Work Text:
Gale does not know when to stop talking. Worse is he talks over everyone. No, that’s not right. He talks over Astarion .
Every. Single. Time.
“Wyll, we must head back to that merchant at the grove soon. I’ve only one fire arrow left and these acid arrows aren’t wor-”
“You know, last time we were visiting with Dammon, he had the most interesting book on long range weaponry.” Only a wizard would look at the books at a blacksmith shop. Astarion turns back to Wyll to continue but of course the insufferable man has only just begun. “There was a chapter on arrowheads. We’ve only seen a fraction of what’s out there. Arrows of transposition that work in a similar fashion to misty step, which is an incredibly helpful spell on the battlefield by the way. Oh the amount of pickles I would have found myself in if I hadn’t made use of that spell. It really throws them off. Anyways, maybe we can place an order for some specialty arrows.”
Astarion just blinks at him, but the damned wizard is busy smiling to himself, lost in the thought of whatever amazing accomplishment blinking over three feet is.
“As I was saying, Wyll.” Astarion makes a pointed glare at the mage, but again he’s looking elsewhere, “We’ll need better arrows before we make an appearance at that disg-”
“We should see if they can get ahold of Silence arrows. Now those really spell out a bad day for any wizard. One hit by that, and you’ll be unable to make a sound for six seconds.” By the Gods, if only Astarion had one now. “Six seconds may not sound like a long time without spellcasting, but that can be the difference between life and death during a conflict.”
Their leader, Wyll, eyes the way Astarion’s hand is clenched on the hilt of his sheathed dagger and steps in.
“Yes, we should ensure we have everything we need. Not sure if there is a way for us to place orders but we can stop by on our way to camp. We’ll top off our supplies, maybe unload a few things as well.”
Now it’s become an unspoken joke to the other companions in the group. Wyll stifled so many chuckles on one outing that Gale asked if he was feeling ill. Karlach fell over laughing at that one.
There’s no way to get the message to him without making a thing of it. Astarion’s tried subtle, like glaring daggers at him the moment he interrupts but it doesn’t work. The wizard is allergic to eye contact. His eyes are always somewhere else. If he’d look up for one second he’d see the furious expression on the Astarion’s face and get the message. It’s obnoxious. Verbosity is one thing, but the man has no manners.
Who interrupts like that without even a polite apology? At the very least acknowledge the faux pas privately. But no, the few times Astarion strikes up a conversation, the mage is butting in with his own two coppers with no remorse to be found.
“Shit. My bracer was sliced right through. There goes my evening repairing the da-”
“You know the Mending cantrip is really quite simple. It takes only a minute, I can’t tell you how many times that one has come in handy for me. Though typically you’d need some connection to the weave, not necessarily wizardry, mind you. Hm, it may be rather difficult for you actually.” Rather difficult? This asshole interrupts to brag about a cantrip he knows. A bloody cantrip.
“Hey Astarion, maybe Gale could give you lessons. You might have a chance at learning that difficult cantrip.” Shadowheart is barely able to finish talking without bursting into a fit of giggles. But Gale’s face lights up and Astarion can feel all the boar blood drain from his face.
“That’s ridiculous.” Astarion all but spits on the ground and keeps walking, the disappointment on the mages face almost making up for the rude interruption.
Every time it’s announced that they’ll be traveling together he has to stifle a groan. It’s getting harder to bite back the urge to yell at the wizard, or simply throw a dagger the moment he cuts him off. But their leader Wyll is a monster hunter, The Blade of Frontiers , Astarion needs to be careful if he’s to stick with the herd. Things were not looking good when he was caught draining a rabbit. It’s too risky to be starting fights at camp right now.
“Now that your secret is out, Astarion. I assume it should go without saying that if I wake up to you biting my neck it will be the last thing you do.” Shadowheart quips on the group’s trek through the forest.
“Darling, as tempting as that gorgeous ne-”
“Actually, it would be very unlikely for someone to wake up from a vampire’s bite. Research indicates that when turned, one develops a numbing solution that releases when anticipating a bite. It’s an evolutionary advantage that keeps targets more docile during the bite or preferably unaware completely. In fact, some witness accounts have reported that when conscious the bite can be rather pleasurable. Possibly another element to keep their prey calm, messy eating being more wasteful afterall.”
“That’s it! By the Nine Hells if I have to -” Astarion stops as soon as he makes eye contact with Wyll. His lips pressed into a tight line, their warlock leader is looking between the two of them like he might step in at any moment. Don’t piss off the Monster Hunter. Without that artifact shielding him, he’d be sprouting tentacles in no time.
“You almost sound curious, Gale.” Shadowheart raises a brow and smirks, then outright laughs at Gale’s incoherent stuttering. He mumbles something about picking herbs in the distance and leaves.
Wyll gives the cleric a disapproving look and urges the group to focus.
At a certain point though, it’s just too much. Why bother speaking around the mage if he’s just going to be cut off and lectured. Astarion might as well be mute. Staying silent is the safest bet since he’s not sure he’d be able to resist ripping the arrogant jerk’s throat out if it happens again.
So he does just that. Giving short noncommittal hums when spoken to or fully biting back his words. It’s exhausting. It’s no fun. Rather than finish scouting the spider cave, he subtly slices his bow string and heads back to camp to switch with someone else.
When the group is back, Gale keeps looking at him and averting his eyes the moment they meet. It must have been difficult not having someone to interrupt all day. Astarion just glares and goes back to his bow. That tactic isn’t going to work again, restringing might be worse than Gale’s company.
The next morning, he finds an excuse to stay back.
“Darling, Karlach’s been stuck at camp for so many days now. Between you and me, I think it’s hurting her morale. Why don’t I stay back today, you know, for the team.” He’s sure to use his airy diplomatic voice, it never fails. Wyll looks skeptical (monster hunters, they’re so untrusting) but agrees.
As Astarion makes his way back to his tent, Gale wishes him good morning, he responds with a scoff without slowing pace.
It’s been days like this, ensuring he’s either at camp or on the road depending on whichever Gale is not. Keeping a distance or flat out ignoring him in the evenings. It does nothing to dissuade Gale from attempting conversation. The mage continues stopping by Astarion’s tent at night, nearly cornering him, to monologue about the day's events. Sometimes he’ll even ask a question but just keep going. The third evening it happens he just walks away halfway through.
“Ah, I seem to have caught you at a bad time. Later then!”
Honestly, the man must be ill.
That night Shadowheart arrives at her watchshift a few minutes early with a look in her eye that screams gossip. Normally, it’s an expression that has his interest peaked, nothing like a little camp drama to spice things up. Except when it involves him, that takes all the joy out of it.
“We missed you at the Blighted Village today, there was a chest in an old blacksmith forge. The trap on it nearly left Lae’zel with an updated buzz cut. Not that I wouldn’t have enjoyed seeing it.” She swirls the wine in her silver goblet and takes a drink, a poor attempt to conceal her smirk.
“Such a shame. You’re all lost without me it seems.”
“Oh yes, especially a certain wizard.” The cleric all but giggles and Astarion questions why she’s his favorite. He gives her a responding sneer and grabs a drink from her goblet. The wine is vile, it always is.
During his next watch by the fire, he hears footsteps approaching and looks up expecting to see Shadowheart ready to dish. Except it’s Gale, shifting from foot to foot with a sheepish smile on his face. The rogue simply ignores him and continues sharpening his blade.
“Astarion, would you mind if I joined you?” Astarion just looks at him and raises a brow. Gale takes a seat straddling the log so that he can face the elf directly.
“I just wanted to check in on you. I’ve noticed you’ve been a bit quiet lately. Is everything alright?” And that’s just rich. Astarion laughs, and once he starts he can’t stop. The absurdity of it all is too much to take. This man really doesn’t get it.
“You seem to have lost me here. Was it something I said?” The confusion on the mage’s face just causes Astarion to laugh harder until he’s in a coughing fit.
“Something you said? Oh dear, Darling which part? All you DO is say things. In fact, I have found it impossible to get a word in amongst your chatter and have given up completely. It’s as if the moment I have something to say you’ve just got to steamroll in with whatever annoying nonsense has entered your mind. As if we all need to hear what types of arrows you read about. Or would you rather explain the intricacies of my condition to me again? Please, oh wise Gale of Waterdeep enlighten me. But be sure to cut me off before you do it. If I finish a sentence I might start to believe you have an interest in hearing anyone other than yourself.”
The silence that follows is deafening. Gale looks like he’s been hit with a hold person spell, mouth open and eyes searching helplessly around him.
It should feel good to put him in his place like this. The condescending bastard has had it coming for a long time. Not once has he considered how rude he’s been. Someone needed to tell him.
“Nothing to say? Get a silence arrow stuck somewhere?” Astarion stands to leave, ready to go kill something rather than watch whatever this is.
“I-Astarion, wait. Please.”
With arms crossed and weight centered on one side, begrudgingly he pauses. This better be good because if it’s boring he will be throwing a dagger.
“I know I can be alot.” Gale takes a breath and starts fidgeting with his hands, thumbnail scraping into the cuticle of each finger, an almost rhythmic quality to it. “You’re not the first to take issue with my rather verbose nature. I used to be rather practiced at honing it in, so to speak. It seems my time in isolation has me out of practice.”
He’s looking at the floor, never in the eyes. It’s infuriating.
Astarion sits back on the log, mirroring Gale’s position.
“Gale, look at me.”
Brown eyes meet his, they flinch away instantly but return with the barest squint, as if it hurts.
“It’s very annoying.” Astarion meant the words to come out biting, sarcastic, or even teasing. But somehow it comes out softer.
“I know.” Sad brown eyes flicker around but come back to meet him after a few moments. Astarion is not having it.
“Oh, don’t give me those woe-is-me eyes,” The rogue snaps, “I’m not falling for this cute and helpless act.” Gale is silently mouthing the word ‘cute’ in confusion as Astarion continues because he’s finally not getting cut off by the bastard for the first time in weeks.
“Obviously you don’t shut up around anyone. You’ve always got something to go on about. But you at least let the others finish talking . I say three words and you’re off! I am done getting interrupted by you, wizard.”
“Ah, I see.” Cheeks lightly flushing, Gale bites his lip for a moment before explaining.
“It’s not intentional, I assure you. It’s actually, well rather it’s a bit embarrassing…”
“Oh? Don’t stop now, you’ve got my attention.”
“Well, it’s just. You see.” For how slow he starts in talking, the next bit seems to pour anxiously out of him, his eyes on the log between them the entire time. “I’ve grown rather…fond of your company. You’re a very interesting person, Astarion. I know I tend to get overzealous at times, my apologies for that. I thought I was connecting with you by sharing interesting information related to what you’d said. I hoped you might find it interesting, as well. But I hadn’t stopped to consider how I was coming across. It’s a bad habit of mine. I’ll be more mindful of it from now on, I truly apologize for disrespecting you in such a careless manner.”
There’s a slight pause, a moment of indecision. Of all the ways for this confrontation to go, the elf had not expected it to be this. In face of the unexpected, he falls back on practiced moves.
“So…you find me interesting?” Astarion places both hands on the log and leans forward with a flirtatious look that has Gale going bright red.
“Now stop that, Astarion.” He scratches behind his neck and looks off for a moment. “I mean this genuinely, it’s not something for you to toy with.”
“I’ll be the judge of that. Tell me, wizard, what is it about me you find so interesting? Looking for a nibble?” It’s an empty tease since they both know that’s not true. Gale warned Astarion about the orb’s effect on his blood.
“Well, for one you’re an expert marksman with a keen eye for strategy. Additionally, you have incredible stealth - even for a rogue. You are impossible to find on the battlefield, you somehow find a way to slip into the shadows under a blazing sun, it’s fascinating. I can’t count the amount of times I’ve sent a firebolt at someone, only for your arrow to have already done the job.”
“That’s all? Seems a bit obvious.” Astarion fakes a pout, a smile threatening to escape. He chooses not to share that those arrows were a spiteful maneuver, an attempt at undermining Gale’s value in battle. There’s an odd twinge in his chest thinking about it, something like regret.
“Your skill with a lockpick is unparalleled,” the mage offers, “I’ve not much experience in that field, mind you, but no one in our group can hold a candle to your deft hands. I’ve always wondered how you do it, if your elven or vampiric traits have any bearing on it. Maybe one day you can enlighten me.” Gale is noticeably stopping himself but Astarion actually wants him to keep going, so he motions him to continue, feeling impatient for more. Gale rolls his eyes with a smile and obliges.
“There’s a lot of reasons, Astarion. I’m sure you’ve heard it all before. You’ve got a quick-witted humor. A good taste in books, don’t think I haven't noticed my books going missing. And you’ve a kind heart, though you seem to work hard to hide it. I see it in small moments, like when you threw the ball for Scratch the other day. Is that enough to qualify ‘interesting’ for you, anything I’ve missed?” Before, Astarion would have found the question to be obnoxious but he finds himself smiling back.
“And beautiful, not enough people mention that, you know.” It’s said with a dramatic sigh and followed by a flip of his curls. Gale’s expression is nothing if not incredulous in response.
“It must be because it’s so obvious. Elves are known for their beauty, but you’re more than that. Ethereal? Effervescent? Hm, I’m not sure there’s a word for it. It can be quite intimidating, you know. Maybe that’s why I find myself blathering on more with you, it’s natural to feel a bit nervous around someone who looks touched by the divine. I’m sure you’re used to the reaction though.” Ethereal? Effervescent? Divine? Astarion’s heard lavish compliments before, more than he could count. But Gale doesn’t say them like he’s trying to bed him. It feels…different. Nice even.
“But you’re more than that. Your appearance, I mean.” A shyness starts to come over Gale, as if he’d begun registering what he had said, “I-um, I hope you know that.” He finishes lamely, rubbing the back of his neck and looking off to the side.
Astarion’s just staring blankly, causing another blush to bloom on the wizard’s cheeks as he fidgets impatiently. It’s just a lot to take in when only this morning the vampire had wanted nothing to do with the man and now here he was feeling almost fond of him.
“I hope I haven’t made you uncomfortable. I tried not to go on a tangent there but seemed to have lost myself along the way.” Clearly confused, Gale attempts to rectify his perceived mistake.
Astarion knows he should say something, make a dismissive remark or cheeky comment. But he’s too busy going back over every interaction they’ve had. Taking in every time Gale cut him off, or asked a question and then continued before it could be answered. He’d been excited, attempting to engage further, even if it was done clumsily. Looking at it now, it was rather endearing, almost adorable. Shit.
“Oh dear, I’m not sure what I’ve said to upset you but I hope you understand it was not my intention to insult you. You must have been joking about acknowledging your appearance and I took it literally. How embarrassing. I should lea-”
“Stop talking,” Astarion interrupts, a pale finger held up in the air that freezes Gale in place, eyes darting around again. Another imitation of a holding spell. The elf takes a moment, giving a short hum as his mind works over what to do next.
Surprisingly, Gale doesn’t speak, there’s only a brief moment where he opens his mouth before shutting it quickly. Lips pressed into a thin line as if it takes strong effort not to speak. And that is adorable, it definitely is. Astarion looks at him a bit longer, head tilted and lips pursed, the look of deciphering something.
Then he’s got it, he knows what he wants to do.
It’s a tugging pull from chest to sternum, the desire to kiss him.
A slow lean forward, the elf gives plenty of opportunity for the other to pull away. When their lips touch it’s a gentle press with closed mouths. The heat from Gale’s lips linger on Astarion as he slowly pulls back with searching eyes. Gale has a look of shock mixed with a hint of excitement. Astarion waits for him to start babbling again, he’s almost looking forward to it, oddly enough.
What could the wizard have to say about this?
Apparently, the answer is nothing.
Gale just smiles shyly and gives a soft sigh as he looks steadily into his eyes.
No babbling. No questions. No interruptions.
Astarion can’t help but smile back, leaning in to kiss him again.