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It was early, barely even midnight, yet Astarion found himself saying good night to his compatriots and heading upstairs to read in bed. Hells, had turning down ascension made him boring already? No, that wasn't it. The conversation was stifling, the drinks were piss, and the bards only sang songs he'd heard too many times before. Elfsong was dull, and Astarion was just too tired to find someplace better to go. Sated on Bhaalist assassin blood, he didn't even need to go hunting.
The only inhabitants of their floor were Withers and Gale, standing creepily by the dumbwaiter and snug as a bug asleep under the covers respectively. Astarion snorted a soft laugh. At least he was still more fun than either of them. Kicking off his boots and stripping off his trousers, Astarion looked for the book he'd been reading, but stopped suddenly.
In the bed next to his own, Gale was pretending to be asleep. Astarion sniffed the air: sweat and arousal. He listened closely to hear a thundering heartbeat and effortful breaths.
Finally, something interesting was happening. After quick deliberation, Astarion determined that the most embarrassing thing for Gale would be the direct approach, so he sat on his own bed and smiled at his neighbor's fake-sleeping form.
"Good evening Gale, how's the wank going?"
Quickened pulse, a whiff of precum… Delicious. Astarion wished he was the kind of creature who could smell shame. Unfortunately, Gale said nothing and only continued to pretend to sleep.
"I am a vampire and an elf, darling, you can't possibly think you'd fool me when your heart is beating so fast."
No response.
"If you don't stop pretending to be asleep, I'm going to rip the blankets off of you."
Gale's eyes flew open, hands clutching the blankets up to his chin. "Did it ever occur to you that you could just silently notice that I was indisposed and do the decent thing of ignoring it!?"
Of course it occurred to Astarion to ignore it, but it was only worth doing if he thought Gale would continue masturbating, which he clearly never would have.
"Why'd you stop?"
"Astarion." Gale's cheeks were flushed, and he said Astarion's name like it was a sentence all its own. Like just saying 'Astarion' with a period at the end constituted a warning and a scolding and a proclamation of moral superiority.
"Gale," Astarion replied, not a proclamation, but an offer given with a knowing smile and a raised eyebrow. "Come on, you must be so pent up. You wouldn't have started unless you really needed it. Now, put those hands of yours where I can't see them."
A puzzled expression. "What, so you can sit here and leer at me?"
Astarion settled further back onto his mattress. "This is my bed, Gale. I came up early to read and trance. So, just be a good boy and put your hands back on that sweet little cock of yours."
"Shh! Withers is going to hear you!" He hissed, blushing deeper.
"What do I care if some old skeleton hears you wanking off?" Astarion scoffed.
"I care, Astarion."
"You shouldn't. It doesn't matter. Come on, Gale. This is the most interesting thing that's happened to me all night." He pouted. "Or do you want me to beg you, because I can beg so prettily."
"No, don't do that." He grimaced. "Just be normal."
"Don't do what?" Astarion felt affronted.
"That fake thing, it's awful. Just be mean and strange. Be yourself, and I'll…" He blushed deeper and gulped. "I'll, you know. Finish. Under the covers." He clenched his eyes shut and then opened them again. "Are you really going to watch?"
"I think so," Astarion admitted. "I was planning on it, yes."
"But why? You can't see anything." The blanket wasn't quite at his chin anymore, but he wasn't wrong. Still, Astarion didn't care.
"If we dont stop arguing about this, someone else is going to come up."
At long last, Gale started the show, and what a terrible show it was. His movements under the blanket were barely perceptible, Astarion needed to strain to hear even the tiniest hint of the wet sound of his hand on his cock. His face was focused, his eyes shut. Every so often, he made a tiny shuddering exhale, and that was by far the highlight, until he opened his eyes, exasperated. "Are you really just going to stare at me?"
"You're not giving me much to stare at, but yes. I think I will." Astarion didn't know why he wanted this so much, but he did want it.
Gale huffed out a little breath of frustration. "Fine." This time he didn't close his eyes, he kept them on Astarion. A glare, at first, that turned into something half-lidded and really quite lovely. Astarion held his gaze, watching his eyelids flutter, feeling the corners of his own mouth tugging upwards without his permission. Gale's eyes slid down Astarion's body, over his unlaced shirt and his bare legs. His breathing got more ragged, his cheeks a deeper pink.
What would he look like without the blankets or his horrendous purple shirt? How far down would that blush travel? Gale was a hairy man, Astarion had seen him bathing and dressing plenty of times. What would he look like, laid out like a feast, doing whatever it was he was doing that made his eyebrows quirk into an expression of anguish? Astarion looked into Gale's eyes and wondered what he kissed like, wondered what he was thinking about. He wondered if his cock tasted of Karsite Weave the way his blood did.
At least Astarion could smell his precum, and knew the volume of it had increased since he arrived. That seemed like something Gale should know, so he told him: "I can smell how wet you are, you know. You're enjoying this, you little pervert."
Gale tensed, wincing and shuddering, the smell of him oozing even more precome into his hand made Astarion feel a little dizzy with power.
"Wetter and wetter! Hells, Gale, you're loving this, aren't you? Does your own hand really feel that good?"
The motion was shaky, but Gale nodded, speaking in a ragged whisper. "Yes, it feels wonderfully good."
The sudden honesty was disarming when it should have been off-putting. Bizarrely, Astarion was warmed that Gale felt good. He couldn't remember the last time he enjoyed another person's pleasure at all, let alone this much. Gale's breaths began to come more quickly in nearly silent pants and shudders, nostrils twitching and eyes lost in a haze, even as they looked into Astarion's own.
Something happened, a strange inspiration borne out of the ether, and Astarion suddenly found himself wanting to offer something. To Gale, to himself, to the tense fragility of this haphazard little moment, Astarion whispered a tiny piece of honesty: "you know, you really are quite lovely like this."
Maybe his timing was coincidentally perfect, or maybe the shock of sincere Astarion sent Gale over the edge all by itself. His eyebrows shot up his forehead, and his mouth opened in a small groan.
Astarion allowed the silence to fill the space for a moment before asking: "Do you need a rag or do you have a cantrip you can use?"
Oh, but Gale laughed at that, a weak little chuckle causing a stutter in his breathing.
This was the part when the shame and revulsion and dread were supposed to come in, so why was Astarion smiling?
"I have a cantrip, but thank you." Gale shifted his weight and cleared his throat, blushing somehow even deeper. "You're still staring at me. Do you want me to–"
"No." Astarion spoke too quickly and then found himself irritated by a hint of concern that flashed over Gale's face. His jaw clenched. "What would you do if I came over there and put your spent, soft little cock in my mouth and sucked it until you were sobbing?"
"What?" Gale frowned in confusion. "Why would you want to do that?"
How tedious! "Ugh! Forget it. Go to sleep, Gale."
"Forgive me, I don't understand what just happened." He looked hurt, which was all wrong.
What a frustrating person. "I came upstairs while you were pleasuring yourself, saw through your flimsy pretenses of sleeping, and encouraged you to finish your good work. You did, and it was…" He struggled for the right words. "It was very pleasant." He sniffed, annoyed at having to say that he enjoyed himself. "And now it's beddyby time for all the little wizards who wear idiotic purple outfits, so close your eyes and go to sleep."
–
Dried blood flaked off of the wall of the Lower City hovel Astarion and Gale were standing in, keeping watch while the others searched the cellar. Things had been strange between them for days, with Gale constantly blushing and looking away whenever they made eye contact, like some sort of virginal maiden.
Standing watch was boring. Astarion was bored.
"Stand here." There was a corner without any blood or viscera in it, which seemed like something Gale would like. He did as he was told without asking why, which thrilled Astarion to no end.
"What am I meant to be seeing?" He was examining the wall, looking for hidden writing or a switch somewhere.
"I found the only part of the room with no gore in it, and have offered it to you as a gift," Astarion said standing behind him, immensely pleased with himself. "Untie your robes."
"What!?" Astarion had never heard Gale's voice so high. "We're meant to be keeping watch." His pulse sped up, skin warming with poisoned blood. It was heady to be this close to him, it made Astarion's skin itch.
"Keeping watch is boring. I need to be entertained." Astarion pouted. "C'mon, it'll be fun, like the other night, except without Withers listening."
"Withers wasn't listening!" Gale hissed.
Withers was listening, had said something cryptic and creepy to Astarion the next morning about the transience of flesh.
"This is a terrible idea." Gale parted his robes and unlaced his trousers, wonderfully sullen.
Looming over his shoulder, murmuring into his ear, Astarion drank in Gale's strange obedience. "What a sweet little cock! Go on and touch it."
"It's normal sized," Gale protested even as he diligently put a hand on himself.
Astarion laughed. "It's barely a phallus, more of a decorative flourish if anything. It's beautiful, like a little trinket."
Gale winced, quickly chubbing up as he stroked himself.
"See? Doesn't that feel good? You needed this. You're so lucky I was here. Do you think you can finish before the others return or the Fists start knocking?"
Gale shuddered and turned to look over his shoulder at Astarion, lips parted, little puffs of breath hitting Astarion's face. Oh, Gale liked that. He liked the idea that he might get found out.
"Did you like that I caught you, the other night?"
A ragged breath and a curt nod.
"How many nights did you go to bed early, squirming under the covers with your hands between your legs, imagining being discovered?"
Gale's eyes fluttered shut. "Astarion." Another use of his name as a full statement, but this one was a weaker sort of chiding, a pathetic impression of protestation poorly covering up a plea for something.
It was hard to smell over the rankness of old blood and rotten food, but Astarion caught a whiff of precum. Gale's breath was human and alive. "When was the last time someone else touched that useless little thing you're playing with?"
Gale's expression shifted like window shutters being opened and closed and opened again in quick succession, finally landing on wide, glassy eyes.
"Such big brown eyes," Astarion murmured, snaking an arm around and placing a hand on Gale's. "Like a prey animal. Gentle as a cow." They were so close, it would be so easy to just lean in and kiss him, to take advantage of that clever mouth hanging open slack and stupid for once.
Instead, Astarion smiled, making a tight circle with his fingers and palm, squeezing Gale slightly, relishing the way he shook and panted. "You may fuck my hand now."
Astarion couldn't remember if all cocks got so wet, if they all felt so hot and alive, pulse thrumming through them, but Gale's did. He rabbited his hips forward into Astarion's hand like maybe no one had touched him in over a year. He was a wild hare held in Astarion's teeth, who twitched and shook and blinked his pretty eyes in gratitude for the privilege of being caught.
"Hurry up and finish before someone finds you rutting into my hand."
His kiss was not a tangle of tongues and desperation, but a touch to Gale's cheekbone on the skin above his beard, a soft thing that he hoped a prey animal could understand.
"Astarion." A whisper halfway between a question and a benediction.
The shell of his ear was flushed red. Mindful of fangs, Astarion took it into his mouth and bit. With a loud shout of surprise-pain-pleasure, Gale came, Astarion quickly catching his spend in his palm.
The approaching sound of footsteps was immediate. Astarion pressed a quick kiss to the side of Gale's head and spun around to face the door, hands behind his back in his most official pose.
A Flaming Fist burst through the front door. "What was all that shouting? No one's supposed to be in here."
Still facing the corner, Gale's heartbeat was pounding out of his chest. Astarion wondered if he'd had time to put his dick away.
"Shh!" Astarion scolded. "You imbecile. Don't interrupt. Didn't Gortash inform you?"
"What are you on about? This is a crime scene. You can't be here. Saer, in the corner, please turn around and show me that you're unharmed."
"He'll do nothing of the sort! This is the great psychic detective Elag, hired at great expense to solve these grizzly murders by his personal friend Enver Gortash."
"I didn't hear anything about–"
"What is your name? Are you implying that Enver Gortash needs to do a better job keeping you up to date with all of his business?"
That worked. That always worked. The Fist apologized and exited swiftly. Extremely proud of himself, Astarion spun back around to face Gale, who was hurriedly putting his robes to rights. "See? I told you it would be fun."
"Astarion." Another scolding, with the promise of an actual angry rant now that Gale's head was clearing of orgasmic fuzz.
"Gale." Astarion offered Gale his hand, where Gale's seed was quickly cooling and beginning to congeal, which shut him right up, painting another beautiful blush across his face.
"Oh, of course, apologies." He moved to do his little cantrip but Astarion stopped him, holding his palm in front of Gale's mouth. Realizing what Astarion was actually asking seemed to break him somehow, and he closed his eyes, lowering his mouth to lick up his spend, setting the nerves of Astarion's palm alight.
"What are the two of you doing up here?" Shadowheart looked up from the hatch in disgust.
"We got bored! Are you finally finished? Can we finally leave?" Astarion patted his spit cleaned hand on Gale's cheek affectionately.
"What were they doing?" Wyll climbed up next, frowning. "Gale, is he bullying you?"
Shadowheart nodded, arms crossed. "Astarion was making Gale lick his palm. Don't bully Gale!"
"I've never bullied anyone in my life!" Astarion fluttered an offended hand over the center of his chest. "Gale, tell them I wasn't bullying you. Tell them that we're friends."
"Astarion and I are friends."
"That wasn't convincing at all," Karlach popped her head out of the hatch.
Turning to Gale with a huff, Astarion tutted. "Don't listen to them. We are lovely, sweet, intimate friends and they're all just jealous."
"While I appreciate the concern, I am a fully grown man AND a terrifically talented, extremely powerful wizard. As if I would allow myself to be bullied!" Gale cleared his throat and reached out to grab Astarion's hand. "Astarion and I have in fact developed a deeply enriching friendship. He is not a bully and I am not bullied. We are simply two men engaging in friendship."
"This is weird, right?" Shadowheart narrowed her eyes, asking Karlach and Wyll.
"Weird to you, perhaps, Shadowheart, but two exceptional men like Astarion and myself are entitled to our eccentricities."
Looking down at where their hands were joined, Astarion had a terrible feeling of confusion. Gale's thumb soothed over his, and he had to suppress a shiver.
Wyll sighed in resignation. "I actually don't want to know anything about whatever this is." Shadowheart seemed to agree, and before Karlach could blurt out whatever she was smiling about, Lae'zel threw the severed arm of a clown up from the cellar.
–
It was early, not even midnight, and Astarion was filled with anxious energy. He hadn't gotten to fight that day and had only picked a few pockets, so his mind was racing in a maddening fashion. Of all things, his thoughts kept returning to the way Gale held his hand. Why would he do something like that? Their friendship was based on mutual animosity and stilted masturbation sessions. Or Gale would cast Hold Person on someone so Astarion could stab them a lot of times.
Maybe holding hands was a normal thing friends did. Astarion wouldn't know. He endured a hug every so often in the name of normal friendship, but still, the hands thing felt very intimate in a way that wasn't neutral or even bad. Puzzling, but Gale had done it in front of everyone, so it was probably all very normal.
Normal or not, it was occupying Astarion's thought. Extremely irritated, he marched up the stairs, finding Gale seated on his bed with a book. With a huff, Astarion sat down next to him. "Give me your hand."
Without looking up, Gale obeyed. His hand didn't look particularly special. Astarion compared it to his own. It was tan from traveling in the sun and about the same size as Astarion's. Uncalloused from a lifetime of easy living and relying on magic for difficult tasks. It was warm.
Closing his eyes and trying not to cringe, Astarion formed a lattice out of his fingers and Gale's, settling the heels of their palms together, and resting the resulting unified appendage between them. It felt nice. Gale's thumb did that thing again, that stroking soothing thing that should have felt absolutely vile but didn't.
The way Gale smiled quietly was the loudest, most insufferably smug sort of silence that Astarion had ever experienced. Astarion ignored him, picking up his own book from the floor and attempting to turn the tables, caressing Gale's thumb with his thumb.
The thumb stroking didn't speed up Gale's heartbeat at all, though. If anything, it seemed to slow it down. The steady thrum of it had an odd sort of hypnotic effect on Astarion, making him feel less like he was going to jump out of his skin than usual. They stayed like that, reading their books side by side, hands clasped between them, and let the evening pass them by. Hours later when the doors opened, Gale pressed a chaste kiss to Astarion's knuckles, and Astarion hurried to his own bed before anyone could accuse him of doing something as boring as holding hands and reading all night.
Maybe this was how Gale felt about having to wank off in a murder house– torn between how good something felt and how utterly undignified it was. Astarion wrinkled his nose. He would have to think of worse places to make Gale cum, and maybe let him get arrested next time. He could feel alright about holding hands if he got Gale arrested. It seemed only fair.