Chapter Text
Gale had been acting strange. Well, stranger than usual.
His wizard had a terribly expressive face, and Astarion found himself growing increasingly fond of it with each of his nightly visits. It wasn’t just the furrowed brow or the twitch of his lips that gave him away—it was his eyes. Those rich, doe-like eyes that, to Astarion’s dismay, had the power to make him weak at the knees. They were the most telling, always betraying the turmoil churning beneath Gale’s calm exterior.
Astarion didn’t need the tadpole to read the man like a book. He’d caught himself studying the wizard so intently, for so long, that picking up on his behaviors had become second nature.
Gale’s demeanor had shifted ever since the other night’s exploration of The Necromancy of Thay. His usual confident presence had been replaced with something frayed at the edges, his gaze darting away whenever Astarion so much as looked in his direction. There was a palpable distance now, a skittish avoidance that hadn’t been there before. Gale's shoulders seemed perpetually tense, as if bracing for some unseen blow, and he hesitated to linger too long in Astarion's company. He had even stopped attending their nightly hang-outs, if that’s what Astarion could call them. It was an interesting reaction, and Astarion couldn’t help but feel intrigued. What could it have been about that night, that book, that set Gale on edge?
Astarion couldn’t say, but he knew that despite the tension, the two of them always ended up together. Many nights were spent at camp with nothing but the fire and the camp animals to keep them company. Gale would slave over the cauldron, while Astarion digested the blood of an unfortunate forest creature and watched. Watched how Gale’s large fingers were so precise when dicing the meager ingredients the group scavenged during their adventures, how sweat beaded on the man’s olive-toned skin whenever he spent too long by the fireside, how that ridiculous smile stretched across those ever-so-biteable lips when he’d done something right. And once dinner was done, they’d cozy up in each other’s tent to read, chat, or attempt to get that blasted necromantic tome to reveal its secrets.
Tonight was one such night, and with Tav off on a supply run, Gale was in charge of dinner again. There he knelt by the fire, sleeves rolled up as he gutted a fish with focused precision. Only Gale could make that look attractive, Astarion mused, watching him intently. His arms were coated in fish guts and blood, sweat beading along the crease of his furrowed brow, his lips drawn between his teeth in concentration. Astarion found himself wanting to lick away the sweat, to taste the wizard without tainting his body with Gale’s blood.
With a smirk, he strolled over and leaned against a tree. "You know, darling," he purred, "if you keep sweating so much, you’ll start to look as greasy as that fish."
Gale flinched then looked up, rolling his eyes. "And if you keep staring, Astarion, you’ll burn a hole through my head."
"Maybe I'm waiting for a taste," Astarion replied, lips curling. He stepped closer, slowly circling Gale as he tried not to fumble his work. "Who knew fish gutting could be so... delightful to watch?"
Gods, Astarion was fucked, wasn’t he?
Gale huffed, raising an arm to wipe his brow. This motion caused his tunic to ride up, offering Astarion the briefest glimpse of a round, hairy stomach. Astarion bit his lip, hardly noticing when his fang grazed against the tender skin. Gale was temptation incarnate, a fact that seemed to grow increasingly hard to ignore.
“You’re still staring,” Gale muttered without looking up, his voice tense. His hands worked methodically, but the slight clench in his jaw betrayed irritation—or was it something else?
“Oh, don’t flatter yourself, darling,” Astarion replied, leaning casually against the tree. “I’m simply admiring your technique. Clearly, you’re a natural at this rustic life.”
Gale’s lips tightened as he set down the fish a bit harder than necessary. “Not everyone has the luxury of relying on silver tongues and smirks to get what they want.”
“Ah, but where would the charm be if everyone did?” Astarion’s eyes gleamed as he stepped even closer. “You seem… flustered, wizard.”
Gale’s gaze finally lifted, meeting Astarion’s with a cool intensity. “And you seem… insatiable. Is this constant observation of mine truly a quest for understanding, or just your latest game?”
Astarion grinned, his eyes dancing with mischief. “What if it’s both? Can you honestly say you’re not the least bit intrigued by my attention?”
Gale’s shoulders stiffened, and he turned back to his task, his face partially hidden but visibly flushed. “Some of us focus on more than surface-level indulgences, Astarion.”
“Ah, the noble martyr,” Astarion sighed, crossing his arms and lowering his voice to a near whisper. “Tell me, Gale… are you so sure you’d hate every indulgence? Life is rather short, after all. Even for the mighty.”
Gale swallowed, his hands pausing for the briefest of moments before he forced himself to continue. “Some of us know better than to dive into shallow waters. You may find they’re not as refreshing as they seem from the edge.”
“Such a scholar—always weighing the risks.” Astarion leaned even closer, his lips just inches from Gale’s ear. “Maybe one day you’ll find that some risks are worth taking.”
Gale straightened abruptly, taking a deliberate step back. “Perhaps. But should I indulge, I suspect you’d find yourself rather… disappointed. I’d hate to ruin your carefully crafted image of me.”
“Oh, believe me,” Astarion murmured, “there’s nothing disappointing about you, my dear Gale. You’re just as fascinating as you are… elusive.”
Gale’s mouth twitched, a smile threatening to break his stern expression. “I think you overestimate your powers of persuasion. But by all means, try to convince me.”
Astarion grinned wider, savoring the challenge. “Ah, an invitation! I’ll take that as a ‘don’t stop trying.’”
Gale’s gaze softened slightly, his cheeks tinged pink as he turned back to the fish with a faint smile.
Just then, Tav returned, their voice echoing through the camp. “Wow, Gale, that smells amazing!” They leaned over the cauldron, taking an appreciative sniff, oblivious to the tension. Astarion’s nostrils flared as he watched Gale shift back into his usual reserved self, immediately joining Tav in casual conversation.
“Surely there’s enough praise to go around?” Astarion’s voice cut in, laced with mock sweetness.
Gale looked up, flustered but composed. “Ah, well, it’s just… good to have everyone back safe.”
“Safe, yes,” Astarion said, his gaze lingering. “But I can’t help but wonder, are you avoiding me, Gale?”
Tav chuckled. “You two are ridiculous,” they said, smiling and shaking their head.
Astarion watched Gale carefully, his gaze sharp and calculating. He would have to corner the wizard soon if he wanted answers. And he fully intended to.
He slunk off to his tent as the others ate Gale’s meal, settling in for a patient wait. He would strike when the moment was right, though by now, he knew it would take more than a simple confrontation. Gale was different—more guarded, more distant since that night. And the thought gnawed at Astarion like a particularly insistent itch he couldn’t quite scratch.
As he lay there, mind spinning, Astarion allowed himself a moment of reflection. Why did it matter so much? It wasn’t like he needed Gale to like him. He’d long since accepted that the world—men, women, whoever—was just a means to an end. But Gale had wormed past Astarion’s defenses in a way no one else ever had. That bloody smile, those damned eyes, that vulnerability buried so deep under layers of sarcasm and wit.
“Why the hell do you care so much, Astarion?” he muttered to himself, staring at the tent ceiling as though it might offer some answers. He hadn’t allowed himself to care for anyone in centuries—hell, he’d barely allowed himself to feel anything since the torture.
The memories of Cazador came rushing back, uninvited. The brutal nights in that hellish crypt, the way he’d been forced to watch, to endure, to serve—always willing to sell his soul for just a little bit of control. It was why he pushed people away; why he had to be careful not to let anyone in. Because people died when you let them too close, and Astarion knew that better than anyone.
Still, Gale wasn’t a parasite. He wasn’t something Astarion felt the need to be rid of. No, Gale was different. Despite the distance, despite the walls Gale had put up, Astarion felt... something.
“Damn it, Gale,” he whispered, his voice barely a rasp. “You’ve been through so much... just like me.” The thought of Gale, lost in his own painful history, struck a chord within him.
But that only made things more complicated. The last thing Astarion needed was to drag someone else into his own tangled mess. But what was it that kept him watching, waiting? What was it about Gale that had Astarion feeling more vulnerable than he’d ever let on?
The sound of Gale’s footsteps in the distance interrupted his thoughts. It was time.
Astarion quickly shifted into a pose of nonchalance, his usual air of elegance in place, as Gale cleared his throat and peeked past the tent flaps.
“Astarion, are you here?” Gale’s voice wavered, and gods, it made Astarion want to yank him by his supple face into a searing kiss.
“Naturally, darling, this is my tent, after all.” Astarion’s tone was a teasing purr, but his gaze lingered a moment too long on Gale’s lips. “Have you come to apologize after several nights of forgoing our usual trysts?” He raised a brow, his smirk widening, as if daring Gale to answer.
Gale shifted uncomfortably, his fingers twitching at his side, but his eyes couldn’t quite meet Astarion’s. “I… it’s not like that,” he muttered, too quietly for Astarion to hear clearly, though it was the familiar tone of guilt.
Astarion’s smirk faltered for just a moment, but he quickly regained his composure. “Oh, really? I could’ve sworn I felt something missing these past few nights. A pity, truly.” His eyes gleamed with a challenge, a silent invitation for Gale to admit what they both knew but refused to speak aloud.
Gale’s jaw clenched, his gaze flicking up for a brief moment, catching Astarion’s. There it was—the unspoken tension, thick and heavy between them, a silent battle neither of them was quite ready to face.
“I… I’ve been busy,” Gale finally said, his voice lower now, strained. "But that doesn’t mean I forgot."
Astarion's grin softened, the teasing edge dimming for a moment as his heart skipped a beat. “I never thought you would, darling." He let the silence hang for a beat, allowing the weight of the words to settle in the air between them.
Astarion watched as Gale took his usual seat across from him, a heavy sigh escaping his lips as he pulled out the thick tome he’d been reading. The flickering firelight danced across Gale’s face, casting shadows that made his features all the more enticing. Astarion’s gaze lingered a little too long on the curve of his neck, the way the firelight kissed his skin. He quickly forced himself to look away, pretending to adjust the pages of his own book, but his mind was not on the text in front of him.
They always did this. Settled into this routine of reading, exchanging brief, idle conversation, each one pretending they didn’t know how it felt to be in the same room, the same space, in this maddening proximity. As if they didn’t both feel it—this pull that grew stronger every time they shared a moment like this.
"Have you read this one before?" Gale asked, his voice smooth, a little too casual, as if he didn’t know Astarion had already devoured every book in their shared collection multiple times.
"Of course." Astarion’s reply was almost too quick, too eager. "Do you really think I would spend my nights here without indulging in the finer things?"
Gale’s lips twitched into a small, unreadable smile. "I don’t know, Astarion. You’ve always had a way of making things… interesting."
Astarion’s heart skipped a beat at the quiet implication. He wasn’t sure if Gale was aware of how much those words unsettled him, how they crawled beneath his skin in ways he would never admit aloud. His fingers drummed idly against the book in front of him, eyes trained on the text but never really seeing it.
"Is that so?" he managed, his voice smoother than he felt. "I do try to keep things interesting, in case you hadn’t noticed." He offered a sly grin, one that he knew would go unnoticed by Gale’s distracted gaze. Or at least, he hoped it would.
Gale was flipping through the pages of his book, but Astarion saw the way his fingers hesitated, the way he was avoiding looking up. It wasn’t just the usual wariness between them—this was different. Gale seemed to be purposely keeping distance, though Astarion couldn’t understand why. It didn’t make sense. They were, at least in this moment, in perfect harmony. There was no reason for the air to feel this thick.
"So," Gale finally broke the silence, clearing his throat, "any new… plans?" He seemed to be searching for words, a slight tension in his posture betraying the ease he was trying to project.
Astarion didn’t answer right away, his thoughts clouded by the unspoken weight between them. The mere act of sitting here, reading together, talking about nothing of consequence—it was too easy, too familiar. And yet, it felt like they were both holding back, carefully navigating around something neither of them was willing to face.
"Plans?" Astarion repeated, his voice laced with mock curiosity, but his mind was elsewhere. "Well, there’s always something, isn’t there? Always some scheming or plotting, something to pass the time." He took a deep breath, wondering if the words he was about to say would shatter the fragile peace they had built. "Perhaps I’ll find a new book to amuse myself with."
Gale’s eyes flicked up then, meeting Astarion’s for a split second before quickly darting away. "We’ll see," he said, voice suddenly distant.
Astarion couldn’t help but watch him, fascinated by the subtle shift in Gale’s demeanor. Was it the same for him? Did Gale feel the same way he did—this ache in his chest that only seemed to grow the more they spent time together? Astarion wanted to reach out, to grab him by the shoulders and shake him until he stopped pretending that nothing was there. But he couldn’t.
Because he didn’t know what that would mean.
Instead, Astarion forced himself to turn back to his book, his mind drifting elsewhere, trying to pretend that everything was normal. But the tension between them, the quiet weight of unsaid words, hung like a storm cloud overhead.
The worst part? Astarion wasn’t even sure if it was Gale who was running from this. Or if it was him.