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Astarion was not entirely sure when the habit had fully developed. It had started with a few nights in the shadowlands, after days that had just been too dreary and draining for anything else. But when they had crossed to the Gate, well, it had only become more frequent. And he was not complaining, certainly not, but he could not say he understood it either.
Sex he understood. That made entirely too much sense, a numbing amount of it if he were being honest. But these nights did not seem to have anything to do with that at all. Instead he would wait until he heard the quiet shift of his tent’s flap and the whole ritual sequence would begin.
Inevitably Gale would stumble against something in his tent, Astarion smirking in the dark as the wizard swore and then apologized to the offending object. His voice would be soft and low, as if he was afraid of disturbing the trance they both knew Astarion had not entered yet. The human’s poor eyes helped him not at all but Astarion would watch in the greys of darkness as Gale would find the handholds the wizard seemed to have memorized to keep from stepping on him. There would be the soft, approving noise of discovery when Gale found the bedroll. Next Astarion would find the human curling around his back, nuzzling in against the back of his neck like a kitten.
“Did I wake you?” he always asked, soft as the arms wrapping around Astarion’s middle.
And every time Astarion would answer, leaning back into the warmth of Gale's beating heart. “No, darling. Hadn’t shut my eyes yet.”
While there may or may not be soft kisses exchanged, with each inch of his back pressed against the plush warmth of Gale’s chest and arms secure around him, that would be the extent. There was no frantic undressing, desperate touches, or lover’s demands. Instead Gale would burrow against him, chattering about their days, asking questions, until the man seemed to wear himself out and fell into a steady even sleep. And, inevitably, Astarion allowed himself to fall into a peaceful trance to the rhythm of Gale’s heartbeat and his steady breathing against his skin.
When he rose before Gale, as those precious humans needed oh so much sleep, the vampire found himself lounging in the embrace just a bit longer unless his turn at watch took him away. But there were enough days that he simply remained until the beginning of morning’s light filtered through the fabric of his tent. And inevitably he would complain of Gale’s atrocious morning breath but let the wizard ‘kiss him awake’ anyway.
The whole enterprise was sickeningly adorable and by all rights Astarion should have put a stop to it months ago.
Instead Astarion felt the tension melt out of his limbs as he eased into Gale’s almost stifling heat, the soft pile of that ridiculous velvet shirt, and Gale’s arms tugging him closer, ever closer. The wizard’s beard scratched familiar and light against his neck as the face attached to it buried in with an accompanying contented sigh. And a tension that somehow mirrored in Gale’s limbs would melt away as well, as if holding Astarion was all the man needed to be content with their meager lot in this world.
Which was ridiculous, they both should want more. And yet here they were, night after night, morning after morning.
“You did the right thing today, you know.” Gale murmured against his skin, just below his ear and wrapped in disgustingly hopeful affection. “One of these days we’ll have you rescuing orphans.”
Astarion laughed, soft and amused as his fingers trailed along the hand resting solid against his own chest. Gale’s fingers stopped lightly playing with the ties of his shirt, like an overgrown kitten being distracted. “Oh goody, what’s the right thing going to get me?”
He could feel Gale’s smile against him and knew exactly what it looked like in his mind’s eye. How his crows feet crinkled in delight, that the smile would seem to almost split his wizards face in delight as if its own sort of spell. “That nice tingling feeling in your chest.” he mused, rubbing his cheek to Astarion’s jaw.
“Darling, you know I don’t have a heart.” he sighed, but did not stop himself from twirling brown hair shot with salt around his finger as it brushed against his face. It should be annoying, the way some of it would inevitably catch in his mouth and it seemed to just be everywhere.
But he never pushed Gale away.
“Well, what about a very grateful wizard?” Gale chuckled, soft kisses pressed to where his pulse would be if his heart still beat. And there were times, times like right now, where Astarion almost thought it might start again.
It was an illusion, of course, but only in that there was no way for his heart to begin jumping once again in his chest. The warmth, the comfort, the way he sighed indulgently at the sweet kisses that were justified by nothing but their own existence, that was all real. And in these moments, Astarion let himself believe that maybe this was what being cared for should feel like. Because that had to be the word here, truly.
While Gale certainly espoused love often enough, Astarion had heard that word too many ways through too many lips for it to truly have the impact that it clearly had on the human. But care, care was different. In two hundred years there had been terror, control, and the corrupted facsimile of love and concern. Even sweet Dalyria really in the end had to keep an eye out for herself, lured countless to their deaths and dooms just as the rest of them. Certainly there were the blurred memories of a family before his fellow spawn, but after the centuries Astarion could never be certain what was memory and what was some foolish fantasy taking memory’s place.
“Where’ve you gone?” Gale’s rumbling voice, granted with the beginnings of sleep, mumbled softly against his ear.
Astarion smiled, truly smiled in that way where he did not have to think as he turned his head. “I’m right here, pet,” he assured sparkling brown eyes and the smile he received in return. “Wouldn’t want to be anywhere else.”
And the strangest part of it was that he meant it.