Gale Dekarios and Shadowheart, Regency version, gossiping about Mr Lorroakan.
I am IMMENSELY late (between work and the flu I had almost zero free time), but I wanted to participate in the @janeuary-month
by @firawren , so here I am!
Prompt 16, Gossip.
And perhaps this is a good time to say that Shadowheart is my absolute favourite character in Baldur's Gate 3, and I'm so glad I finally got to draw her! ❤
Summary: You and Gale are trapped in a locked room, with no space to move. Inspired by @daisyofwaterdeep 's juicy post which I just couldn't resist writing about.
Set early in Act 1, before the tiefling party. Featuring matchmaker Karlach and chaos gremlin Astarion.
Disclaimers: 18+. Mildly smutty. Gale x female Tav/reader.
Word count: 1k
AO3 link
*****
“Well, this is a tight fit, isn't it.”
Crushed between the wall and Gale's heaving frame, you cannot avoid his warm breath on your cheek. You speak into his beard, desperate for space.
“Serves me right, for wandering straight through every door I see.”
Gale's chest is flush against yours. His arms flinch in an awkward attempt to avoid your waist and rear. Your own hands are fatefully sandwiched between your bodies. You curl them into yourself, trying frantically to ignore the groove of his groin.
It is not that you have not imagined how it would feel. In the darkness, you have wondered about the taste of Gale's touch, the lilt of those lithe fingers. But only for fleeting moments, sheepish and stolen. You are almost strangers, after all, fledgling friends. And never beyond your wildest dreams would you have imagined this, much less wished for it.
“Your curiosity is one of your most a-door-able traits.” You can feel his smirk on your skin. “One might even say it's the key to your success.
Your groan is muffled amongst his hair. “I'm glad to see being trapped in a coffin with me brings out your comedic genius.”
“Just getting a handle on the situation.”
Despite the levity, each word of his seems more choked. His ribs jostle against yours. You are surprised by the lean edges of his frame, the force of muscle beneath his robe. As if he senses your attention, he swallows, his eyes darting around you in a frenzy.
You grunt as you manage to wrench one hand free, only to realise in horror that it is cupping the curve of his ass. You cannot help but notice how firm it is. How full. When he jerks at the contact, his leg wedges between yours. Your hand dangles ominously below his hipbone.
“Sorry!” He fumbles, his features twisting. “Sorry. Gods, I'm sorry–”
“Karlach?” you cry. “Astarion? Are you out there?”
The responding thump on the door rocks the entire room. Gale's thigh spasms into yours. He winces sharply.
“Can you get us out please?” Gale blurts. “Now?”
“Hang on, soldiers.” Karlach sounds annoyingly relaxed, even chipper. “The door locked behind you, and we don't have the key. We can't break it down either, tough bastard.”
“Oh look.” The glee in Astarion’s voice is undeniable. “We've run out of lockpicks. Best go hunt for some more.”
You try and fail to punch the door. A flush has spread from Gale's neck to his cheeks. His blushed earlobe hovers just before your mouth. You can feel his heat on your skin, the rasp of his stubble.
“Hurry up,” he pleads. “Please.”
Gale clears his throat. As he shifts and fidgets, the taut muscles of his chest rub against your breasts. His juddering breaths are hot against your ear, and you are mortified by the ripple through your core, the peaking of your nipples. He wriggles his leg, trying in vain to move it out of the range of danger. But his knee grinds into you instead. You chew your lip.
“This is simply” – he stammers, his throat bobbing – “This is most– I'm terribly sorry–”
He trails off, burbling incoherently. You have never seen Gale so out of sorts. As you writhe clumsily against each other, sweat beads on his brow. You can smell the bittersweet tang of it, layered within the fog of sandalwood and leather, book dust and soap. You wonder if he feels as dizzy as you do. You no longer think it is from the lack of air in the room.
“I should be sorry,” you manage. “I haven't bathed for a week.”
You were hoping for a chuckle, a break in the stiffness between you. But instead, there is a glimmer on Gale's chest. A faint stain of indigo flashes and then deepens. He is glowing. You stare at his blazing orb scar in alarm.
“Gale…”
Gale is coughing. Sputtering. As he twists, pointlessly seeking escape, you feel an unmistakable hardness against your hand. Your eyes widen. Clasped between your hips and his, jerking your hand away only nestles it further in. Your fingers bear down against his bulge.
Gale's eyelids flutter. He bites his lip.
“Stop moving,” he chokes, pained. “Please stop moving.”
For a moment, you do. Your chests rise and fall against each other’s. Strands of his hair drift over your face as you meet his gaze. His lips are swollen red, parted as he pants.
You are acutely aware of the point of his knee. It surges, ever so slightly, against your cleft. His eyes are dark and desperate, like you have never seen before. You are drunk on the rhythm of his leg, trembling against the pulse of your desire. You stifle a gasp, your nerves unravelling, his breaths catching as you quiver into him. Your fingers move of their own accord, following the thrumming of his need, flickering along his throbbing length.
He moans. You feel it like a wet hot flare through you, his searching mouth lingering over yours.
“Please,” he whispers.
His hardness twitches towards your touch as you grind against each other. He is groaning, grunting, and you can taste the salt and sweetness of his breath as his nose grazes yours and your lips open to his…
You tumble backwards as the door swings open, crashing hard against the ground. You lie there for a while, swollen, dazed. Karlach and Astarion loom above you with triumphant grins.
“Look at you, all flushed and breathless.” Astarion’s fangs flash.
Karlach pulls you up with a flourish. “It's a good job you didn't pass out.” She beams.
Stumbling, burning, you look back into the room. You have a brief glimpse of a tented robe, a guttering purple glow, before Gale lurches away, shutting the door behind him.
So I know people wonder about Gale's innate ability with magic from childhood. Namely, why he doesn't qualify as a sorcerer. I did some digging, and came across the concept of 'the Gift'.
Established by Ed Greenwood, the Gift is what any magic user needs to be able do magic in the realms--even wizards! It's an innate ability to engage with magic in any capacity.
Then I remembered this line from Mystra when she speaks to Gale:
“When the Karsite Weave entered your body, your gifts were the first things it consumed."
So, it sounds like the orb ate away at his fundamental ability to engage with magic at all.
As a prodigy, Gale was gifted. He had an innate ability to engage with the weave. Sorcerers manipulate magic instinctively through their bloodline, while wizards do it by studying spellwork. This all makes sense to me. I see the distinction between the Gift and Sorcerer magic.
What I still can't make sense of is how he was conjuring rabbits as a toddler, without someone having shown him a spell for it first. Any ideas?
