence.
"You don't need to come simply to help me teach," He explains, "I appreciate it, of course, but it's far from necessary. My home is always open to you. If you need to unwind someplace quiet, or if you're hoping to browse the grandest collection of tomes this side of Waterdeep, you're welcome to stay. For as long as you'd like."
The offer means more to you than he might realize.
"I'll keep that in mind. Thank you."
"No, thank you," Gale retorts, "I cannot overstate how much I appreciated seeing you again. Today was a delight."
Your glance travels away, and you try to ignore the warmth prickling over your face. From his open balcony, the sun casts shimmering rays as it falls. Light glitters over the ocean's rocky waves. The sea breeze is growing sharper; it whispers in your ears, and tickles the hair on the back of your neck. When you take a deep inhale, the air seems to catch in your lungs, holding on, unwilling to let go.
Finally, faintly, you reply, "You'll have to show me more of Waterdeep, next time. It's a beautiful city."
"Splendid, isn't it? I could show you around tomorrow, or even tonight, if you aren't too exhausted from today. The sights are particularly breathtaking then, when they're allowed to flourish under the cover of stars and moonlight."
Gale takes a step closer to you, and you're left to look up at him again. At the way the light caresses his skin, at his handsome features framed by a gentle smile.
"There's so many wonders I want you to see." He confesses.
More than that. He's longed for more than he's admitted to, more than everything he thought mattered, before he met you. There's so much he wants to show you, so much he needs to tell you, he's begun to lose track of it all.
Ever since you parted ways, he's felt something missing. Those adventures, your company and that of your unlikely band of companions: they're all things he's grown to miss dearly. In hopes he'd move on, he overwhelmed himself with the endeavors of his new life. He focused on teaching, on studying, on magic. No matter what, he was filled with an ache he couldn't extinguish.
You'd tease him if he mentioned it. He can imagine your voice, mumbling playfully with a flash of teeth and a sparkle in your gaze, Something missing? A tadpole in your brain, maybe?
Very funny, he'd answer. And he'd leave it at that, because you've given him an out, a chance not to make a fool of himself. He doesn't need everyone to hear how sentimental he's become — and especially not you. If only you knew the half of it.
You took a piece of him with you when you left, pried from the space between his ribs, fated to burn in your embers. He hasn't stopped missing you with such ferocity. With a certain kind of hunger. It's damn near worse than when the orb once gnawed at him.
To have you now almost feels like a dream. He keeps thinking he might wake up, that this will melt away to leave him and him alone. This shouldn't be real, you both shouldn't have made it. Gale recalls with sickening familiarity when the end of his life felt so close. He can remember even clearer the moment he found a new purpose in you.
You've been important to him from the start; he doesn't do a very good job of hiding it, does he? Those stolen glances were easily caught. His nervousness whenever you're with him concedes enough to make him obvious.
He could have told you. Could have admitted how you make the fragile strings of his heart strum with every fond call of his name. You could have known the way he felt between soft breaths, and close bodies. During the moment when he showed you how to wield the Weave at your fingertips. It would have been terribly simple. A single thought, and you'd not only know, but you'd feel his own emotions rushing into you — A rippling river of infatuation. Isn't it unfortunate then, that you tend to make his mind so blank?
The heart can be so cruel. No longer can he give you what he was aspiring to grace you with. He can't give you power. He can't offer you the abundances of a God, or the beauty of a plane away from this one. Only the ordinary.
Falling for you was never the problem. You weren't someone he believed he deserved.
His own hesitance forms a maddening sphere to be trapped in, and he knows it's his own fault; his own fear is to blame, his edge of destruction. You gave him hope. You've given him more than he ever could have desired, and that includes ascension. Is it so wrong for him to want more?
Many times, he's certainly thought so. He doesn't need anything else. He has already touched the heavens and beyond with the time he's spent by your side. Your dumb adventures, your talks, the uncertain closeness. It was nearly all he needed to be sated.
Nearly.
"Gale…"
Your soft utterance of his name snaps him out of his thoughts. Gale examines you, and you're glancing away, an expression he can't make out on your face. The setting sun bathes you in intoxicating orange light. You seem to have your own halo, your own radiance that defies reason. You defy a lot of the things he thought he knew.
He can only answer with a small, breathy, "Yes?"
A little while longer, and he might be ready. One night spent looking at the sky, or another time to confide in the comfort of your voice and your presence. He'll make it perfect. He'll find the courage, or the stars will witness his failure once again.
Crossing paths with you changed everything about himself he once thought he understood, and he finds the revelation as funny as it is delightful. To have you to miss was a privilege, in and of itself. Fate was never a concept he believed in, but evidently, the threads of his fortune had more in store for him. You became more than a wish, you were tangible. You were kind, intelligent, you were defiance incarnate. You rewrote the part of his story he thought untouchable. He watched Gods kneel at your feet, and he felt your softness latch onto him like a second home.
And he finally has time, doesn't he?
The time to tell you, the time to spend with you. Because he is alive, and the restlessness and nervousness he still feels inside shouldn't matter. How foolish he once was, for thinking things would turn out any other way.
In every other life, you still would've saved him. In a life where he was better, less scared, and not so temporary, perhaps you would have known he loved you already.
"I couldn't. I… I want to stay," You're starting; regret tugs at the edges of your voice, and Gale begins to feel his heart sink with each and every word. "Maybe I could some other time, but I can't now, I shouldn't. There's business that needs to be dealt with back home, in Baldur's Gate- I'm sorry. I should have told you sooner."
Gale huffs an impeccably dry laugh. He grins just slightly, a smile that doesn't quite reach his eyes, and he softly responds, "Busy, aren't you? The grand savior of Baldur's Gate is needed on the field, I see. I understand. I won't hold you any longer."
"You aren't holding me up, Gale. It's nothing important, I guess I just…" Trailing off, you inhale deeply, trying not to stumble over your own words. Your glance darts from the floor of his study to the sculptures to the trinkets — Anything to keep your eyes away from his. "I didn't want to intrude. It would feel strange if I stayed. Like I'd be taking advantage of your hospitality, I suppose."
Gale frowns. "I promise you this, on absolutely everything left in our universe for me to promise on, you could never intrude. I meant my words, I told you that you could stay for as long as you desire, and-"
"I know." You answer, like a frustrated plea, like a sacrificial revelation. Your hands ball up at your sides. Your voice is loud, before it goes quiet. "I know. It's my fault, alright? This doesn't have anything to do with you. I just can't stay."
The air grows so tense it's almost suffocating. Though, for only a second or two.
"So, becoming my honorary guest professor was that bad, was it?" Gale hums.
Then, you're laughing weakly, you're brushing an awkward hand over the back of your neck and looking up at him, your expression now pleasantly amused. His doting gaze meets yours, framed by a few out of place strands of hair.
"No," You mumble teasingly, stretching out the end of the word with a roll of your eyes; he always knows how to make you weak. "And I've already promised to come teach with you again. As long as you aren't worried about me showing you up, that is."
"Oh, by all means, do show me up plenty," He eagerly replies, "I won't try to stop you."
You huff a quick chuckle, and there it is again — Your gaze, sparkling. Gale feels the way you draw him in without trying, until his attention is fully focused on you. Until you have him right where you want him. To think of how doomed he'd be if you ever got your hands on some charming magic.
"I've really missed you, y'know," You're admitting. Your tone is different somehow, unmistakably. "The party honestly has felt like forever ago. Back then, I thought we didn't have near enough time. Catching up was pleasant, but it felt… imperfect. And now, we spent an entire day together. You're right here in front of me, and yet, still. I miss you."
Gale's jaw clenches, and with nothing left to stop you, you continue.
Your throat grows tight. You expel a long, heavy sigh. "Do you want me to tell you the truth?"
"I wouldn't shy away from it." He returns.
"If I stay for any longer, I wouldn't have it in me to leave." Your gaze dances over his own, and he understands the uncertainty, mixed with faint emotions he doesn't. "Not ever."
For what is probably the first time since you've met him, Gale goes completely, utterly silent. You watch him think, his expression pinching — perhaps irritated at his own loss for words — before he softens. His chest rises slowly with the deep breath he takes. Light glitters off his silver earring. Shadows form in his features, his lips part in an almost-sentence. In the end, he swallows it down, and grits his teeth together to the point of pain.
You're standing close. So close, he can see the slight, frustrated crinkle in your brows that only seems to furrow more the longer he stays quiet. So close, he could lean in if he wanted to, and relay the depths of his longing from his hesitant lips onto yours.
It isn't like him to be speechless this long.
Your head tilts towards him, tender curiosity on your face. Your arm outstretches, and a hand gently begins to reach in his direction. "Gale?"
He's about to do something foolish. Something very, very unwise. He'd attempt to stop himself, if the words weren't already forming on his tongue. He'd give up as he did before, if only the dying light wasn't so lovely on you.
At least he knows it won't be the most nonsensical thing he's done.
Gale's gaze fills with warmth, with a devotion so resolute, you could believe you really are some form of a God. He catches your hand, and grasps it in a clumsy way; more clinging than holding, as fingers brush knuckles, folded over one another. As if you might disappear when he lets go.
This time, there's no more room for wondering. No more hesitation, no barriers, just himself and you: his fallen star, his lovely demise. It doesn't matter what he does or doesn't do, your existence will never leave his veins, running deeper than the fear and the magic ever has. The same way the Weave crackles at his fingertips, adoring you comes naturally. You are yourself, and you, in all your love, in flesh and bone — You are worth anything, or perhaps everything.
A little while longer. To the Hells with that.
"I'm in love with you."
It's easier to say those words than he expected. They just sort of happen; really, they seem natural. He's been agonizing for ages, but to hear his own voice say them aloud cements his feelings as true. He is in love with you. An honest, mortal love.
He doesn't have the time to worry over the consequences, because you've heard him loud and clear. His heart won't stop pounding, and pounding, and pounding.
Almost instantly, your eyes are going wide. Your own grip on his hand turns loose. Surprise washes warmly over your face, settling as a pleasant tingle in the expanse of your shoulders. For a moment, you don't speak. You take in quick, nervous breaths, feeling your lungs choked by emotion and sea salt.
"You really- Why're you-" You sputter, stumbling back slightly and shifting your weight from one foot to the other. Your arms go slack as you expel a faint sigh, "Gale-"
"You do not have to say anything. And you're under no obligation to stay." Gale interrupts, his tone abruptly serious. His expression reflects the same sort of solemness, his brows in a knot. He tries to hide the shake to his words, tries to chase away his worries, "You can leave, if you wish. You can leave, and we can never speak of this again. I wouldn't blame you. I couldn't blame you. I'd know better, not to chase after you and… to simply leave things as they are. Like I should have done now. If I wasn't the ass that I am."
A brief pause. Your eyes scan him, and Gale resists the urge to let his nervousness get the better of him.
"But I had to speak," He says. "This may be my only chance. I can't lie to you in the same way I've lied to myself."
Your next words are spoken with conviction. You squeeze his hand, and the dizzy room around him finally begins to steady — "Then tell me, Gale. I want you to tell me everything."
It's like the sun is shining right onto him. Heat and pure energy rushes from your hands into his, your voice a conduit for emotion. You practically give him a head rush.
Gale swallows, steadies. Then, he speaks.
"And what an abundance of things I could tell you."
Grasping your hands and squeezing them back, he's smiling again, but this time, it's different. The whole moment seems different. He's wearing an excited, heartfelt sort of smile, a look you think you've never seen before. Well, perhaps you saw it once.
You're reminded of the way he looked at you many, many nights ago. When your fates weren't assured. When you gazed upon the stars together, admiring the aurora he created — dazzling light, to pierce the sky of shadow. That memory seems so near, yet so far away. His solemness melted to gentleness back then, too. Your souls felt closer than they ever had.
Was this what he wanted to tell you that night?
"Let's see," Gale is continuing, and you're grinning, watching his head tilt as he puts on an air of confidence; his own form of sincerity.
"I wonder what I should tell you first? Should I detail each intricate moment, every subtle action that made me fall so deeply for you? For your determination, your ingenuity. Your beauty. Gods, you shouldn't get me started. If you truly wanted me to describe every single thing I adore about you, well, I believe we'd be nothing but dust by the time I was finished."
You can't help but chuckle. Gale's gaze travels over you, and you let yourself take him in. His fingertips absently run over your knuckles. His shoulders are tense with a hesitance he can't manage to hide.
"I'll make a terribly long-winded story brief, before I bore you with my sentiments." This time, he sounds a fair bit quieter. The depths of his honeyed gaze, ever-softening, become impossible to look away from.
"You are very special to me." He gently explains, "More than words can describe, and certainly more than anything else. I'm sorry for not telling you sooner. While the world was crumbling around us, begging to be saved, I thought myself content, if only I could spend whatever remained of my time at your side."
Carefully, Gale reaches forwards. Between his fingers, with the slightest, most exhilarating touch, he holds your chin, he tilts your head in his direction. Your heart begins to hammer in your chest to an unsteady rhythm.
"Love does not even begin to describe it. You are wonderful. You are the special sort of magic one might spend their entire life searching for. The most divine of desires. I've no need to search anymore."
A brush of his thumb over your mouth, and his calloused fingers are splaying back to caress your cheek, to feel the shape of your jaw, "I have the heavens right in my hands. All the spectacles and splendors of Faerûn are jealous of you."
You relax, and when his grasp drops from your chin, you let your hand slip away from his — only to wrap your arms around him, elbows resting on his shoulders. He admires you intently, gauging your reaction, his heart skipping at your touch and the subtle flash of shyness behind your eyes. A sort of analysis you've seen him use when he was examining an artifact, or mulling over a game of lanceboard. The tender focus his face takes on makes you huff in amusement.
With a teasing raise of your brow, you manage to ask, "How many times have you practiced saying that to me?"
"A hundred times. A thousand times." Gale keeps his arms at his sides, despite the way you embrace him tighter. In the corner of your vision, you catch him starting to reach out. His hands hover inches away from your waist, he flexes them in thought.
"No, I often went back and forth on the precise method I would use to confess, given I actually had the gall to do it, but," He explains, a slight playful air to his tone, "Those words were from the heart. Just a few specs of fondness from my vast nebula of love for you. If you can believe that."
"They're very… you. In a good way." Your smile is bright. He thinks it might continue to warm him, long after the point of the sun's imminent descent. "It's a shame, though. I wasn't expecting you to beat me to it. I've been practicing how I would tell you I'm in love with you since we met."
If there's one thing you've come to know about the wizard, it's that he's collected.
Calm, mostly. But unperturbed always. He's optimistic to a fault, and he's never been the type to seem nervous or timid, even if he might be feeling that way. He's an honest man, but also controlled — You have to exercise a certain amount of control to wield magic. Or to keep your own body from exploding to bits, you figure. With the orb posing much less of a threat, he's clearly more relaxed, but his emotions still don't show so easily.
You've seen him scared. But nervous? Shy? Those sorts of feelings were never in his repertoire. He's never once stumbled over his words, never been red-faced, never faltered from his confidence and his verbosity. Until now.
"You- You have?" Gale sounds so in disbelief, you swear his voice nearly cracks. He clears his throat awfully loudly, he glances between you and something in the distance. Which proves to be difficult, considering how close you are. Has the skin underneath his collar always felt so hot? "I had no idea. I mean, clearly, but- But still."
"I wasn't sure if you knew. You're more charming than you give yourself credit for," You clarify softly, "I thought for sure you'd make a move at that little tiefling party. Started planning what I might say and everything. Apparently, you failed to realize I was flirting with you."
"I wasn't even trying to woo you then," Gale mumbles, thinking to himself. "Well, that's- Hah, quite the discovery, now isn't it? Care to- uhm, enlighten me on what it was you planned to say, exactly?"
"Mmm, possibly. You seem flustered. Should I show you, instead?"
"Show me?"
"Yes," You stand up straighter, making his heart race faster as you move impossibly closer to him, "I'll show you what I really wanted to do back then."
"Whatever you wish would be fine with me- Er, wrong choice of words." The breeze drifting through his study is cold enough to form goosebumps, and yet he can't seem to quit burning up. He runs a quick hand through his hair, feeling the heat from his forehead underneath his palm, "Whatever you wish is perfect, I should say. If you want to- or, well, perhaps I could…"
Gale doesn't get the chance to say anything more.
He expects you to lean in. Sharply, he takes in a hurried, nervous breath. Uncertain palms hover over the curve of your waist, before settling with the slightest touch. His eyes grow heavy, his head begins to tilt opposite yours. What he doesn't expect is for you to stop, your lips almost pressed to his, but not quite, leaving the distance not yet closed.
You suspend there, for a moment. Your low breathing tickles his skin. Gale's hand finds your cheek, holding, and nothing more.
"Are you going to kiss me?"
There's only a half-second longer of hesitance. He closes the gap, and you fist the front of his shirt to pull him in along with you. Your eyes flutter shut. Fallen stars and glowing warmth shimmer through every inch of you. At last, your lips connect in a quaint, subtle kiss. Smooth, simple, and utterly him.
Shoulders slumping, your pulse thrums like the unsteady flicker of a candle flame. Your head begins to spin, your heart throbs with fiery longing. This is what you were waiting for. When you burned from the inside-out, wanting nothing more than to forget reason and your lives and his cruel Goddess, you only longed to just kiss him, regardless of the consequences. Everything else melts away: the setting sun, his warmly-lit tower, and your own feet from under you.
He's hardly done anything, and you're already overwhelmed. To your dismay, the kiss is over almost as soon as it begins. The both of you draw a breath's length apart. Gentle hands give your waist the smallest squeeze. You exhale, and Gale takes in a deeper breath along with you. Kissing him made the rest of the world fall away, or perhaps fall into place, and all you can think of is how desperately you need another.
Maybe he can read your mind, or maybe he's thinking the exact same thing. Delicately, Gale murmurs against your lips, "Forgive me for being greedy, but… I'm not sure that'll be enough for me. Could I kiss you again?"
As if he even has to ask.
With urgency, you're surging forwards, you're kissing him again and he can't manage to think — The only thing running through every inch of him is you. You, kissing him the way he's wanted you to for months upon months. Pressing your lips against his over and over, stealing his breath until he's feeling dizzy, but he doesn't care. You, lovely in a way he's never deserved, with a soul entwined by his own. You told him you love him; he can hardly stand to believe it.
Lips locked, you twist together, until Gale is guiding you by your waist. Until he's pressing your back against the edge of the nearest surface — his desk — to keep you both stable, while your hands are grabbing at his shoulders for leverage. You let a hand glide up, you tangle your fingers in soft brown hair. You grip and tug, dragging him close, and he sighs, mouth parting, allowing the kiss to turn deep. Enough to mark the point of no return.
This is everything he's ever wanted, you are the only thing he's ever needed. He could die happy, if this was his end. What a sweet, lovely end it would be. He can't describe how otherworldly it is, to know the desire he's had to kiss you won't die along with him. To know you have plenty of kisses left.
He could love you like this until the true end of the world. He's tempted actually, to slow down time, and savor you for as long as you will allow. You were well worth dying for, but you are priceless to live for. You and your touch, your love. Love — Gods, none of this will feel real, no matter how many times he reminds himself.
When his tongue slides against yours, a slow, apprehensive show of tenderness, you feel a shiver careen down your spine. He hears your breath get caught in your lungs, feels you tug him closer and arch into his touch once a palm drifts to the small of your back.
This kiss hopes to pour his devotion into you, so that you might understand. You'll know love, know the things he's always wanted to tell you, as familiar as you know yourself. He'll make sure this moment won't be forgotten.
You reach behind you, gripping the edge of the desk when his body presses into yours. Your mind is a mess, reeling so fast you might go woozy; another smooth kiss makes you pull him in further, ushering from him a meager gasp in surprise. You're lost, losing control. The both of you are trapped in a dance of vying for more, pressing closer, kissing harder. His knee slots between your legs — unintended encouragement, you're sure — and you jolt, your thoughts now occupied with things they really, really shouldn't be.
The smallest space between you fills with hot breath, as you pull apart just enough to get a word out. "Gale-"
"I've missed you," He murmurs, breathless and hurried, as though he doesn't wish to waste a single second, "I have missed you more than anything."
He leans close once more, his hand moves to hold the back of your neck and cradle you like you're precious. You kiss again, and any reservations you still have remaining fly away on the breeze, to be swallowed by the depths of the sea.
You don't want to stop. No, you know where this is leading, and still, you can't stop. You wouldn't dream of it. How long have you wanted to kiss him, wanted to have him to yourself? Wanted for him to lose his composure, and finally show you exactly how he felt? How long have you been waiting for more?
Since you met him, surely. Since you dragged him from that portal. Since he first shook your hand, and you felt your foolish heart spark to life. Piece by tender piece, you connected in secret. Fought through darkness to emerge onto the dawn, hoped the newfound day might bring you both together. Truly, you've waited too long to let a moment like this go to waste.
You pull apart for barely a second, you catch your breath while Gale mutters something against your mouth that sounds like your own name — And at once, you're closing the distance again. Your lips continue to learn the shape of each other, bodies shaky, rocking close. When a particularly desperate kiss causes his hips to drive into yours, you're the one left sighing. Your nerves prickle with excitement, your limbs feel weak. And a hardness, his hardness, shoves against you unmistakably, grinding into where you're terribly weak.
Oh, you won't be stopping now. Not any time soon.
Gale stiffens immediately, at the same moment you do. He peels himself apart from you so quickly you're left slumping, gasping into open air. You would have stumbled, if it wasn't for his hand on your waist gripping excessively tight, helping to hold you up. Faltering, he slowly lets go. Before he does, you think you can feel a slight tremble in his fingers.
"Ah, I'm- I'm sorry, genuinely," He stutters, practically panting as he tries to establish composure, a frail waver in his voice. You grip the desk tighter, staggering to your feet. The last traces of sunlight shimmer over his face, his earring, his eyes. Strands of his hair have fallen out of place, and he reaches up to briefly push them backward.
"You make it far too easy to get carried away." He says, sounding rough and short-winded, "That being said, it would be wise not to take things too far, that was- Well, you are-"
"That was perfect," You gasp out, cutting him off, or perhaps taking the words right out of his mouth. You bring a hand to his shoulder, an unspoken plea for him not to move away, "You don't have to stop, Gale. Please, don't."
Gale takes a long, slow breath. Hesitantly, he brings both hands back to rest on your waist — barely touching, his gaze scanning yours for any sign of discomfort. "Are you sure? Positively sure? Maybe it'd help if you, er, clarified, in a way."
"I'm clarifying that I want you to keep going. You don't have to hesitate, I want this," You retort, speaking softly, squeezing his shoulder in turn. Your eyes flicker over him, up and then down. "I showed you how I felt. It's only fair for you to return the favor, no?"
"Oh, of course. Fairness is one of the most crucial qualities to hone, in terms of forming a long-lasting bond. So says literature, anyways. But I think I'd prefer to mesh the showing with the telling, if that sounds at all pleasurable to you."
You're smirking. "As long as your sweet voice isn't the only pleasure in store for me."
He exhales a small huff, the faintest form of a laugh. A smile crosses his features, and he holds your chin between his thumb and forefinger, admiring you like you're the prettiest sight this world has to offer. You very well might be.
His gaze comes to rest on yours: warm, complex, loving. For once, he doesn't speak. He demonstrates.
A small kiss is pressed to your cheek, innocent yet tender. Then, a kiss to the other side. His kisses travel; one he graces to the corner of your mouth, the next he places on the angle of your jaw. Your head tilts up in obedience, and he trails wet kisses down your neck, making you sigh weakly in response.
One more kiss is graced to your neck, then your nape, then just above your collarbone. They're weighted, in a way; heavy with an infatuation you can feel beneath his touch, and deep in your bones. His facial hair tickles your skin. His warm breath on your pulse is stifling, and it only begins to thump faster, fully at the mercy of his scattered kisses.
Meshing the showing, with the telling — It isn't long before he's babbling again.
"You hold so much of my heart," He mumbles; the words on your neck are a steady vibration. His palm caresses your side, his lips brush over your cheek, and then move to speak against the shell of your ear. The new depth to his voice is delightful. "Falling for you was… effortless. As effortless as one breathes. I have no regrets. Absolutely none."
The final kiss he places on your ear has shudders running through you. He's painstakingly slow once he starts to pull back, and he shifts just far enough to meet your eyes, your foreheads almost touching. That warm gaze on yours has your heart leaping all over again.
Strung through his tone is a thread of infatuation, a sweetness on his tongue you find oh-so endearing.
"You begged to be admired, but that hardly scratches the surface." He squeezes your side for emphasis. "You made me feel as though I meant something. Like I was alive. I'd forgotten how it felt, just as I'd forgotten what it could mean to fight for one's future." He pauses, thinking, reminiscing, "More so, I could say you brought me back to life."
Your mouth parts, forming the edge of a word. But Gale chooses to interrupt, tugging you in with a palm settled gingerly on your jaw, muddling your mind with a kiss. And you melt. You allow your head to tilt opposite his own, and your arm to snake between your bodies. Your hand presses flat to the center of his chest. He kisses you deeper, his heart thumps. Lingering magic strong enough to sense thrums beneath his robes, his skin.
"There's a line of poetry I once read," He's mumbling against your lips as he leaves them. His touch slides up slowly, supporting you, holding your back. "As of late, you've made it stick in my mind. Amidst the wealth of stories I've finished, the tales of truth and fiction, when I think of you, this singular line utterly refuses to part from me. And if one moment spent lost in contemplation equates to the faintest drop of rainwater, I've thought of you enough to flood the entirety of Faerûn."
Your eyes seem heavy. You're smiling, but your head is swirled in a dreamy fog. It's plain unfair to have to decide between hearing more, or asking him to kiss you again.
You decide on the former. "And what might that line be?"
Gale brushes your cheek with his thumb, "I do love nothing in the world so well as you."
He's completely genuine, he sounds so syrupy-sweet you can barely hold back your grin. You breathe a quiet, playful tsk, and you lean back, wrapping your arms around his shoulders.
In the course of your adventures together, you weren't sure how Gale felt about you.
It's rather stupid, thinking back on it now. Obviously, you had your suspicions. He was certainly warmer with you, compared to the rest of your allies. Despite knowing you could clearly take care of yourself, he regularly fussed over your safety, to the point of insisting you stick close to him whenever a fight broke out. He'd make a rash excuse, Powerful spells mean nil if you are not in the proper range for me to cover you! — or something like that. You always figured it was an exaggeration. Regardless, you weren't about to turn him down.
You were attached at the hip for safety's sake, that's all. Your remaining companions never seemed to buy it, nor could they hold their comments about the wizard's clearly defined soft spot. The thoughtful way he spoke to you had to mean more; or so they tried to convince you, anyway. You weren't easily influenced.
But it didn't matter. Without the courage and the time to ask, you couldn't be sure. You presumed he might like you, not love you.
This side to Gale is making you reevaluate. You've never seen him so enamored, never thought he'd be this smitten — with you, no less. In his eyes, you're a living beacon of radiance, a miracle meant to be adored. A bright, pale moon to light his way through the darkness, shimmering on jet-black waters. And adore you he will.
You were wrong, so very wrong. While you were busy falling for him, he was already plummeting harder.
"That's from a romance, isn't it?" You muse, tilting your head and eyeing him teasingly, "You're reciting romance lines to me?"
"Not just any romance, mind you. One of the greats. It's charming, very influential. Actually, the story is rather lighthearted- I'd be glad to introduce it to you, I have a feeling you'd enjoy it. But yes, in fact. I am."
"Somehow, you didn't seem like the romance type. I'm surprised. Pleasantly, though."
"A fine assumption. For quite some time, stories of a softer nature became subjects I rarely dabbled in." His index finger comes to rest under your chin, and your head is tilted in his direction. "But falling in love causes one to take interest."
Warmth swells in your veins, untamed. You picture Gale, retreating into his tomes and books when you had a moment of reprieve on the road, struggling to hide his infatuation with you. He'd often read to you, when he was able. His calm voice would narrate biographies and old history novels, until you were trying not to fall asleep. Romances were never a part of it. Perhaps they weren't a part of his personal collection, either. Yet the more you contemplate, the more they seem to suit him.
Did he read such stories to be reminded of you, to grapple with your absence? You can picture him getting lost in them, memorizing the scenes and the verses, in hopes your own tale might play out more like those novels, and different from what destiny threatened upon you. He yearned for things to be lighter, less somber. In the end, there was no world where you stopped longing for each other.
"Besides," Gale is continuing in his usual upbeat tone, giving you little time to think as he cups your cheek in his palm, "There's nothing wrong with choosing to be well-versed in everything. Fantasy, poetry, romance. Erotica, perhaps. I'm sure I could recall some more… exciting quotes, if you preferred it?"
"Please, there's no need," You tease, with the smallest roll of your eyes; although, your heart can't help but patter at the imagery. Gale, reading erotica, of all ridiculous things. "You're sweet. Even now, you're telling me about books. Could you be any more perfect?"
"Possibly," He confesses. "Where you're concerned, mere perfection is far from good enough." Swallowing the dryness in his throat, his eyes mist over with a saccharine seriousness, "My intentions were always to cherish you, to give you my utmost devotion, and then some. You deserve the world. I only wish I could give it to you."
"But you are enough for me. More than enough. I was lucky. So lucky, to have been fortunate enough to meet you. I'm not sure where I would be if I hadn't." Your fingertips drum against his shoulders, and gradually, he relaxes at your touch, from your tone. He exhales steadily, nice and slowly.
"Do you mean it?"
"Gale, I've never meant anything more. I want you so much. Just the way you are."
To have crossed paths with one another, to have met you — No, he is the one who must be fortunate beyond compare.
For a while, he stalls, deciding what to say. Each alternative comes up blank. Your fingers wrap around the neckline of his shirt, then. You feel the embroidered fabric with your thumb, the intricate pattern of swirls. You tug slightly, but Gale — still speechless, oddly enough — doesn't get the hint.
"Your shirt." When he opens his mouth to reply, you're swiftly interrupting. "Take it off."
He seems to freeze for a second, thinking. Then, the slightest form of a grin dawns on his face, a look of nervous contentment. He's reaching down to grasp the bottom of his velvet shirt, tugging it over his head. A messy happy trail litters from his stomach to disappear beneath his pants; it catches your attention, but not for long. Gale is pressing his palms to the surface of the desk, on either side of you, caging you in. You drift forward, and the kiss you share is a momentary distraction.
Effortlessly languid, he kisses you as though you have infinite time, and this is the only way he wishes to spend it. His hand moves to cradle the back of your head, you hold him tight between the soft presses of lips connecting. You exhale in unison once you've both pulled away.
Foggy breath mixes with your own. It warms your skin as he sighs slightly, leaning forward until his forehead is rested against yours. You watch him visibly swallow. He nervously brings a hand to your waist; just holding, with no intention quite yet. The faintest touch makes you melt, until you feel woven into him, soft beyond repair.
"Do you have the slightest idea how long I've dreamt of this?" He starts, his voice quiet, shaky, "How much I've thought of you, how badly I've needed you? How long I've sought to… Gods…"
Your palm grazes his chest, and he trails off into a shuddery sigh — eyes closing, shoulders slumping. Delicate fingertips feel the shape of the Netherese brand engraved in his skin. You trace and retrace the circular indentation. You press your palm flat to his chest, feeling the silent hum of dormant magic, measuring each fluttery beat of his heart. His chest aches, his veins sear with all the heat they can muster.
That's right. He'd almost begun to forget the effect you have on him.
You've never been afraid. After learning the truth, you didn't look at him differently. You refused to cast him aside, in the face of his own insistence. A miasma of blinding purple light shone from underneath your palm, pain ripped through him as he relived his self-made tragedy in one single breath — and somehow, you understood. You only pressed your palm closer, expression unwavering, and swore a gracious promise to help.
You've helped him more than you know. He shouldn't feel this way. So sated. It hardly makes sense, from any perspective. There's many things he failed to do. He has much to learn: about himself, about this damned orb, and still, about you.
But right now, his heart is a battering ram against the constructed walls of his chest, and your fingertips are traveling up — They're grazing the wretched mark as it twists up his nape, his cheek. Your knuckles brush the tangle of dark lines underneath his eye, you cup his face in your hand. And the orb is quiet. It should be screaming with the rest of him. Instead, it chooses silence.
Magic works in such strange, indecipherable ways. If someone were to tell him long ago that this is how it could work — as though in your presence, it too, is comforted — he doesn't think any part of him would ever believe them.
His mistake will forever be a part of him. But so will you.
Gale finds your hand, and settles his on top of your own. He places a kiss onto the bridge of your nose, his palm slides from your hip until his thumb is edging underneath your top, just barely brushing your bare skin underneath. He hesitates, but a kiss of your own placed onto his jaw has him gasping, poised to pull your shirt over your head in the same way his was discarded.
"May I?" Gale hums, and you swiftly nod in approval.
"Yes," You reply, "Please."
The anticipation that settles in your gut is damn near agonizing. You were expecting him to move carefully, but not this slow.
Gale continues at an apprehensive pace. He stops to collide his lips with yours, when the edge of your top reaches the center of your stomach. With another smooth kiss, mouths parted, breath ragged, he tugs it higher still. You only break apart to bring your arms over your head, and give him a chance to pull it off the rest of the way.
A kiss onto your ear, and your chest is tight. His lips trail down your nape, and you're reaching up to grab a hold of his hair, your teeth gritting as you choke back a desperate noise.
Between sighs, your voice is weak, but you still manage, "How long you've sought to what?"
Gale mumbles a hm into your nape, he squeezes your waist and brushes his thumb over your skin. You know he's coaxing you to continue, but with his mouth on your neck, peppering kisses that wash over you like waves, it's rather hard to follow through.
Nonetheless, you grip a fistful of brown hair to give yourself leverage. You force yourself to take a deep, steadying breath. "You were saying something before. How long have you sought to do what, exactly?"
One last kiss, and Gale is drawing back to meet your eyes. He holds your chin between two of his fingers. There's a glint in the back of his gaze, causing heat to rush over you, your limbs suddenly growing weak.
"To take you," He admits, "To not just tell you what wondrous things you've made me feel, but to show you."
You're sure the wild look in his eyes is mirrored in your own. "Then what are you waiting for? Show me."
Gale smiles. He gestures with a crooked finger, and instructs with a tone that borders on smug, "Make yourself comfortable. If you could do the honor of hopping up on the desk for me, I'd be glad to get started."
When you press your palms flat to the solid wood, pushing to lift yourself, his hands maneuver under your thighs, and he helps to plop you on top of his messy wooden desk. He makes room for you, pushing stacks of books to the edge, giving you the space you need to scooch back. His brows are furrowed slightly as he's gathering half-opened scrolls to toss on the floor — from nervousness? Concentration? You aren't entirely sure, but you think he lingers somewhere in between.
Turning back to you, he innocently allows his palms to feel the shape of your bare sides. He smooths them over the curve of your waist, he caresses the faint indentations of the scars your journey and your previous path left. Then, not so innocently, his fingers are toying with the front of your pants. His thumb is rubbing over the button, while his gaze never leaves yours, his collected expression never once wavering.
Sitting atop Gale's desk is far from luxurious. You're already shifting, doing your best to relax and meet his eyes, but you tense when he gives you a full once-over. You stifle your nerves. By now, you don't care where he has you, as long as he doesn't make you wait for much longer.
Your impatience must reflect in your reaction. Gale brings his gaze back to yours, and it somehow seems much softer.
"I thought you couldn't get any more gorgeous," He whispers, his fingertips drawing shapes you can't recognize into your skin, "But before my eyes, you've so effortlessly proved me wrong. What a fool I am."
"A very loveable fool, at least," You counter, placing your hands on his shoulders as he glides his gentle palm up your side. The breeze still fluttering through his study tickles your skin, intensifying each faint, terribly warm touch.
"You're too sweet. I doubt you'd be as composed if you knew the true depth to my foolishness. There is a great deal to address. Too much to fit into one short night, I'm sure." Gale's eyes narrow, adoration at the forefront of his expression, "It's arduous to simply try and think around you, you know. Well, unless one finds themselves thinking about you. You're such an unrelenting plague on my every thought- A good plague, I should add, not the, erm. Sickly sort."
"Right. A good plague," You repeat. "Go on."
"You are… impossible not to think of," Gale corrects, "My mind was made to study the intricacies of yours. I often found myself lost, absorbed in the fierceness of my adoration for you. Even at times where I perhaps shouldn't."
Your eyebrow raises. "Is that so?"
After staring at you blankly for more than a few moments, he awkwardly clears his throat and continues, "I suppose you're waiting for me to explain? If you asked our unlikely band of companions, I'm sure someone would tell you. They certainly remember how immensely I embarrassed myself with my obviousness, at our reunion and when we were still merely surviving together. But you never knew. I assumed you never knew. You failed to notice when I couldn't stop… staring at you, for lack of a better term."
"I didn't notice that much." Briefly, your lips press into a line. "I had my suspicions, sure, but I wasn't entirely confident you felt… more, for me. More than the friendship we had already. Or maybe I found the reality of it hard to believe."
"More barely describes it. My heart would begin to pound each and every time I saw you. Damn thing would tear into my chest like it wanted to come free, especially in the moments where we finished another battle victorious, barely making it out with lives and limbs intact. I'd watch you dust your hands. Wipe the mess of dirt, and some unlucky soul's blood from your face. Your jaw set, your eyes darkened. And I could only think of how much I wanted you."
Apparently, he's not yet out of surprises. For a man who says so much, he picks the strangest times to keep his mouth shut, because you guarantee if you knew that then, you wouldn't have wasted this much time. No, you would've let him have you then and there, amongst the danger and against your judgment. Perhaps that's exactly what he was picturing.
You swallow, eyeing him softly, curiously. "Were you just thinking? Or did you do something about those thoughts of me?"
"Do something?" Gale huffs, letting go of you to return to his familiar habit of speaking with his hands, "As you know, those ideas, no matter how thrilling, could never be permitted to happen- They were forced to be kept in here, exclusively to myself. Lest they prove an unnecessary distraction. Many times, I dreamt of what it might be like to admit the truth. What I would say to you, if my feelings were returned. But I could allow these perspectives to haunt only me, and myself alone."
He averts his eyes in fleeting nervousness. Tentatively, he mumbles, "When you, when those thoughts threatened to swallow me into their waiting jaws, and I couldn't stop thinking- Dwelling on your voice, your touch. Your beauty. I would… Hold on. Oh."
You watch realization dawn on his face like the sun rising over the horizon. His eyes go wide and his face goes warm, he pushes away any uncertainty by breathing a small, light chuckle. He holds your side once more, and the anxiousness of his tense hand, fingers flexing, contradicts his supposed self-assurance.
"Naughty." Gale teases, "Correct me if I've somehow veered onto the path of the mistaken, but I do believe I've discerned what it is you're getting at."
Seems you can't hide your smirk anymore. Leaning back, your gaze locks with his, and the look on your face proves him right without the need for you to speak. Like the tressym who caught the canary, if he could describe it.
Still, your head tilts, and you murmur, "Judging by your reaction, I doubt you need to be corrected."
"Quite the risqué mind you have, don't you? And I thought I was the immodest one." His palm glides from your side, down to your waist, to your hip, "Though, I cannot lie, I am thrilled to indulge you. It's quite an… inappropriate matter to admit. But considering where we were already planning on taking this- Yes. I have done what you are thinking of. Shall I elaborate?"
"I'd love it if you would."
As you grasp his hand boldly, your fingers brush his. You guide him to the front of your pants again, until he's clutching the button, fiddling with it, feeling the shape while he tries to find his next words.
"I was always head over heels for you," Gale explains, popping the button before pulling on the zipper, "It would be pointless to claim otherwise. You were far more than a passing fancy, and I knew I could never forget, nor forgo you. You were my sanctum, my love. I worshiped you. And so I defied my Goddess."
You lift up when Gale begins to slide your pants from your thighs, until they're left in a pile on the hardwood floor. The surface of his desk feels cool against your bare legs.
"Of course, you already know that much. My point- Which don't fret, we are getting to," He says, a palm nonchalantly finding your thigh. He caresses your skin, and your heart is in your throat, because his fingers are drifting ever-so slightly closer, "Is that I was restless. There's an explanation as to why I would often avoid you, why I'd slip away once dusk became night. I pushed every potent feeling down, as to not affect our mission, nor our companionship. But you- You are enthralling."
Careful fingertips skate the inside of your thigh. And as you swallow down fragile gasps, he's only continuing, "Once I was alone, I could no longer stifle the longing I felt. Rest hardly reprieved me. I'd only dream of what we did not have the time to say, nor do. I imagined showing you everything I could give to you, the places I could take you, the marvels I wished for you to see. A snap of my fingers, and we could connect in ways you could not even envisage. We would forget our misfortunes. Our deities. Gods, it was worse when I had to watch someone else chat you up. That night, I'd be practically insatiable."
Your head is whirling.
His manner of speaking leaves more up to interpretation than you would have liked, but you know him well enough by now to be more than skilled at reading between the lines. And those words of his can only paint the most addictive picture.
Gale, trying his best to impress you, to make you smile and keep you safe, only to grow a slight bit jealous when you basked in the attention of someone other than him. Gale, slipping away and "going to bed early" the first chance he got. Holing up in his tent, while you had no idea why. Trying to sleep, only to be awakened over and over again by his enticing dreams of you. Your visage overwhelming his mind, the practiced, straight-laced wizard would finally give into his vices.
With a palm over his mouth, and a hand down his pants, his noises would be muffled as he works his deft hand over his stiff length. He'd close his eyes, silently scolding himself; he's ridiculous, moronic, pathetic. He should be able to stifle his foolish desires, and yet he couldn't stop, his jaw clenched as he visualizes what he wants, needs to do to you — For once, he'd let his hunger for you consume him.
Perhaps he isn't as principled as you once thought him to be.
"I- I felt the same way," You stammer, your throat tightening, making it harder to speak. His fingertips move upward to carefully graze your stomach; his gaze stays on yours, yet you're struggling to maintain eye contact. "It was hard not to daydream about you, whenever we had a moment to rest. My focus was… all over the place. I wanted you to myself. Wanted you to do whatever you wished to me."
"It seems we are one in the same. You could ask anything of me, and I would consider it done." Gale's thumb hooks around your underwear, but freezes there, not yet moving. His volume drops to barely above a whisper; smooth, and intoxicating, "But I did not always think of you in such sentimental terms. With you as… tempting as you are, and with a wealth of unspoken affections between us, my musings would often wander elsewhere."
A shudder racks your spine. "Elsewhere?"
Leaning closer, Gale allows his free hand to steady on your waist.
You've always thought him and yourself to be equal in prowess. You have fought beside him enough to respect his skill, but also to understand his weaknesses. Yet, in this moment, with his voice echoing against the shell of your ear as a low, sultry hum — If this were a fight, you would've already, most certainly lost.
"Yes, to the comforts we hadn't yet explored. To the way your voice might sound when it strains. I pictured your hands, purely natural when they are joined with mine. Or perhaps your arms, your legs, tightly wrapped around my shoulders, and my back."
You feel his palm, caressing your side in slow, simple circles. Your eyelids flutter, your body tremors in the wake of a pleasurable tide. Through his tone, you can practically hear the smile on his lips, "I'm sure you get the idea. I confess, I was not as grounded around you as I may have appeared to be. For saving-the-world's sake, my focus could not wane. Yet, my foolish heart only wanted to hear how you might plead to be given every last inch of me- And I would entrust it all to you. My mind, my body. My soul, if you had any use for it."
His words have you so distracted, you almost fail to notice he currently has your underwear half-way down your thighs.
Your gaze meets his. Something you can't read reflected in the back of his eyes, he gazes at you silently, but questioningly. As if he's waiting for your word to continue. Sighing, you force yourself to relax. You ignore the budding warmth that gnaws at your core. You shift, before you lift once more, and with a sly grin, he takes the hint to pull the garment off the rest of the way.
"I might," You reply, shivering when his palm returns to your thigh, allowing your legs to part slightly when his touch begins to drift, "Maybe I'm a devil in disguise."
"The sweetest devil in all of the Hells," Gale purrs. He presses a quick kiss to your cheek, and his fingers gravitate away; dizzy, your breath hitches. You can't figure out if he's teasing you on purpose, but whatever the bastard is trying, he's certainly succeeding. You tense from your shoulders to your legs, only for his lips on your nape to make you crumble again.
"Gale-"
He kisses the column of your neck, and your grip tightens on the desk's edge, nails practically digging into the wooden surface. Gale's fingertips achingly draw circles on the inside of your thigh, his touch coaxing them further apart. Your lungs are overwhelmed. By the lack of air, by the scent of dusk, and his books, and him.
"Please," You plead; the sound is a sweet melody to his ears, "Touch me."
You're more than enthralling — You are simply irresistible.
Gale sighs, and as the held breath leaves him, he swears he feels the center of his chest thrum with such staggering tenderness.
"You very well may be my demise."
Bracing a hand on your waist, he hesitates. His brows pinch slightly. His palm feels clammy, almost, and you can feel the heat like untamed fire, radiating from his skin, shining through every pore. Cast upon him is a sheet of silken, fading light. You breathe, in and then out. How can he be so damn handsome?
"It's been a while since I have done anything of this sort. I do not wish to overstep." Gale brings his fingers to rest underneath your chin — index and middle, tilting your head ever-so gently towards him. "You'll tell me if it gets to be too much? If I ever do something that you have, erm. A less than savory reaction towards?"
"Of course," You reply simply, but the simplest of words are all he needs to be put at ease. "Do as you like. I trust you."
And so, he does. His eyes soften, they remind you of dripping, warm honey. Yet, the palm that begins to glide over your chest, softly caressing, is somehow even warmer.
You're nearly nose to nose, as Gale touches every curve and dip from your chest to your collarbones, admiring the lovely details. It's tender — analytical, in a way — as though he's studying exactly what forms your shape, so he may never forget. The sound of his breathing, along with your own echoes faintly in your ears. You feel revered, like the statue of some sacred God; and from study or by memory, he will learn to sculpt you.
"Beautiful," Gale murmurs quietly, "You are made of splendor and stardust."
Your heart intends to deny those words. You once thought differently, you believed ruin and rot were all to compose you. But if he presumes otherwise, if Gale is the one to insist you're so much greater, there isn't a single part of you left to challenge him. You are beautiful.
At once, your veins buzz, exhilaration rippling through your system at his voice, his touch. His fingertips trail the length of your shoulder. They teasingly trace downward, only to move back up again, despite the twitch of your thighs and the purse of your lips.
"That night," He breathes, his hand studying the column of your throat, the curve of your jaw, "Where I created the sky for you, I came right to the precipice of confessing. You were beautiful then. As you always are. I felt this… fondness, dwell within me while I looked at you. I wondered if your lips were as plush as they looked. Gods, I wanted to kiss you. Our enemies should have tore a page from your book. You know better than anyone how to reduce a former chosen to such weakness."
Those addictive fingertips reach back, tracing up your spine, causing your whole body to tingle. From the smallest of touches, from his touch, you're rife with anticipation. You've wanted and waited so much and so long to feel this. Gale's other hand tightens on your side, reassuring while holding you still, and you wouldn't be surprised if he could tell. If he knew what he was doing to you.
He's missed you, loved you, with every fiber of his doomed being. Now, fondness is more than within him; it's engulfing him whole.
He swallows thickly. "It would have been delightful to pull you close. To cast aside my misgivings, and instead have you right then and there. Underneath the shimmering lights, while whispering blades of grass tickled our skin. The sight of you laid out underneath me would have been more exquisite than any flourish I am capable of creating, I'm sure. Or, the sight of you above, perhaps? I didn't mind either which way."
"Gale."
You mumble his name, in some cross between a hiss, a pout, and a plea. He catches your eyes with a smile.
More than you might think, he has you figured out. The look you give him whenever he speaks: warm and soft-eyed, breath hitched, expression blissfully entranced. You've mentioned your not-so subtle weakness for his voice before. You love hearing him talk like this, don't you?
"You're sweet, but sometimes-" You choke on a gasp, shuddering once his hand is roaming down, down. This time, brushing your stomach, your hip, your thigh. "Sometimes, I really just want you to kiss me."
Perhaps you could listen to him forever, but he's no fool. Any request of yours he'd be happy to oblige. Especially this one.
"Come here, then," He says, already closing the distance, "You merely have to ask."
A hand holding your jaw, Gale pulls you in, his head tilting until you collide in a soft mess of lips and tongue. He blindly finds your thigh, gently pushing them apart; he squeezes your plush flesh, before he kisses you harder.
Together, when you both pull apart to breathe, he meets your gaze: a question, and permission. You don't look away. Your gasps grow sharper as his touch moves closer, your nerves strung tight, your bottom lip drawn between your teeth.
The ends of his fingers brush your slick, waiting entrance, and you whine.
"Oh, you're… Wow," Gale sighs out. You swear with the way he sounds, he's practically in disbelief. He drags the digits up, getting them drenched and filthy in your mess of arousal, his fingertips applying slight pressure when they reach your swollen clit. You tense, swallowing down a whimper. His fingers glisten in the dying light, you watch him very obviously glance down once he drags them away. Pulling them apart, he admires the string of glossy slickness that clings in between them.
"And I've barely just begun." He looks back to you, breathing the slightest huff, "I knew you- Well, I thought you felt strongly about me. As strongly as I feel about you. If I knew I was capable of doing this to you, of compelling you to be this… desperate, I would have divulged how I felt a great deal sooner."
Like he's one to talk. Your affections go both ways — He made that clear when he was a stiff mess in his pants, just from you kissing him.
Your chest heaves with your gasps, but only heaves harder once his touch leaves. His knuckles tense, his hand hovering inches away from you, and he looks over your face with brief apprehension. Right now, you can't have any of it.
"What do you need?" Gale asks, tone smooth, low.
"Your… Your fingers-"
"And you need them where, to be exact? They are capable of bringing a great number of things into fruition. To have them inside of you, filling you- Is that what you're after?"
"Yes," Your voice wobbles to the edge of cracking, and you follow along, forcing yourself to get more specific, "Need them inside. Please, don't make me wait."
He's never heard you beg before. Never thought you could get so needy, so flushed. For him, you're begging for him.
During the path of your previous journey, your polite requests of him here and there were more than enough to get him ecstatic. This, though? He thinks he might crave to hear you plead your lovely desires for the rest of his existence.
The same hand you've watched cast spells drifts back to you, between your legs. Gale's fingers, dexterous as they handle a fragile flicker of light in between them, masterful as they form the shape for another incantation. Delicately holding a thin quill pen, turning the pages of a worn book, crooking up to summon a hidden tome, or a detailed projection — His fingers begin to ease inside you, and all you can do is bite your tongue, and grip the edge of his desk like your life depends on it.
They feel thicker than they look. You weren't expecting to be so full, even when they aren't entirely in, nor were you thinking he'd go this slowly. With how soaked you are, with how much you've needed him, you know his fingers — ring, and middle — would press inside you so simply, if that's what he was aiming for. They'd slide all the way in, fill you down to his knuckles, until your needy cunt is fluttering around him; you're filthy, and yet, despite the thoughts you have bouncing around in your brain, you hardly feel an ounce of shame.
Instead though, different from what you were imagining, he takes his time. He savors this, savors you, delighting in your pretty expression, and the delicious moan you let go of as his fingers fill you just half-way. Half-way, not sinking fully in. The damn wizard is teasing you. He's dragging both digits out before they've truly given you what you wanted, leaving you disappointed once they slip away.
As a small mercy, his fingertips move to circle your clit with the faintest touch. Right then, the entirety of you burns red-hot, impossibly sensitive. It's so much, and not enough at the same time. If he doesn't continue, you think you might cry.
"I was intending to take things patiently, but I am more than willing to compromise," Gale suddenly murmurs, out of breath, his gasps betraying the levelness he tries to keep to his words. Clearly, this is affecting him just as much as it may be affecting you. His free hand tenses on your waist, and he drawls, "Tell me if it becomes too much. Or if you're in need of more."
Like clockwork, you don't even wait for him to take another breath in. "More, Gale."
He chuckles. Actually chuckles, in spite of any nervousness — and when the sound alone makes you shiver, a soft gasp in pleasure leaving your lips, you know you're absolutely done for.
"Eager little thing." There's enough adoration in his words to devour and get drunk off of, "No matter, I'd already planned to give you everything."
Your hand on the desk's edge clenches, and as though he knows without the need to see, Gale moves to place his palm over yours. His touch brushes your knuckles, his hand is effortlessly warm. His fingertips press to your waiting entrance; you breathe a sigh of approval, before he's working to slide them back inside you.
They ease into your warm cunt deeper, nice and easy. As far as they'll go, until you're sufficiently full, with his palm lightly pressing against your pelvis, his knuckles barely grazing you. Gale's expression turns soft, washed over in utter lust. He mumbles the slightest swear under his breath that you almost don't catch, paired with a tender, low, That's it.
And fuck, you're already struggling to handle this, but to hear him praise you?
When he'd do so before, you were affected quite the same. He'd give you an earnest Excellent job! whenever you cracked another lock, or a Well done, when you downed a rather difficult foe. It was impossible not to dwell on his words, as ridiculous as you often felt. He would affectionately pat your shoulder, or place a hand on the small of your back when he was especially proud of you. You'd feel a chill run up your spine, just from that. A particularly shameful chill.
Now though, like this? When his voice is a whole octave lower, and noticeably sultrier; when he's got two of his fingers nestled deep inside you, and his pretty gaze on yours, hair out of place as it gets stuck to his sweaty forehead — Gods help you, if he decides to say anything more. Knowing him, he will.
He's still smiling while he stares at you, a look that speaks in pure adoration. And no matter how overwhelming, no matter the shivers that surge through your veins at the thought, or the intense pounding of your heart, you want him to speak. He's fucking right, his voice is your weakness. You want to hear all he's longed to tell you, no details spared.
He's lucky you haven't melted into a puddle by now. Your limbs are weak, you feel like you might have. His poor scrolls. There's no doubt you're making a mess, but puddle-you would have left his desk and its important contents in shambles.
Gale languidly pumps his fingers into you, in and then out, and your teeth grit at the sloppy noise they create. The pace he sets is slow, true to his earlier word. Ecstasy buds in your core at every draw back, and firm press in. Yet, the devotion, the listlessness to it — You're put on a pedestal right between needing less, and wanting more. It's perfectly agonizing.
It isn't enough, you need just a sliver more of what he's not providing. But his slow, meticulous movement has you reeling. His thick fingers fuck you methodically, working you up to right where he wants you, and not an inch more. It feels like you might shatter in his arms, his hands, and he would be the one to put you back together.
"Please," You're murmuring, your back arching, your eyes deep and hazy, utterly enchanting, "I need you- need you not to stop, fucking please."
You make his focus shift in a mere instant. Holding onto you tighter, his fingers curl on the next press in, nudging oh-so perfectly against where you're oh-so sensitive. You're a mess, but he loves it; he relishes in admiring this lovely, desperate side to you. You practically cry out, your body tensing beneath his touch, your eyes screwing shut. And Gale, ever attentive, perpetually ambitious, crooks his dexterous fingers inside you again in a draw for more, until you're a gasping, trembling mess.
"You sound wonderful. Just perfect. Believe me, I want to stop as much as you may want to. Which, with regards to your greedy form of begging, would surely be not at all," Gale whispers, in a delicate hum. His words fill your head like clouds. "I have waited too long for this. I have wanted you far too greatly to stop now, and I do not plan to."
You have his fingers soaked, his palm and his wrist filthy, practically dripping with your messy arousal. Between stifled whines and struggles for air, you utter his name. He falters for a moment. Ignoring his slacks growing tight and uncomfortable around him, he takes in an overly controlled breath.
"Don't try to silence yourself," He says, "I want to hear everything."
Your thighs quiver. They threaten to close around his arm, while precise fingers bully your sweet spot; you couldn't hold your moans for him back, not even if you were trying to.
You toss your head back with a whine, loud and unabashed, and Gale offers your hand a gentle squeeze. His breathing is sharp, loud enough to hear, to feel as a fan of warmth against your chest and neck. The heat between you builds to something unbearable. Each thrust of his fingers is relentless: they draw gasps from you that echo in the walls of his study, your lungs aching raw. You are wet and warm and impossibly soft around both digits, you'll feel much softer and wetter around him. And you're simply stunning, from the top of your head, to the ends of your toes. Gorgeous, in a way he'll try his damndest to deserve.
To hold you until the stars give out, to never have to let you go would be a dream made real.
Engrossed in giving you what you need, he admires the softness present on your features when you prop yourself back up. Your chest heaves, your bottom lip trembling. He's been so focused on you, he hardly notices you've already shifted.
You reach forward, your arm is shaky, faint gasps still slipping past your lips as his fingers massage that addictive spot deep within you. Your palm presses to his chest. Only then does he realize how quick his heart's been beating, and how strongly you've been affecting him.
If you were a drug, or a form of charming magic perhaps, you'd be the most potent there is. Your hand glides down, gaze stuck on his — gazes locked on each other — and he lets you. He lets you move your palm down to a near dangerous degree; he shifts forward and closer, in fact, to simplify your reach.
Impulsive, you allow your palm to travel between his legs before you've given it a second thought. You feel the firm outline of his cock, shamelessly tenting his pants, and Gale's brows pinch. He shudders, sighing softly, but he doesn't hold back from leaning into your touch. A small movement has his clothed length grinding against your palm; pure, exquisite friction. Fortunately, swarmed by your own desperations, you are wasting no time giving him more.
For the first time since he began, or maybe for the first time ever, Gale's resolve crumbles. Your hand slips into his pants, wrapping around his hard, silky length, and he groans, the sound sweet enough to incite a heady pulse between your legs. He braces his free hand on the desk to keep steady, and his pace turns frantic as his head dips, strands of hair in his face, his fingers clumsily pistoning into you.
He's warm in your palm, slick with dripping precum that dirties the smooth fabric of his briefs; so distinctly heavy, you start to feel dizzy, overwhelmed by a rush of blood to your head.
"Shit," Gale swears under his breath when you grip him, then pump him, his eyelids heavy like he's woozy. Your reaction is immediate and visceral, pleasure blazing in your core, your chest heaving with quickened whines.
His jaw clenches instinctually, your palm hurriedly swiping over his sensitive, weeping tip. It sends flurries of pleasure over him, and makes every touch much slicker, much wetter. The damp squelch made by the twists of your hand is nearly as filthy as the echo of his fingers plunging into you.
He chokes on a moan, and he hurriedly murmurs, "Your touch is… It is unlike anything I have ever felt before, it's- oh- indescribable…"
You're panting, your hand slowing down, the fragility and newfound pitch to his voice pooling heat in your gut, "Should I stop?"
"No, for the love of every God still left watching over us," Gale reaches up, shakily tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear. His fingertips brush your skin with potent electricity, before he sets his palm back down on the desk, close enough to have your thumbs touch. "Absolutely do not stop."
There's conviction in his voice; it makes your heart pound, and subsequently tremble.
The way you stroke him is messy and quick, frantic to make up for the lack of space the confines of his slacks provide. Your brain is scrambled from his voice, his fingers: easing inside you, and then crooking, punching whines from you each time they perfectly nudge your sweet spot. You feel known, loved, as he studies what you need — to give it to you here, and countless times over.
Between your sins and his, the room is drowned in the echoes of gasps, whines. In wet noises that sound disgustingly lewd when they reach your ears, sending sparks twisting up your back. Gale falls forward, his forehead rests softly against yours. He finds the curve of your waist, gripping you tight; a touch that brands, that makes you pliable. His warm hand on your bare skin is a wave of molten comfort, washing deep into your bones.
"Back then," You mumble breathlessly, beginning a tangent of your own, "I wanted so badly to tell you how I felt. I w-wanted, needed you, I would have given up anything to be close to you. I thought of… of trying to stay quiet in your little tent, trying to make sure no-one else would hear us. You'd whisper in my ear that we have to be quiet, and cover my mouth with your palm while you rocked into me…"
Gale stutters. He throbs, underneath your touch, and lets go of a long, shaking breath. He rolls his hips into your grip just barely, chasing another ray of pleasure.
"Even a rudimentary spell could've… hah, solved that problem easily," He grits out, the bridge of his nose in a focused knot, "But I'm glad we weren't so hasty. This moment we have now, it is kept solely to ourselves. If we-" A groan, a sigh, "Had to account for unnecessary company, I would never have known how lovely you sound when you're pleading my name."
"Fuck- Gale…"
You moan in unison, syncing your breathing and the skip of your heartbeats. In the midst of your own pulse in your ears — your head swirling, drunk on him — you are freeing his cock from his slacks, making him inhale a hiss as the room's cold air hits his length. Your palm strokes all of him, from base to head: tenderly, slowly, agonizingly. He trembles, and his thumb brushes your clit while his fingers stay sheathed inside. Desire takes over what remains of you, as though his touch itself is made from magic.
"I wanted to- I-" It's difficult to talk now; his thumb rubs slow circles onto your sensitive clit, and tension grips you tight, taut as deep in your core as his fingers reach. "I wanted to kiss you, feel you, taste you. Sometimes, I wished we could just forget everything and- Oh, Gods, I needed you, Gale. I knew I was foolish and greedy, but I couldn't lose you. I didn't want anything to ever happen to you, I love you. Just you, just as you are."
Just as you are.
More than anything he's once known, stronger than everything he's ever felt, those words send him spiraling into a hopeless, tender oblivion.
You won't have to fear losing him. Not ever again.
Despite the slight parting of his lips, he can't say anything more; he can only exhale in warm, heady pleasure, and sway forward to collapse into you. Your palm, working over his cock with soft, steady strokes, has him hurtling close to the edge with no reprieve in sight. His forehead leans into the curve of your nape, breath hot on your skin, and he can barely manage to think, let alone control the unsteady pace of his fingers; fucking into you desperately and clumsily, sending pleasure spiraling through your system.
But your voice — Chiming in his ears, echoing with the earnestness of bells, you bring every devoted component of his attention right back to you.
"Please," You beg, your tone quiet, on the verge of shattering like glass. Gale moves his palm to hold the small of your back as a slight comforting gesture, a silent reminder that he has you, and you feel the petals of your heart unfurl, and unwind.
"I'm right there," You're gasping, "I'm- ah, please…"
He can't contain himself, sweat beading at his chest and forehead as he sloppily thrusts into your now-loose grip. Every slow, choppy buck of his hips leaves him more overwhelmed. You have your head tipped back, as you jerk him off hurriedly, choking on your own moans. Euphoric flames lap at your gut, your limbs — Gale peppers your nape in haphazard kisses, and all it takes is one more touch, three more words.
"I love you," His murmur rolls in vibrations against your kiss-sensitive nape; you melt, your back slumps. There's an intensity to his tone, a thickness to his accent and a slur between the syllables. You nearly drown him out with your own chants of his name.
"My sweetheart," He falters, "My love- You feel perfect, and I- I'm so close- I've got you, let go, let go with me-"
You flutter around his fingers, and he stammers with words left unsaid, murmuring faint recitations of your name as you both reach the crescendo. Frantic jerks of your palm and feverish swipes of his thumb on your clit, his touch palpable with so much love you can practically feel it — and you're slamming over the edge together.
Gale's breathing comes from weary, bruised lungs. You feel him twitch, then pulse, and messes of moans and gasps resound onto your neck as he spills into your hand. The mess drips over your palm, coating your fingers. Your heart pounds against your chest like a drum, and the pleasant disaster of your release washes over your body — making you tense and cry out, your legs quivering as you cum for him — before setting you down, shakily and slowly.
You can hardly think by the end of it. The aftershocks that grip you are unlike anything you've ever felt before. Finding your high while thinking of him pales in comparison to cumming for him, on his fingers.
Neither you, nor him can speak. When Gale finally pulls apart from you, dragging his fingers from your warmth and stumbling to his feet, what makes up your tangled thoughts is still very much fuzzy. You're both panting hard; him, more than you are, perhaps. Your thighs are tense and sore, you have to force them to relax to ease some of the strain.
Through heavy eyelids, you watch him run a palm over his face. He massages his temple, and lets go of a deep, weighted breath. The way he looks at you then, gaze settled on yours, could be enough to entrance you, all on its own.
"Beautiful." He hums simply. His voice is still rough at the edges, quiet and strained. You aren't sure if it's a description, or a term of endearment; maybe both, you figure, so you can enjoy a taste of each.
He reaches up to hold your jaw, his touch ever soft. You're lost for a moment. You catch your breath along with him, and feel what remains of the world around you fade away.
"I believe I was meant to love you," He says, so earnest, his faith itself makes you shake. "You are an irrevocable destiny. My destiny."
You offer him a smile that roots into him from the inside-out. And when he drifts forwards to kiss you at last, pulled in your direction like a fish on a line — Your lips press to his, and in his chest, arises a glow.
This shared kiss is long, deep, and effortless. It is a waltz you both know how to follow, and yet, you lose your footing just the same. He pulls you close with an arm around your back, and you curl into his familiar touch. In turn, you clutch him tighter, kiss him harder, with your palm on his shoulder and a hand tangled in messy locks of brown hair.
You both breathe a sigh once you've slowly pulled apart. Gale holds your chin, and speaks softly, the words akin to a secret prayer.
"I am yours. Now, and for the eternities of lifetimes that might await us after this one." His expression deepens, and his thumb brushes your lips, carefully but simply, "I truly do love you."
I love you. Those words still feel as soft as they are strange. They're all you've ever wanted though, natural on the tongue, despite how unrelentingly they shake you.
Perhaps you really were meant for this, just as he believes. In this life, and in the lifetimes to follow, you will find and embrace one another.
Standing up straight, he stretches, fixing his slacks before rolling his shoulders back. Your gaze flickers over his shape, and then down. Tenderness makes way to bristles of embarrassment, and it's hard to continue biting your tongue. Between the both of you, you've made quite the mess. Reminders of what transpired hit you like a bucket of bricks. Your heartbeat particularly spikes at the droplets of milky white that dirty the desk's smooth surface, and the flesh of your thighs.
Gale seems to notice your staring.
"Apologies," He clears his throat so loud the sound practically bounces around the room. His tone carries a weight of lightheartedness, and you can't explain how nice it is to hear. It lightens the load on your own shoulders, in some way. "I did not suspect I was… so pent-up. Are you alright?"
"I'm alright," You resound, inhaling slowly, and feeling the buzz in your chest begin to settle as a result. "I feel great, honestly. How about you? Tired yet?"
"Oh, I am anything but. Feels like I pissed off some impudent mage, and as punishment they set my nerves aflame," Gale shakes out his sweaty palms, then idly flexes his fingers, "Not any sort of punishment I've ever heard of, but I would certainly commend their creativity. It will take more than that to tire me out, I assure you. Unless you, yourself are tired, of course. In which case, I would be glad to assist in your relaxation."
"Thank you, but there's no need. I'm not tired yet either." You shuffle closer so you can wrap your arms around him, and your hand promptly tangles in his hair, while the other brushes the back of his neck, fingertips tracing down to the space between his shoulder blades. You swear you feel him shiver. "C'mere. I haven't had near enough of you."
"Is that so?" Gale smiles. He closes the fraction of distance between you, and steadies a hand on your jaw. "I'm pleased to say the feeling is mutual."
This time, the kiss he plants to your lips reminds you of falling. Falling, with no worry of hitting the ground. Just infinitely drifting through a cloudless sky, while you helplessly listen to the race of your pulse in your eardrums. And as quickly as he sends you careening towards the earth, he's grounding you, with a kiss to your throat that sets your senses alight.
His lips hover there for longer than they need to, breathing warmth onto your neck, until you reward his efforts with the sweetest of sighs. Then, his mouth trails kisses from your collarbone to your shoulder. His hand holds your side when you sway, helping to keep you steady.
It's as though your soul is helplessly detached from your own body. The growing shadows in his quaint study envelop your vision, and cradle you in their looming embrace. You imagine the pale moon, the shimmering stars, soon to bathe you in their faint light. But for now, it's just the two of you, pleasantly alone, in the center of his universe. Truthfully, your soul is bound to him. Gale's hands, and beating heart.
Warmly, he mutters against your shoulder, a squeeze of your side blended with slightly muffled words, "Are you comfortable?"
"Mhmm," You nod, and you tilt your head opposite as he moves to press kisses to the other side of your nape, "We can move- If that's what you want."
"What I want is to have you wherever it is you prefer." Placing a final small kiss to the side of your neck, he then pulls back, meeting your pretty gaze with an expression that sparkles. "My bedroom is always an option. Traditional, yes, but surely comfortable. Continuing here would be most pleasant as well. Most exciting. The choice is left up to you, although," He breathes a slight laugh, "I suppose I may picture this the next few times I am sitting here working. Might pose a slight problem to my future productivity."
You huff, half-rolling your eyes. You playfully squeeze his shoulders, teasing palms caressing his warm skin, "In that case, I want you nowhere else but here."
Gale smirks, his expression enveloped in unmistakable tenderness, but this time, he holds his tongue. He grasps your wrists, and when your palms follow his lead to slip from his shoulders, he is taking your hands into his. He's shifting, kneeling, sinking down in front of you until your heart is left a shaken and stuck mess inside your throat.
"Look at me."
Oh. You didn't notice you were starting to glance away, avoiding his eyes while you attempt to ignore the warmth burning over your face. You tear one of your hands away from his to grip the edge of the desk, steadying yourself. Hesitantly, your gaze flickers back to his own — just in time to watch Gale press a kiss to your knuckles.
He looks at you as though you are devastation, devotion, in the softest, mortal form. Twilight shimmers in the details of his silhouette: the features of his face, the silver in his hair, and his shiny, metal earring. You once thought the symbol hanging from his ear to be some solemn, self-imposed reminder. Instead, you've grown to realize it is spite, pure and fierce. Because after everything, he is still tenderly, maddeningly alive.
"You will not lose me, not ever, not for a moment," He says gently, squeezing your hand, resoluteness in the back of his gaze. "I promise you. I want for nothing, when you are at my side. Nothing but the privilege of seeing you smile, which I will try my very hardest to earn. No matter what we may face, perils or strife, anything that is left to try and stand in our way, we will brave it- We will defy it. And we will do so together. Just as we once did."
Gale allows his thumb to brush over your knuckles before he lets your hand go. You eye him silently, awestricken, your chest tight and your mouth useless. Perhaps it is your silence that prompts him to gaze at you smugly, place his palms on your thighs, and shift closer until his head is inches away from dipping between your legs.
"Now, let me have you." Voice low, he breathes the words loud enough for only you to hear, "Let me cherish you, as I have always longed to, and as you have always deserved."
So foolish. He does have you, he has held every part of you from the moment you and him collided.
You take a breath, deep and slow. "Then have me."
Reaching forward, you knot a hand in his hair as encouragement. Gale holds your waist, smirking slightly, and he waits, lingering, or perhaps teasing you. When your fingers tighten on his hair and you let go of a quickened, impatient huff, the desperate look on your face causing his heart to skip, only then does he finally move. He leans close, pressing a kiss to your stomach that brims with tingling electricity.
"Gale-" And you sigh, you melt, "I love you, I love you so much-"
His brows knot, softness in his expression, and he begins to adore your skin with his lips. He plants messy kisses from your navel, down. When he moves from your hips to your legs, tenderness turns to hunger. His kisses are warmer, blessed onto your inner thighs as he leaves faint bites, along with soft brushes of the tongue; not enough to mark, just enough to feel. Enough to make you tremble at the subtle nip of teeth, and shake from the heat of his steady breaths on your skin.
Both palms find your thighs to gently coax them apart. Nervousness prickles up your spine, heightened by the warmth in your gut, and by the heaviness in Gale's eyes as he looks up at you. But when he leans close, at the first swipe of his tongue over your waiting cunt — Everything melts away to nothing but sharp, pure pleasure.
Your fingers grip his hair so tight you think you might yank some strands out. You're panting, and he isn't stopping; each little lap of his tongue makes you shake, already a whining mess, echoing the sweetest noises for him. You only make him want to hear more.
He wants you crying happy tears for him, wants you to forget your hardships as you fall to pieces on his mouth; but for now, he'll have patience. Slight, teasing flicks of his tongue are enough to start with. Judging by the intensity of your grip on his hair, and the way your chest heaves from the force of loud, labored breathing, he isn't sure you can handle much more, despite how terribly you make him want to give it to you. You deserve all you could ever need.
You deserve to be happy, safe, loved. He won't let you be marked by more scars. You're precious to him, more precious than anything he has once held, and simultaneously, you are damn near impossible to resist.
From between both your thighs, he can't tear his gaze away from you above him: your pretty face, consumed by ecstasy and impatience. You, on the other hand, can barely take the way he looks at you with such tenderness, and yet, confidence. Like he knows exactly what he's doing to you.
Gale swipes the flat length of his tongue over your entrance, then flicks the tip against your clit, and the moan you let fall from your lips captivates the entirety of his muddled mind. He huffs something of a laugh, and pulls back to give you a small chance to breathe.
"Remarkably sweet, and ravishingly sensitive." The sultry hum to his tone settles a decadent sensation between your ribs: pleasure, and an encompassing anticipation. His lips are already wet and glistening. "You were just meant to be devoured."
Your heart shudders, and your breath hitches. Gale grips you by your sides, his gentle touch smoothing over your skin. His hair in his face is a mess you've made. You shakily push the strands back, and as your fingers brush close to his scalp, the only signs he's affected are the shuddery inhale he takes, and the devotion that shines in the back of his pupils.
"Spread your legs apart a little further, for me," He mumbles. When you oblige, he hums the smallest form of praise, the faintest, Very good. Then, his mouth is giving you no room for respite.
You whimper, watching his honeyed gaze on yours go soft, before his eyes flutter shut. His hands on your sides grip you tighter, and with swipes of his tongue, he thoroughly tastes your entrance. He was right; you are sensitive. Especially when he buries his face in your cunt, every sickeningly slow lap of his tongue feeling charged, ripe with exhilarating arousal.
When you tense, panting harder with a swallow, he squeezes your side, and he stops. He huffs in short breaths centimeters away from you. Your shoulders slowly go slack. You press both hands to the edge of the desk and hold on tight, trying to remain steady. He only dives in again once your sighs have settled, and this time, he's licking, then sucking. The sound is sloppy, terribly lewd, as he presses his lips to you and sucks softly on your clit. Infatuation surges through your veins so fast, you begin to feel yourself go numb.
He licks a steady stripe, groaning quietly. His facial hair scratches the inside of your thighs with such bitter sweetness. He's moving one palm down to your thigh, caressing before lifting. Your leg settles comfortably onto his shoulder, and he's pressing closer, he's ever-so carefully easing his tongue inside you. It's warm, meticulous; the attention there, the sensation of being so barely filled, stretched around the end of his tongue — It makes your head spin with ferocity.
Those sensations melt to expectancy, to a dwindling heat as he draws back; for only a moment, thankfully. He swallows, his words muffled when he mutters against your eager cunt, "You taste divine."
On his tongue, he's sure you're the sweetest thing he's ever known. Saccharine like the stars, akin to the smooth velvet wine he remembers sampling in Calimshan. But perhaps, it's even sweeter to have you like this, to know he's the only one who can do this to you. Your limbs are trembling for him. It's his tongue you're a mess on, his voice and his touch to make you this way.
He should never have doubted himself. If he could rewind the clock just once, it wouldn't be to change past wrongs, nor would it be to rid his chest from the orb, or abandon it entirely. He would have gone without meeting you then, still just a reckless wizard in the cold palm of his Goddesses hand.
Rather, he would go back and tell you how he felt, he'd tell you everything — He'd have you accompany him to Waterdeep well before his proposition at your reunion, and he wouldn't have held back the words on his tongue. He doesn't want to leave you, he loves you; he'd watch your expression change, your hands squeezing his when he grabs them tight. And he knows he would kiss you right then, in the same way he already has.
I've fallen for you he was waiting to whisper, when this universe seemed to contain just the two of you. He wanted to kiss you so softly when you smiled at him during your late-night talks, closing the inches of distance between you to feel your smile on his lips instead. He'd kiss you so desperately when you found yourselves on the edge of death, both hands cupping your cheeks, thumbs smearing blood onto your skin, because even then, all he could fathom was how deeply he adored you.
As long as he kept you safe, he didn't need more. He no longer wished for godhood. He could greet the end with no regret — but to have lived, to be able to persist in this life at your side means the world itself to him.
It will take a long while to make up for lost time. Though maybe, he can start here. His mouth can do more than recite poems and confessions. Much more.
In demonstration, Gale leans into you. He relishes in the way you shake under his hold, once the practiced end of his tongue flicks against your swollen clit. He has to hold you steady, gripping tight while he kisses your clit, your thighs, and then devours you with sloppy kisses to your cunt: open-mouthed, a mess of soft sucks and rich groans into you. His lips brush every sensitive inch, shaping you as you dissolve to pliancy, like soft clay in his careful hands.
"Feels good-" You try to mumble, biting the words; you've never felt anything this addicting. Your voice carries a noticeable shake, one you just can't swallow down, "Feels so fucking good…"
"Not good enough to render you speechless," Gale hums against you, lust weaving through his tone. You'd almost think he was talking to himself, if it wasn't for the way he briefly looks at you, eyelids heavy, pupils blown-out. "Suppose I ought to continue."
His mouth lavishes your cunt once more, firm sucks on your clit paired with swipes of his tongue that gently tease your needy entrance — You grip the desk tight, moving your hand to grab a fistful of his hair instead. You bite down so hard on your lip you think it might bleed.
You can't focus, you feel weightless, his words won't leave you as much as his mouth continues to devour you. His sultry voice, his soft expressions of love; how long has he waited for this? How fiercely has he wanted you, wanted to tell you the fondness he kept captive inside? How long has he imagined pleasuring you on his tongue, until all you can manage to plead is his name?
For longer than you were first picturing, surely. There's desperation to the new pace he's set, a wild yearning, as Gale allows his composure to slip and pleasures you with every single breath. His palm runs over the warm underside of your thigh when it twitches on his shoulder. He's relentless, even when you grip his hair so tightly it must hurt, whimpering for him and his mouth in unintelligible murmurs.
He gives you more without the need for you to ask. He's moaning into you in turn, his tongue pressing in to taste you. And your taste is electrifying. The whine you give him is one he wishes to memorize. He feels he may yearn for this — to taste you, to have you — until the universe converges to a collapse, with all Nine Hells finally frozen over.
Speechless, that's how he wants you, and if he continues like this, he might make good on such an objective. Ironic. For as much as he's spoken, you're the one asked to stay voiceless. You doubt he truly wants you quiet. Every moan you make at the lap of his tongue, or the brush of his lips, draws a staggered sigh from him in response.
At least, considering how much the bastard spends talking, of course he's good with his mouth.
He mumbles something inaudible against you, a mess where your name is the only thing you make out. His voice echoes in vibrations right onto your clit, and you're gasping, your thighs trembling. They practically close around his head, but he pushes them back apart to make room; his one hand on your thigh, the other on your waist.
The moment you've relaxed, legs spread wide for him, he's grabbing your sides so tight it makes you go stiff in surprise. He's pulling you in, he's giving you more of his mouth, and you're rocking. You're grinding onto his tongue without forethought, focused only on the bliss that rips through your body and intensifies in your core.
You barely catch the way his eyes flutter when you roll into him. He begins to guide your movements with his grip on your waist, pulling you closer while twirling his tongue, allowing you to use his mouth as you desire.
And you do. You fuck yourself on his mouth and tongue between his hurried kisses, his muffled groans muttered against you. Until your high is frantically splintering towards you, your fingers flexing in his hair, your throat sore and muscles even tenser.
"Gale," You can't get out anything but his name, lungs overtaken by gasps, the edge of your voice sore from cries of pleasure, "I-"
You don't tell him you're there. You couldn't manage the words, but with the way he hums in approval against you, squeezing your waist in silent persuasion, his tongue focusing on your clit with tender precision — You suspect he knows, and he wants, needs you to cum for him. With your heart beating fast in your chest and your ears, the rope snaps, and you're cumming on his mouth, while his name is a stuttered mantra on your lips.
Your thighs can't help but tense, brushing his face and smothering him; you pulse on his tongue, your grinds against him growing erratic, desperate. Everything in your body is swallowed by rocky waves, a sense of pleasure in your chest and your head and your core imploding with blistering heat. Your voice breaks. You only settle when you've fully succumbed, drowning in the aftershocks.
After your eyes have slowly opened, and your fuzzy vision has returned, you notice you're not the only one struggling to breathe. You feel it first: the brief tickle of his warm breath on your thighs, his lips barely brushing against your skin. You hear him exhale, long but shaky: a perfectly enticing sound.
Gale pulls apart from you while he huffs, he wipes sweat from his brow with the back of his hand. His face is flushed, lips parted, chest heaving. But fuck, he's smiling, grinning like you've never seen before, earnestly and so in love. Your heartbeat practically skips.
You shouldn't be surprised that the first thing he does upon rising to unsteady feet is brace a hand on the desk, grasp your chin between his fingers, and kiss you. Your shoulders slump, and as you're kissing him back, you're breathing a soft exhale into his mouth. He drags you in as close as he can get you, leaving you practically smushed against his chest. Still, your heart begins to sing. Familiar feelings burn to life once more as his mouth parts, allowing you to taste yourself on his tongue.
When you separate, it's agonizingly slowly. It's just enough for him to gaze into your eyes, to see you melt, simply from the way he looks at you. Together, you remain deadlocked for a moment, catching your breath without a word. His warm eyes and soft lips are effortlessly enticing; it takes every ounce of your remaining strength to resist kissing him again, surely crumbling the composure you've worked so hard to restore. He drifts back, a complacent look on his face. His fingers stay delicately grasping your chin.
You're going to break the silence before he can, and you'll get straight to the point.
"I need-" You swallow, resisting the urge to glance away from him no matter how flustered you've become. He can have your composure, he can have every damn part of you — "I need more. I need you. Please."
Gale's spine tingles with an almost-shudder. He can't resist guiding you forward by your jaw, until his lips are able to kiss the top of your head. A kiss that drips with meaningful, aching adoration. Your heart stirs, and you let go of the breath you were holding.
"Dearest," He coos quietly, a tender edge to his voice, like a knife that twists and caresses your ribs, "You will be given all you need. Perhaps even more."
His fingertips skate your shoulders, before his palm presses to your chest. He kisses your cheek, and against your ear, he gives the faintest muttered instruction: Lay back. You were already doing so before the command, but his words lead you to follow the slight push of his palm, until you're settling with your back hitting the desk.
The hardwood is cool against your skin, and he shoves some books aside to give you space to rest your head. He's leaning down with you, pressing a final kiss to your nape once you're stable. As Gale pulls back, coming into view above you, heat surges through your veins. Your nerves thrum with something more than love. Something more like sanctity.
Sweat coats both your bodies in a glimmering sheen. Gale's hair is out of place, shadows flicker over his features but pay special attention to the grooved, dark scar on his chest. The sun has long since finished its descent, the last flecks of light vanishing to nothingness. You don't notice how dark it has truly become until Gale provides a solution with words under his breath, and a snap of his fingers.
Effortlessly, light dances in your vision, the candles that decorate his study coming to life. His lips twitch into a smirk. His hand finds your side, feeling your shape.
It's just the two of you, now and hopefully always, in his favorite corner of the world. On his damn desk, to make matters more tantalizing. The same desk he'd spend hours alone at, reading or planning lessons, trying not to let his mind wander to you instead. And you, speaking of. You, bathed in faint light, sprawled out beneath him like poetry on a page — Without a doubt, you are gorgeous. To the point of addiction.
"There you are," He murmurs at last, while his thumb draws circles on your side. The lighting is still dim and moody, but this feels as though it is the first time he's truly been able to see you. To see all of you. He drinks you in, admiring your shape, your marks, your scars. The details that define you, everything he loves.
He allows his gaze to drag down, and then up, back to your eyes. You're shuffling out of nervousness, but his warm touch on your skin encourages you to relax.
"Beautiful, aren't you? Each time I look at you, I feel my love burn ever brighter. You are the sun. A warm, incandescent sun. Most worthy of worship. Basking in the heat of my affections, I would gladly allow you to reduce me to cinders." Reaching out to you, Gale's fingers brush your cheek, before he stops. He suddenly lets go of a sigh so heavy it makes his shoulders turn slack. "My apologies. I'm chattering on again. Such a habit is proving challenging to break."
"Don't apologize," You counter, and you bring your hand to his own. Your fingertips brush his, you press his palm to your cheek and keep it there. The soft smile you flash him begs to be lost in. "If you haven't noticed, I quite like hearing your voice. You're sweet. And you always have the sweetest things to say."
Gale grins, "Do I? Hm, I'd hate to have to call you mistaken, especially after the kindness you've imparted to me. But I believe you're the sweet one. In a multitude of ways, for that matter. I would certainly know."
He only smiles wider when you pout, before playfully pushing at his shoulder. As you lean backward once more, getting comfortable, he is quick to close the distance in between you.
Your arms sprawl above your head, wrists crossed over; as much as they can manage, anyways, accounting for the limited space his desk provides. Your elbows knock against carefully placed stacks of books, legs hanging over the desk's edge. Cool air fills and settles in your lungs, and he moves closer, a knee between your thighs, a hand pressed to the desk to rest himself over you. Throat dry, you swallow thickly.
"But your thirst has not yet been quenched, now has it?" He murmurs, eyes narrowed, his voice noticeably lower than before. The palm he's kept to your cheek holds you delicately, and his thumb just barely brushes your plush bottom lip.
"With you as delightful as you are," Gale is continuing, "To claim you deserve everything I could offer would be… plainer than insisting the midday sky to be blue, so to speak. I am eager to satisfy you, to give you the adoration you have most definitely warranted. I'd like to make this as pleasant as it will inevitably be unforgettable." He tilts your head towards him slightly, and you feel choked by breathlessness. "I could never express the whole of my love for you. But allow me to try."
Your hands clam up, balling into sweaty fists as you try to maintain your gaze on his. Candle flames waver in the background of your vision, flickering to their own tune. His eyes travel from yours, to your lips, and back up again.
"I love you," You whisper, because it's all you can think of, devotion is the only force running rampant in your mind, "I truly, earnestly do. We have time. We have nothing to fear anymore. You can take me in every way you wish. I'm yours, I always have been."
Gale's brows pinch in thought, and his gaze brims with tenderness. "Then let us make up for the time we have lost."
His palm moves. From your cheek, his touch patiently drifts to tickle the side of your neck. Your shoulder next, and you shudder when you feel his knuckles brush your chest. His touch is home, familiar and grounding, dragging the ruin from within you amid each subtle stroke. In the same instant, your heart is heavy, and set ablaze.
"We can drown in each other. There is nothing I have wished for more, not a soul I have wanted greater than you." Gale divulges, "I've dreamt of this. Of making love to you, as we breathe one another's names. Of hearing you confess precisely what you've just told me, that you are mine."
He inhales slowly, shakily. His palm gently feels your stomach, your hip, the curve of your side, while his resolute gaze never departs from your own — "I love you. You deserve perfection. And although I cannot promise such a thing, I swear to give you all of me."
Gale watches your expression start to soften; reminiscent of the same sun he has always seen in you, when it first dawns from the steady, sea-bound horizon. You shift, your legs repositioning to either side of his waist, caging him in. You're smiling, and he keeps his eyes on your hazy form.
"I don't need perfection," You answer simply, earnestly. "I just need you."
You.
There's so much hidden in such a short and basic word. I need you. You've longed for more than just to stand at his side as an ally, an assistant, a friend. Now, he can see that. How foolish he was to ever believe otherwise. At last, with no more perils to stand in your way, you're together. You have time. Your hearts can finally indulge in the magnetism they have to each other, no longer ruled by uncertainty.
Without hesitation, you need him — as you have since the start, and for all that he is.
For his softness, his intelligence, for the change in his voice when he's rambling about something he enjoys, and for the way he looks at you when he thinks you aren't paying attention. You found yourself wishing he knew. You've grown entranced with every part of him, including flaws coalesced with ambition, regardless of your possible destruction. Falling for him was natural. Mistakes and magic and mortality in all.
Perhaps there is time to be made up for. But falling in love, entwining your fates together until they were at last pulled back as one, was purely inevitable.
Gale exhales. He runs his fingers through his hair, his shoulders taut, hoping to relieve some of the tension. It only helps marginally. Both hands then maneuver to grip your waist. His thumbs brush your hips, the faintest touch alighting your skin in goosebumps.
"You are… Gods, you fill me with such potent emotions, you know?" He murmurs; your arms are locking around his shoulders, keeping him close, and as he notices the heaviness to your eyes, his breath slowly grows more ragged, "I have always loved you, I've wanted this so terribly. And yet, now that it's happening, now that you are here, and not a lifetime apart like we both once were, I don't- I cannot think. My mind refuses to allow it."
His hands tense on your waist, his brows furrowing, fingertips pressing ever-so forcefully into your skin. When you smile in response, and drag him in to interrupt with a tender, long kiss to his lips — this time, while eyes flutter shut in unison, heads tilting, a soft groan uttered against your mouth — thinking is left to become irrelevant.
The focused expression he was wearing melts to a warm grin once you've pulled apart from him, exhaling heated breaths against his lips. His gaze on yours glints with affection, and his mind is a beautiful mess: thoughts not finding a beginning, nor an end. Smoothly and softly, Gale cups your cheek, and as you lean into his touch, the rest of his head weakens with blooms of love.
For you, he has always been weak. You could best him, you could threaten to destroy him. You could pull him apart at the seams with tender, blood-soaked hands, and as long as you kissed him while cleaving his heart out, he would unravel for you with a smile.
He murmurs quietly, "So I won't. I will cast any and all thoughts of mine to the wind. Doubt has long since had its fill of me, I refuse to provide it with more satisfaction. I've never loved anyone as intensely as I love you. Nothing could sate me as you do. With fate now ours to command… I hope I won't be made to let go of you."
"Don't, don't ever let go of me," You answer, your tone a gentle coo, your hands tensed on his shoulders, "And don't you dare pull away."
Gale laughs, huffing slightly. Then, he surges forward, along with pulling you in, until his lips are crashing like lulling waves against your own.
You kiss, again and again, pressed together with purpose, burning with intensity. Blindly, his grip finds your wrist when your hands slip from his shoulders. An arm falls beside you, and he adjusts the other. Fingertips drift over your palm, he presses your hand beside your head, and he laces his fingers with your own. His hand and yours fit together like lock and key; naturally, just as he'd described. Your heart must resist the desire to never let go.
As he slowly drags apart from your lips, he's moving to kiss your jaw, your neck. Warm, soft kisses, his tongue lightly tasting your skin, guiding you to curl into him. The slightest attention has a way of feeling so intoxicating, whenever he is the one to provide it.
Anticipation envelops you. Desire links between him and yourself, and settles deep in the pit of your stomach. It gnaws at you, wanting more, wanting what you've needed since you first found each other. His touch is so irresistible because you've been waiting to feel it. You've dreamt and imagined, hoped and fought so you both could survive, and now, he is finally yours.
"What do you need from me?" Gale hums into your nape, his palm caressing your side while he squeezes your hand. Sultry voice muffled, his messy hair tickles your skin, and his lips brush your collarbone. "I want to hear your voice speak the words."
So, you answer. You let his voice wrap around you, his kisses to your neck embrace you, and allow yourself to melt underneath the weight of your longing.
"I need you," You stammer into the open air, your grip on his hand growing tight. When he hums against your throat, faint kisses twisted with heady vibrations, you know what he wants, and you'll give him much more than that: "Fuck me, please…"
The brazenness to your own words makes your head pool with poignant visions, daydreams of Gale pinning you to his desk and taking you like you've both been craving; a hand in yours, his thumb in your mouth. Slowly, intensely, amidst hitches of breath and skin against skin. With a tenderness so acute and raw, that the press of him inside you would be divine enough to make the Gods take notice.
Some senseless part of you almost hopes they do.
A terribly soft kiss is placed on your cheek, and you're shivering, listening to his breath pick up and his sighs get heavier. Your ankles are locking around him, they're pulling him closer. Now, he's moving, he kisses your lips fervently as your hand grips his, and your free palm settles onto the center of his chest; as it has done many times before, as though it was meant to be there. His heart pounds, his hips shove into yours. The stiff weight of his length, confined in his slacks, grinds between your legs — and you give up on whatever shreds of sense you were still holding onto.
After a slow drag away from your lips, your chin now held between his fingers, Gale takes a deep breath. An intense, steadying breath. Through heavy eyes, the way he looks at you earns a shiver that traverses down the length of your spine.
His brow cocks, his lips form a tell-tale smirk; and you should know from the way he looks at you that you've lost. Still, it takes his words to truly hammer it home, while your heart hammers in your chest alongside them.
"You're quite exhilarating. Nevertheless, I suspect you are well aware of the powerful effects your coy words often have on me. With much proficiency, you know my weaknesses." Gale draws his fingertips over your jaw, his head tilted in subtle concentration. His voice is kept level, in the same gentle tone you've come to know, but there's no doubt he has you right where he wants you. You can tell, you could always tell. His gaze darkens with familiar ambition, and he draws a slow, shaky inhale.
Yes, you may know his weaknesses. But he knows yours.
"Need is but a dire, hungry word. Though, I must admit, I find it terribly sweet to hear you pleading for me." Gale teases, "Brings to mind our adventures together, your small implores of please when you wanted my help. Generally with some sort of riddle. Or a particularly well-locked door, perhaps. Of course, I could never say no to you."
"Mhmm," You hum in reply, speaking slowly to force your growing nerves to calm. You've watched Gale master spell after spell, triumph over puzzle after puzzle. You can only imagine this is what it's like to be on the receiving end. Briefly, you clear your throat, "Let me guess, it's even sweeter to hear it from me now?"
"Oh, yes. It certainly is. But a plea must be accompanied by an acknowledgement. I'd be cruel to keep you waiting any longer."
Your fingers tense from the absence once his hand releases yours, but the way his touch glides down, from the shape of your hips to the back of your thighs, quickly has your nails digging into your own palm. You draw your bottom lip between your teeth. He tugs you closer, close enough to have your bodies rock together again — Shuddering, he sucks in a sharp breath, freezing up completely. It takes everything he has to resist grinding against you once more, to disregard the way his cock throbs at the thought alone.
He's teased you quite enough. You are going to have what you want, and you're going to get it properly.
Your eyelids flutter, your voice weak, desperate, "Gale-"
Abruptly, you cut yourself off when he smooths his palms up your sides and leans in. Distances close, his lips brush the shell of your ear and his body presses closer to your own. Feeling him against you, the weight in his slacks nudging your entrance and brushing your clit, worn fabric growing messy and glossy with your arousal — It's merely a taste, when what you truly want is to feel him inside you.
Every inch of your skin seems to burn with flushed heat. You were hoping to get him going a little. On that front, you seem to have succeeded. But you couldn't have expected him to turn the tides right back on you.
His voice comes out right next to your ear, reverberating through you, pulling you under to drown in fervent waters.
"You need me, yes?" Gale murmurs, and as his lips brush your lobe, you swear you can hear his stupid smile through his tone alone, "If you are begging for me to take you, to fuck you, what sort of lover would I be if I denied you what you've been desiring?"
Your throat aches with a high-pitched whine; the building warmth within you blisters, and all your yearning culminates to this.
To your chest heaving between his kisses to your jaw and your face, your palm snaking between your bodies, arm reaching downward as far as it can manage. You're practically panting, as you allow your fingers to graze his waistband and fumble for a better grip. He indulges you, propping above you for a moment, and then discarding his pants in a rush, pushing them down just enough to let his cock come free.
The dusting of brown hair leading from his chest to his stomach trails all the way down, but you aren't given much of a chance to stare; his hands grab your hips, he guides you while surging forwards to place a desperate kiss to your mouth. The tip of his cock, flushed and pearled with precum, ever-so slightly brushes your waiting entrance.
And this — The sigh that racks through you, the expression on his face when he pulls back to look at you, to admire you, lips parted as he gasps. Your bodies tremor with the same longing, the same wavelength. Love drips over your heart and your ribs, melting like long crystallized amber, warm and rich and effortlessly palpable.
You couldn't ask for anything else. In his presence, in his comfortable tower in Waterdeep, with his hands on your skin and his heart beating to the rhythm of your own, you've found your home. This moment is more than lovely. It is perfect, and as your soul begs to be known, to be understood, he instills you with a promise of worship.
Worship. The adoration one might give to the Gods is still not divine enough for what you deserve, Gale believes.
Perhaps it's your sense of contentment that causes your heart to stir. When your mind starts to wander, envisioning what the future may hold as Gale is squeezing your hips and peppering sweet kisses down your neck — You'd move in with him, the moment he asked. His tower has plenty of space for the both of you. Not that you have many belongings. His tressym has practically begged you to stay, citing herself that Gale wants you to, that he'd likely ask you, if he had the courage. He's much happier whenever you're around dear, he is simply too proud to admit it.
Hells, you'd marry him if he were to propose, you've already dreamt of how he might do it. What he'd say, as he gets down on one knee and takes your hands into his. You wouldn't even think twice before you'd be resounding with a yes, followed by those three special words.
He wouldn't have to simply show you the spectacles of his home, you could live through them. You could enjoy thousands of days just like this one, relaxing, teaching together, and then arriving home, indulging in each other's company until the sun rises back into the sky. It would be a nice life. The calm, simple life you both have earned.
Your thoughts grow stuck on this morning, in particular. When the both of you had no idea what would transpire, still just friends, greeting each other politely as Gale ushered you into his home. Your lungs filled with the familiar smell of books, and the fresh new scent of the sea.
The pitter patter of your heart in your chest grew frantic when he hugged you, and once he pulled back, he flashed you a smile that could melt a long, harsh winter. You cleared your throat, you kept your musings to yourself when he began to go over your plans at Blackstaff Academy for the day.
It seems obvious now, but in the moment, you hardly thought anything of the soft way he looked at you. With such admiration, such devotion, a gaze on yours that promised, you can have me, I would allow it. And as Gale went over various spells, some you recognized and others you didn't, you could only pay attention to the tenderness in his voice, the focus on his face, and the dexterous movement of his hands.
You felt foolish for imagining what else his pretty hands might be capable of. If only you knew.
A deep breath in brings you back to the present. Gale leaves one last kiss to your nape, propping over you to reach up, pushing stray strands of hair from his face. You exhale, momentarily growing lost in his gaze. You've seen the love in his eyes countless times before, but his expression this time is different. It's brutally pleading, hopelessly tender. Nervous, almost.
His hips shift tentatively, his gaze on yours, the fat head of his cock nudging against you — Pleasure surges through him like lightning, making his jaw clench as he swallows a groan. You both breathe a set of stuttery sighs, and your fingers tremor, before your hands clench tight.
Reaching up, you settle with holding his shoulders once more. You feel the roaring heat under his skin, the dampness of sweat when you grip them for leverage. Muttering, you start, breaking into a whimper when a rock of his hips clumsily grinds his length against your cunt without pressing inside, "Gale, oh, fuck- I'd… I'd like you to try something. Can you?"
Moving his palm from where it was covering his mouth, helping to muffle any slight noises, you notice Gale's lips are forming a smile. Although, the sweat beading at his pinched brows gives his desperation away.
"Funny," He replies, his voice breathless and husky, "I was just about to fling a proposal on you. Nothing too terribly important, don't," He swallows, "Don't worry. I'm most interested in fulfilling your request. Go on, what is it?"
You can't resist gnawing on your bottom lip before you speak, your gaze shifting from his, to somewhere in the distance. Now, you're the nervous one, "The… illusion magic, the spells you showed to me earlier. This morning, if you remember, when we were going over your syllabus? I thought magic of that nature might have some… other uses, is that right?"
Magic is no stranger to you. But the illusion magic Gale has grown well versed in since he began his teachings, the complicated spells that hinge on nothing more than the limits of one's imagination — Outside of what he has already taught you, those are a mystery. You can't decide if your interest is because of their inherent perplexity, or if you're merely entranced because Gale has taken a liking to them.
When he was showing you a couple basic spells, you once again found yourself enamored with the wonder on his face, the awe in his voice as he explained the spell's inner workings. This one you could master quite easily, he murmured, sparkling gaze on yours as he held a projection in his hands with relative ease. A projection of a small bloom, your favorite flower. You hardly recall when you must have told him it was your favorite, nor were you expecting him to remember. As you reached out, you swore you could feel the bud's smooth phantom petals underneath your fingertips.
His voice, speaking quiet incantations, his fingers, easily forming the shapes necessary to bring the spells to life — It was mesmerizing, as captivating as you remembered it to be, way back when.
This wasn't back then, though. The moment itself felt newly intimate. Sparks filled the air and your lungs, flecks of lingering Weave, pleasant energy working through your body from the ends of your toes to the top of your head. His energy, Gale's magic. The spells he casts have a way of seeming like him, unique and defining, down to the very way they feel.
You were reminded of your journey together. Of the ashes in the air on the heels of a fiery incantation, of the zeal in your veins from a protective shield, or a hastening touch. Your heart twinged with a stronger ache, held down by how much you've missed him.
You want to be enveloped in that familiar sensation again. In his magic. In the comforting way it settles around you, the feeling it alights in your chest, and in the way it reminds you that he's here.
Your words cause Gale to pause. His expression carries the gentlest hint of surprise. He opens his mouth to speak, before stopping. Instead, he smiles, he cocks a brow, and the only thing to betray his newfound confidence is the heavy heave of his chest.
Unfortunately, you can't hear the way his heart is pounding. You can't sense the brilliant adoration, the foolish excitement that burns into him, affection lapping at his chest with persistent flames. But he can show you.
"How clever. Extraordinarily clever, really. And you're only," Gale makes a small pinching gesture, "A slight bit off from what I was hoping to suggest, as a matter of fact."
He reaches for your side then, gently caressing your skin under his palm; you relax at his touch, but stay focused on him as he speaks, "Gods, you know me all too well. Perhaps better than I know myself. Illusory magic lends itself excellently to various creative uses, I think a fair few spells could prove useful, given our current… position. As it happens, I have just the spell in mind."
"Do you?" You shuffle, your breath hitching slightly in your lungs, while his palm continues to run over your skin, clearly relishing in the way you shiver. "I didn't know if, you know- I wasn't sure if it was something you wanted. You're really okay with this?"
"Love," Gale hums, interrupting with a quiet instruction, "Close your eyes."
Panting softly, you allow your arms to rest above you on the desk, and you adjust a bit to get more comfortable. You match your gaze with his for a moment, your heart only beating faster at the honeyed reverence in his eyes. Then, slowly, you take a deep breath, and let the world disappear.
There's silence, darkness. You feel his hand squeeze your side in gentle reassurance. He shifts, pressing closer. When you hear his voice next, your nervousness is put at ease, calmness flooding through your body. Warm and especially addicting, his words are all you have to focus on.
"You are precious. As perfect as the alluring beauty of the moon. As lovely as the sparkling sanctity of the Heavens stars," He murmurs, at a volume barely above a whisper. His breath is steady on your skin, and his fingertips trail up your side, to leave barely-there touches over your chest. "If you do not like this, tell me. We'll waste no time stopping."
"I will," You answer, your own voice seeming to echo in your eardrums, "But it's okay. I trust you."
This time, his breathing in your ear runs slow. You dwell in a few seconds of hesitation, wrapped in budding anticipation, before you assume you feel him pulling away. He utters a soft word laced with power, his fingers snap, and your head goes hazy.
"Praestigium."
The invocation breathes a plea, calling upon a source, and the magic responds in turn: sharp, wild, divine.
You can feel the comforting veins of magic flowing through you, settling around you, cradling your mind in a warm embrace almost instantly. Your eyes flutter open — Or do they? For a moment, it's difficult to tell, as your dizzy vision refocuses, and the pleasant illusion becomes part of you.
It feels like your head is shrouded in clouds. You're soaring, floating on air, no longer able to feel the hardness of his firm wooden desk beneath you. The room melts; everything is there, but at the same time, it isn't. Shadows speckle your vision, blurry shrouds that slowly begin to melt to pure white. Gale comes into focus above you. His form is perfectly clear, his warm smile effortlessly charming.
Energy surrounds you: satin and strength, sweetness and intelligence. The smell of sandalwood wafts through the air, flooding your lungs, then slowly starting to fade. Just like that, you are grounded. You are balanced, your mind clearer than ever, and the moment veils you, it embraces you, it is you.
It's far from what you were expecting, but the surprise is more than welcome. You thought having illusion magic cast on yourself would be more floaty. More akin to a dream, or a living foggy memory.
Yet, this feels real, wonderfully real, as though he's carved out a space in reality for him and yourself to call your own. Here, with him, nothing else matters. Nothing but your longing, your love, and the infinite future that stretches ahead of you.
When he leans in to kiss your cheek, you feel his lips, his breath, and his fingertips on your jaw, with a vivid touch that shines — rolling through you like the spark of constellations, an aurora of shivering pleasure and brilliant closeness. Both hands grab your hips, and you feel them strongly, comfortingly, the intensity as he shifts them nearly too much to bear. He guides your legs to wrap around his waist again, locked at the ankles, holding him close.
He is the only thing you can perceive, your senses are heightened, and every sensation to grip you is positively electric. This magic does more than spawn an illusion or clear your mind; it's intensifying your grip on mortality.
You can hear his breathing as easily as it were your own. You can feel his heart, can measure each quick beat when he collides his lips with yours, his chest pressing against you. Thump, thump, thump, in your ears, in your own ribs, then the heavy thrum of his shadowy blight — so raw and intense, it nearly threatens to swallow you.
His presence entwines yours, his magic sears through you. He pulls you closer with his palm holding the back of your head, and he kisses you like this time could be the last. Your core burns red-hot. You're enveloped in dizzying feelings you can't quite place. As he pulls away, you lean back, and you let your head sink into the clouds. His palm stays to cup your face, slightly tilting your head towards him.
You both catch your breath, chests heaving. Gale admires you underneath him, brushing your cheek with his thumb. He places a kiss to your forehead that glimmers over you like an untamed ray of sunlight.
Slowly, as your head grows used to the spell, you calm, becoming more relaxed. Your mind is a clear, still lake, your thoughts as crisp as cool water. When you hear him speak once more, his head tilted to breathe the words against your ear, it's as though his voice is everywhere, ebbing and flowing through your brain as an encircling echo.
"Comfortable?" He murmurs, simply and softly.
"Yes, very," You answer with a nod of your head. Your own voice appears muffled, reminiscent of being underwater, "This is… lovely. It's amazing. You're amazing."
"Excellent. I'm glad to hear you aren't too overwhelmed," Gale continues. His smooth tone bounces around the walls of your skull, while his fingertips drift down, drawing shapes you can't recognize onto your nape. "Remember, what you are experiencing is merely an altered form of reality. Do not push yourself. This old desk isn't exactly a bed of roses, but I hope I've succeeded in making it a mite more comfortable for you."
Grinning to yourself, you allow your arms to relax beside you, and you promptly shudder, growing lost in the feeling of weightlessness beneath you. Gale straightens. He props himself above your form, his gaze indulging in you.
Although his study is mostly a blur, details meshed in flowery fog, telltale light from the candles still dances across his features. You reach up, trailing your fingers over his earring, the metal cold on your skin. Then, your fingertips brush his cheek, they caress the faded trail of dark lines burned into his skin. He smiles, and he brings a hand to settle over your own.
His touch is warm. It is a crisp morning breeze drifting through you; his eyes flutter shut when he kisses the heel of your palm, and every inch of you flushes with tangible radiance. He pulls your wrist away, only to bring you palm to palm, fingertips to fingertips for a few moments. His hand lies flat against yours, before your fingers tightly, naturally lace.
"In all sincerity, I must admit," He begins, shyly glancing away from you, muttering through a laugh that seems to jostle your entire system, "The spell I've cast on you is… clearly not meant to be harnessed in such a way. Or perhaps, more so, it is not often used while such, erm, satisfactions… are taking place. Even for a wizard of my caliber, it may prove difficult to control- If the spell ever snaps, so to speak, just know you have no reason to be alarmed."
Head still heavy from the incantation's lingering effects, you were so lost in his ramblings — resounding through your mind like they never have before — you almost failed to notice he's begun to lean in. He softly guides your hand to press down, against the surface of what you can only assume is his desk. At first, you can feel the resistance, but soon softness overlaps. Clouds envelop the sensation, and you're left suspended in air once more.
Your heart skips when he kisses you, slowly and smoothly. Innocently, at first, devotion carrying you on soft wings. And then, deeper, while his hand squeezes yours, and his tongue explores your mouth with a languid lack of urgency.
You melt, your chest encompassed in a floating feeling. He murmurs soft groans into your mouth; every part of him yearns to pull you closer, to have you, to hold you. Gods, he loves you, and he curses himself for ever trying to push those feelings down. He won't let you go now, no matter how the world tries to pry you from each other's grasp.
When he shifts, pressing closer, kissing you harder, the flushed and needy tip of his cock nudges your cunt — Instantly, a blistering sense of ecstasy flutters through your every pore, and you whine into him, your body going slack.
And that was simply from a touch. Just a small press of him against you, brushing close to where you're deliciously sensitive, and you're fucking breathless. Your core is wound with preemptive pleasure; just a tease, and your mind is swimming with how badly you need to feel him inside you. You aren't sure what you'll experience once you're given more, once you're actually taking him.
That damned spell. You should be a mess by now. Perhaps you are, and the calm cradle of the illusion is what's tethering you to the earth. Tether or not, you hardly care about keeping your composure. You don't care for your imminent disarray. In fact, more than anything, you need to have him ruin you.
It's hard to speak. Your lungs are aching, but as he draws backward from your lips, you manage to huff, "You aren't going to hold back, right?"
Gale smirks, exhaling in short pants. He pushes up, putting his familiar silhouette — messy hair, broad shoulders tensed, branded chest slightly heaving — back in the forefront of your vision.
"Oh, I'm afraid I am far past the threshold of being able to do so. For you, for everything you have long awaited, my desires will remain unhindered," He replies calmly, brows slightly furrowed. "Besides, I've been sharpening my concentration as of late. This could prove an opportune time to assess the extent of my exercises. I think we're both wondering how much pressure my focus can take."
His words ripple through you, comforting and lighthearted in their tone. They do the trick. You're sparked with delight, your mind set at ease. Briefly, you wonder if the incantation connects you together, because when you relax, he seems to as well: his breathing becoming calmer, his expression softening, and his grip on your hand relaxing.
If you truly wanted to, you'd find escaping from the spell he's placed on you to be rather simple. You've faced much more enthralling spells than this. Magic more complex, much more wicked. You know the feeling of having a spell muddle your mind, down to your very bones; you have your little journey to thank for that. And you know how to break them, as simply as putting one foot in front of the other.
This spell is different. It is warm and soothing, it carries none of the malice that would weigh down the charms you've felt before. It's effortlessly him, magic which caresses you as though his very arms were there to hold you. Magic that roots into you, a breath of life, a ray of moonlight. Thoughtful as always, Gale has made this particular spell weak, and you can determine so without trying. Likely to make snapping it simple, if you decided to.
You could break the illusion. But you choose to let go.
You breathe in, slowly and deeply, and you allow the spell to swallow every last aspect of your being. The clouds wane briefly, before you're surrounded, melting slowly into pleasure and froth. The moment feels raw, alive. You are here, you both are, finally able to love, to be loved. And love him you will. Without any regret.
Gale, appearing clear and pure above you, pushes his hair from his face, and looks at you like you are worth dying for. Living for. His expression is painfully soft. He steadies a hand on your side, he dotes on your dips and curves and marble-carved features; every part of you was meant to be adored, akin to the statues one might bow before. He sighs slowly, inhales even slower.
"The spell," He begins, palm caressing your side with gentle motions, "You could break it yourself, yes?"
You nod, tone soft, "Yes, absolutely."
"Very good." Gale's voice echoes. It splinters through your mind, it knits into your heartbeat, "Not that I had a shred of doubt. You're doing quite well."
A squeeze of your hand, a grip on your side pulling you ever-so carefully closer, and heightened surges of intensity are shooting through you much stronger than before. Your eyes shut, your back arches, your muscles ache, but pleasure takes over to drown you, his cock brushing your entrance. Lips parted, he exhales a trembling breath, one that seems to travel through you in turn.
"Focus, and breathe slowly. Deep breaths in, and then finally, out. I'm here with you. I won't be going anywhere."
Your heart is pounding, but at the sound of his voice, at the feeling of his smooth tone bouncing around you, your thoughts become still. Your pulse slows, your chest gently rises, and then falls. The only thing left rushing through your veins is a wild, unfiltered need.
"Stay with me, please," Gale breathes, words cracking at the edges. He presses closer, his eyes close and his forehead comes to rest against yours, your bodies held on the loving cusp of almost-connection. "Stay, and let me be tender for you, my dearest love."
"Gale-" You murmur, your voice sweet in his ears like dripping syrup, as you strum the familiar notes of his name. "I love you, I need you."
Of course, and you will have him.
Gale gives your hand one more squeeze, reassuring you, preparing you. He swallows down the growing thickness in his throat. His head is buried in the nape of your neck as he finally gives himself to you, carefully easing into you — Everything slow, heat rushing through you in the form of a wildfire, the clouds holding you in their ethereal embrace. Pleasure pulls your every nerve taught in a tight, delightful string, and for once, your soul within you feels alive.
His fingers go shaky, his grip tightens on your side in response. You're just barely fit around the head of him, and you feel him mutter a half-sigh, half-moan into your nape that shakes your body with the potent vibrations.
It's like you can feel the spell itself shudder.
"I love you," He's pressing into your warmth, his jaw clenched, hips gently rolling, filling you with more of him until you are stretching to his shape, "Could I give you more? Can you take all of me?"
"Yes," Your throat is unmistakably sore, but still, you speak without thinking. You need more, need to feel the friction become part of your body as he fills you. Your back arches to meet him, and pleasure hums in your veins with intoxicating strength. Every one of his gasps echoes against you, then through you. The thrum of his warm cock inside you is so deliciously, impossibly perfect.
"F-Fuck," You swear, biting down your quickened gasps, fighting through the incessant pound of your heart; lest your languor succeeds in devouring you, "Please, yes…"
The whine that overtakes the edge of your voice makes him shiver. Gale groans softly, his shoulders growing tense. His hips lazily buck into you — until his pelvis is shoved deft against your body, sweat-soaked skin pressed to softer skin, burying him inside you down to the hilt.
His breath on your nape is loud, hurried, and at the mercy of his weary limbs, he tries his hardest not to collapse. Silently, he must thank you for getting one high out of him earlier. With how good you feel, with how badly he's needed you, if you hadn't, he isn't sure if he'd last much longer.
Not like you are faring any better.
Your heart isn't just beating, but battering at your chest, tearing through your body and knocking into your ribs as though it needs to come free. You wouldn't be surprised if your gasps are resounding just as loudly as his. Thighs shaking, you struggle to keep your legs wrapped around his waist, your ankles almost slipping before he grabs your legs to readjust you. He shifts close, still sheathed inside you. The gentle movement sends small ripples of ecstasy through your core that, in the wake of his spell, instead feel like large, thundering waves. Crashing over you, swallowing you.
You feel full, so fucking full. The depth to where you can feel him — all of him, so deep inside you — practically has your head whirling. Gale blinks, his vision blurred, causing his lashes to tickle your skin in a faint butterfly kiss. You're wobbling and teetering like a spinning top. Your eyes flutter closed, trying to steady some of your own dizziness.
This time, he presses a real kiss to your nape. Then, he's working a palm underneath you, supporting your back, holding you close. His other hand finds its perfect place in your own again, your fingers lacing with his. Around him, you feel irresistible, so wet and warm and lovely. You are everything he has ever wanted, you are his love; the world, in the palms of his hands.
He wants to let his hips rock, wants to hear your voice strained with lust while you're pleading in pants of his name. He needs to feel the electrifying friction blazing through him, as he fucks wave after wave of pleasure into you — Though, despite those desires, despite the way they fall into him, gripping him at his very core, he stops. He calms, and he savors you.
You're given a chance to catch your breath, thankfully. To drift among the endless sky underneath you, and the river of magic surrounding you. In this reality, on this bed of stars and sea, his presence and yours are all to exist. Pulse still racing, you indulge in the stretch of him inside you. He feels utterly exhilarating, even without movement. For a few fleeting moments, you simply bask in each other, and nothing more.
"You feel so good… So stunningly perfect," Gale is gasping, every word breathless, "Ah- Just this alone could sate me, drowning in your warmth around me while our bodies connect- Your soul and mine are truly one. Nothing else compares."
Nothing in this universe compares to you.
You are his beginning, and you will be his end. You've captured him in warmth, in an embrace that breathes velvet promises, until every part of you is left racing through his mind.
Gale remembers the faint smiles you'd flash him whenever he caught your eyes, your nose scrunching so delightfully, your head turning away as his words made you chuckle. It's the same smile each time. The same expression, the same dance of adoration in your gaze when yours and his happen to meet.
A love reserved only for him. His own form of love is engraved with your name.
You float between every thought, making him think you might've become part of him. He fondly dotes on his memories of the sparkling stars in your eyes, the way you looked as you gazed up at them, admiring the constellations that have always watched over you. He can put a name to them all, because you were his reason to remember. At any time, in any place, those woven stars shone overhead, writing the twists and turns of destinies. And now, after tonight, they'll give you the privilege of viewing them together once more.
He could never forget you. It wasn't a possibility, not when he still revels in all of your details that make him oh-so weak. His missing piece returned to him, you are his love, his home.
Perhaps you were meant to be connected. Body and soul, with separate lifetimes worth of familiarity. You're two halves of the very same whole. To have known one another, is to be the sun and sunflower, the rain and the soil, the grand mountains, and the edge of the clouds. You'll find yourselves in everything, ultimately.
The orb could take him, and if he became nothing but dust, taking his city of Waterdeep with him in a storm of decimation — What remains of his devotion would find its way home to you.
But he wouldn't allow it. Not anymore. He is going to live, against everything, along with you, and beside you. No matter what it may cost him.
With a small shift, his hips grind into you faintly, he presses into you impossibly deeper. Your bottom lip quivers, before you take it between your teeth. As you feel him throb inside you, you're sighing together in delightful unison.
"You are…" His words are shaky, they wobble through your mind. For once, to your elation, he can hardly seem to speak, "Sweetheart, my dearest… I just- I love-"
His sentence stays unfinished; Gale stutters into a shuddery whine when you pull him in, your legs wrapped around him, dragging him just a bit closer, but enough to enthrall both of you in powerful sparks. The pleasure that overtakes him, that overtakes the both of you, is so vibrant and love struck, so unlike anything else — You're sure neither of you will be able to hold back, not anymore.
Good.
"More, please," You plead, your voice needy to the point of babbling, "Fuck me, I need you, I'm- ah, please, Gale…"
Shuddering, Gale takes an overly long breath. His grip tenses on your hand, and he softly rubs his thumb over your calloused knuckles. Cool air enters his lungs, calming his mind, steadying his heart. And when he finally begins to move, you've never felt anything more divine.
You were made for one another, you're sure of it. You must be, when every sensation to encompass you does so with such endlessness. With tenderness that has the very forming of his name on your tongue completely intrinsic.
His hips rock into you shallowly, careful and passionate thrusts hardly separating you. Pleasure melds within your veins so sinfully, until your heart can only believe in the inevitable bond between your two shapes.
As he keeps up a steady pace, driving his cock inside you, you're murmuring gasps between every whine of his name. His secluded study is filled with noise. With the melody of skin against skin, and the echoes of your breathing and his. The wet sound of your arousal squelches around his length each time you take him. He keeps his head buried in the nape of your neck, his quickened breath fanning over your skin. Easing into you, he then pulls out only half-way, just to thrust in again with a slow, languid press of his hips.
Gale has experienced wonders most mortals could only dream of. And yet, he's never felt anything quite like this.
It's been a while. A very, very long time, in fact, since he has connected with anyone in this sort of way. So long, he's forgotten what it could feel like — Bodies pressed together in a perfect, tangled mess. Hands entwined and lungs strained.
But he has never loved anyone quite the same as his love for you. This is different. Warm beams of intimacy fill him more and more with every buck of his hips into you, with every whimper from your lips for him. And those delicate feelings swelling in his chest — They are entirely, utterly new.
This moment feels sweet. Carnal. There's something so filthy, yet so, impossibly loving about feeling you in such a way. Back then, against his composure and his better judgment, he imagined this. He dreamt of taking you, and hopelessly wondered if you wanted the same. Now, the ecstasy of feeling you around him practically burns. You are addicting, everything he could want in the best possible way. Intoxicatingly his, just as he's always yearned for.
You have thousands more days and nights ahead of you, there will be countless times to come. Time for him to love you, to hold you, to show you what magic lies on his lips. That is what truly gets him. This moment will last. It won't be a dream, or a passing fantasy. Your gentle future is only just beginning.
Gale's movement comes to steady as he pushes up, breathing one last sigh against your nape before he props over you. Your entrancing eyes are half-lidded, your lips are parted as you pant. You're pretty enough to destroy him. He already knows he would let you.
His palm cups your cheek. You tilt into his touch, leaning back against his desk and the foggy pillows underneath you. Beneath his fingertips, the thrum of his magic clings to your skin like a flower's soft petal caught in a spider's web. He knows he must be the only figure in your vision, just as you are the center of his world. He can picture the way his voice and his touch are shining through you. His gasps are echoing in your ears, his palm drifts from your cheek to your neck to the curve of your shoulder, and surely brands light wherever it brushes.
When his hand comes to settle on your side, holding tight while he rocks into you, he can't seem to help himself from glancing down. Gale watches as his steady movement has his cock nestling inside you, disappearing to fill you to the tune of you moaning for him, the shaft glistening in the low light once he starts to pull back.
Gods. The thoughts that begin to race though his head are so terribly, deliciously filthy — Overwhelmed, his pace starts to falter, he's growing clumsy. His grip on your hand turns so tight it nearly hurts, his brows furrowed into a knot, as he pistons into you with newfound desperation.
Waning sensitivity still clings to him, leftover from his previous high. In a fluttery contradiction, the intensity surging through him only seems to make him want you more.
"I don't deserve how good you are to me," Gale hums, slightly shaking his head — Every sigh, each word bounces around your skull and glows within you from the inside out. His steady presses inside you don't relent, his skin slapping yours; they just force his words to shake, and his hand to clench much harder on your waist.
"This… possessiveness I have for you, it's- Ah, Gods… It is damn near agonizing," He's murmuring, speaking those last few words through an almost-chuckle, "My heart has never yearned for anything more. You made me feel alive, love. Tonight, and always. And you feel-" His jaw tightens, teeth gritting, "Utterly amazing… Tell me, if you can find the strength within you to speak. Tell me how this feels."
Right now, your mind is swimming. Stardust glitters in your veins, and your core is wound nice and tight, overwhelmed by ripples of pleasure. For a moment, words won't come to you. Instead, you reach up to press a palm to the back of his head, and you drag him close, quick enough to make him utter a faint noise of surprise against your soft lips. You kiss, slowly and deeply. You're both sighing heavily once you've pulled away to breathe.
"S-So good, it's perfect, you're perfect," There's a desperate edge to your voice. You can feel the rawness in your throat, can make out the high tones even through the fog in your head, "Gale, don't stop- Gale-"
Gale shudders. Your palm slips from his cheek to fall above you in a heap, and you're whining, back arching, head tossed back. You are simply beautiful.
"I love the way you say my name. The sound is quite lovely when it is- Shit-" He chokes, breaking into a gasp when his body rocks against yours, "When it is your lips to sculpt the word, your darling voice to utter the syllables…"
You tremble, your eyes fluttering shut, your heart thumping so fast you can hear it in your eardrums. In the wake of his hips rolling into yours, you can feel each press with inexplicable sensitivity. His cock pumps in and out of you so tenderly, and every throb of his length pulses through you.
Softly and carefully, he kisses your forehead. Then, he's leaning back. He pulls you closer in tandem with pressing inside you, filling you. You've never been this sensitive, never felt this loved. You are melting into him, your chest heaving from your heavy sighs, your lips quivering with whines of pleasure: pretty moans breathed all for him.
Once you feel his fingers grasp your chin, thumb briefly brushing your lips, your eyes begin to flutter. Shadows masquerade as clouds, your vision hazed by blurred edges and flickering lights. The ardent fangs of magic sink into you, trapping you in their whirlwind. Your heart pounds quickly, unrelentingly, thudding hard against the cage of your chest.
Gale's smile is clear as day, though. Trying your best to gaze at him above you, you feel that rapid heartbeat instead begin to sing. He tilts your head a bit, guiding you towards him. And gently, breathlessly, he murmurs, "Can you look at me, my love?"
The fuzziness in your field of view starts to fade, and your breath begins to catch. Buried deep inside you, he stops, keeping his hips still while panting hard. Sweat glistens on his skin, his hair is brushing his shoulders, and he reaches to push some strands from his face. He swallows thickly. He squeezes your hand one last time before he lets it go.
"This," A purple thread of magical light begins to dance between his fingertips, illuminating his face in an amethyst glow, "Is what I wished to show you."
Adoring and unwavering, his gaze stays on yours, even as he's illustrating shapes with his fingers; movements so quick and effortless, you're barely able to make them out. Swirls here, a triangle there — With one final shape, the magic hums to life. It shimmers through the air with radiance almost palpable, glowing ever brighter, reflecting lavender rays in his eyes. All it takes is an incantation to truly set it ablaze.
"Ad astra."
The previous spell loses concentration, and in its place, a new one takes form.
You hadn't noticed your eyes were closed until the spell had fully finished settling upon you. A new sensation prickles at the surface of your skin, familiar and star-filled. Finally, your gaze focuses above you, after Gale's soft instruction of: Open your eyes.
You still feel floaty, your senses less acute, your head washed over with warmth. This time though, the illusion is different. You are resting in calm grass and whispering meadows, and when colorful stars fill your vision until you're drowning in their light, the view above you seems completely real.
Gale is atop you still, but his study remains melted away. Small flickers of candlelight have transformed into brilliant illuminations, leaving him in a backdrop of twinkling starlight and a beautiful aurora. You're gently swept through the makeshift sky. Hues of purple and green and blue wash over you, like how waves might flow over the shore. Light surrounds you, but at the same time, it shines within you.
In a way, it reminds you of the sight he once made a long time ago, the aurora he created to shimmer through the Shadowlands. Back then, when tensions were high and words were left unspoken, you admired the stars in comfortable silence. So close — You could have reached for his hand next to yours, or closed the distance in mere moments to learn what his lips felt like on your own. But you didn't. The familiarity makes your pulse run wild.
A canopy of beauty. This is what he once planned to admire on his last night alive, and yet, now he has an abundance of nights to spend by your side. Sprawled out beneath him, you are far more beautiful than anything in the countless shimmering skies.
"Wonderful," You murmur, speaking under your breath. Your voice is just loud enough for him to hear. You're smiling, your gaze flickering between the messes of stars above you, lights that twinkle steadily with a gentle glow. "Reminds me of the stars from ages ago. This is gorgeous, Gale."
"Not as gorgeous as you, of course," He replies, the slightest hint of a smirk tugging at his features. His words are smooth, they no longer flicker endlessly through your mind. Rather, when he speaks, his familiar voice captures your heart in the same way it always has. "If only you knew how truly breathtaking you are."
His heart aches with desire, because as you look up at him — at him, not the illusion, your gaze is on his while the loveliest smile crosses your lips — in your eyes, he sees that same lovely sparkle.
You're lost in him, for a moment. Gale's expression grows soft as he continues to admire you. When you feel gentle fingertips travel the length of your arm, leaving goosebumps in their wake, you tremble. A sigh leaves your mouth, his fingers lacing with yours once more. He holds your hand tightly, safely. Gale can't resist, he tips forwards to kiss you; your lips connect, with crackling electricity and still-lingering traces of magic sparking from his mouth to yours.
Devotion is palpable in the way he kisses you. It quickly turns eager, becoming a tender mess of soft moans and tongue. And at last, everything to remain falls away.
Heat surges through both your bodies until you're consumed by wildfire. With one more kiss, Gale grips you hard, his hips begin to move. You whine against his mouth as he slowly rocks into you, you're mumbling his name in the form of a plea — The sound only serves to make him more desperate.
He mutters your name in turn: a low, affectionate utterance. His thrusts take on a deeper pace, as he fucks into you hard enough to make his desk shake — fervent enough to have your heart trembling, love drowning you in heavy depths.
Your arousal and his drip down your thighs, dirtying the hardwood. It's making a mess, echoing lewd, wet noises with each clumsy movement, the slap of skin against skin sounding particularly soaked each time he pistons into you. Every echo fills his ears, curling through his mind oh-so pleasantly. It would be the most addicting melody he's ever heard, if it weren't for how sweet you sound when you're moaning for him.
And you're loud, you're mumbling a mess of words he can't quite make out. Your sighs mix with whines, turning sharp each time he eases his cock into you. Gale breathes a shaky breath, fanning warmth over your face, before he's moving to place quick kisses to the corner of your mouth, and then, your jaw.
His lips brush the column of your neck, where your pulse is racing for him; when his hips rut into yours, you're cooing soft pleas, quietly murmuring, Don't stop. Your back arches, and he adorns you with his tongue and teeth, sucking gently at your supple skin.
He shouldn't. What would your confidants say, if you crossed paths with them? When you return to Baldur's Gate, what would the guild leaders who respect you, and the fancy patriars who need you think when they happened to see it? They would know he was there, know you are his. Foolishly, dizzyingly, he allows his lips and his mouth to leave a deep mark, an imprint of himself. He doesn't pull back until he's sure the bruise will take.
You shudder, feeling the ghost of his mouth even once he's pulled away, cold air brushing the saliva he left on your neck and making your nerves twinge. Slow rolls of his body into yours have you shaking, but you're squeezing his hand tightly, your other palm is balling into a fist and you're begging, "Please, faster… Fucking Hells… Give me more."
Gale sighs. His brows knot, he falls forwards and leans his forehead softly against yours. "For you, I would give the world."
He swallows, he steadies. Then, he places all the world's pleasures in the palms of your hands.
The weight behind his thrusts, newly desperate and hurried, have him gripping you for leverage: a palm tensed on your waist, fingertips digging into your hip. He grasps your thigh to push it up and apart. His desk is knocking against the wall, the wooden legs squeaking and scraping the floor.
Your body tenses with building intensity — Building and building and building, threatening to overwhelm you between every movement, until you aren't sure where your high begins, nor where it ends. All you know is you're close. And if he keeps fucking into you like this, filling you nice and deep, nudging against your sweetest spots only he can reach, it won't be long before you're falling apart for him.
With one last quick kiss to your forehead, your thighs spread apart wider, Gale is propping over you; and Gods, does he look like a mess. Pools of glowing magic paint him in the most vivid hues. His hair is out of place, honey brown strands askew, the faintest pretty streaks of silver reflecting in the starlight. His skin shines with dripping beads of sweat, his chest is heaving, jaw clenched — You can't help but feel he might crumble at the smallest touch.
So, you unclench your hand. You let your fingertips drift up, and you brush them over his cheek. As you're cupping his face, his shoulders tense, and he doesn't just crumble, he collapses.
Gale falls into you, leaning his head into your nape. His palm fits between the desk and the arch of your back to hold you even closer to himself. His breathing is rapid, his hand takes on a distinct tremble when another rock of his body against yours has you moaning ragged gasps of his name.
His name, you're pleading for him to take you — Grinding his teeth together until his jaw hurts, he bucks into you hard, enough to have you fluttering around him, squeezing him like a vice. He chokes back broken gasps of his own, and exhales hot fans of breath over your sensitive skin. You are going to be the death of him.
"I have always-" Gale starts; he struggles to speak, his voice sounds close to breaking, yet his words drip with an earnestness you find enthralling, "I have always loved you. My sweetheart… Every beat of my heart is yours…"
Yours.
Eyes fluttering between open and closed, the aurora around you spins incessantly. You respond in turn, mumbling through fragile gasps for breath, as he works you up to a growing, intensifying peak.
"I'm yours, Gale," Your fingers tangle in soft hair, gripping and tugging until he's groaning. Pleasure floods your every nerve, and you're a mess around his cock, tumbling through the sea of stars and alluring lights — "I'm yours, I'm yours-"
"Oh, love-"
All at once, the spell abruptly snaps, your focus and your senses melding into one in a dizzying, sparkling rush. You're brought back to reality. The heart of his quiet study comes into view again, his walls of books and shelves of artifacts, the colorful lights fading into nothingness. Your form is bathed in warm candlelight, the night sky treading in from his balcony. Cool air dances over you, while the pale moon is hung high in the darkness.
Ecstasy slams through you, blissfully unfiltered. Everything is messy, perfect, and hopelessly desperate; you grip his hair tight, and his hand harder. Gale pants, his breath sharp and his lungs aching as he fucks you into the desk, pushing you closer and closer to your edge — until even without the aid of magic, you're left seeing stars.
He is so terribly, utterly in love with you. Every one of those nights where he pushed you away, those moments where he almost left you, when he was possibly the most foolish he's ever been in his entire life —
A slow, tender press inside you, and you're muttering his name softly once more, adoring it, pleading it. He wants to hear your voice strumming his name over and over, teasing him after his half-hearted attempts to make you laugh, begging for him to give you what you need, because he is the only one who can. Answering with, Yes, Gale, I will, when he asks you to marry him. He can't change the mistakes he's already made, but he can earn your love, and your softness. He can promise to never let you go. Not ever again.
"I'm here, I have you," Gale mumbles in a shaky tone. He presses a soft kiss onto your nape, he squeezes your hand when your breath begins to hitch. His words are smooth and comforting, they send tingles up your spine, and they have you melting in a way you never have before.
The edge to your high is right within reach, he's only bringing you closer. Your head won't stop spinning. As he trails kisses from your neck to your jaw, his lips are a touch from the sun, beams of warmth that shudder through you to shine over the surface of your skin.
"Gale-" You whimper, "Fuck, I'm-"
He presses into you deeply, gripping your hand, filling you with a thickness you'll never quite get enough of, and you can't help but stutter into a whine. His pelvis shoves against yours, skin against skin, arousal messy and wet and dripping out of you — Your thighs are shaking, and you only need one more breath before you're finding that zenith of pleasure. Warm and perfect against your nape, his words have you taking the final tumble.
"Come undone for me."
Your high shatters through you, you're tensing around his sloppy thrusts, your legs are slipping from around him. Your body curls into his, your eyes shutting tight. Desire drowns you, it burns from within you; throat sore, you cry out in loud, desperate moans, and everything melts around you as you let go, cumming for him.
And Gale, normally so confident, so eloquent, a wizard prodigy, a Goddess' chosen — He buries himself deep inside you, choking down stutters and groans. With a mess of barely coherent pleas of your name, your sweet voice and the feeling of you squeezing him, fluttering in the pleasant aftershocks of your release, has him falling to pieces right there beside you.
"Please, please, please…" Gale begs, even though he hardly knows what he's begging for. His clumsy hips roll into you with reckless abandon, echoing the sloppiest noises. His voice is broken and fragile, tender in a way you've never heard before: "I love you, I love you…"
I love you. In this life, and every life to follow. Only to fall in love once more, all over again.
Gasping, shaking, his body tenses, and when he falls into you, you're left to hopelessly clutch onto his hand and his hair. Pleasure racks through him, his breath getting caught in his lungs. The candles in his study flicker, the branded orb-shaped marking imprinted onto his chest glows. His hips shudder, before they still. His length pulses inside you so hard you can feel it in your core, and heat pools within your body as he fills you, giving you what's left of him.
It takes a handful of moments for you both to come down. Gale is limp and heavy, pressing against you, his weight pinning you between him and the desk. His palm, resting on the small of your back, runs over your skin in slow, careful circles. Your heart thumps loud in your ears, hard in your chest, so forceful it nearly hurts. His gentle touch makes it slow, until gradually, your composure begins to return.
I've got you, he's murmuring, the words barely audible in your ringing eardrums, but comforting just the same. Breathe for me, just breathe.
In, and then out, you inhale, exhale. Gale props above you after a minute or two, and as you blink to chase away the remnants of fuzz in your vision, he comes into your view. He's smiling, because of course he is, strands of his hair sticking out every which way. The sight makes you grin, and you have to hold back your chuckle. Yet, the way he looks at you softens every last shred of your soul.
His skin is flushed, still sweaty and warm. His gaze is so terribly, persistently gentle, coveting you with endless devotion. It wouldn't be the first time tonight, but you feel revered, like you can almost taste swelling blossoms of love — sweet on the tongue, growing untamed to flourish through your chest.
Letting go of a sigh, he brushes his thumb over your cheek. You didn't think he could get any softer. But here he is, with a smile that entrances you, and an expression beaming with light itself. When he grasps your chin, pulling you in as he leans forwards, on his gentle lips, you feel the heat of the sun, and taste the calmness of a crisp summer breeze.
Your heart skips. A sharp spark of electricity — traces of magic, surely — crackles on your mouth when yours brushes his. It zaps you like static, before flowing into you as a steady, dizzying wave.
Your eyes stay shut. Gale pulls back for a moment. He breathes a small huff, a barely-there laugh. You swear you can feel the smile on his lips when he kisses you again — This time, much deeper, while his fingertips trace the curve of your jaw, and his mouth outlines the depths of his devotion onto yours.
When he pulls away, he's moving to guide a quick hand behind your head. He supports you, before resting you back against the desk ever-so gently. He hisses slightly as he pulls out of you, adjusting you both. He's sighing with contentment while he grasps your thighs, changing your position to let them hang over the desk's edge more comfortably.
At last, he props up over you. Still catching his breath, he tries to control the weighted heave of his chest as best he can manage.
"I love you," Gale admits, his voice noticeably hoarse, but with a clear hint of fondness to it, "Are you alright?"
"Please, I'm more than alright," You answer. You clear your throat, alleviating some of the dryness, and you roll your shoulders back. The hardwood surface of his desk beneath you suddenly feels a hundred times firmer than before. "You're okay too, aren't you?"
Gale scoffs playfully, smirking, "Apart from a bit of present exhaustion and a mild ache in the knees, I am definitely, most positively fine. No, better than fine. Fantastic."
Your eyes narrow, your head tilts curiously, gaze flickering down, and then back up. "And the orb?"
"The orb? Oh," He huffs, placing a palm over his chest in realization. "Ha, it's behaving alright. Until now, I don't think it has ever felt so… comfortable, if that serves well to describe it. Swear I could almost feel the damn thing purring."
You breathe a slight chuckle, and with a roll of your eyes, you press your palms to the desk and push yourself up. Gale hurries to wrap a hand around your wrist, placing the other on your back. He helps to pull you, until you're sitting up with your arms stretched to the ceiling. You stretch your back next, arching it forwards, feeling your muscles loosen and your bones pop.
Gale's brows are suddenly knotted. His lips press into a line, his expression turns conflicted. When your gaze locks with his, you're giving him a slight, pretty smile.
"What's wrong?"
You watch as he looks away for a second, snapping his fingers, muttering a string of words under his breath you don't quite catch. He seems pouty, almost guilty; the fireplace in the room's adjacent corner hums to life, breathing much-needed warmth into his study. Your limbs relax, your shoulders untensing.
"Nothing is wrong, sweetheart. Don't you worry," He reassures, offering you a warm look once his gaze returns to yours. His hand comes to steady on your side, and he squeezes you slightly, "I just… supposed I should offer you an apology. Perhaps it was rude of me not to provide you with more comfort. I promise you, next time, you will be as cushy and cozy as your heart could possibly desire. You'll find my bedroom to be rather pleasant, I'm sure. Have you ever slept on Glamerweave sheets? Hm, actually, I think I'll keep from spoiling the surprise."
Next time?
"Come on. It was my idea, you don't have to apologize," You reply through a slight laugh, shifting a bit on his desk, crossing one leg over the other. "Besides, I'm fine, I swear. I've dealt with much more than a little soreness, and I was perfectly comfortable, I'll have you know." Swallowing, you pause for a moment to think. "That was perfect. Truly."
"Was it? Well, that is… quite lovely to hear, quite lovely indeed. I'm… I'm glad." Gale takes in a slow breath, before letting go of a deep, heavy sigh. Your words make his heart pound. "Gods above. I knew I was doomed, but I think I've only fallen even more in love with you."
Arms wrapping around his shoulders, your head cocked teasingly, you murmur, "Do you know how hard it is to resist kissing you when you're this terribly sweet?"
"Really?" His brow crooks. "I wonder how many kisses I could earn if I proposed more than mere sweet words. Sweet touches, perhaps? I could lend you a hand or two, you know. I'm more than willing to offer shoulder rubs, back massages- It wouldn't be right to leave my dearest with tired limbs and such sore muscles, now would it?"
"On second thought, maybe my back is hurting. A massage sounds lovely."
Gale grins. He reaches up, brushing his thumb over your cheek, before he pulls you in for a quick, precious kiss.
"Then your wish is my command, love." His hand continues to hold your cheek tenderly, even once he's pulled back. Forehead close enough to almost rest against yours, he murmurs quietly, smoothly, "Once you are ready, I'll run you a warm, comfortable bath. With bubbles and lavender- Hm, I'm sure I have something around here you can wear, as far as clean clothes are concerned. You may have to make do with a few magically infused robes and garments… but nothing with any lasting effects, I assure you. And if you've worked up an appetite, then-"
Biting his tongue, abruptly, he stops. His eyes narrow, gaze glancing between you and the floor.
"I… My apologies," Gale mumbles, his tone weighed down by newfound disappointment, "How impolite. I shouldn't form assumptions, especially when your plans have already been reiterated. I won't keep you. As a matter of fact, I believe the side roads to Baldur's Gate are likely still open, if you'd prefer me to escort you there."
"Gale, are you kidding?"
You scoff, squeezing his shoulders and tilting your head; instantly, he feels himself begin to relax, his heart stirring, his nerves settling. You always look at him with such radiant warmth.
"Running errands back and forth for greedy townspeople can wait," You're continuing, gazing at him through fluttery lashes. "I took care of everything urgent well before I got here. You wouldn't believe the nerves I had leading up to this- I was remarkably tense, but at least it had me working hard to distract myself. Listen, if you're so keen on going back, you're coming with me. Otherwise, I'm staying, okay? For as long as you'll have me."
Gale swallows. His jaw clenches, his gaze goes soft. His pulse thrums in his throat and runs a mile per minute within his chest, heels pushing off the ground as he chases a burning sense of devotion —
"You- Are you sure?" He questions, opening his mouth to speak once more, only to have you quickly interrupt him.
"Of course I'm sure, I've never been more sure of anything. I can't begin to explain how much I've missed you, just- I don't want to be apart from you yet, that's all. Is… is that alright?"
"Oh, yes, most definitely- You can stay. I would love for you to stay," Gale breathes in response, brushing his palm over the small of your back, holding you gently. Warmth and longing sear through him, echoing the start of something new. "To savor a new wealth of treasured moments with you… To awake, and see you still resting beside me, content and weary-eyed… I'm not sure I deserve to find myself so lucky."
Holding your chin between his thumb and forefinger, Gale breathes in deeply. "Nevertheless, the night is young. But as for tomorrow, alas, I doubt the academy would approve, in the event of my neglection of scheduled lessons. Best to be up bright and early, you see. We should rest. You, especially." He counts with his fingers, pointing to each one, "You need the aforenamed bath, massage, and to get some much needed sleep. Doubly so, if you are to- uhm, ehem-"
Gale clears his throat, and as you meet his eyes, you raise a curious brow. Seemingly nervous, he softly mutters, "You wouldn't mind attending the lesson tomorrow to assist me for a second time, would you?"
All at once, you're grinning. You're laughing slightly to yourself, and you're staring at him cheerfully, with a look he finds impossible not to adore.
"I'd love to. I had fun today, and I'm sure you have much more to teach. The depths to illusion magic are rather grand. Or so a charming wizard has told me."
"Yes, and you have merely scratched the proverbial surface. Though, in all likelihood, illusion magic should come rather naturally to you. After all, you have no shortage of firsthand experience," He explains jovially. "But still, do not discredit yourself. You are a wonderful teacher, skilled and proficient in your own right. I'm sure my students would reflect the same sentiment. You are most captivating to them. You're the hero that kept the famous city of Baldur's Gate from falling into ruin. The one who saved my life. My closest, most beloved friend. Perhaps more than that, now."
"Definitely more," You answer, smirking a bit to hide the warmth to your cheeks.
"In that case," Gale hums, "I will be sure to introduce you as my partner, from here on out."
Candles flicker, shimmering like makeshift stars in his quiet study. From the view outside his balcony, the moon glimmers, beaming faint light, as though it was made just to watch over you both. Intimacy ripples between you. Echoing in your ears, you can hear the calm rhythm of waves, the familiar lull of the sea. It's a sound you've grown comfortable with. A moment you wished to dwell in until the inevitable end of time. Perhaps now, that future will be yours.
You decide to break the brief layer of silence: "Gale?"
Gale brushes his fingertips from your jaw to your nape, homesickness gnawing at his chest the longer he admires you. His tower was never important to him, Waterdeep couldn't compare. You were always his home.
"Yes, love?"
"I'm glad you're here with me."
Silent for a few moments, he's briefly unsure of what to say. Finally, he breathes a long, thankful sigh, and smiles wide, a sparkle in his gaze. Adoration roots into him, promising to forever grow.
"I love you. I love you so very much," He admits, cooing, his fingertips caressing your skin; his thumb trails over the faint mark he left on you while he speaks. The imprint of himself. "I will not leave you, that I can most undoubtedly promise. There are a great deal of things I want us to experience. Thousands of moments to live for. You would grace me with the privilege of dying a happy man, if I were to combust right now, in some unfortunate, bittersweet blaze of glory. But I give you my word, I am not planning on letting it happen."
His gaze goes resolute. Gale presses a palm to his chest, feeling magic thrum steadily, and his heart pound wildly. Still beating, despite everything. Every defiant thump has your name written into it. "This affliction will not take me. We have won against greater evils, and I won't let anything pry us apart. Not when I finally have you."
Night may have descended, cold air bitter on your skin, but in your chest, you feel the warmth of summer: growing heat, and an exquisite softness. You can't help but let go of a quiet sigh in satisfaction.
"Now," He's murmuring, standing up straight and taking your hand. He helps you to slide off of his desk, until you're wobbling to unsteady feet, holding onto his arm for balance. "I do believe I've yammered on quite enough. I won't exhaust you with more lengthy pillow talk. You should be given the relaxation you are owed, correct? A bath will only take a few moments to run."
"Mhm," You reply, gazing up at him, seeming amused. He finds it damn near impossible not to get lost in your eyes. "As long as you're planning on joining me."
"Joining? Oh, sweetheart. I would be delighted." Gale squeezes your hand, still held in his. He brings it up to his lips, he runs his thumb over your knuckles. He presses an all-too gentle kiss to them, before his fingers lace between the crooks of your own.
"Come. What remains of tonight is ours."
You'll smell of lavender and his soap when you crawl into his bed. You'll feel the warmth of his body pressed to yours, his arms around you, your head buried in his chest, and your dreams will be as tender as they are familiar. Your future drawn out, past lifetimes upon lifetimes.
And once the night bleeds into morning, you will fall for him all over again.
—
Waterdeep becomes your new home.
It isn't long before Gale's tower is strewn with your belongings as well as his. Your old weapons and special artifacts find themselves scattered among tomes, scrolls, and poetry collections. You do manage to return to Baldur's Gate for a while, just to collect your things from the Elfsong and say a couple of goodbyes. You've landed a job as a professor's assistant in Waterdeep, you explain, and you can't be late for your first official day.
You grow accustomed to the sea salt in your hair, and the way the smell of the ocean soaks into your skin. Gale provides you with your own set of rooms in a secluded corner of his tower. You can watch the waves from your bedroom window, and look out over the city from the view in his library. The days are slow, a calming change of pace from the previous adventures you shared together. Your other companions come to visit you both occasionally, making for a tender reunion. Months go by, but every day is new. A new chance to fall in love. Your new form of a delicate beginning.
Deep in his bones, Gale still remembers how to cover your weak points. The signs you show when you're closer to crumbling than you're letting on, the feeling of your spells bleeding into his when they combine on the battlefield. He believes those times, those hardships, those perils, will be ones he could never forget — and yet, why would he want to?
They're reminders of all he has to be grateful for. Mementos of when he first fell for you. You're both safe, you no longer have to fret over dark histories, or worry about protecting one another. For once, you can indulge in a life more tender, and much more forgiving.
Gale learns what you prefer to have for breakfast, what seasonings you favor for supper, and how you like your coffee when he prepares it for you at sunrise. Between days spent at the academy and endless lesson planning, practicing spells and grading assignments, he makes what free moments you have seem special. There's dates, picnics. Quiet, simple moments that mean the entire world.
Your head tends to rest in his lap when he's reading; sometimes aloud, his smooth voice lulling you into enveloping comfort. When you fall asleep, limbs tangled, resting on his chest, you relish in every potent thrum of his heartbeat.
He leaves you love notes on shared grocery lists. Poems he's written for you are left on your bedside table, folded neatly, sealed with wax. You wind up keeping each one.
Eventually, he's able to take you to all his favorite places in Waterdeep, the extravagant, and the plain. You've no need to introduce yourself, when everyone already seems to know you.
The wizard is star-struck every time he drones on about you, the regulars at The Yawning Portal explain. Especially once he's had far too much to drink.
I shouldn't tell you he's planning to propose, he's quite excited about the whole thing, the elderly owner of his favorite bookstore tells you. Be sure to act surprised.
On the days where you don't accompany him, when he returns from a long afternoon spent at the academy, he's rushing upstairs to greet you. He pulls you into a long, tender hug, one you wish would last forever. His touch breathes new life into your scars, his voice becomes your favorite daily melody. In the wake of every night you spend entwined, you find yourself melting into him, further becoming one another's fatal weakness. When he holds you for a little too long, squeezing you tight and hiding faint tears in the crook of your neck, you feel loved, like you never have before.
Soft and perfect, you are home.
Mornings meld into tendays which bleed into months. You treasure it all, with unending adoration. The Gods didn't bless you with this, you carved your own path. You forged your own temple to be made holy in. Before you know it, your heart and soul are undoubtedly his, and on a day no different than the others, Gale is taking you somewhere you've never been before.
Hands clasped, fingers entwined, he's bringing you to a height above the city, a cliff between the grand mountain and the edge of the sea. Wind runs through your hair. You rest your arms on the stone railing, and sink into the beauty of the sparkling ocean, sunlight glittering on white, foamy waves. He shows you the view of the city below, your city, and his, as the sun dips into the horizon — Although, it seems the only thing he can keep his eyes on is you.
You're turning just in time to catch him staring. Gale laughs awkwardly in the beat of awkward silence. He mumbles a quick response when you ask if he's alright, offering you an utterance of, Nothing, you're just beautiful. He smiles wider as you offer him a genuine grin and a playful roll of your eyes. Soon, it becomes quiet enough to hear your own heartbeat, prancing loudly through your eardrums. The soft sound of the ocean echoes within you.
Gale takes a slow, steady breath, catching your attention with a call of your name. This time, when you turn towards him, it's to watch him slowly lower down onto one knee.
The silver ring he pulls from his jacket pocket was his mother's. It sparkles off of the sun's fading rays, a poem engraved on the inside in elegant script, the surface adorned in sapphire and sunstone. Your heart skips a few beats in your chest.
You can hardly focus on his words, his vows and his confessions. But you do notice the tenderness to his expression as he glances up at you, misty-eyed, the breeze drifting through his ash-dappled hair; in this moment, everything feels right. And as he asks you to marry him, you're kneeling down as well and you're throwing your arms around his shoulders. You lean your head into his nape, you hold him as tight as you can manage, and you utter just the words he was hoping to hear.
most important part of the writing process actually is when you loop a single song on max volume and stare at the word document and imagine the characters doing things for 14 hours. this is known as getting in the zone
