holiday rainbow lights in the garden - Anonymous (2025)

Everything is packed and ready - hells, Gale has his suitcase in his car, ready to head straight down the highway to Nightstone after work. The Dekarios clan takes Simril very seriously, and he doesn’t want to be the last cousin into town this year. He’s already the last one single, he doesn’t need that as another thing to be asked over.

Again.

More than anything, though he loves his family, he’s eager to see his beloved old cat. She’s got a few winters in her left, he’s sure, but his apartment doesn’t allow pets of any kind. There’s nothing for it but to leave her home with his mother.

He succeeds in beating a majority of the clan there, which means he’s just in time to have to help with last minute cleaning. C’est la vie. Drift and Sunny and their spouses and children are already here and being put to work, too, so at least he’s got company. Most of the dinners and things will be at his mother’s home, but his aunts and uncle live in town, too.

Gale is grateful that they aren’t going to try and find beds for his ten cousins and their twelve spouses, their collective seven children (the number seems to go up each year), his mother and her three siblings and their spouses, and his grandmother… all in one house. Such a house does not exist in Nightstone. Still, at least some of those will be staying with his mother, and Gale’s glad to be able to claim his own childhood bedroom. It’s the little things.

He takes a break when Zeph gets in, lifting old miss Tara so that she can glare down at Zeph’s twins. They’re about as old as Gale was when he named Tara after his favorite aunt, Tara. At any given time, someone might call one of them Cat Tara or Human Tara, and Gale thinks that the tradition of calling his auntie Human Tara will outlive the cat.

Morena and Tara Dekarios are holding court in the kitchen, dispatching Aunt Cora and Uncle Atlas about like they aren’t all in their sixties or worse. Their various spouses are, Gale thinks, on guard duty. This looks like entertaining any grandchildren that think to get underfoot in the kitchen, before they can get into the kitchen.

“Gale?” his mother calls out, and Gale hands the cat to Anemone’s husband who’s just walked in. He knows not to ignore a summons.

Popping his head into the kitchen, he grins, “How can I help?”

“You can leave,” Morena smiles serenely.

“Ouch,” Gale laughs.

Aunt Tara gestures at a wrapped dish on the counter, “It’s a delivery, not a banishment.”

“For now,” conspires Uncle Atlas.

Gale feels the weight of several older family members having chosen him for this task, for whatever reason. “Where am I taking it to, then?” Maybe someone is holing up at the inn, rather than show their face to the Dekarios Clan at large.

His mother leans on her elbows, “There’s a nice young man on the edge of town, out halfway into Ardeep. Rumor has it that he’s got no family for Simril, no company at all.”

“Rumor has it,” Aunt Cora continues, “He also doesn’t eat enough.”

Ah. They’re trying to set him up.

“So the goal is to deliver unto him some food, or would you like me to invite him over?” Gale cannot fathom bringing a true stranger into this chaos. It’s bad enough when someone’s got a new partner and everyone has to get into their business, a mysteriously lonesome stranger would get torn apart.

It’s good fun though, so Gale is game to do whatever his elders have designed. He’ll at least give it a go, even if their last handful of setups have been dreadful.

“Really, it’s all of the above and a wellness check,” Morena sighs, sliding the dish into an insulated bag. “Sometimes we’ll go weeks without anyone seeing him around town, or in the store. I’m not sure if he even has a car?”

Rough business out in the country, and cold this time of year. Gale nods.

“What’s his name?”

“Oh, you want his name, do you?” Human Tara teases, “Next you’ll be wanting his address.”

“You’re all awful,” Gale insists, tucking the sticky note he’s handed into his pocket.

“His name is Astarion,” his mother says, “Make sure you’re noisy, you’d hate to spook him and get shot or something.”

“So far away from town, too…” Atlas agrees.

“Shame about what happened to Gale,” continues Cora.

“I am leaving! Goodbye forever,” says Gale.

He makes his escape, and as Gale pulls back out of the street, he wonders if the chaos isn’t a little too much for him, now. The peace of his car is a little pathetic, honestly, in how much it heals him to have a moment to himself. But Simril is about togetherness, family, all of that. He loves them! He loves to be around them. It’s just that it’s also very loud at all times.

This Astarion fellow really does live a ways out, but it’s still technically Nightstone. Probably got annexed a few years back for utilities, assuming he’s not ‘living off the grid’ or something. Gale honks his horn once as he pulls up the long gravel driveway, just to announce his presence. One of the curtains in the house shifts, and then closes again.

It’s all shady and wooded, here, and near dusk. Gale imagines it’ll be pitch dark come nightfall - spooky stuff! - but the stars must be beautiful this far away from the town square. Maybe there’s a spot where this man on his lonesome could still read his star charts and know what luck or love awaits him.

Of course Gale believes in Simril. He’s a romantic. It’s not about love, but it can be, if that’s what your eyes go to first when decoding the stars’ design.

He tucks the dish under his arm and calls out, “Astarion? I’ve been sent to feed you. I mean you no harm.” Gale steps onto the little porch and knocks. The house is modest, maybe prefabricated? Like one of those houses that comes in on a truck or two. It looks alright, considering it’s probably got a seam down the middle someplace.

As Gale judges the construction, et cetera, there’s some shuffling beyond the door. The sound of more than a couple of locks clicking. He assumes they are opening rather than closing, but it’s tricky to tell until the door does open.

The man inside is clearly wary, his eyes tired and brows furrowed. He looks pale, a step between waifish-thin and untrusting.

He must be Astarion.

He’s beautiful. His hair curls pretty and white, his ears an elf’s graceful points, the slope of his nose, the laugh lines - bless his mother and all, for thinking that someone like this would be interested in Gale at all.

Astarion chews his lip. “You’ve been ‘sent to feed me?’ Explain that one. And also, who are you.”

“Oh, goodness, my manners,” Gale starts, “I’m Gale Dekarios. You may have met my mother, or one of my aunts, or perhaps even my uncle. Or none of them, and they just have heard of you…”

The elf tilts his head just a little.

Gale continues, “At any rate. They heard you didn’t have any family coming to visit for Simril, and thought you ought to at least have something to eat.” Nevermind that it was a flimsy excuse to have Gale come talk to the most ethereal twunk in the world!

Astarion gives the foil-covered dish a skeptical look, and then gives Gale a considering look. He shrugs. “Come inside, then. You look pathetic.”

That, Gale thinks, is probably true.

It’s not quite what he expected, from the outside. True enough, there are half a dozen locks on the door, all the curtains are drawn, there’s a fire roaring in an improbable fireplace. It’s somehow cozy and spooky, all at once. There’s a small pile of shoes near the door, so Gale politely removes his.

“So what is this mystery dish you’ve brought me, Gale Dekarios?” Astarion asks.

“A casserole,” Gale says, setting the dish on the pristine kitchen island. No produce on the counters, no tins of coffee or flour. A few bottles of red wine. There is a sugar bowl, but Gale can’t see whether there’s any sugar in it or not. “Er, more specifically, it’s Moussaka. Lamb, onions, garlic, a bit of red wine…”

The elf wrinkles his nose.

Gale says, “It’s quite good. Family recipe.”

“I’m sure,” Astarion answers thinly. “I… feel bad, because I don’t think I’ll eat it. Any chance your family would take it back?” When the man says I feel bad, the concept of guilt doesn’t seem to enter into his psyche in any meaningful way. Astarion mustn’t feel too bad.

Shaking his head, Gale says, “Probably not. Not including me, there’s thirty-seven people in that house. If they’ve already cast this pan aside for the local recluse, I doubt there’s room for it in our fridge. Goodness knows somebody will be cooking at all hours, over the coming days.”

Astarion makes a face that Gale does not quite parse. Grief? Confusion? Disbelief? Something to that effect, perhaps. The elf says, “Is that normal for humans?”

Gale can’t help the bark of laughter that follows, and he grins, “It is a little absurd, even for us. Do you envy it at all?”

“Gods, no.” Astarion says, automatic. He does smile though. “Elves have the good sense to spread things so thin that you’re lucky to even meet your grandparents. I never met mine.”

That strikes Gale as troublingly lonesome. He can’t fathom having so few people in his life. Even if he had a terrible relationship with half of his cousins, that would still be a dozen or so people to spend time with.

“So,” Gale offers, pivoting rather than demanding to know about Astarion’s parents, where he’s from, and so on, “You do live alone then? Had my mother gotten the right of it?”

Astarion smiles a little more sharply, “I do. Quite alone, out here. I don’t get many visitors, either.”

“I hope I’m not an imposition,” Gale says. Something in the way Astarion smiles makes him nervous, but he’s not sure why. Either general attraction (obviously) or some other thing - Astarion could ask him to do most anything, and Gale thinks he might just do it. The man is attractive, and Gale hasn’t done anything to speak of in years. He doesn’t think Astarion is flirting with him, though.

The elf waves a hand, “Of course not. You’re a treat.”

“A treat?” Gale laughs, “Have I made that positive an impression?”

“Would you prefer I call you a snack?” Astarion leers. Oh gods, maybe Astarion is flirting with him. This is too much to bear! And what is he going to do with this poor moussaka…

Gale waves a hand, a little flustered, “So you’re hungry, but not for casserole.”

“Something like that,” Astarion says. He looks pleased with the effect his words had, at least. “Would it be dreadful of me to ask if you’d like a glass of wine? Or are you eager to return to your many, many humanmen?”

There’s a guilt there, in not wanting to go back just yet. Even with his Morena’s Only Son privilege of having his old bedroom to himself, who knows when the place will settle down for the night? There’ll be quiet drinks and board games on into the evening, there’ll be endless stories and monologues, there’ll be children pretending they’ve gone to bed when actually they’re trying to summon a ghost or somesuch.

He smiles again, “I’d love one. Probably not more than the one, though, I ought to make sure I get back in one piece.”

Gale thinks he hears the elf murmur something to the effect of ‘how about several’ under his breath as he goes to open a bottle of red.

The living area here is more comfortable-looking than the kitchen had been. Signs of life and living in the form of blankets all over various salvaged armchairs and couches. Astarion must not have himself entirely together, with the mismatched nature of the furniture, but they look well cleaned. They’re maintained and used. Gale opts to sit on one side of the couch, and accepts the offered wineglass when Astarion joins him.

“Are you their usual errand-boy, then? Your family.” Astarion asks, tucking himself sideways into the opposite corner of the couch, knees bent and leaned against the back of it. A blanket has already mysteriously made its way into his lap. He must get very cold.

“Not as such - I live in Waterdeep, really. It just so happens that I’ve got a car and nobody else to keep an eye on, at home, so I’m… we’ll say more free to come and go than my cousins.”

Astarion doesn’t say anything to that for a moment. Is it a more boring answer than he’d expected? Gale is overthinking it already. He makes it worse, probably, by continuing, “I’m the last of them left single, you see. Eleven of us, and the other ten are taken, now. At least there are a couple of them that haven’t quite made good on their engagements, yet, but. They’re as good as married.”

“And you’re all on your lonesome,” Astarion hums. “All of that sounds like torture, by the bye.”

“Family is love without measure, but it also is a lifetime of troubles,” Gale agrees. “They don’t mean much by it, though. They just want me to be happy, too.”

Astarion takes a long swallow of his wine and asks, “What makes them think that finding some partner is the answer to your happiness? What if you were fine on your own?”

This is all getting a little deep for one glass of wine with a handsome stranger.

Gale shrugs, “I’m sure they’d leave it be. My mother never loved or married my father, and her siblings have never done more than a light ribbing over the years. If I told them I wanted to remain single forevermore, the teasing would cease.”

The elf taps his glass thoughtfully. “You don’t want to be, though, do you?”

“No,” Gale admits, with a self-effacing smile, “Things haven’t gone quite how I’d hoped. It’s not too late, though.” He can’t tell Astarion that this, too, was a part of the teasing. That his being here was some attempt to help Gale out in this arena. The laughter would just about kill him, he thinks.

“Of course it’s not too late,” Astarion says mildly, “How long do humans live? Fifty years? Sixty?”

“How old do you think I am, then? Astarion, expert on human biology,” Gale presses.

With this, he’s finally at least gotten the elf a little off-kilter, too. Fair game. Astarion studies Gale’s face and then shrugs, “Forty-two?”

“So by your estimation, I’ve got about eight years,” Gale laughs. “No, I’m thirty-six. And my grandmother is ninety-three, for your information, so I think I do probably have a bit longer to figure it out.”

Astarion raises his eyebrow, “You could die tonight, though.” A beat. “Any of us could.”

“That’s a bit fatalistic, Astarion,” Gale disagrees. “Nobody knows when they’ll die. Why should it matter, for the purposes of romance, for hoping that love is on the horizon?”

“You must get really into the star charts, then,” Astarion decides.

Gale’s cheeks are warm. “Maybe so.”

“It’s cute,” Astarion decides, magnanimously.

Taking a sip, Gale asks, “So what of you, then? Do you have any Simril plans? Do you go in for charts?”

Astarion tucks his knees in a little tighter, “I don’t get much out of it. Lady Luck is no good friend of mine, I’m afraid.”

The Goddess Tymora governs this particular celebration, despite it being about stars as much as luck. Gale says, “You won’t know if your next year is looking up, though, will you? Maybe this year is your year, Astarion.”

That gets a laugh, “I don’t think a year has ever been my year, Gale. I suppose it would be novel, though, to have charts and diagrams that tell me I’ll be luckier than usual. Something to burn when it’s not true, maybe.”

Gale has all of his charts stashed in a special, oversized folder in his childhood bedroom closet. Thirty-six of them, even, because he’d been born in Winter and his mother had saved that first chart. He’d only been a few tendays old.

He shrugs. “Some of us need something to believe in. Whatever good it does us.” Gale swallows the last of his glass of wine and sets it down. “Shall I get going?”

“So soon?” Astarion asks, but doesn’t make any move to stop him. He isn’t protesting especially hard. The interest must have been fleeting. That’s alright.

“I ought to get back, is all. I forgot to message that I’d made it here alive, it’d be a shame if they called the watch to come check on me,” Gale says. “What shall we do about the Moussaka? Maybe I'll come back and fetch it in a day or so, we discreetly get rid of any evidence that you’re above such handouts, and then… well, and then it’s done with.”

“You could just dump it in the woods now,” Astarion points out, sounding put-upon.

“My ability to lie only goes so far - what am I to do, with nearly forty people in my house? Surely one of them would find it in my car. There are no secrets to be kept at Simril, Astarion.” Gale’s tone is light. “Here. I’ll give you my number, you let me know when you’re free.”

Astarion sighs and stands. He brings Gale’s wineglass to the sink, opens the fridge, and places the covered dish inside. Gale can’t help noticing that there’s not a damn thing in that fridge - no condiments, no food, no carton of milk. No drinks, soft or hard. Absolutely nothing, and now a foiled casserole dish.

They exchange numbers, and Gale hears all the locks click shut again as he steps back onto the gravel toward his car. So there’s exactly one excuse to see Astarion again, but gods only know that that’ll be the end of it. Flirting aside, they’re too different. Astarion doesn’t seem to believe in love or luck or family or food. No wonder he’s so thin, though Gale has no idea how the man keeps any muscle on… red wine alone cannot sustain a grown man, but until proven otherwise, that’s got to be the theory.

Everyone cheers on his return, and his mother and aunties demand updates on their mischief. Gale tells an abridged version: that Astarion is very handsome, much too skinny, and that he’ll go back for the dish in a day or two. This gets wolf-whistles from a couple of his cousins (thanks Misty, Cyrus, et cetera), but luckily nobody presses for details.

If they had… he’s not sure what he would’ve told them. That Astarion called him a snack, that he’d been so cold and small, alone in a foodless house. It’s not so different from when Gale is alone in his apartment in Waterdeep, but… what if they were alone and weird together?

He gets a few messages from the man in the middle of the night.

Astarion: do you ever donate blood?

Astarion: i did once but it was hellacious. 😔

Astarion: couldn’t find the vein, and i felt like death afterwards.

Gale: This is a normal way to start a conversation.

Astarion: answer the question, dekarios 🔪

Gale: I donate blood every year. I’ve been told I’m excellent at it.

Astarion: nice

Gale: ???

Astarion: goodnight! 💖

Gale doesn’t know what to make of him. Astarion is this handsome, concerning creature of a man with seemingly no concept of when it’s appropriate to text a near-stranger. It’s three in the morning. Maybe Astarion drank the rest of that bottle of red? Maybe he spilled it, and it got him thinking about blood. At three in the morning.

The guest rooms are quiet, now, at least. Nephele and her husband and wife sharing a wall with him, and across the hall are Misty and her boyfriend. He thinks that the older kids claimed his mother’s office with a blowup mattress, rather than be saddled with the under-tens at Atlas’s across the cul-de-sac.

So it’s peaceful, in a way. It is lonely, though.

Gale: I’ll come by tomorrow, if that’s alright.

Gale: Sorry to message you so late.

Astarion: i don’t sleep much anyway, no bother.

Astarion: just let me know when you’re coming ;)

Gale’s never had an elven friend with no social boundaries before, but it settles something in his chest to know why Astarion would be up. Trancing must be strange, when much of the world goes to sleep come nightfall. Maybe it’s nice, though.

The next day brings much of the chaos again - it turns out that Haze’s daughter and Zeph’s son spent all night watching videos rather than sleeping, so they took it upon themselves to get breakfast started. They’re seventeen and twelve, respectively, so what they’ve made does resemble food, but it’s certainly not what the Dekarios Matrons (and Uncle Atlas) would have made.

Gale and cousin Anemone are sent into town to try and locate more eggs. When this fails to pan out (either the holiday or the early hour mean that the stores are not open), they resort to knocking on random neighbors’ doors and looking very polite and apologetic. By the time they return with a couple of cartons of eggs two hours later, an entirely different breakfast has been served and eaten, and he and Ane make a couple of sandwiches.

She’s always gotten along with him - Anemone is twenty-eight to Gale’s thirty-six, but she’s Cora’s youngest and Gale’s the only baby of the babiest aunt. He was the one babysitting her, and then conspiring with her, growing up.

So naturally, Anemone feels comfortable nudging him and asking, “So what was the deal last night? You were sent on a secret mission, came back with news that some guy was handsome?”

“That must have seemed stranger to everyone but our parents,” Gale agrees, good-humored but a little wary of overselling the interaction. “They wanted me to take food out to some loner in the woods. I think we might have flirted a bit.”

“You think?” Ane asks, “Or you know?”

“I wasn’t trying very hard, admittedly,” Gale sighs, “He was flirting with me, though. I think.”

“You think,” she repeats, amused.

“I’m out of practice!” Gale laughs, “What do you want from me? We had a glass of wine and he called me a treat, and then a snack. And texted me at three, last night, asking if I was a repeat blood donor, apropos of bloody nothing.”

Anemone snickers, “Bloody nothing.”

“He may well be a loon, but he’s a very pretty one. What do you think - I’m going over to fetch the casserole dish this evening…”

“Well,” she says, “I think you ought to kiss him, and also use anything as an excuse to get away from the noise of it all. I love my kid, but they’re a terror when it’s every kid in our family.”

“Every indulgent auntie,” Gale agrees, “Every joking uncle.”

“My husband metamorphs into a caricature of silly uncles everywhere, the moment we’re around all the other spouses!” Anemone despairs, throwing her hands up. She sobers a little though, “I want that for you. I want you to have a freak who becomes a goober, or whatever.”

“Aw,” Gale smiles. He gives her a hug, “We’ll see if Astarion is amenable to a kiss, first, and then we’ll figure out if he’s willing to transfigure himself into a goober for our amusement.”

“A clown would also do,” Ane laughs. She squeezes him and says, “Good luck on your date.”

It’s not really a date, but he’ll take all the luck he can get.

Gale beats Atlas, and then Haze at lanceboard. He gets too cocky and gets demolished by Drift’s seven year old daughter, but she’d looked a little sad until then, so Gale is happy to give her an inadvertent win. Come dinnertime, Gale eats his fill with Tara the cat purring in his lap. He wonders if Astarion likes cats. He is fine and does not have a crush on anybody, much less the man who was flirting with him.

When he texts Astarion that he’s coming over, as requested, he sits in his car and notices that somebody has deigned to leave a bottle of wine in the passenger seat. It has a bow around the neck. Mysterious, familial benefactor… but that’s good, he won’t feel bad sitting for another glass if he’s brought something. One mustn’t look a gift wine in the label.

This time, Astarion simply opens the door as he arrives. The man looks a little more put together - yesterday had been a threadbare sweater, but today is a much finer and cleaner-looking one. He’s got a blanket-like shawl (or perhaps a shawl-like blanket) wrapped around his shoulders as he ushers Gale in.

“Is this for me?” the elf asks, plucking the bottle from Gale’s hand.

“Yes - assuming it’s not untoward to bring you a host gift when it’s just the two of us.” Gale wonders if there’s ever been a foot more prone to mouth.

Still, Astarion does smile. He says, “I never get gifts, so I don’t really care whether it’s socially appropriate or not.” His pale fingers trace the curve of the bow like that’s a wonder more than anything.

Gale is in such trouble. His family would shellshock and spoil this poor fellow. They’d destroy him. And yet, he sort of wants it. Wouldn’t it be fun, to break someone so lonely with an endless warmth and love?

He’s getting ahead of himself.

“So, admittedly, I did have to go dump the casserole in the woods,” Astarion starts, wandering toward a cabinet and then waving at it until Gale understands this to be an instruction to fetch glasses. “But the dish is clean-ish. I’d still wash it, if I were you.”

“Was it… licked clean by animals? Is that what I’m meant to understand?” Gale laughs. Is it a joke? It’s a bit funny, regardless of veracity.

“I don’t really know, other than that it was empty and shiny when I fetched it at dawn,” Astarion shrugs, unbothered. “I don’t have dish soap, so you’ll have to take it as is or not at all.”

“How do you not - you know what, I don’t need to know,” Gale decides. He cannot begin to fathom Astarion, why start now?

They settle on the couch again, this time the bottle has come with them. Gale asks, “So what was dinner, then? Clearly not moussaka.”

“Wild boar,” Astarion answers, almost blurting the words.

“Oh, I’ve had boar. Makes a great meat sauce,” Gale says, unbothered.

Astarion’s ears flick, and he says, “Y-yes. Meat sauce.”

Though, how does the man cleans his dishes without soap, without a dishwasher, without a sponge…? Maybe it was takeout, though. Except that most of the restaurants are closed for the holidays. And the fridge is empty. How clean are these wine glasses?

He decides not to press. Gale asks another question, “What is it you do for a living, Astarion? Or for fun, maybe.”

“I… was in law, once,” Astarion says, slowly. Carefully. “It’s been some time since I was gainfully employed, though. I came into an… inheritance, and put it into the land and house. I don’t need much, so I think I’ll be able to stretch it for decades.”

Gale whistles and says, “That is impressive money-management. Or perhaps the sum would boggle the mind, and you have an admirable self-control.”

Astarion snorts, “I do not have much in the way of self-control. In fact, I’d say that’s one of my weakest qualities.”

That doesn’t really make much sense to Gale, but he doesn’t know how to point it out tactfully. Either the money will last for decades, or Astarion has no self-control, but it’s hard to imagine it’s both if he’s stretching it.

“I’m a research librarian,” Gale says, instead of demanding more answers. Astarion is an enigma, he must enjoy being that way. That’s his prerogative, right? Right?

“In Waterdeep?” Astarion asks. Gale is pleased that the man remembered.

“Yes. Though there was a part of me that was interested in Magical Law. I suppose we wouldn’t have crossed paths.”

“Oh, no. I lived in Baldur’s Gate for over two-hundred years before moving here,” Astarion says.

“What brought you North?” Gale asks, moving to refill their glasses. He is very helpful.

Astarion doesn’t answer for a moment. Maybe considering his words, or his story. The man does seem prone to lying, but Gale doesn’t know him well enough to tell what’s what.

He answers, “The inheritance and all… I was finally free to choose where I wanted to live, what I wanted to be. So I left.”

“Did you figure out what you wanted to be?”

The elf laughs, “No. No, I’m still working on that. But… I am happier here, if you must know.”

Gale smiles, “That’s good. Nightstone is home, as much as I love Waterdeep. It’s… a community, in every sense. If you wanted to make friends, too, I’m sure they’d be dying to meet you. Collectively.”

Astarion tilts his head, “Dying… in a good way, yes? That sounds like slang, but admittedly it’s hard to catch up on what I missed. The internet is… endless.”

“There’s no catching up,” Gale agrees. “Yes, they’d be eager. I’m sure that my family would’ve sent some other representative, if I hadn’t been willing, and they’re just one of several overly-friendly groups in town.”

Shivering, Astarion says, “I hate knowing that I’m the subject of that much attention, but I’m glad it was you who came calling.”

“Even though you don’t eat moussaka,” Gale hums.

“Even though I do not eat moussaka,” Astarion agrees.

They sit in a comfortable silence for a few minutes. Gale stews on what little he knows, what vastness he does not know. Astarion is unknowable, but seems eager to be seen by Gale. He’s glad that it was Gale who came honking up his driveway. He seems to like Gale’s company, even. The man is also living off of mysterious boar and red wine and blankets. The house isn’t even that drafty!

He resolves to be bold and ask if the man wants to sit a little closer, saying, “If you’re cold, I could perhaps - ”

At the same time, Astarion says, “What is this?”

They blink at each other. Gale waits a beat before answering, “I don’t really know, Astarion.”

Astarion chews his lip a little, and then sets his empty glass down and wordlessly shuffles across the couch to press into Gale’s side. Gale keeps his arm high for a moment, and then lets it settle onto Astarion’s hip. The elf mutters, “It’s unfair that you’re this warm.”

“I was willing to share my good fortune,” Gale points out. He’s afraid to move, really. There are delicate white curls against his sweater, and someone made of muscle and bird bones tucked is pressed so close. “Is this better?”

“I figure I ought to warm up a bit before trying to kiss you,” Astarion sighs, “Nothing scarier than cold lips.”

“Oh,” Gale says, stupidly.

“Have I gotten you wrong, Dekarios?” Astarion asks, looking up at him sideways through white eyelashes. Were his eyes always so red? Is that a normal color for a moon elf?

Gale swallows. “No, no you haven’t misunderstood my interest. Is it… fair to assume that you’re interested in kind?”

Astarion laughs, a funny, fragile thing, and says, “I thought about jumping you last night.”

“Goodness,” Gale says, “How romantic.”

“There’s more than one way to warm a mouth, you know,” Astarion teases cheerfully.

This is all moving much too fast, suddenly. Gale knows it’s probably a joke, so he ought to joke back, but he can’t find words for a moment. An impossible feat, usually. Astarion is very talented.

Astarion looks up at him, “Or not. You seem nervous.”

“It’s been - it’s been a while. I was nervous just thinking about kissing you, forget anything else,” Gale manages. He feels like there’s an entire pond of frogs in his throat.

“Forget it?” Astarion asks. He has a hand on Gale’s thigh, and his fingers draw a slow nonsense pattern there.

He amends his statement, “Shelve it, I think. For tonight? Maybe we can reassess at the second date.”

The elf laughs a little, “This is the first date, now, then.”

It seems they’d come to the same conclusion. It could just be that they’re made for each other, somehow. Gale Dekarios has never stopped believing in soulmates or fate. Not in a literal, tangible way, but. It had been a comfort, to think that there might be somebody out there that understood him entirely. He’d just have to wait to meet them.

Astarion sits up a bit, turning to tuck his cold face into Gale’s warm neck, and they both shiver.

“You really are cold,” Gale comments, tentatively setting a hand on the back of Astarion’s neck. “Do you have a condition, or? Is it rude to ask?”

“Condition,” Astarion murmurs into Gale’s collar, “Is a funny way to put it. I do have a condition - incurable, as far as I know. I’ll live just fine, but I am very cold-natured. Apologies.”

As he says apologies, though, Astarion untucks Gale’s shirt and puts his frigid hands on Gale’s stomach.

Aside from the temperature shock of it, Gale doesn’t mind too terribly. “Like a leech,” he decides, voice much too fond of a man he met yesterday who has all but sat in his lap today.

That earns another snort of amusement, though Astarion stays quiet for a time. His rude hands explore Gale’s torso when Gale doesn’t disallow the action. Astarion seems fascinated by his body hair, unseen but undeniably present. Those cool fingers linger over the scars under his chest, but Astarion doesn’t seem to mind them. Gale squints at him when the man tries to play with one of his nipples, though.

“Can you blame me?” Astarion asks, looking faux-innocent about it.

“Steal a man’s warmth, next thing you’ll steal his virtue,” Gale jokes.

“That’s the goal,” Astarion says, and leans up to kiss him.

Even though Astarion’s been warming his lips against Gale’s neck, they’re still very obviously cold. Whatever this condition is, Gale has to wonder if he’s dying, even as Astarion demonstrates that he is very much alive. The man kisses like he’s hungry for it, like drinking whiskey in the snow. Something to warm your bones, but is it safe? Will you survive it?

Gale, for his part, does remember how it goes, after a moment. He helps facilitate the elf straddling him properly, he touches Astarion’s jaw and temples and ears. Gale lets the man take whatever it is he needs, because while Gale does want very badly to be touched, to be loved… Astarion needs the same, but in a more raw way. Something feral and broken exists in the gasps and scrabbling. Something desperately lonely.

He’ll bring Astarion home, and the love and togetherness will kill him entire.

But he’ll be home. He’ll be safe and warm.

He finally pulls away, heated and breathless. Gale might be a little more interested in sex now than he was ten minutes ago, but he’s determined to give it at least a day. Even if they both simply suffer for it. Astarion is hard against his thigh, and that alone speaks to some suffering.

“That was…” Gale starts. He kisses the curls that fall in front of Astarion’s long ears, and the elf shivers.

“Was it too much?” Astarion asks, tucking his face into Gale’s neck once more.

“You flatter me,” Gale says. It doesn’t seem real: that someone like Astarion would be so eager to kiss someone like Gale.

“How so?” Astarion wonders, and kisses his neck. Gale isn’t sure if he’s alright with a hickey or not, but the man doesn’t stop to work a mark into his flesh just yet. He kisses lazily, licking Gale’s skin where his pulse hammers just below the surface.

Gale doesn’t know how to answer him, really. “You like me,” he says lamely.

“I do,” the elf laughs.

“I don’t understand why, but I suppose I shouldn’t try to understand.”

“Nooo, best not,” Astarion agrees, pressing a kiss to Gale’s bearded jaw, “Are you sure we can’t have sex?”

“Second date,” Gale says, “Which could be tomorrow, so don’t pout too terribly.”

Astarion pouts so very terribly, but doesn’t actually protest. Still, Gale feels almost bad. He asks, “Are you free tomorrow, then?”

“I don’t have a job,” Astarion answers, “Will your family mind that I’m monopolizing your time?”

“They’ll hardly notice, I’m sure,” Gale shrugs.

The elf is grinding into Gale’s hip in such a way that Gale wonders if he thinks that Gale might not notice? Somehow?? Very rude creature. He isn’t going to ask him to stop, though. Gale will be thinking about how close they came to more as he lays in bed tonight.

“Is this good for you?” Gale asks him, running a hand through his curly hair. It’s just as soft as it’d looked.

“It could be better,” Astarion murmurs, “But it is good. I’m sorry, I know you said - ”

“You’re not sorry,” Gale says.

“I’m not,” Astarion admits, “Do you mind if I? Please.”

“You want to make a mess of your trousers, over me?” Gale has never been more sure that he’s misunderstood something, but somehow, miraculously, the man nods. Astarion is biting his lip, and something in that motion strikes Gale as wrong, but he’s too distracted to place why. Gale thinks that if he said no, he’d be some sort of criminal who deserves to go to jail forever. He says, “I don’t mind. If our pants stay on, I think we’re technically not violating the second-date clause.”

“We never signed a contract,” Astarion says, and with permission given, he’s repositioned his weight to properly hump Gale’s thigh.

“Mmm, it was a verbal agreement,” Gale says, and takes Astarion’s face in his hands to kiss him again, “By kissing me,” he murmurs, “You indicated that the arrangement was acceptable.”

“So then, what of this?” Astarion laughs, and then shudders, grunting as he seeks pleasure between two layers of pants and a blanket. “I suppose you’ve only agreed to pants-on ejaculation.”

“It’s not penetrative intercourse,” Gale hums, and shifts to hold Astarion’s hips, encouraging him on, “If you manage to make me come with my pants still on, I believe - I believe you’ll have earned it.”

“Mmmm, don’t set goalposts you don’t want me crossing, darling,” Astarion groans. He seems like he’s losing the plot. Still, the simple use of the word darling, as Astarion takes what he needs, here, is… it’s a lot.

“Tomorrow,” Gale tells both of them, “But tonight… are you close, sweetheart?”

“Mm,” Astarion says, his rhythm growing unsteady.

“Go ahead and come, then,” Gale says. This is a test, or a power trip, or something.

Astarion makes a funny, keening noise, and then his hips buck as he falls apart in Gale’s arms. He sounds like he might be crying, a little, tucked into Gale’s neck. There must be a lot more than heavy petting on his mind, but Gale can’t begin to fathom that, either.

Gale pets his hair, “I’m sure that wasn’t ideal, but you were perfect, you know.”

The elf doesn’t say anything, so Gale continues, “I was thinking… it would be nice, if you came to the house for Simril night, with us. I could come pick you up. We could read our charts together.”

Astarion makes a small, indecipherable noise.

“I know it’s not something you care about, but… if my family is going to scare you off, better now before we’re too attached to one another, right?” Gale says, running a hand down Astarion’s back.

“Too late,” Astarion mutters more audibly, but he seems to have gone boneless. After a while, he says, “I’m not sure. Maybe. If you think it’ll be okay.”

“I think it’ll be grand,” Gale says. “And if it’s absolutely too much, we can call you a cab back and forget it ever happened.”

“Very romantic,” Astarion teases. He pushes himself up with what seems like a great effort, and sighs. Gale smiles as the elf tucks some of Gale’s hair behind his ear. “I’m a mess, now, and… unless you were staying long enough for me to change… or, you know, unless you want to reconsider your pants…”

Gale takes Astarion’s hand and kisses it, “Please know that I am very, very interested. If I stayed the night, I’d never hear the end of it from now until I die.”

“A few years,” Astarion hums.

“More than a few,” Gale says. “Anyway. I do have a room to myself, so… if you come over tomorrow, and things go well…”

“So I’m being bribed,” says Astarion.

“Clearly moussaka isn’t the way to your heart, so I’ll have to see if snacks work any better,” he jokes.

“I mean, I’ll eat,” Astarion laughs, and finally pulls himself up, “I’d eat right now. I need no bribery.”

Gale shivers a little, but he is very strong, “I am not food, if you need reminding.”

“Ahh, maybe not,” Astarion allows, “But you are delicious, I bet, darling.”

He probably ought to wait a little longer to leave, considering the wine, but if he stays, he’s going to end up with an elf between his thighs on what is barely even a first date. Gale has never been desired so boldly, so explicitly. If Astarion were the village bicycle, Gale would’ve been told such before being sent here - there is no such reputation. Something about Gale is inspiring such lewd behavior in this beautiful cryptid.

Gale tugs his coat on and smiles as Astarion helps button it, and they share a much less frantic kiss. “We’ll coordinate about the star charts,” Gale says.

“I’ll let you know,” Astarion agrees, and the elf stands at the door at least until Gale’s disappeared down the driveway. Despite the cold, despite his being cold. It’s hard not to feel wanted.

This has been a strange twenty-four or so hours.

It’s late enough when he gets back to the house that some of the cousins staying with his aunts or uncle have already dispersed for the night.

His mother is copying down little index cards for everybody from a notebook - the things one needs when buying a star chart. The exact date and time and location of one’s birth, the positions of the planets and planes at that time. It’s painstaking work, and really, they ought to have last year’s cards. Nobody new has been born, and the most recent of the partners ought to be simple enough to write down, but Gale’s mother seems to find some satisfaction in this small task.

Gale sits beside her as she writes on the arm of the couch by the fire, and she pauses to give him a once-over and a smile. “How was your boy?”

“I was only there an hour or so and you’re calling him my boy,” Gale chuckles. Aunt Cora is asleep in an armchair nearby, and her wife gives them a little wave as she starts to try and rouse her to bring her to bed.

Morena Dekarios tilts her head, “You seemed in good spirits, is it a bad assumption?”

Gale thinks about it for a moment, but then ducks his head as he answers, “It did go well. I think he and I are… mutually fond of one another. It’s just… it’s so fast. I invited him to spend Simril with us tomorrow night.”

“Did you invite him to spend the night?” she asks, verbally handing Gale the equivalent of a loaded gun.

“Maybe so,” Gale says. He does not want to discuss the particulars with his mother, of all people, but she is asking, and it is her house. If anyone could veto this decision, it’s her.

“Oh, excellent. Morning interrogations are on the menu,” she cheers. Cora and her wife are halfway out the door, but they give a sleepy ‘yay’ as they take their leave.

Gale laughs, but says, “Please be gentle with him, mother. Much as I want to get him warm and happy and loved, he does not seem to know how to be any of those things.”

She gives him a look, “He doesn’t know how to be warm? This far North? In Nightal?”

“He was very cold to touch. Wearing a sweater and everything, fire lit to no avail.”

“Strange, that,” Morena hums. “Is he getting charts with us tomorrow?”

“I should think so. I invited him, at any rate,” Gale says.

Plucking a blank card from her stack, she writes out Astarion and labels the information they’ll need, leaving space for Gale or ‘his boy’ to fill it in. She hands him the card with a smile, “We’ll be nice.”

Gale isn’t so sure about the family as a whole, but Morena is the scariest of them, when it comes to him. Her good word is golden. They’ll be nice to Astarion.

They won’t be nice to Gale, he’s sure, but - that’s alright, he knows how to handle the teasing of several dozen family members. They can ease Astarion into such matters, into being loved and looked upon fondly once or twice a year.

While Gale is no proper uncle, he has no siblings of his own, he is Uncle Gale to these seven-and-surely-more children. It would be sweet to see if they take to Astarion well enough to call him Uncle, too. (A small part of Gale wonders if they might want children of their own, in the coming years, but that is surely insanity speaking. He has known Astarion for two days, things are moving fast enough as-is.)

He goes to bed with his heart full and strange and hopeful.

Come morning there are a few more late-night texts he’s missed.

Astarion: hey i’m sorry (actually) but i’m not sure about shopping.

Astarion: you’d be doing that during the day, right?

Astarion: i’m… busy. 😬

Astarion: hello? are you awake?

Astarion: i promise i'm not trying to blow you off. i just can’t come.

Astarion: …you’re asleep and this looks really needy, doesn’t it? Ugh. 😔

Gale is struck with the urge to apologize for being asleep at a reasonable hour, for not answering this string of messages from two thru five in the morning. Instead, he just answers,

Gale: I’m not angry with you, I hope you didn’t lose much sleep.

Gale: Are you still coming tonight, if not today? Or shall I write it off?

Astarion: do you still want me to come?

Gale: Of course I do. :) I’ll still pick you up, even.

Gale: Just give me your info so I can buy your chart, it’s alright.

Astarion: 🥺

Gale: I’m sure you have your reasons, Astarion. Have a good morning.

Gale: See you tonight.

It’s a little disappointing, if he’s being honest with himself. Gale had wanted to ease Astarion into this evening’s festivities with the shopping, first. By necessity, everyone will both arrive together and then disperse immediately upon Nightstone’s town square. He could have introduced Astarion to them in little groups. He could have bought something that made Astarion smile.

Gale gets up, gets lucky with a free spin in the shower, and enjoys a very egg-filled breakfast after his questing with Ane the day prior.

Some of the family will be leaving this time tomorrow, rather than staying through the next tenday - travel and school and work all beckon. Gale makes sure to spend time talking with each of his cousins’ children while they get all ready to go out, and feels honored when several of them ask to ride with him into town.

Can he make heads or tails of the music they ask him to turn on? No, of course not. Does he feel like a cool uncle for doing it, when they dance and sing along in his back seat? Yes, absolutely. Gale feels like he’s doing something right, for sure.

It’s no less special to walk up to his preferred dealer of star charts and buy two when he’d spent all previous years buying one. It would have been fun to have Astarion here, but it’s fine! If… if they’re together, still, next year, it can be special next year and forever more. Gale doesn’t know how not to get ahead of himself, it turns out. The kids have all abandoned him to his thoughts, which are endless.

He keeps remembering the noises Astarion had made when he was close, it’s becoming a problem. It would probably be more of a problem if he was in possession of a real penis instead of a packer, but his overactive imagination is still distracting.

Gale buys a mug of mulled wine and some trinkets and candy for the kids. He has real presents for them, they’ll be showered with the things come nightfall, but it never hurts to throw a few more shiny or sweet things into the bag. He wonders if Astarion likes candy, or just “snacks.” Just wild boar, gods be kind. Strange man.

There is a small coalition of menfolk from his family waiting beside a scarf stall. Several of them have clearly already bought scarves here, and Gale asks Aunt Tara’s husband if there’s any room in there.

He says, “Nah, but it’s all us. Squeeze on in, lad.”

They do look nice, so Gale shuffles past the draped entrance to join the throng of Dekarios trying to buy out this stall’s wares. He doesn’t feel especially bad, they might get to close up and go home early. A beautiful red-and-silver scarf immediately catches his eye - it’s got these dripping red-bead or gem details, and silver designs tastefully worked into the fabric. It’s absolutely a fashion scarf rather than a warmth scarf, but Gale must have it for Astarion. It’ll draw out that strange color in his pretty eyes.

Gale fights his cousin Sunny for it and wins, but he offers to buy her second favorite for her in apology.

“Oh, you really have got it bad, haven’t you? Go on, then, buy me this yellow bird-scarf, Gale-force,” she grins. It’s not as bad as all of that, but it does have feathers sewn into it. Sunny’s spouse calls her a very pretty bird, and of course her son looks embarrassed by the entire interaction.

He loiters with the rest of them once he’s finished his shopping, watching the sun begin to make its way down. The market will stay open, there are plenty of stragglers in town, but there are some who make their tradition in charting their year’s luck there rather than at home. Another mug, this time of hot cocoa, and he figures he ought to reach out to Astarion again.

Gale: Ready for pickup soon? I could come by with family in tow.

Astarion: please no

Astarion: about bringing people here, that is

Gale: Understood! I’ll drop them off first. Do you think you’ll stay over?

Astarion: how risque, mister dekarios…

Gale: Very funny, coming from you, Astarion.

Astarion: i’ll pack a go-bag and we’ll see where the stars take us

Astarion: gods that's cheesy. stop rubbing off on me

Gale: I’d ask the same of you, but I didn’t mind it last night. ;)

Astarion: WOW?????

It does take some doing to get the nosy children out of his car a second time, when they catch wind that he’s going to fetch Astarion afterwards, but they take pity on him. There’s plenty to do as the sun sets, anyway, more hands can’t hurt. As he pulls back out of the cul-de-sac, all of the chairs are being dragged out of his mother and aunts’ houses and into the lawns and street. Atlas’s house gets to keep its chairs as the designated quiet place. There are a few telescopes being brought out and dusted off as well - by the time Gale gets back with the elf, it’ll be dark enough to gaze upward.

He doesn’t honk this time, but Astarion is still waiting for him. The man looks a little shy, somehow, as he meets Gale by the car with a duffle bag.

“I haven’t been out in a while,” Astarion says, and then, “You forgot the casserole dish last night. Did you still want it?”

“Oh - what? Damn, did I really?” Gale laughs, “After all of that… I suppose I had other things on my mind.”

“So you did,” Astarion grins, and looks so kissable that Gale can’t help but lean in to kiss him.

After a lovely little moment, Astarion shuffling into Gale’s space to leech his warmth again, Gale sighs and says, “They’ll be expecting us, you know. Can’t get carried away just yet.”

“You promised me some fun, but I suppose we can both be patient a bit longer,” Astarion says, sounding like he’d happily snog in the snow for hours if it was an option. Nobody has ever suffered the way Astarion suffers, clearly.

“We have to have the second date first,” Gale agrees, and pulls away. Astarion returns to the house briefly to retrieve the casserole dish, and strangely… does not lock any of those many locks as he leaves. The more Gale knows about the man, the less he understands.

Gale drums his fingers on the steering wheel as Astarion gets settled, asking, “So how do you get by out here without a car or anything - bike?”

Astarion snorts, “Do I look like a cyclist, darling?”

“I’m assuming that’s not the answer, then. Walking?”

“Running, actually,” Astarion sniffs. He doesn’t elaborate, but he doesn’t look upset about the question.

“That much cardio would just about kill me,” Gale laughs, pulling out onto the main road. “I respect it, though, of course.”

“Anyway. I really don’t get into town all that often. Did you know, you can order all sorts of things on the internet? They just bring them to your door. A hundred years ago, there was barely organized mail, Gale, and now… now you can talk to the entire world on the little brick in your pocket.”

Gale doesn’t usually think that much about the long lives of elves, but he does ask, “So what say you - are we better off now than we were before?”

Astarion grins, “I’m having more fun now than I have in centuries. I’ll take now and a future over before and a past.”

“Centuries,” Gale hums. “A lot of life to live up to.” After a moment, he says, “I’m glad you’re having as much fun as I am. It’s a thrill, isn’t it?”

“You have no idea,” Astarion agrees.

It’s really not that far away from home, Nightstone is still small after all. Gale parks in front of one of the neighbors’ houses and takes the dish from Astarion. “How are we feeling, then? I know this is fast, meeting everybody, but…”

“It’s important to you,” Astarion says, shrugging. “I’ll do my best not to bite anybody.”

This might have actually been a better plan from the start, Gale thinks. Everyone is already settled in with their charts and blankets and food, so nobody rushes to overwhelm Astarion. A few of them do notice him, though, and smile and wave. Astarion swallows and does a little wave back.

They make a detour to the house so that Gale can show Astarion his room, they can drop off the dish and Astarion’s bag, and so on. Naturally, Astarion perks up a bit when they’re alone. “Ah yes, definitely the room of a grown man,” he jokes, but he’s looking around at the various fantasy series’ posters with interest.

“My bedroom in Waterdeep is a shade more mature,” Gale says, “But it’s kind of nice to come home to something familiar. My mother is a saint for not throwing any of it out.”

Astarion picks up a little framed photo of Gale and Morena on the dresser and says, “She loves you. Of course that means she respects you and your things.”

Gale wonders if this goes on the list of things that are hurt or broken about Astarion. It’s too early to ask him just yet. “Let’s go back outside.”

“I’m going to fuel the rumor mill and sit in your lap,” Astarion decides, imperious.

“Your home away from home,” Gale smiles, “You won’t find me complaining!”

The elf steals one of the blankets from Gale’s bed and wraps it around himself. Ready to go, it seems.

Back outside, they find a conspicuously free loveseat, in which Gale situates himself longways and Astarion lays atop him. It’s strange, in a way, to have automatically been given this permission to touch and hold. To leap past tentatively brushing against one another, and land firmly in snuggle-town.

He hands Astarion his own star chart, which is tied with a red and silver bow, and opens his own. It’s all a bit of a puzzle and a bit of a scavenger-hunt. Filling in the locations of certain stars above them and determining what that means for each person in attendance. Auntie Tara is the best at it, but a couple of his cousins take it seriously enough that they’re beginning to rival her. In a few decades, it’ll probably be them that everyone turns to for help.

Astarion dutifully does look for his stars, occasionally turning to ask Gale for a clarification. It seems that it’s been many years since his last attempt to do this sort of thing, so he’s rusty. Gale is happy to help.

Luck in money finds them both neutral. Neither good nor bad. That’s alright.

Luck in health sees Gale with minor bad luck, and Astarion with major good luck. Nothing Gale can’t survive, he’s sure. That’s usually just catching a few colds.

There are many other little things that they derive - propensity toward blind luck, this year, or luck in motion. Luck in gambling, separate from money, as this is holy to Lady Tymora. Eyes-open luck, defiant luck, deviant luck.

Luck in love is the thing that has Gale’s heart on edge, as they work it out. Astarion’s first, it says, “ After a long wait, a love will visit you this year,” when they line up his numbers. Gale’s says, “ Love will surprise you, this year.”

“That seems promising?” Astarion asks, rolling his chart back up and curling over on his side to be more comfortable.

“What do you make of it?” Gale asks. He dares not put importance where they may not be any, for Astarion. As exciting as it is for their forecasts to line up in some capacity… it’s not fair to put that expectation on somebody he’s known for about five hours in total, thus far.

Astarion pushes his cold nose into Gale’s neck and says, “Who am I to argue with the stars? I welcome such love, should it choose to visit me.”

He would visit Astarion. If the man didn’t come with him to Waterdeep, of course he’d visit. It’s not an impossible drive, they wouldn’t have to stay with his mother… that’s not what Astarion is saying to him, but that’s what Gale thinks about.

“I wonder at how it could surprise me,” Gale admits, “I feel like the surprise has come to pass already, whether we call this love or not.”

Astarion makes a funny little noise again, something that might be a laugh or a groan. It’s hard to tell through the layers of blanket and coat.

“I won’t call it love if it makes you uncomfortable, though,” Gale says.

“Though I don’t think we’re there yet,” Astarion agrees, murmuring quietly, “That wasn’t it. Don’t worry.”

Another hour or so goes by, snacks and drinks are passed around. Astarion does the bare minimum of greeting and interacting with Gale’s family in the dark that is only lit by stars. When it comes time to start getting the children to bed, Gale nudges Astarion up and says, “Here, help me bring this back inside. I think you can beg off the rest of the hauling, though.”

“Mm?” the elf mrrps, clearly sleepy. He does help pick up the other side of the loveseat and bring it back into Cora’s house, though. Astarion leans heavily on Gale once they’ve done that, and Gale wonders if he’s actually that tired. Poor thing.

Gale isn’t an overly strong man, physically, but… Astarion has sat on him several times now, he doesn’t weigh a ton. He wouldn’t be able to keep this up for too long, but… but Astarion is so holdable. How could Gale resist picking him up to carry him next door?

Astarion mumbles half a protest, but seems pleased with the treatment as he wraps his arms around Gale’s neck, his legs around his back. For a man who has texted Gale past midnight two nights in a row and is entirely made of elbows, Astarion sure is soft and sleepy.

He shares a smile with his mother on his way up the stairs, and steadfastly ignores everyone else even though they are mainly also smiling at the two of them. Astarion is clearly not actually asleep, because as soon as they’re back in Gale’s room, he’s kissing Gale’s neck.

“I see you haven’t forgotten your bribe,” Gale observes, setting the clingy creature down on the bed and laughing when Astarion tries to pull him down.

“I was so good,” Astarion says, “I deserve a treat. I deserve awards.”

“You will have to make due with sex,” Gale apologizes.

“Seeing you undressed will be an award in and of itself,” Astarion purrs, and tugs Gale down for a kiss. Astarion’s fingers comb through his hair, scratch through his beard, drag down his neck and settle on his shoulders. Astarion licks his lips when Gale pulls away to unbutton his flannel, and Gale feels a bit like a piece of meat before an under-trained house cat.

“May I remind you,” says Gale as he shrugs out of his shirt, and then pulls his undershirt over his head, “That we are in a house full of people. Some of whom will be in the adjacent rooms, or beneath us.”

“That sounds like a them problem,” Astarion says, a hand down the front of his pants.

“I would like to maintain some plausible deniability, if we can,” Gale says. “I’ll cover my mouth if you cover yours.”

“You think you’ll be loud?” Astarion teases. “I’ll cover yours for you, my sweet.”

That makes Gale shiver and roll his eyes as he shuffles out of his pants and underpants. Astarion is still entirely dressed and with a blanket wrapped around him, but he’s clearly enjoying himself. Gale moves to lay down nearer to the head of the bed, and Astarion eagerly climbs over him like a blanket-spectre, back to eagerly kissing him.

“You’ll be wearing a rubber as well,” Gale remembers to insist, “I have one if you don’t.”

“Mmhm,” Astarion says, seeming like he’s only half-listening as he licks Gale’s neck again, grinding at his hip and pushing fingers through the nearby curls. The elf’s clever touch is simple, not overwhelming as he draws a circle around the hood of Gale’s clit.

He hasn’t been touched like this in years, and Gale already wonders how he survived such a dry spell. Gale covers his mouth with his hand as he rocks against Astarion’s fingers and wonders if the elf means to leave a mark on his neck this time. The attention turns to the other side of his neck, sucking and kissing and the gentlest of teeth there. Gale can hear how slick he’s gotten, when Astarion dips his fingers in curiously and then returns to their teasing.

Abruptly, Astarion withdraws and sits up, biting his lip. He doesn’t leave entirely, but sits back on his heels and looks Gale over with an unreadable expression.

Gale catches his breath, feels exposed. He watches Astarion, and when the man doesn’t say anything for a moment, he asks, “What’s wrong?”

“I have a confession,” Astarion says.

Immediately, there are a dozen possible crimes in Gale’s mind. Astarion is married, Astarion is a felon, Astarion is on a watchlist, Astarion isn’t his real name, Astarion gave the wrong star chart data, Astarion is disappointed that Gale doesn’t have a penis, Astarion is in love with someone else, Astarion stole someone’s identity, Astarion is allergic to latex, Astarion does have a car after all.

Astarion rubs at his arm and says, “I might be… um. I’ve never told anyone this and it sounds deeply stupid in my head.”

“Albino?” Gale ventures, because apparently it’s time to say stupid things.

This startles a laugh out of Astarion, who says, “N-no. I’m a vampire.”

Gale doesn’t know what to say to that. He says, “You’re not.”

“I am.”

“You’re pulling my leg,” Gale insists.

In response, Astarion opens his mouth, letting his upper lip curl. Sure enough, now that Gale is looking, the man’s canines are sharp. His skin is cold and his teeth are sharp and his eyes are red, which mustn’t be a typical moon elf color after all, and…

Gale says, “O-okay. Say I believe you. Was that it?”

Astarion stares at him. “I mean, there’s more to that story, but it’s not sexy, um. That’s… that is it.” The elf, the vampire, fidgets. “Are you… are you still interested?”

The mind boggles in four ways at once.

“Yes, I am still interested,” Gale agrees, relieved and confused and horny.

“I see. You're insane,” Astarion says, like it is a matter of fact.

“You haven't hurt me yet and I didn't think vampires were real, it stands to reason that I can trust you not to kill me or whatever you think I ought to worry about,” Gale rambles. He holds out his hands to the fully-clothed vampire and says, “We'll figure it out later, but for now - please come here and let me warm you up?”

Astarion still looks a little wary, but clearly can't resist the allure of Gale all needy and eager for him. The man settles back into place above him, kisses him with a more obvious hunger, and doesn't protest when Gale starts to unwrap him like a present.

“Beginning to understand your fascination with my neck,” Gale murmurs, as Astarion returns to his attentions there.

“It's not even the good blood,” Astarion admits, “This is all… mmm, waste-blood, I think. But you smell amazing. I haven't - I haven't ever bitten anybody.”

That sounds very sad. No wonder Astarion is so pale, so thin despite the muscle and such. The man really doesn't eat, except… “You drank a wild boar?” Gale asks, half a gasp as Astarion teases slow circles around his clit again.

“I had to take the edge off,” Astarion admits, nuzzling under Gale's jaw. “I did almost jump you the first night, but it wouldn't have been sexy.”

Gale has his doubts about that.

“It's that hard?” Gale asks, at the same time he frees Astarion's erection from his khakis. They both have an immature little laugh about it.

Astarion looks like he could just about purr, eyes fluttering shut as he rocks into Gale's hand. He agrees, “I was worried, coming here, that I'd hurt somebody. That I'd break your heart twice-over.”

“Poor thing,” Gale hums, his free hand thumbing over Astarion's cheekbone. “But you wanted to come.”

“Your bribe,” Astarion jokes, but it's obvious that there's more at stake here than a romp.

“Thank you,” Gale smiles, and then makes a distracted noise as the vampire's fingers pick up speed. Astarion swallows the noises down as Gale whines against his lips, slick and drawn back into this, this.

Astarion bites Gale's lip and then grins, “Don't thank me just yet, Dekarios. I want to make you scream.”

“Don't - gods, we can't - but, please?” Gale asks, quaking against Astarion's insistent hand. He doesn't want to make noise, but he wants nothing more than for Astarion to take him apart so well that he wails.

“Indecisive pet,” Astarion murmurs, “Do you want my cock now, or would you like to come first?”

Gale loves making decisions. Gale hates making decisions. He arches into Astarion's touch and says, “L-let me come?”

“Of course, darling,” Astarion coos, dipping his fingers into Gale's slick and continuing his efforts. The vampire is down a blanket and his pants are half off, but they mutually lost interest in getting the sweater over his head. He looks a mess, but Gale thinks he might finally understand something of love. Does luck, or the stars, have anything to do with it?

When he finally falls apart, it isn't a surprise but a revelation. Gale feels like he just had a religious experience. Astarion pets his hair.

“There you are. Back to Toril with the rest of us,” Astarion hums, and then combs his fingers through Gale's pubic hair. He'd be embarrassed, but clearly Astarion doesn't mind him hairy. Elves must think it novel. Though it is a little funny to have his hair touched in two very different places.

“Hello,” Gale says, and smiles, “I may have to direct you toward the condoms, I'm afraid you've stolen my bones.”

With faux-indignance, Astarion scoffs, “I want your blood, not your bones.”

“Clerical error,” Gale chuckles, and does point out the appropriate drawer. He may have borrowed these from one of his more active cousins, but they needn't know he actually used them.

Astarion steps out of his pants before joining Gale on the bed again, and he rolls the condom on with no hesitation or pause. There must be a story there, too, but Gale hopes it's just this vampire is sexually active.

“Do you want to stay on your back?” Astarion asks him. He looks like he had more to say, though - another question on his mind, maybe.

Gale raises an eyebrow. “I did like to hold you, last night. Is something the matter, Astarion?”

Astarion looks almost cowed, for some reason. He starts, “I know I shouldn't ask. I'm not even sure I'd be able to stop…”

“You want to bite me?” Gale guesses. Call it post-coital clarity.

Astarion nods. His eyes look a little wild with the notion, a lot hungry. He drank the blood of a boar, yesterday, and today he wants Gale.

Admittedly, Gale isn't against the idea. He's been known to enjoy a vampire fantasy novel in his time, some trashier than others. He does give blood regularly - (wait, was that why) - so he can probably spare a pint…

Gale says, “You can. Just ensure that you don't have to summon an ambulance, or worse, my mother.”

Astarion shudders at that notion. “Just a mouthful, honestly.”

“Come here, then,” Gale whispers, and Astarion does. As much as it's been a while, Gale doesn't think he's ever been wetter. Astarion's cock slides in easy, a comfortable fullness.

“You're so warm,” Astarion mumbles, nose to Gale's collarbone.

“Shh,” Gale laughs, and then sighs when Astarion moves.

“I haven't seen the sun in forever. In lifetimes,” Astarion says, voice low and probably not half so smooth as he intends, “But it's - it's like you've brought it to me in your cunt.”

Gale swats at his ear.

Astarion snickers and resumes the slow and methodical rut of his hips. It's to keep the bed from screeching, but it's driving Gale mad, the way the vampire's cock drags at his walls. Astarion kisses Gale's neck again, this time a shade bolder as he teases his teeth there.

“Go ahead,” Gale whispers, because the anticipation could about kill him.

It's a sharp sensation. Obviously. A pair of pinpricks, a rush of warmth and then cold, a feeling of both wrongness and rightness. That this could kill him, but it won't. Instead, it can nurture his lover.

This is to say nothing of the effect it has on Astarion, who is fully seated inside of Gale and grinding, like he could get closer if he only convinced Gale's body. Like he really would crawl into Gale's ribcage to live beside his heart, if given half a chance.

It's too much. Gale cries out as he comes again, and Astarion somehow has just the braincell needed to cover Gale's mouth as he licks at Gale's neck.

The vampire isn't long behind, but he sits back and lifts Gale's hips to better pull him down on his cock. “Shit,” Astarion exhales when they make eye contact, and then he's gone, muscles tensed as he spills into the condom. Gale idly imagines Astarion taking him raw, and - that's for another, messier time. A more real and solid relationship, maybe.

Now is good, though. Astarion gives him a fanged smile, a bit of blood smeared below his lip, and - now is excellent. Gale coaxes him down to be held.

Now is warm.

“We could have been quieter,” Gale murmurs, his lover? Boyfriend? His vampire curls around Gale like an octopus.

“We'd have had to stop talking,” Astarion yawns, pushing himself up with obvious reluctance. He removes the condom and ties it off, and then Gale doesn't see whatever he actually did with it. Astarion makes himself quite at home on Gale's chest, pulling all the blankets over them. The man's sweater is still on and his pants are very much off.

Gale's distracted by his fondness for this strange creature, and almost forgets to answer, “Perish the thought.”

“I don't think we scarred anyone too terribly,” Astarion says, one ear flicking. “The gossip I'm hearing isn't specific. Just assumptions. Someone used the word canoodling.”

Astarion can hear that well? He'll be the king of clan gossip in no time at all.

“What would you call it?” Gale asks, curious and drowsy.

“I bet you'd call it something sappy,” Astarion decides, deflecting. This is an entirely baseless accusation.

Gale yawns. “I'll make love to you again, but not if you tease me for calling it thus.”

Astarion stares at him for a beat, and then goes back to laying his head on the pillow that is Gale's chest. He doesn't seem to have a witty retort for that.

As they lay there and listen to the rest of the house go to bed and fall quiet, Astarion presumably hears much more than Gale, Gale thinks about logistics. What thoughts he has left are devoted to the vampire that is lukewarm in his arms.

“The sunlight is dangerous for you,” he murmurs. Astarion nods. Gale says, “So if you stay til morning, you'll be here all day.”

Another nod.

Gale says, “That's very brave of you. I wouldn't be upset if you wanted to leave before dawn and be under less stress. Less hassle.”

Astarion shakes his head a little. “You're a package deal, I think. Right?”

That earns a soft smile from Gale. “Right.”

Tomorrow may be a hostage situation, an interrogation, a gauntlet. The day after Simril will be more presents and lights and warmth for those who can stay.

They'll talk about Waterdeep, about the days that will follow. They'll talk about Astarion and what got him here. They'll banter about which clothes Astarion is stealing, what he'll pretend to eat.

The rainbow lights in his mother's garden light Astarion's hair as they take the long way back to Gale's car that next night.

“So there'll be thirty-nine next year, including you,” Astarion observes.

“Including yourself, yes. Including probable babies, I bet we top forty,” Gale grins.

Astarion looks pale, but very brave.

“Do you think they'd let me hold the baby?”

Gale softens. “You'll be family. Of course.”

There is something so perfect in watching someone realize that they might not be alone anymore. Maybe ever again.

Maybe ever after.

holiday rainbow lights in the garden - Anonymous (1)

holiday rainbow lights in the garden - Anonymous (2025)
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