Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Gale Dekarios often practiced the art of selfishness.

Perhaps it began in his childhood, when he was denied a kitten and instead summoned Tara, his wise and loyal winged companion. Or maybe it was when he sought to return part of the Karsite Weave to Mystra, hoping to earn more of her favor, even when doing so carried great risks to himself and the world. The pursuit of magic, after all, was inherently self-serving—was it not?

In either case, Gale Dekarios was inherently selfish. Or at least, that’s how he saw himself. His days and nights were often filled with such introspection—when he and the others weren’t preoccupied with the ever-looming issue of their unwelcome stowaways. It was during his solitary moments, under the stars with only his bedroll for company, that these thoughts would fester and grow. How many times had he considered the burdens he placed on others? His insatiable hunger for magic, the untold dangers he had unleashed in the name of power—it all felt so small now, under the cold light of the moon.

Tonight was one such night. The fire crackled nearby, casting long shadows against the flaps of his tent. The distant snores of his companions drifted through the quiet camp. Lae'zel’s deep, rhythmic breathing mingled with the faint mumblings of Minthara, lost in dreams. Somewhere, Gale thought, Shadowheart was awake, as she often was, murmuring her prayers to Shar beneath her breath. And Astarion... Well, who knew what that enigmatic elf got up to while the others slept?

Gale ran a hand through his disheveled hair, tousling it even further as he leaned back against his bedroll, staring up at the stars. The familiar constellations of Faerûn glittered above, indifferent to his internal musings. In another life, he might have been content simply to marvel at their beauty. But now, all they did was remind him of the impossible distances between him and those he loved. Of the chasm between who he was and who he had once hoped to be.

Gale Dekarios was a selfish man. He knew that well. But as he lay there beneath the stars, his thoughts tangled with longing and regret, he couldn’t help but wish that selfishness had led him somewhere different—somewhere brighter, where the weight of his choices didn’t feel quite so heavy.

And, as always, he found himself wondering just what Astarion would make of that.

“By the Hells, you look awful,” came a familiar voice, breaking through his thoughts.

Gale didn’t flinch when the vampire slipped through the tent flaps and settled beside him. Astarion never asked for permission to enter—he never needed to. The pale elf had a way of moving through the camp like a shadow, always present, always watching. And yet, when it came to Gale, there was an odd sense of intimacy to his uninvited visits, as if Astarion found some comfort in their quiet moments alone.

“My apologies, I was... miles away,” Gale said with a weary smile. His lips, as always, were dry and cracked. No matter how often he licked them or applied balm, the harsh reality of their travels always left him worse for wear. Meanwhile, Astarion’s appearance remained impeccable, his lips soft and plush, his skin unmarred by the elements. No matter how long they journeyed through the wilderness, no matter the challenges they faced, Astarion always looked like he had just stepped out of a silk-lined carriage.

Gale Dekarios was a selfish man, yes—but how he longed to feel those cool, perfect lips against his own. How he wanted those amaryllis eyes to gaze at him, and him alone. How he wanted to feel them brushing against his—

“Gale, darling, you’re thinking too loudly again,” Astarion interrupted, a teasing grin curling at his lips.

Gale blinked, startled from his thoughts. “Ah, yes. Apologies,” he mumbled, scratching at his beard—an unconscious habit he had picked up in recent days. “It’s just one of those nights. Too much time to think.”

“Too introspective to hold a conversation?” Astarion tilted his head, eyes glinting with mischief as he studied Gale.

“No, I suppose not,” Gale replied, his voice softening. How could he not engage when Astarion was right there, looking as striking as ever? He watched the elf move with effortless grace, his sharp angles accentuated by the flickering firelight. Everything about Astarion was sharp—his body, his ears, even his gestures, precise and deliberate. Gale swallowed thickly, feeling the weight of his own desires settle heavy in his chest. Gale's thoughts drifted back to the moments they had shared, each imbued with a quiet intensity that both thrilled and terrified him. There was the night by the river, where laughter echoed beneath the canopy of trees, and Astarion had playfully challenged him to a duel of wit. Or the day they discovered a hidden glade, where sunlight filtered through the leaves, and they had stolen a quiet moment together, gazing at the shimmering water. In those fleeting instants, the world outside their bubble faded, and it was just them—two souls bound by their own secrets and desires. Gale had felt something stir deep within him during those times, a flicker of hope that perhaps Astarion’s presence meant more than mere companionship. Yet, the weight of his selfishness always loomed large, reminding him that he was the architect of his own isolation. What if Astarion learned the depths of his yearning? What if he discovered that Gale’s heart was a tangled web of magic and emotion, tangled up with the very fabric of his being? The thought sent a shiver down Gale's spine, a mixture of exhilaration and dread. Astarion’s sharp eyes seemed to see straight through him, and Gale wondered if he could ever truly bare his soul without shattering the fragile connection they had formed. Gods, he was in deep, wasn’t he?

“Gale, are you even listening?” Astarion’s voice snapped him out of his daze, the elf now standing with his arms crossed and an amused expression on his face.

“Apologies again! I was... lost in thought, as usual,” Gale admitted with a sheepish grin. “Not that I find your company boring, of course. Quite the opposite, in fact.”

Astarion rolled his eyes but smiled. “You do have a way of getting lost in that overactive mind of yours. And here I thought my charm would be enough to keep you present.”

Gale knew he was rambling, but he couldn’t seem to stop. The look of amusement on Astarion’s face made it clear that the elf found his nervousness endearing. Despite that, a low chuckle escaped Astarion’s lips, cutting through Gale’s nervous chatter, followed by the cool touch of a hand resting on his shoulder.

“Gale, you’ve been more... vocal than usual,” Astarion remarked, his tone playful. “And I’ve not even done anything to provoke it.”

Gale flushed, a strangled laugh escaping his throat. It sounded more like a dying bird than anything resembling humor, but at this point, he had no time to feel embarrassed. Astarion was here, and that was all that mattered.

They fell into a companionable silence, the weight of unspoken words hanging between them. The crackling of the fire and the soft snores of their sleeping companions filled the quiet. Gale glanced at Astarion out of the corner of his eye, taking in the elf’s profile—his sharp jaw, the curve of his lips, the way his hair caught the firelight. They sat like that for a while, neither willing to break the tension.

“Apologies,” they both mumbled at the same time, each clearing their throats and turning away.

Gale didn’t have time to dwell on the awkwardness of the moment because Astarion had already turned his attention to the Necromancy of Thay. Ever since the grueling ordeal of unlocking and retrieving the cursed tome, Astarion had begrudgingly sought Gale’s assistance in deciphering its mysteries.

“I’ve had no progress,” Astarion sighed, flipping through the pages in frustration. “Whatever spirits are bound to this wretched book are determined to keep its secrets buried.”

“I’m not surprised,” Gale mused, leaning slightly against Astarion’s shoulder, his body responding to the elf’s presence instinctively. “Whoever sealed it clearly didn’t want its contents to be found easily.”

It had become routine for them. Gale would brood in his quiet self-pity and introspection, Astarion would sweep in with his sharp wit and playful taunts, and they’d share a moment of tension before turning their attention to the cursed tome or their shared affliction. But tonight, the tension felt heavier, more palpable, as if something was shifting between them.

As they poured over the cryptic text, Gale’s mind wandered once more. It was selfish of him to want more than these moments—more than their banter, their shared work. But every time Astarion was near, every time they touched, that selfish desire grew stronger.

Gale glanced up at the vampire, hesitating for a moment before speaking. “Maybe we’re approaching this wrong.”

Astarion arched a brow, glancing down at him. “Oh? And what brilliant insight are you about to bestow upon me, dear Gale?”

Gale chuckled, the tension in his chest easing slightly. “Perhaps we should stop treating the book like it’s fighting us. It’s not just some relic—it’s practically alive. If we approach it with that in mind, maybe we’ll get further.”

Astarion laughed, a sharp sound that filled the tent. “Leave it to you to make friends with a haunted book.”

Gale grinned, shifting a little closer, their shoulders now brushing. “Stranger things have happened.”

Their eyes met again, and for a brief moment, it felt as if they were on the verge of something—something unspoken, something neither of them was quite ready to name. But as always, they returned to the familiar dance of banter and books, the weight of their shared silence lingering just beneath the surface.

The night passed in a blur, spurred on by the turning of pages and the exchange of words. The contents of the Necromancy of Thay were dense, filled with arcane sigils and riddles that eluded even Gale’s vast knowledge. He frowned as he skimmed a particularly convoluted passage, his brow furrowing in concentration.

“I’m starting to think this book enjoys making fools of us,” Gale muttered, rubbing at his tired eyes.

“Or perhaps it simply knows how to keep its secrets,” Astarion replied, his tone casual but with an edge of frustration creeping in. “It’s maddening, really. All this effort for... what? Another dead end?”

Gale couldn’t help but chuckle at Astarion’s irritation. “You’re not accustomed to things not going your way, are you?”

Astarion shot him a withering glance, though there was no real venom behind it. “I prefer efficiency, dear Gale. This... endless teasing from the book? It’s beneath me.”

“You’ll get used to it,” Gale said with a smile, though his thoughts remained far from the tome in front of him. His gaze lingered on Astarion a moment longer, heart heavy with selfish longing.

When the first rays of sunlight peeked through the tent flaps, Astarion closed the tome with a sigh.

“Well, I suppose it’s time for me to return to my own bedroll,” Astarion purred, though there was something softer in his voice now, something almost reluctant. “We wouldn’t want Tav and the others getting the wrong idea about our... nightly activities, now would we?”

Gale chuckled, though something twisted in his chest at the thought of Astarion leaving. “Of course not. We wouldn’t want any unnecessary rumors floating around camp, would we?”

Astarion flashed him a grin, though there was a lingering sadness behind his eyes. “Goodnight, Gale. Or should I say, good morning?”

“Good morning, Astarion,” Gale replied with a soft smile, watching as the vampire moved toward the tent flaps, the faint light of dawn casting a golden glow over his pale skin.

Gale Dekarios often practiced the art of selfishness. And as he watched Astarion slip out of the tent, all he wanted was for the elf to stay—just a moment longer, to exchange a few more words, a few more touches. But perhaps that was for another night. After all, Gale knew that no one was as selfish as he.

Not even Astarion Ancunin.

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.