Two Narcissists Walk into a Bar
More bloodweave fanfiction. Inspired by this screen cap:
Twinned Spell
Summary: Astarion and Gale make their own fun at Sharess' Caress.
Sometimes Astarion liked to watch Gale when no one was looking. It wasn’t because he had any sort of feeling for the famed wizard. Had they enjoyed one another’s company since that astral journey a tenday ago? Yes. But it had been sex, pure and simple, and both of them were just fine leaving it at that. Companionship was not something that Astarion desired. He could quit Gale any time he wanted.
And it wasn’t as though Astarion cared if any of the others saw him watching Gale. The trouble was, Gale didn’t seem to watch him anymore. So Astarion was not about to be caught doing it when Gale wasn’t doing it. Besides, Astarion liked to maintain plausible deniability, always.
The trouble was, for someone who was usually blunt and to the point, Gale had been giving mixed signals of late. Around the others, he showed little more than a polite benevolence where Astarion was concerned. But when they were alone, he was often far more interested in the vampire spawn. Affectionate was a word he might have used to describe their nights reading together in Gale’s tent, but that was not a word Astarion just bandied about. And then there was the fact Gale did things to Astarion. Things no one had ever done to him before. And that was worth noting. Intellectually, of course.
Tonight at Sharess’ Caress, Gale’s usual polite, mild manner indicated he did not mind their surroundings, but his expression showed that he disapproved of Tav’s decision to take one of the drow twins upstairs. Meanwhile, this was the first thing Tav had done in days which Astarion actually approved of. It was high time the holier-than-thou druid got his crank turned by someone. Who knew? Maybe it would loosen him up a bit. But why was Gale’s formidable brow drawn down? In some ways, Astarion had to admit, Gale was terribly old fashioned. He rather liked that, most of the time. It made Astarion feel young.
While he pondered these things, Jaheira had gone to gather what information she could from other patrons at the bar. That left just the two of them. Astarion nodded toward an empty table up the stairs. “No sense standing around waiting for him to finish his ten seconds in heaven. They usually stock a vaguely palatable vintage here.”
Now Gale had that glazed look in his eye that meant he’d overexerted himself again physically but refused to say so in case anyone suspected him of not being able to keep up with the group. They had been walking for most of today without a break. Astarion carefully leaned into Gale’s field of vision and offered a charming smile. “Care to join me? When I drink alone in these sorts of establishments, I’m usually propositioned sooner rather than later, and I’d just as soon not deal with any of that today.”
At that, Gale seemed to come to. “What? Ah. Yes. It would be my pleasure to serve as your…”
No. Was he about to define their relationship? “Drinking companion?” Astarion volunteered, before the silence went on too long.
“Unwanted advance-deterrent?” Gale offered.
“Well, when you put it like that, it sounds like a date.” Pleased, Astarion sauntered over to the table.
“A date.” Gale verbally pondered the word, his tone indicating he was not quite sure what it meant.
“Care to buy a devastatingly handsome elf a drink?”
Gale made a show of looking around the tavern. “I may consider it. Where is he?”
“Oh, har, har. How droll.” But Astarion was vaguely amused in spite of himself. Gale’s old man sense of humor was growing on him.
The wizard sat down with an audible sigh of relief and removed his wide-brimmed hat, placing it on the table. “And what do you suppose said elf would find tolerable to drink?”
Astarion strategically chose the seat next to him and leaned one elbow on the table, getting comfortable. “Well, I’ve heard there’s a lovely aged Waterdhavian vintage here with just a touch of Netherese spice to it.”
“Astarion.” Gale surprised him by boldly placing his hand over the rogue’s off-hand. “I’ve told you, and I’m firm in this: you may not drink my blood.”
Astarion pouted, but he could feel the warmth in his cheeks at such a public display of affection. “Fine. I suppose just wine will do.”
“Very well.” Gale took his hand back to signal the barmaid. “Don’t sulk,” he said, after she’d taken their order. “You’ll get frown lines.”
“But I can’t get frown lines,” Astarion said, immediately concerned. “I don’t age!”
“Ah.” Gale observed him quietly for a few moments. “Then I withdraw my statement.”
“You bastard!” Astarion didn’t like the way that pause had felt. “Do I have frown lines?” He reached up to touch his face, trying to feel for any wrinkles. “If I do, you have to tell me. You know I can’t see my own face!”
“Calm yourself, friend.” Gale began to move his hands in that way that meant he was casting a spell, and suddenly there was an illusion of Astarion’s face looking back at him from across the table. At least, he thought it was his face. It looked quite familiar.
“Is that what I look like?” he asked, leaning forward for a closer look.
“For the most part,” Gale said. “So far as art can imitate life.”
Astarion studied his face carefully. “I don’t have frown lines!”
“I might have taken a few liberties. Notice that I portrayed you smiling.”
“I smile,” Astarion said, offended. “Constantly!”
“Like right now, perhaps?”
Astarion’s pout turned into a scowl. “Well I would be if you hadn’t ruined a perfectly good date by bringing up frown lines.” The barmaid arrived with their wine and Astarion snatched his glass from the tray.
Gale thanked her and gave a large tip to make up for Astarion’s ill-temper. “Shall I dismiss it?” he asked.
“I’m not finished looking at myself yet.” Astarion rested his chin on his fist, examining the illusion.
“Perhaps I should leave the two of you alone,” Gale suggested, making as if to get up from the table.
“No.” Astarion put one leg up across the wizard’s lap, preventing him from leaving. “Gorgeous as this fellow is, I’m not half done with you.”
“Well,” Gale said, raising his glass. “I suppose I have but to wait then.”
“Do you think my nose is too long?” Astarion asked, pinching and fussing over it.
Gale considered this. Perhaps he was just thinking of the right way to answer. “I think it is the exact size it should be in proportion to the rest of your face.”
“That’s easy for you to say,” Astarion said. “You can just grow a beard to distract from whatever you might have going on.” And a sexy beard it was, too. Not that Astarion was going to tell him so.
The pause that preceded Gale’s amused smile said everything. “I’ve always found facial hair can cover a world of sins.”
“Oh, don’t be ridiculous,” Astarion huffed. “Of course you’re quite handsome.”
“Are you sure of that?” Gale asked, teasing. “There might be anything hiding under this beard.”
“Stop.” Astarion leaned forward, stroking his fingers through the sexy beard in question. “Don’t force me to be honest in public.”
“Perish the thought.” But Gale was smiling.
“If you’re going to keep teasing me, I need more wine,” Astarion announced.
“By all means.”
Two bottles later, it wasn’t just Astarion’s leg stretched across Gale’s lap. With both of his arms curled around the wizard’s shoulders, Astarion seemed to have made himself quite comfortable there. “Diverting as this is,” Gale began, when Astarion finally let him up for air, “have a care for my poor knees?”
The vampire was quite put out, but he did carefully extricate himself from Gale’s lap. “Fine. But we will revisit this…later,” he growled. If Gale thought he was going to get away with teasing Astarion’s love for exhibition and then stopping cold, he was sadly mistaken.
The wizard nodded cordially. “Then I shall consider myself invited to your tent this evening.”
Astarion’s only answer was a promising smolder. Time to change the subject. “What’s taking Tav so long?” he complained, taking out his ire on his usual target. “I gave him five minutes at most.”
“In my experience, it’s wise not to underestimate a professional.”
“In your experience?” Why did the thought of Gale with a ‘professional’ make his belly writhe so? “With whom?”
“Any number of professionals,” the wizard replied blandly. “Butchers, bakers, candlestick makers. The employees of Sharess’ Caress are no different in their professionalism.”
Teasing, then. Again. “Gale Dekarios. You really are…something.” It charmed and aggravated Astarion both at once.
“I’ve always thought so,” Gale said modestly. “Would you mind going to the bar and getting me another?” He raised his empty tumbler.
Astarion was annoyed to find the barmaid seemed to have disappeared. “Alright. But don’t tell Tav I’ve been doing any favors. I don’t want him to get the wrong impression of me.”
Gale’s knowing smirk was a perfect compliment to his sexy beard. “You have my word.”
As Astarion turned to walk away, an invisible hand touched him in a way so unexpected, he nearly leapt into the rafters. He whirled around, aroused and furious. “Do that again, Gale, and I don’t give a damn about your poor knees, I will have you on this very table.”
The wizard returned an innocent look. “Is there something wrong, Astarion?”
“Just wait until we’re back at camp,” Astarion said. “You have no idea what–” His threat was cut off by the crash of a glass bottle hitting the ground.
Gale looked at the bottle he’d just dropped like a cat who has knocked a glass from a table. “Rough tempest." He shrugged. "Would you mind fetching a broom from that cupboard over there?”
“Do I look like the help?” Astarion snapped.
“Hardly,” Gale replied. “Now please do as I’ve asked.”
It took Astarion several deep breaths and a silent death wish to realize Gale must be up to something. That piqued his curiosity, so he did go over to the broom cupboard, but with no intentions of helping clean. He’d no sooner set foot inside than the door snapped shut behind him.
“Wot in the hells–?” But any expletive he may have been about to utter quickly disappeared from Astarion’s lips as the mage hand that had assaulted him earlier made a reappearance. And it was not alone.
*
Gale listened stoically as Astarion’s exclamation of surprise from inside the cupboard turned to moans of pleasure and gradually evolved into shouts of ecstasy. His melodious voice grew louder and louder until it began to draw attention, even in the crowded brothel. Gale sipped his Chultan Fireswill slowly, savoring both Astarion and his drink while making certain the arcane lock on the door to the cupboard remained untouched.
Few wizards had the brilliance, talent or mastery to cast mage hand as a twinned spell. But then, Gale of Waterdeep was not just any wizard.
