Archive of Our Own

Their anniversary is approaching, and Astarion is nervous.

Ever since they’ve married, everything has been so good, so calm, so simple. As easy as picking a lock with just the right set of tools, the door has been opened and Gale and he were exactly where they wanted to be. They’ve officially set up their shared bedroom in the tower, filled with pillows of velvet and fluffy silk cushions. On the walls were conveniently placed shelves overrun with their carefully selected collection of books to address every immediate need. The windows, oak frames and thick glass, were skillfully covered with well-designed curtains, their fabric stretching so long they flowed to the floor, pooling in little magical spirals.

Even longer than the curtains were the nights Gale and he spent together.

After that initial knot of fear was untied, they spent night after night slowly studying each other. Learning about their bodies, their preferences, they way Gale shuddered when Astarion moved his fingers up from his beard all the way to the streaming softness of his hair. 

They didn’t learn about the physical alone. They took their time to understand each other, to soothe away the echoes of the past, to make new memories brighter than the sun itself.

And, after a while, as they’ve tried finding new ways to learn more about each other, they’ve begun teaching one another their own specialized skills.

Astarion could still remember how Gale’s hands shook when he tried to unlock his first lock without Knock. Yes, the proud man was used to being a prodigy. But somehow, in front of Astarion’s curious, non-judging eyes he was sweating, cursing, apologizing for his language and for taking too long. Astarion’s cold, nimble fingers guided him to his first successful click with the lockpicking tools, the tiny pin yielding with a soft, satisfying snap as it settled into its new home. Gale smiled, relaxing his brows as he thanked him, a shining spark glowing in his eyes. He managed the rest on his own, the handsome, skillful bastard.

When Gale first taught Astarion about magic and the Weave, they were still at the beginning of their journey to Baldur’s Gate. One night at their camp, after reminiscing about his past, Gale asked him if he wanted to learn. Gale showed him these movements, fluid and graceful, seeming to dance through the air in a flow that has now a home in his heart. He can still remember that he thought of the sun and its gentle heat before lavender started to fill the air around them, engulfing them both in a warm, kind embrace.

The second time was much easier, here in Waterdeep during their first cold winter. When the first snow coated the luminous streets with white, Gale decided it was time to teach Astarion a simple spell to keep himself warm. The precise twists of his hands were easy to imitate, the incantation was a greater challenge, but after a few tries Astarion managed to prolong the effect from seconds to a few minutes. By the time the winter festival was roaring around them, Astarion could hold the spell for almost an hour; more than enough to last him on his way to his new job as a tailor apprentice at one of the most luxurious salons in the city.

Now, it is fall, almost a year later, and that very special day is almost around the corner.

So why now, of all times, does it feel like they spend less time together?

A part of him expected them to grow even closer as each day passed and the date approached. Perhaps more romantic, even. To share in the excitement that this symbol of their love had been drawing near. But Gale is so busy now, his nights getting shorter and shorter as his job as a professor demands his attention throughout the day. And even when he’s home at night, he’s usually too tired to do anything more than cuddle with him and their furry magical friend. While Astarion is grateful even for these peaceful moments, and even while he feels loved, cherished, and safe, perhaps… he can teach Gale another roguish lesson, subtly remind him of what he’s missing out on.

In the very late night, or very early morning, as Astarion’s meditation fades into reality, he lets himself stay in bed. Usually, he would rise to keep working on his tailoring side projects, read a book, or treat himself to a glass of freshly stocked blood from their kitchen, only to get back into bed just before Gale would wake up. The first smiles Gale would wear each morning, as he caught sight of Astarion, were a priceless gift. Each day, he could feel Gale’s appreciation and adoration in those moments, when Gale would relax in relief, gaze upon his face as his smile widened, or snuggle closer to hold him in a warm embrace. 

But today, today Astarion suspects Gale will wear a slightly different expression when he wakes, if things will go according to his plan. For now, he’ll allow himself to lie in bed, stare quietly, and listen. To see Gale’s chest rising and falling, to hear the deep breaths he takes while asleep. The permanent crease in his brows almost unnoticeable, his slightly parted lips almost begging to be kissed. 

Staring at his love like this, the hours seem to move faster and smoother. The game, his carefully crafted scheme, begins as the morning approaches. With easy stealth, he gets on his knees, slowly peeling off the blanket wrapped around his unguarded husband. Gale shudders briefly, hums, but gladly doesn’t wake up. His eyes flick briefly to the fireplace, the fire within crackling undisturbed, just as he’s grown to expect from the magically tended flame. He whispers the incantation Gale taught him some long months ago to make it burn slightly warmer, and returns his focus to his prized goal.

Gale’s nightclothes hang loosely around his body, each button and each lace a subtle invitation. Astarion is tempted to take his time opening the buttons on Gale’s shirt one by naughty one while he continues toward his main meal, allowing himself to enjoy the appetizing sight. To follow the faint peppering of hair over Gale’s torso, leading to his plush pectorals and pair of darkened accents on his sun-kissed skin. He could almost feel their heated softness on his fingertips.

It… might be a tad too dangerous. He shouldn’t risk Gale’s eyes opening prematurely, after all.

Gale is still in a deep sleep, his breathing is slow, even. And so, Astarion allows himself to move on to the next step of his plan; with nimble fingers, he unlaces the front of Gale’s trousers. A deft series of motions, and Gale’s underwear is opened as well, revealing his lush, unruffled treat for Astarion’s eyes to drink in.

He recalls the last time he took Gale into his mouth, too many nights ago. In the kitchen, while Tara was out hunting, he and Gale had sated their own share of hunger. Feeling Gale needy and warm on his tongue, even getting on his knees had always been a delight. Gale was always gentle, undemanding, always restrained to some degree. Honestly, Astarion wouldn’t mind being handled more roughly in the heat of the moment, when he could feel Gale’s own desires threatening to devour them both.

But initiating it… 

A part of him still wonders if Gale will always be so tender with him. If there will come a time when Gale falters, when Astarion pushes him to the point of desperation. Would he make a mistake, as all humans (or even elves) do? Astarion would forgive him, without a doubt; he already made that promise at the altar almost a year ago. So now he wonders, how would his beloved react if surprised like that, caught off guard? 

He shall very soon find out.

Astarion licks his lips, flames igniting in his gut at the thought. He lowers himself down, letting Gale’s familiar earthy scent breach his nose. Gale smells of clean laundry and amber-vanilla soap, a quiet testament to his innate thoughtfulness or, perhaps, a deliberate gesture since their relationship began. Astarion couldn’t be certain. Not that he would complain; there is no use in touching on a wanted behavior.

Speaking of touching, he’s starting to feel eager, now isn't he? Anticipation bubbles inside him, sending a shiver coursing through him, akin to hot blood gushing into him when he drinks. He is going to enjoy this. He leans closer, lips parting to greet soft skin with a feather-light kiss. A low sigh escapes from Gale’s lips above, his eyelids twitching briefly before relaxing into peaceful slumber once again.

Conflicting desires clash within Astarion. One side of him wants to stretch this out as long as he can, to drink in any small quiver and every quiet gasp. The other can’t wait, desperate to set Gale trembling wildly and moaning so loud as soon as humanly possible. 

Unfortunately, he’ll need to control both. If he wants this to truly be a lesson, he must strike a careful balance. He’ll need to be quick enough to get Gale riled up, but slow enough to ensure he won’t risk waking his lifetime partner up.

He trails another kiss, soft lips on even softer skin, and schedules his next one with just the right latency from the last. The shiver it sends up Gale’s spine makes a fond smile tug at the corners of Astarion’s lips. He places another kiss, and another, going down to the base and up almost to the tip, lips getting wetter, immersed in thrilled elation as he hears, senses thick blood running down to Gale’s groin. Above him, Gale shifts in his sleep, low, incoherent mumbles spilling from his droopy mouth. 

“AAAstaaionn…” Gale slurs, and now isn’t that a delight? Gale used to talk in his sleep sometimes, mostly academic nonsense from his day’s research, sometimes even a line from his lectures as a professor. But Astarion’s name? A rare token he’ll harbor in his heart for a long while, he thinks.

Appreciative, Astarion rewards his talkative husband with a long slide of his tongue, his nose pressing down to the curly waves he oh so admires. For a moment, he considers drifting even lower, but a brief glance upward hastily changes his mind.

Gale bucks his hips in his sleep, his reddened cock arching up, veins pulsing full of delicious blood. A steaming meal—no, feast —served on the regal silver plate that is his most beloved spouse. His mouth fills with saliva at the sight. He’s more than ready; they both are. Astarion takes an unneeded breath, a habit from days he couldn’t even clearly remember anymore.

He goes down and eats to his fill, taking Gale’s full length into his mouth.

“Astarion!” And now it’s not a slur. Gale is awake, well, in one more way now. His head rises, creating a line of sight to Astarion's eyes. “What is—”

Astarion smiles around him for a brief moment, and then sucks in, hard.

The moan tearing from Gale’s throat vibrates through him, and Astarion only dives deeper, sinking lower still, if that’s even possible. He hears the hard thud of Gale's head crashing back into the pillow.

“Not a dream—Oh, fuck, Astarion, ah, love, what a way to wake up…”

Astarion drags his lips upwards, answering while his mouth still circles around him. “Like your new alarm clock?”

“Alarm clock?” Gale creaks, sucking in a breath as Astarion plants another precise kiss on the neck of his glans. The air stutters on the way to his lunges as Astarion follows the motion with a slide of a tongue and just the tiniest of scraps, a reminder of his fangs, just the way he knows Gale likes it.

“Do tell me about that dream you just had, love. Any new ideas?”

He dives back in, feeling Gale burning hot on his tongue, filling him up to the roof of his mouth. Up and down and Gale groans, hand hovering just above the silver curls of his head. Is that the answer to his question? Will Gale finally do it, be rough, take for the sake of taking, satisfy his own filthy cravings?

This was supposed to be a lesson, an exercise, a ploy to remind his busy partner of what he could gain by spending a little more time with him. Is Astarion falling back into his old habits with this? Never mind. Right now, the only thing that matters, the only thing he can think of is the hand above him. How he wants it to descend, to push and pull him in accordance with his beloved’s desires.

Control, control, control. Can he cease this blind chase after it? Can he stop seeking it, treating it as compensation for the years it was forced out of his hands? He doesn’t need it anymore. All this frenzied tight grip at that rope of control leaves his hands tired and aching. Is he truly free, if he lets those memories decide how he acts, and push him to the other extreme? It’s suffocating. He’s had enough of it. Not once in the past year has he relinquished control. Gale never used him, never, not a hint of deception on his face. If Astarion pleasured him, it was only when he wanted to, on his own terms, conscience and ready. And Gale, the sweet man he is, never even slightly nudged him for more. He was careful, caring, and always so gentle, gentle, too gentle all the time.

It is, of course, as frightening as ever. He’d risk going back to that cell, to that bed. But you know what? Gale tastes delicious on his tongue. His eyes flicker upward, capturing the moment when Gale’s own are darting quickly from his face to the hand just a strand away from clasping. 

He is done being afraid.

He grabs Gale’s hand and shoves it to his scalp, rising just enough to whisper the one, “Use me.”

And he gets to work, bobbing his head meticulously, urging his loved one to follow suit. Gale moans beautifully, his hand trembling in Astarion’s hair. It will soon close in, release Astarion’s from the shackles that bind him, allow him to finally give in, fully, by his own will. Gale will do it, he’ll do it, any second now—

Gale stirs, his breathing ragged, and retreats ever so slightly. His hand moves to caress Astarion’s chin with the gentlest of touches. “You don’t have to do this, love.”

Astarion cannot suppress the grunt that vibrates in his throat. He looks up, desperation and annoyance simmering within him. “I know. I want to. So use me, love. Let me make that dream you just had come true.”

“Are you sure—?”

Astarion meets his gaze, serious and sincere. The past year has shown him, time and again, that he is no longer a means to an end. He is more than that—more than a thing to be used. He’s free, he’s loved, he’s seen. And these words, these damned words, should be rewritten anew. He would much rather associate them with the love of his life quivering beneath him than with anything from the two hundred years that came before. And Gale… Gale is restraining himself, probably, keeping most of his filthiest desires, or his more dirty kinks, tucked away. Perhaps he won’t need to. Not for much longer, at least. And for now, they can start with this.

“I am. Do it.”

“Dear lord…” Gale mumbles, slouching back and lying supine on the mattress.

“I do like the new nickname,” Astarion purrs, guiding Gale’s hand back to rest blissfully on his scalp. “Now, my busy love, use me.”

Tentative and hesitant, the hand in his hair finally directs Astarion back to Gale’s cock. His saliva-slick lips part with ease, rounding to welcome the intrusion once more. Gale shudders, holding his breath as his eyes search Astarion’s for any sign of reluctance.

Apparently, Gale finds none, and so they both sigh in unison at the first buck of Gale’s hips, the pressure hitting on the back side of Astarion’s airway. Too quickly, his throat starts feeling hot. And so he hums, the resonance extracting a sequence of twitches that pulses inside his mouth, and he glares up at Gale to please, continue fucking his mouth.

Gale flushes pink and complies, testing a few shaky, flimsy thrusts. 

But now, now, that just wouldn’t do. Digging his fingernails into Gale’s thigh, Astarion sends one final warning glare up to those deep brown eyes before suddenly shifting, and closing his eyes. He doesn't have to rush, or to keep a secure hold to this rough rope that chafes his palms. With a final breath, he lets go of the rope, feeling it slip away to leave him in peace.

His mouth goes slack, his breath completely stops, and his muscles relax into a loose, submissive lull. Gale could do anything to him now, in this state. But he believes, he knows, Gale will do only good.

And Gale does. He does. With Astarion draped, unwilling to move, Gale finally, oh finally grabs him the way he wants him to. Fingers tightening on the soft curls of his hair, Gale has no choice but to move on his own. And so he fucks into his mouth, slow but intentional at first, once, twice, hitting just the right spot at the back of his throat.

“A-Astarion, oh love—” And Gale picks up the tempo, the sloppy, wet sounds getting louder around them. The infuriating man even grabs one of Astarion’s sensitive ears at one point to push himself deeper into his placid mouth. It makes a shiver run all through him, his own arousal getting harder to ignore. He considers slapping the rude fingers away. But after some long, hazy seconds of Gale so perfectly ravishing him, he decides against it. Today, Gale could even tie him up, and he wouldn’t care in the least. This morning, right now, his whole being is in Gale’s hands.

One of those hands, the one not currently driving Astarion mad by tugging at his ear, goes down over his face, and joins with a stout thumb to the blazing heat in his mouth. He’s so full, like that, Gale is all around him, inside him, his husband, his promise. He can’t help but moan when the additional pressure presses hard on his tongue.

“Suck.” The command, oh the first command to ever slip from Gale’s magnificent lips. And Astarion obeys, of course he obeys him. Gale is not Cazador. Gale is his sun, right now and always, the complete opposite of the darkness of his past. He’s seen through him, knows what he wants, what he needs. He takes such good care of him, thicker than honey on his tongue, running better than blood down his throat. Astarion shudders and tightens his lips.

Gale halts for a second, and even with his eyes closed, Astarion can feel the burn of his gaze upon his skin. But even the subtle stop couldn’t prepare him enough for the force in Gale’s next thrusts, how good they would feel as he lets his mind sway to their rhythm. Again and again Gale crushes into him, filling his soul as he’s filling his mouth. 

But that rhythm soon stutters; the finger in his mouth shifts and presses hard on his fang, and just as he can taste blood, a high “I’m—” and Gale is cumming. And cumming. And cumming. A shivering mess, filling him up with warm bliss. Two familiar tastes intermingle in his mouth, and he doesn’t want to let even a drop go to waste. His trophy, his prize, his dessert. He did it. He let go. He was—is—happy.

He slides his mouth up to pop Gale’s softening erection out, giddy with his victory. A tad woozy, he swallows and lowers himself to lick a sneaky drop that fell on Gale’s abdomen. It’s strange, isn’t it? To feel good after giving up power? He’s almost drunk on the feeling, swinging much like when draining an animal bigger than himself empty of blood. And it’s all been possible thanks to his slightly shaking, deep-breathing husband.

“Good morning,” Astarion rises on his knees, smiling down in hazy adoration at his worn-out spouse.

Gale is staring back up at him, the fondest of smiles on his lips, his hair a messy nest around his head, still sleep-disheveled and tired around the eyes. Astarion loves him so very much.

“This… morning indeed can be defined as good,” Gale gestures with his hand for Astarion to lean closer. “Come, let me take care of you as well.” A second command, though not as cutting as the first, sends a spark that makes the pressure inside him feel tight in its constraints. He can almost feel the brush of Gale’s beard on his bare skin before he pulls himself from the image.

“No… I… ah…” Astarion mumbles, clearing the fog from his mind. Right. The plan. He shakes his head to sober up even more. “It was a lesson, is all. An exercise in stealth,” he smiles in the manner he hopes is his teaching-usual smile. “Please do take notes on how I did not wake you up until the very second I wished it to happen.”

Gale’s eyes turn round, almost sad. Any time Gale wears this kind of expression, Astarion always struggles to avoid thinking of Scratch. Or of the owlbear cub. How cute his husband is. How lovely. 

“But don’t you want me to…?”

“I will be expecting a physical demonstration of what you’ve learned today, my sweet.” Astarion does lean closer now, if only to plant a soft kiss on his beloved’s cheek. “I’ll even actually sleep in the next few days, so… surprise me, won’t you?”

Not without effort, Astarion rises up. With a measured flick of his curls and his most tantalizing smirk, he leaves for the washroom.

🌅🌅🌅🌅🌅🌅🌅🌅🌅

Their anniversary is tomorrow, and Gale is the worst student in Faerûn.

Astarion slept, actually slept in the last three nights, suffering through the odd sensation, only to wake each evening to the utter disappointment of… nothing. Gale did nothing. Nothing had changed. He was still as busy as ever, with not a moment to spare. Astarion wasn’t allowed even a short cuddle with him in front of the fire in their library, let alone talk to him about what happened that one specific morning a few days ago.

In comparison though, Astarion is a great student.

Gale’s anniversary present is already prepared, after all, hidden for the last couple of nights in the back of the closet, where he knows Gale would never glance at, much less search. Some carefully enchanted garments Astarion had sewn himself, and researched (with the kind help of lovely Tara, of course) the way to install practical magic inside them. It was a gift he knew Gale would appreciate, the kind that involves both a mindful thought, Astarion’s unique skills, and spells Gale taught him with his own two hands.

Does Gale even remember their anniversary is tomorrow? Should Astarion remind him? 

No… Gale wouldn’t forget such an important date, would he? It’s their anniversary after all. Though Gale has been very distracted lately… hmm…

Astarion will trust him. He will.

And if Gale gets confused with the dates and offers apologies, then a dramatic sigh, a creative solution for next time, and forgiveness it shall be.

Just for good measure, and though he slept during the day, Astarion will try to sleep now, at the darkest point of the night, as well. For a second good measure, as he has the last few nights, he will sleep wearing nothing but his underwear, just to make things a little easier for his still-learning spouse. He lies in their bed and lets the calm breaths of his well-missed partner lull him to sleep.

He wakes at the first sound of birds. Through a barely opened eyelid, he catches a glimpse of the window, the dark-red long curtains spread wide in front of it, blocking any and all rays of the dangerous sun. He squeezes his eyelid shut as he senses, more than sees, a subtle shift not far away.

So, he woke up much before Gale even tried to touch him. It wasn’t Gale’s fault really; Astarion is such a light sleeper, far too sensitive to his surroundings, and never quite able to surrender to true rest. Astarion will not deduct any points from his grade because of that. Gale didn’t make any noise either; his stealth was almost on par with a mid-level rogue. It’s just… the weight difference on the bed, or maybe the distance from Gale’s presence, a sixth sense perhaps? But no matter the reason, Astarion’s awake, and he can sense Gale’s approaching. He’d keep pretending to be asleep, of course, not wanting to miss what his loved one has in store for him.

Gale’s fingers are as gentle as a butterfly as he rolls the blanket from Astarion’s shoulders. He’s holding his breath, too. A bit disappointing, since Astarion loves to feel its warmth on his skin, but a wise decision because Gale is trying to stay untraceable in his movements.

When the blanket is completely off and the chill, hmm, no, the fine temperature of the room, is wrapping around him, Gale pauses. 

What is he doing up there, unmoving and… staring? Is he staring at Astarion? Taking in his ethereal beauty? Or is he searching for something else? For a tool for his (nasty) endeavors? A spell in his internal spellbook? Is he struggling in the dark with his poor human sight, unsure how to proceed?

One of his guesses is probably right, since soon after, he can very faintly hear a swirl of air that almost sounds like “Impero tibi,” the incantation for Sleep. A flash of light in front of his closed eyelids and for that, for that he would grant Gale a failing grade. Not from a rogue’s perspective, no. From a rogue’s viewpoint, it surely is a smart decision, to ensure your target is asleep and steal away freely. Gale would get an F as a wizard, for that action right now. Did he truly forget Astarion is immune?

Gale grunts above him, the sound not subtle at all. “You are not asleep, are you, love?” 

Astarion cracks an eyelid open.

“Of course you’re not. And you weren’t before, either, were you?” Gale sighs. “I… suspected you were awake before I started taking the counterpane off, but staring at your face, I figured, well, if you’re not asleep anymore, perhaps I can put you to sleep. Stupid of me to forget your Elven ancestry.” He closes his eyes, eyebrows squinting together, surely blaming himself far too hard for this. “Forgive me, for ruining the exercise you entrusted me with.”

“Come here,” Astarion opens his arms, and Gale, still guilty and puppy-faced, shifts closer to his embrace. “Gale, my dearest love,” he runs cold fingers across his face, “you didn't ruin anything. The attempt is more important than the score, and besides,” the fingers run to tease at Gale’s lips, “who said you’d need to stop if I woke up?”

At that, Gale’s eyes round in surprise. He lowers them down, to the arm connecting to the lean fingers now resting playfully on his mouth. His eyes flicker shut with devotion, and with a gentle caress, he leads the sly fingers to the soft wetness of his tongue.

So easy to give in, his husband is. The submission is like a second skin to his face, pure and natural. Astarion finds that he is… a tad jealous of that fact, after experiencing the encompassing feeling first handedly a few days prior. Could he, just maybe…?

A slight shudder runs through him before Astarion’s mouth agrees to open. “Love, perhaps…”

Gale is looking at him, willing for anything, eager to fulfill any of Astarion’s wishes. And for a second, he can’t stand it, as the envy sizzles inside him, boiling up to the tips of his ears. “Stop, I—”

Gale drops his hold on him immediately.

Astarion takes a calming breath, toning down, attempting to keep his emotions in check. Gale shouldn’t receive the sharp edge of his tongue. He deserves so much more, a much better treatment than this. He is full only of care and love for Astarion, evident in the tone of his next question as well.

“What is it?”

Astarion deliberately retreats his fingers from Gale’s mouth. “What we did last time,” he begins, taking his time, extending the words to build up his resolve. “I would like to…” He locks onto his husband’s infinitely deep eyes. “Would you like to try that again? It doesn’t have to be exactly the same, but…” He asks with a thoughtful gesture of his wrist, and a hint of charm as a garnish.

And so, of course Gale is getting the wrong idea.

“It is about me…” Gale swallows, the words stuck in his throat. “Being more assertive, in what I want?” He continues before Astarion has any time to comment. “Because I can promise you, nothing in what we’re doing now upsets me in any form or measure. I’d gladly service you each time and on every opportunity you’d allow me to. I don’t need you to change anything for my sake.”

Gale breathes then, they both do.

It is still a bit frightening, asking for this. But he wants to, he wants this. So, with softened words, he responds. “But would you have liked it? If I was a bit more…” And instead of explaining further, he slides his still Gale-saliva-wet fingers into his own mouth, imitating his husband’s submissiveness around them as he lets them glide back and forth on his tongue. 

He surveys Gale’s expression through half-lidded eyes.

Guilt isn’t the best color on Gale’s face. It sullies the finest of his features, cracking the smooth surface around the corners. But through these unruly cracks, the blush of truth shines brightly for Astarion’s eyes. He gets the answer he hoped for.

Relief settles in his throat, and a seductive smile lifts the corners of his lips.

“You would. Wouldn’t you?” His tone is a soft invitation, right for Gale’s ears.

He settles more comfortably on the bed. Like a kitten in the sun, relaxed but still ready to pull his nails at the slightest tug of a woollen ball. It could be a bit of a game, between the two of them. Gale could hold him firmly in place, tie his hands with silk, and keep him just out of reach of his magnificent body. He could fuck into his mouth from this angle, grab his chin to keep him just at the right position for his own pleasure. Yes, yes, oh. And he could ask him to submit, to let Gale take care of everything for him. He wouldn’t need to hasten; fear would have no place in his mind anymore. He would just need to… trust.

“My light, would you take the reins from me?” he whispers, his voice turning low and husky. “I don’t need them anymore.”

He casts a short glance to the side, emphasizing his next point. “When we are alone…” Gale’s eyes pierce through him, and he struggles to mask the shiver they send down his spine. “You are so good to me. And last time, when I gave them away… I enjoyed it,” he smiles, sincerity slipping in. “I truly, purely enjoyed it. Would you help me feel that way again?”

Gale is kissing him then. Fast, fierce, lips demanding, pressing him down into the pillow below until his mind goes static, and a moan is rumbling in his throat. Quick to adapt as ever, Gale’s hand joins the effort, curling around his nape to keep him in place. How does Gale know, how does Gale see what he needs, with such a precise amount of force and skill that leaves him gasping for air he doesn’t even need? Breathless, mindless a bit already, a thousand tiny sparks gush through him, and he lets the moan out at the first brush of Gale’s tongue on his own.

Gale kisses him until his head spins, devoid of thought except for the slight wish for Gale to lead him, to guide him, to take him, please. He can’t stop the faint whine that escapes his lips when Gale pulls away.

“You’re sublime, my love,” Gale pants hot into his mouth, backing away with a slight tremble before cupping Astarion’s cheek. “I’d do everything in my power to help you feel that way again.” Another breath, and his voice turns serious, careful. “But as we’re more accustomed to this dance from the other way around, I’d rather tread carefully. Is there anything you’d prefer I avoid?”

Astarion considers the question. One answer lurks at the edges of his mind, creeping in and darkening his thoughts. 

“No pain.”

“Of course. Is there anything specific you would like me to do?”

“You read me quite well as it is, my dear. Though… I wouldn’t mind trying to let you tie up my hands, if that’s of any interest to you.”

“The softest of fabrics it shall be,” Gale’s smile is resplendent, reassuring. Does he know that? Damn. Astarion hopes he knows that. “Anything else you’d like to explore? Might I dare to suggest… a blindfold?”

Astarion flinches at the question. How could he not? Darkness is an awful, suffocating reminder… A year he’d rather forget, a pain that flares to life with each ghost of a memory. But… he needs to overwrite this. He has to overwrite this. And Gale, Gale is finally voicing what he truly wants, finally pulling his buried desires into the light. How could Astarion refuse? He could refuse him, but he doesn’t wish to. He takes a deep breath.

“Perhaps… for a short while?”

Gale is seeing through his hesitance, of course he does. “We don’t have to. The last thing I’d want is for you to feel compelled to do anything. What matters most is that you—”

“No, it’s fine,” Astarion cuts him off, swallowing the lump forming in his throat. “It’s more than fine, actually. It’s important. Let’s try. Just… briefly, at first?”

Gale kisses his forehead then, so tenderly, as if the simple gesture could ward away any evil spirit, any horror of Astarion’s past, present, or future. He lets it calm his nerves, sinking deeper into the cushions.

Gale hums in approval, caressing softly from the curls at his forehead down next to the lines of his eye. “Pick a safeword for us, love?”

He lets his mind run, considering the options. Searching for something safe, something special, something the two of them might find amusing, something uniquely tied to them, or just… something that is dear to them.

“Waterdeep,” he smiles when it dawns on him. “If we’ve strayed far enough to start talking about the city , we should probably stop what we’re doing anyway.”

“Waterdeep it is, then,” Gale smiles back at him, merriment brightening his eyes. After a short while, the serious carefulness returns to coat his next words. “I’ll blindfold you, but only for the briefest moment it takes to tie your hands, and after that, your sight will be yours again. Does that sound agreeable to you?”

“Sounds… like a delicate start.”

Gale’s voice is as warm as his breath when he replies. “Good.”

Gale casts a brief incantation, and with a flick of his wrist, a magical hand appears. It floats down to open the third drawer on the nightstand near his side of the bed, rising to bring them a bordeaux eye cover embellished with dainty embroidery of glowing golden leaves.

“So, you were prepared?” Astarion asks teasingly, raising a brow with a gleeful smirk.

“I may have entertained the thought—wasn’t sure we’d have the chance to put it to use, but… do you like it?” Gale’s tone is slightly cheeky when he answers, though his blush is as wonderful as ever, rising upwards along his neck.

Well, a bit of truthful praise didn’t kill anyone, not yet at least. “I do. It is a beautifully crafted work, Gale.”

Gale sighs in relief. “I’m glad.”

With tender fingers, Gale reaches to cup his cheek, and retrieves the blindfold from the magical hand. “I can’t help but think how much more beautiful it would be on you.”

“I’m sure,” the playfulness is back in Astarion’s voice. “And… you have a matching set hiding around to tie my hands with?”

“Oh, that… that is a surprise, if you wouldn’t mind it to be.”

“Oh? Well, consider me curious. I will be waiting patiently, though. Any surprise by your hands will surely be a delight, my heart.”

The compliment still manages to catch Gale in a bit of bewilderment, as his cheeks turn a mite redder. “I am humbled,” he replies in kind and takes a breath in preparation. “So, shall we begin?”

Astarion nods, searching his eyes. The fear is there, in both of them, but he knows he’ll be fine with Gale by his side.

Acknowledging his trust, Gale nods back and raises the curtain for the first act of their play.

“Close your eyes.”

So Astarion does.

He’s not… there, even in the grey darkness that unfolds around him. He’s here. On their bed, Gale’s warmth on his skin as he leans closer, the perfume of slight nervousness and usual amber tickling his nose. He’s here when Gale’s soft fingertips are at the back of his scalp, tying the garment, firm but not too tight. And he’s here when Gale breathes in his ear, words tempting like jewels he can’t keep his hands from trying to steal.

“Gods, you are beautiful, my love,” Gale clicks his tongue in admiration. “Your splendor cannot be put into words; you outshine the brightest of stars.” He pauses, just at the right span of time for a shudder to prickle Astarion’s skin. “I’ve missed you. And now you’re all mine. And I’m all yours. But for now… let’s see where this morning takes us.”

His husband had learned some rather convenient words while Astarion hadn’t been paying attention, now hadn’t he? The thought of Gale trying to mimic his own art of seduction… It’s endearing, don’t get him wrong, though somehow still very effective. He holds himself from shuddering yet again.

Well, he shouldn’t be surprised; Gale had learned from the best, after all. He should tell him he’s noticed, should compliment him, admit he’s missed him just the same. He is going to melt if Gale continues talking to him that way. He reaches out, his hand brushing forward, mouth parting to say—

“Hush, love. You don’t need to say a thing,” Gale whispers, caressing his cheek, and the thought dies in his throat. “I already know what you want.”

He holds his breath, the anticipation trickling down his skin.

Gale slowly, with deliberate intention, runs his hands down the cool expanse of Astarion’s skin. From his cheek and shoulder, down the lean yet defined muscles of his arms, the elbow, the forearms, before coming to a halt at his wrists, gentle but demanding. He expects Gale’s hands to lead him. Expects another soft command, expects the liquid smoothness of silk to wrap around his wrists to keep him from marking Gale all over as soon as he can.

He doesn’t expect a soft pulling noise at the side of the room, followed by a clunk, clunk, clunk of small metal objects clashing together. It’s weird, but not too alarming. What is Gale doing out there?

Then there’s a thick, muted thud of heavy textile as it hits the floor, and—

He certainly doesn’t expect the light.

Suddenly light is washing over him, so strong he can see it through the blindfold. And warmth, surrounding him in a long forgotten embrace. 

Is that—? But it can’t be. It’s not—

He stands before he can help himself.

Gale’s hands are still on him, and now they are quietly leading him to the source. One step after the other, the air around them only gets warmer, serene, better. It’s like finally remembering how to breathe after long years of not being able to. It’s like standing in Baldur’s Gate, victorious after defeating them all. It’s like taking the first step to enter a joyous meeting by the shore, rejoining friends he has missed for so long, catching the smiles in their eyes when they see him approach.

Astarion can’t stop his lower lip from trembling. For one of the few times in his life, he stutters. “G-Gale, is that…?”

Gale releases his hold on his hands and slides to stand behind him, swiftly untying the fabric covering his eyes. They both breathe in sharply when the blindfold finally falls.

The sun.

It’s the sun. And the sea. And Waterdeep. Stretching as far as the eyes can see. Glittering in glorious sparkles behind the thick glass of the window and the shining, transparent fabric streaming before it.

He’s unhurt. Unburned. How is that possible?

Gale clears his throat and nervously jitters behind him. “It took me… a while, to figure out how to let only the good particles of sunlight pass through the intricate stitches, hence the creative solution of the little starlets, or so I like to call the little sparkling bits, woven at just the right angle and distance from each other to allow as much imagery to pass as possible. Then there was the work of memorizing the exact shape of what I created to be able to replicate it, and the reproduction process is still time-consuming, as the complexity of the work is…”

He can’t hear it anymore.

So he silences his stupid, best husband with a tilt of his neck and a very rushed kiss. He pours all his roaring emotions into it, leaning in deeper, devouring the sweetness of Gale’s lips as though it were the kindness of his soul itself. He wants to show Gale how utterly touched he is, but somehow when their lips part, he finds Gale’s bashful eyes studying his face, uncertain. 

“I… took the liberty of replacing all of our curtains. Is that…?”

“It’s fine. Of course it’s fine. No. It’s more than fine. Gale, you let me see the fucking sun again. You…” Gale is still sheepishly glancing down, and as Astarion follows his gaze downward, a hint of his wrists comes into view. 

He twists them once, twice, the faintest flicker of thought beginning to stir in the back of his mind.

The realization hits him. 

“You tricked me! I thought we were going to… and then you—ugh, you charlatan, pretty-faced bastard.” He can’t fully force the smile away from his face. “Tell me, did you even wake me on purpose with that spell, was it all part of your little mischievous scheme?”

“What can I say? Being around you... Well, I guess you could say I acquired some beneficial techniques. The art of smoke and mirrors, for instance, is another of your fine contributions. You’ve taught me the delicate charm of distraction, how to create an illusion where none actually exists. To pull focus in one direction while something far more significant happens elsewhere. It’s a bit like magic, in my opinion, only without the flourish and the incantations. Don’t you agree?” Gale bows theatrically, a playful spark in his eyes, he doesn’t wait for Astarion to answer. “So, may I take it that the gift found favor with you?”

Astarion’s eyes drift to stare in silence out of the window again. Not far away, a bird flaps its wings with a joyful melody. In the distance, he can spot the crashing splash of the waves, and beneath them, the city as it comes to life, with people hurrying around to get to their jobs.

It’s hard to tear his gaze away. It’s easier when his husband is on the other side of his look.

“Should I kiss you until you get the idea?”

“How could I ever refuse such an offer?” Gale replies, the tinge of playfulness still warm on his tongue. “But first, I’d like to show you the rest of the tower. You deserve to see it from every possible angle. And…”

He turns away for a moment, grabbing a thick square of more shining fabric, folded neatly. It looks heavy in his arms. “For you. I almost commissioned a whole coordinated set, but then I wondered—wouldn’t you prefer to make it your own? Stitch them together, sew them to other garments, or use them however inspiration strikes?" He passes him the fabric, and it feels lighter than it looks. He can’t believe his ears, or what he’s holding. Is it real? And Gale… “Oh, I almost neglected to say the one thing that matters most.” His eyes reflect the sun shining back from the window. His smile is even brighter than his eyes. 

“Happy anniversary, my dearest love.”

Astarion is, without a shred of a doubt, the luckiest man to ever live. Or unlive. It doesn’t fucking matter. Gale. Gale is his sun, today and always. And he gave him the light of the physical one as a gift; he bent the rules of the universe and made the impossible possible. Just for him.

It wouldn’t have mattered what Gale’s present would have been. He didn’t actually believe Gale would return the sun to him as he said. Not because of a lack of belief in Gale’s abilities, but to guard himself from expectations, and disappointments. But Gale proved him wrong. His husband. His promise. For the rest of their long lives, he’d believe. And trust. And learn.

He brushes away a tear that welled in the corner of his eye and somehow managed to break free. Gale’s warm hand comes to rest on his own.

First things first, Gale should know Astarion thought of him as well.

“I have a gift for you, too.”

He goes to the closet and hands Gale a purple house robe and a pair of matching slippers, embroidered golden lines in labyrinthine patterns circle around the garments.

“You made these? For me?” Gale is way too happy, way too soon.

“They’re enchanted,” Astarion explains, a nervous lilt to his voice. “Prestidigitation to keep you warm, or cool you down according to the temperature around you. Dear Tara helped. And the sleeves have Light in them, so you wouldn’t need to light a candle to write at later hours of the night. It should also provide a calming massage when you sit, which can obviously be turned off. It has Mend on itself and… Oh, dear me. I’m talking more than you usually do.”

Gale chuckles and kisses him briefly. “Astarion, these are nothing short of extraordinary. Practical, yes, but far more than that. I can feel the thought and care you've poured into them, how you thought about… me, while creating them. I’m truly touched, I’m… I’ll wear them every day, every night, every second as long as I’m fortunate enough to have them.”

“Well, hopefully, you will not wear them all the time,” Astarion teases. “Though it shouldn’t be a problem to test our fun with them one or two times, I’d much rather see you fully naked when possible.”

Though Gale is blushing, he still has enough warmth in his eyes to say simply, “Thank you. I love them.”

Astarion looks as Gale slides the robe on his shoulders and sighs as it blissfully adjusts to the perfect temperature around him. Well, now he knows at least the first aspect has hit the mark. 

Then Gale turns back to him, care and warmth shining true in his eyes. “I love you.”

A matching smile on his lips, a glittering (not crying!) spark in his eyes.

There’s just one answer Astarion had learned to speak in truth, really.

“I love you, too.”