Archive of Our Own ^beta

It started with a particularly vivid dream one night.

Gale had woken with a start, sitting bolt upright with the orb bathing the inside of his tent with bright purple light. He’d struggled to calm himself enough to prevent the imminent explosion, his mind still reeling with images of silver curls and the phantom touch of a silver tongue to match. He brushed it off as just an odd dream, pointedly ignoring the tightness in his trousers. A mere coincidence.

It did not get better after that.

The vampire was an enigma, a paradox, something that served only to draw Gale in. Sarcastic and snarky, only to have the facade broken by shows of vulnerability at the oddest of moments - and then the walls would spring back up in an instant, as if the slip of the mask had been a mistake. It didn’t take Gale long to begin putting the pieces together, the puzzle coming together to show a nearly-complete image of a broken man, desperate for the stability and safety that their rag-tag bunch could offer.

There was something missing, a card from Astarion’s hand he’d yet to show, but Gale was certain it would be revealed in time.

What continued to puzzle him, though, was why Astarion seemed to plague his every thought. Every accidental brush of the vampire’s fingers across Gale’s skin - were they accidental? - lived in his mind for hours, even days after. The casual flirting and barely-concealed innuendos were what frustrated Gale most - what kept him awake long into the night, staring up at the canvas of his tent and willing the orb to stop pulsing and his cock to stop throbbing. He ignored it, time and time again, fearing the carnage and destruction that caving to those thoughts might bring.

He was not strong enough to resist it forever.

~~~~~~~~

A wave of guilt washes over Gale as his fingers brush ever so lightly over the outline of his cock straining at the fabric of his sleepclothes. Astarion is a friend, and this is decidedly not how one is supposed to act when thinking of a friend. A friend that treats the line between friendly banter and flirting with blatant disregard, yes, but a friend all the same. He doesn’t want to do this, but the risk is becoming far too great - he fears the orb may detonate at an inopportune moment if he doesn’t do something to take the edge off, and his mind wanders to Astarion of its own accord every time he takes himself in hand.

Gale takes a moment to compose himself. Breathe in, breathe out. Stay calm, keep your heart rate down. The orb pulses as if to mock him, but it dies down quickly. He’s found that the anticipation is worse for the orb than the act itself, that he can keep the worst of the pain - and the threat - at bay if he can manage to keep the worry of it off his mind.

Flashes of sharp teeth and a sharper smile flood his mind as his hand makes its way beneath his bottoms. He tries to push the vision away, as he always does, but it only comes back with a vengeance, clearer than ever before. Honeyed words dripping off a silver tongue as cool, pale hands smooth over the expanse of his chest, the iciness of the contact soothing the searing heat of the orb trying to burst forth from his chest. Teeth sinking into skin, perhaps somewhere more intimate than the neck - the inner thigh, perhaps, marking him, claiming him, followed by the press of lips to the skin, inching ever higher until-

No.

Gale shakes his head to clear it as he wraps a hand around himself, giving a few slow, gentle strokes. Breathe in, breathe out. Nothing too fast, nothing too overwhelming. The images of Astarion seem to abate for a time, but they come crashing back down as he smears the precum dripping from his cock down the shaft - what if it were his hand, instead of my own? Or his mouth, perhaps, or his-

NO.

He takes another deep breath. Breathe in, breathe out. Calm thoughts. He tries to think of something else, anything else, hoping to find release while his mind wanders. Nothing mental, nothing emotional, pure physical relief and nothing more. Enough to take the edge off, enough to ensure the safety of himself and his traveling companions. His friends. Because that’s what they are, friends, and that includes Astarion. And friends do not fantasize about having each other’s cocks in their-

Oh, by the gods.

It’s not going to end, is it? His mind will simply come right back to where it started each time it begins to wander, as soon as the pleasure begins to cloud his focus. He curses under his breath before casting a grease spell, biting back a moan at the new slickness coating his cock. Breathe in, breathe out. It’s simply your thoughts, no more than a fantasy.

And what harm could there possibly be in indulging in a simple fantasy?

Gale imagines Astarion’s lips pressed to his own, murmurs full of filthy promises tumbling from that gorgeous mouth. He’d talk dirty, Gale is certain of it. The orb pulses in warning as his pulse quickens, spurred on by memories of salacious jokes told in a lilted, teasing tone. Something Astarion had said in a hushed voice once, about the practiced tongue that might be needed for the proper pronunciation of incantations. He’d frozen up and begun to stutter at the time, the peal of laughter that the vampire let out at the reaction only serving to make him flush brighter.

Oh, how he would endeavor to use that practiced tongue if given the opportunity.

Worship is often done on one’s knees, Gale reasons, and what better way to prove the rogue right? Gods, he would show him just how practiced his tongue could be, show him pleasure beyond the constraints of this mortal realm. Another throb of the orb, another stark reminder of the risk he’s taking.

Oh, but what a way to die.

He pauses his movements, giving his heart a moment to slow before resuming languid strokes, willing himself to remain silent despite how sinfully wonderful the fantasies flitting through his head might feel. The pleasure almost outweighs the potential consequences in this moment, overwhelming and all-encompassing as it is. A pleasure that would surely be amplified tenfold, were the thoughts to spring to life. If only it could be.

Gale allows himself another guilty indulgence, a fleeting thought of what could be, another outlandish fantasy to push him ever closer to the edge he’s quickly approaching. He’s filled with a longing - no, a yearning, at the prospect, deep and aching and taking him entirely by surprise. He pushes that thought away, tamps it down deep in his stomach in hopes of never unburying it.

There’s another ache building in the pit of his stomach, though, the inevitable conclusion of his arousal and the way his hand glides over his cock, still slower than he’d like. Breathe in, breathe out. The tension builds, the flames catching until they’re a wildfire, fueled by images of nimble fingers picking a lock and thoughts of what else such talented hands might be skilled at.

Gale can practically feel the ghost of those slender digits skimming over his skin, venturing to most sensitive places, tender yet firm in their explorations. Would he be gentle, or would he prefer to treat Gale roughly, as if some sort of prey? The thought spurs further heat to pool in his gut, and he just barely fights the urge to speed up the movements of his hand, the threat of detonation echoing faintly in the back of his mind. Gods, it would feel divine when those fingers found his cock, or perhaps pressed gently at his hole, easing in slowly and preparing him for more, something Gale finds himself aching for at once, the idea of it so close and tangible while the reality is so far and impossible.

Breathe in. Breath out.

He’s close now, so very close, and he swears he can hear Astarion’s voice in his ear. Murmurs of there you are, darling, yes, good. So good for me, doing so well. Filthy whispers of how beautiful Gale looks falling apart in front of him, being so good, doing so very well.

Gale bites down on his free hand to keep quiet as he finally comes crashing down, ropes of spend coating his stomach and hand. The orb throbs dangerously as the ecstasy hits him, but it abates as sweet relief washes over his body. It’s not relief that he feels in his mind, though, but rather overwhelming guilt. Shame at allowing such a debauched indulgence, at the lack of self restraint and discipline.

Breathe in, breathe out. It’s simply a fantasy. He’ll never know.