Work Text:
Gale wakes to the sound of a text message pinging on the other side of the double bed early in the morning, and groans.
He cracks open one bleary eye to take in the pre-dawn light filtering through the closed blinds of the bedroom window, and pulls himself tighter around Astarion to ward off the chill that’s encroaching on their space.
The phone *dings* merrily again, this time twice in rapid succession.
Scooting across from where they’ve shifted entirely into Gale’s side of the bed overnight, he stretches his arm across to reach over his husband and pluck it off the charger on the nightstand. He knows Astarion won’t wake up this early to check; if he leaves it be and it’s a group chat it’ll be going off well before their alarm does and keep him awake. He also knows his incredible, stunning, amazing partner won’t get into the habit of turning off his notifications before he goes to bed; hence the agreement they share for Gale to respond to anything before seven AM.
He imagines he probably has notifications, too, if it’s he group chat like he suspects it is. He has the sense to turn his notifications off and check it at his leisure, though.
Astarion stirs beneath him but doesn’t wake, as the light from the device makes Gale cringe and close his eyes; fumbling with the passcode, he manages to get it open and pull down the recent notification thread.
Suffering™: hey team, if you work for me you don’t have to come in today
Livelaughlift: SNOW DAY SNOW DAY
Livelaughlift: LETS GOOOO
Another message jolts the hand in his phone and he nearly drops it on Astarion’s face. Gale rolls back to the warm space he’s vacated as he opens the thread on their messaging app, squinting in the synthetic light.
Destinyschild: Karlach, love, you don’t work for Wyll
(livelaughlift is typing) (suffering™ is typing)
He furrows his brow, glancing up at the window again.
The weather hasn’t predicted snow; although given the chill in the air certainly doesn’t shock him. He rolls away, swooping down to plant a kiss on Astarion’s cheek when the man shuffles in his sleep – by the time he’s stuffed his socked feet into the slippers waiting by the bed, Astarion’s rolled over to be completely encased in the warm spot Gale’s vacated.
He watches him for a moment as he settles and drifts back off with a snore, jumping as the phone disturbs the quiet morning air once again. His cold fingers fumble with the volume control.
Livelaughlift: if you cushy lawyers aren’t going to work in your lil offices with heating, i’m not going to work outdoors
Livelaughlift: besides how much construction am i going to get done when its SNOWING
Stretching, he drops the phone back on next to his own on his nightstand within Astarion’s reach, muted now – he won’t need the alarm if Gale’s up. Tara watches from the end of the bed where she’s wrapped around Astarion’s feet, following his path as he steps towards the window and looks out.
Oh.
Oh, that’s quite.. a lot of sleet.
It’s rather beautiful; soft droplet drifting down to coat the chilly ground. The roads have iced over – getting to work is going to be nigh impossible, actually – oh shit.
He spins suddenly; Tara startles as he lunges for the bedside table to grab his phone.
There’s nothing.
Gale’s breath drops away from the bottom of his stomach.
He does live quite a distance from Blackstaff University; there’s every possibility that the snow isn’t bad enough there to warrant closing down for the day, and it’s nearly the end of semester. His students need him, he only has two lectures to run and most of the class doesn’t show up in person anyway but he has office hours to keep and he needs to be there in case anyone comes in with questions and there might be road closures, oh Gods –
“Come back to sleep, love?” Astarion’s low, sultry voice asks, just like every morning. Gale is sorely tempted, just like every morning. Given the icy chill in the room, the snow piling up around his car outside, and the way his husband and his cat look snuggled up in their warm bed together, it’s especially difficult to summon his resolve and turn to the wardrobe to pick out his clothing.
Astarion groans theatrically and collapses back from where he’d sat up to watch, bored once Gale’s pulled his trousers on and tucked in his shirt. He smiles softly at the picture Astarion makes as he turns to leave the bedroom.
It’s so cold out that even Tara hasn’t bothered to get underfoot as he heads downstairs to the kitchen. It’s a little warmer, the boiler radiating heat throughout the wooden floors and warding off the chill that threatens to sink into his bones.
He bustles about, packing himself his usual sandwich and granola bar while the kettle boils and milk froths. Tea for him, hot chocolate for Astarion – he’d deny his sweet tooth until his dying breath, but how to make his true favourite drink just another secret Gale delights in knowing about his love. Two marshmallows atop the ‘This Could be Blood’ novelty mug he’d gotten for him for his birthday, a scoop of kibble in Tara’s bowl and he’s heading back upstairs.
Astarion is more awake, now. He’s rolled onto his stomach to read his texts, brow furrowed. The expression smooths away as Gale sits on the edge of the bed and hands over his hot chocolate carefully, and they both take sips, enjoying the presence of each other’s company and the warmth imbued by the drinks.
“If Wyll’s telling us to not come in, it’s probably quite nasty out there,” his husband breaks the comfortable silence, looking down once again at the phone. Karlach’s planning a self-care day, it looks like; Lae’zel probably still asleep, and Shadowheart heading out to shovel the sidewalks.
Gale deigns not to answer because he doesn’t make a habit of engaging in combat he isn’t sure he can win. Astarion huffs, knowing exactly what he’s doing. He stuffs his late-night marking pile into the satchel he’s grabbed from the floor.
“You’re not seriously driving all that way in this?” His husband gestures from the bed – which, he can’t even see the window, which irritates Gale. He can’t see from where he’s sitting up, rubbing his eyes, still tucked up like a burrito in the bedsheets, that it’s not actually that bad and that Wyll’s being dramatic. Gale rolls his eyes as he snatches his own phone up to shove it in his pocket.
“I’ll be fine,” he tells him, and leans forward despite himself to place a peck on his lips as he finishes doing up his tie. He practically has to drag himself away as Astarion sheds the quilt to grab his face with both hands and hold him in place- cool hands on either cheek and parting Gale’s lips with that devious tongue, sliding in deep, passionate – but he gathers the strength to pull back, those dark sultry eyes making something warm settle in the pit of his stomach.
Astarion pouts as he pulls away, making him smile softly.
“I have to go,” Gale tells him, but it’s apologetic. “My students might need me.”
Now Astarion’s the one rolling his eyes.
“They won’t even be going to class,” he mutters under his breath while Gale flits about the room, throwing together the books and belongings he needs. “They’re young adults, and it’s the first proper day of snow for the year.” His voice rises in volume so he can be more clearly heard, as he enunciates clearly, “They’ll be as far away from campus as they can get, shagging each other to stay warm,” he’s glaring at Gale, now- “like we should be.”
Which feels totally unfair. As if Gale wouldn’t choose to stay home with his husband all day, bracing against the arrival of true winter under the covers. Alas, he has places to be.
With another quick, less grabby kiss, he throws the strap of his satchel over his shoulder and heads out, chuffing a short laugh as Astarion sighs dramatically and flops back to the bed behind him. He can hear him talking to Tara about how obstinate he is – and oh, he’ll make him pay for that one later; he can show how obstinate he can truly be – as he heads down the stairs to throw on thick socks and his boots.
He’s finally clear, he thinks – Astarion might tease him later for the way he commits to his role above-and-beyond what the other professors seem to do, but he has too much integrity to not throw his whole passion behind everything he does – until he opens the front door to leave and finds that he can’t.
At first, he thinks he’s just not inserted the key in the door; it’s not until he’s tried every key twice and starts putting force behind each turn that he realises the door won’t budge.
Gale freezes.
It can’t be that bad. It had barely seemed like an inch, maybe two when he’d looked out earlier.
He checks the report on his phone before he tries to force the door any further, and he’s so taken aback that he sits for a moment on the footstool by the door, knees creaking as he goes.
It’s not possible. The snow he’d seen out the window had been light, fluffy – the stuff from Christmas films. Not the kind of dense, heavy deluge that barricades doors and traps them inside.
He tries the back door, to the same amount of success. The wind has encased the snow around the door frames and under the windows; he can see through the narrow window of the washroom that there’s no way he’s opening that door outwards today.
Gale wrings his freezing hands for a moment, treading the steps of the front hallway.
He’s not above climbing out a window; but honestly, with the amount of precipitation he’s worried that the roads will truly be too icy to drive on. He’s frightened enough of the commute, the busy highway and fast cars that zip past his Subaru at way too many miles an hour; he really doesn’t want to get into an accident.
But there’s no text message from the Dean or any of the other professors in his faculty, and he is truly worried about how close they are to exams and how underprepared his students seem to be. Just the group chat with a couple of new updates.
Suffering™: thought you’d be out plowing anyway, karlach
Livelaughlift: eyy that’s between me and her ;)
Destinyschild: yes we’re going to help out around the hospital if you want to meet later we can
Superstarry: Disgusting. I might meet you later if I end up getting out of bed today.
Lazy: yes, their flirting is gross, is it not? I will be at work. Snow will not stand in my way. But I may join you after for a meal.
Superstarry: I was referring to the ‘helping people’ thing.
Lazy: who dared change my name once more?
He snorts, hoping Lae’zel doesn’t find out it was him; it had made Astarion laugh. He flicks mindlessly through their message chain for a moment, trying to put off having to admit that he’s at a loss.
For a lack of any better ideas, he sits at the kitchen table and pulls open his laptop. Maybe he can record his lectures, and make himself available to his students by Zoom or email? And he’ll email the university, as well.
Yes, that seems the right course of action – he has tried his hardest, after all. He’s not giving in or not working, just. Adapting to the circumstances.
Which falls apart the moment he loads into his emails and sees a string of messages that seem to be a part of the same chain, saying that classes have been cancelled for the day and to enjoy an extra day in the inclement weather, a combination of a power outage and inaccessibility to get into the main building.
Which.
Well.
That settles it; he supposes – he could feel guilty about the time off, and the students and their hopeless outlooks for their semester’s grades –
Or, he can sneak back upstairs and cuddle his husband for the day.
Laptop slammed shut, phone left on the table; Gale’s toed off his boots (and left them by the door, he’s not a heathen) and is beginning to pull his hair out from the usual half-up do by the time he makes it back up to their bedroom.
Astarion’s not in bed, technically.
He’s pulled all the covers and the cat over to the window-seat, hot chocolate still in one hand and phone in the other as he relaxes, face nearly pressed to the chill glass panes as he looks out at the street.
He’s giggling to himself, a sound that both melts Gale’s heart and chills it, a weird-hot flash of fear and love both flaring up inside him – because while he thinks he’s just giggling while looking at his phone, the sound is fairly nefarious in nature. He approaches anyway, not worried about startling his lover between his loud joints and generally terrible ability for stealth, and wraps his arms around the pile of warmth and bedding that is Astarion.
The man feigns surprise, dropping his phone to pull him in for a kiss, one hand suddenly wrapped in the tie he’s trying to pull undone with his cold fingers. Astarion helps him after a moment.
“What gives me the pleasure of your company on this horribly cold day?” He asks, as together they manage to undo the tight Windsor knot. Gale flushes – he hates being wrong, and hates it more when Astarion rubs it in; but there’s no escaping it this time and it’s easier to just let it happen than resist. “Was it the roads? The low visibility? The fact that you can barely see the car tyres for all the snow?”
“Couldn’t get the door open,” Gale admits with a sniff.
Astarion lets out a peal of delighted laughter. God, he’s a vision like this – all pale colours against the deep burgundy of their blankets, flushed with his amusement. Gale can’t resist leaning down to kiss him, helpless against the lure of the man he married. Astarion stretches up to meet him, which alleviates the pressure on his back. Eventually, he manages to pull away long enough to take the empty mug from the man and scritch Tara under the chin.
“Oh, darling, are we snowed in?” It’s said dramatically, but Gale can hear the faint undertone of worry that threads through his question, and hastens to reassure him.
“A little,” he steps back to start undressing himself in favour of more comfortable clothing- Astarion watching, eyes dark. “But we can get out. The front window opens inwards; we might have a bit of cleaning to do, but we’re fine.”
He doesn’t mention anything about how visible the relief appears on those pointed features. Gale knows how frightening the concept of being trapped in somewhere can be for his partner.
“So, are we staying in bed all day then?” It’s sultry, lascivious, tempting. Astarion, lit by the pale sun struggling to peek through the clouds outside. Gale leans over him to stare out the window, to assess how bad it seems.
It’s picturesque, really. Big, fluffy snow – not the powdery stuff they typically get. It’s been years since he’s really taken it in like this; the taste of cinnamon and clove practically on his tongue as he thinks of Christmases spent in the countryside with his mother, when they would go outside and play like this.
He still needs to take Astarion, he thinks – their seasonal celebrations usually small, surrounded by their friends. He’d love Christmas with Morena, and they could bring Tara.
Gale zones back in as he feels the body he’s pressed against is back to vibrating with laughter, and he finally focuses enough to realise what it is he’s been laughing at. He pulls away with a frown that’s truly impressive given how difficult it was to summon to his face.
“Astarion,” he scolds. “It’s not nice to laugh at the people slipping over on the ice.”
This has the opposite effect of what he’d intended – the giggles burst out into full laughter, now.
“I can’t help it – look,” he gestures with one finger, “That grumpy neighbour of ours has been trying to get to his post-box for ten minutes now, and he’s fallen four times! Don’t even get me started on the man over there that’s trying to get his child to wear a coat – the poor darling would have been better off without it, for how wet she got when her father fell and knocked her into that snowbank!”
Gale rolls his eyes. He can’t believe how much he loves this ridiculous man, who is so genuinely chuffed at watching people fall over on the sidewalk outside.
In fairness to him, it is rather comical to watch. Particularly the way their feet slip out from under them and flail in the air as their back hits the ground- he can’t help an amused rumble in his throat as he watches their neighbour Enver struggle back to his feet once again.
Astarion turns to him, eyes crinkled up in joy as they share the moment.
“Come on,” Gale tugs at the many blankets, scooping Tara up into his arms for a few seconds of a barely-tolerated cuddle. He lets her down when she mewls in protest -not without a quick buss atop her head.
His husband blinks up at him, as if surprised he would suggest moving away from where he’s both comfy and entertained. The surprise melts away into a heated glance as he takes in Gale’s half-dressed state.
“So we are spending all day in bed?” Its no trouble convincing him to leave the window-seat now; one gentle tug on his wrist has him standing, blankets wrapped firmly around his shoulders.
“No,” Gale surprises himself with how quickly he responds.
Astarion stares.
“No?” he hums questioningly, then, “No.” It’s firm, immediate- and resigned.
“Yes,” Gale grins wide.
He’s shaking his head even as he lets himself be dragged towards the wardrobe. He complains his entire way through helping Gale pull on thick layers, snow pants, jackets, gloves, and boots.
“I can’t believe you’re making me do this,” the man hisses as he pulls a second pair of mittens over his gloves. “Forcing your delicate husband out into the subzero terrain for your amusement.”
Gale ignores the muttered tirade as he pulls his thermal socks on and leads him downstairs. For each step Astarion follows him down the stairs there’s a new grumble, but Gale is only listening for genuine refusal; he’s gotten used to tuning out the general whines of complaint his dramatic lover is prone to in any given situation. He leaves Astarion to pull on his boots far more slowly than he had himself, and goes to the window.
It’s not frozen shut; a sharp yank towards himself and it cracks open.
Astarion eyes it disdainfully.
“Just to be absolutely certain,” he says, coming over to stand before the window. “You want me to crawl through this window and go stand outside while you frolick about in snowbanks, when we could be in bed, warm and asleep.” The latter is said mournfully.
“No,” Gale says cheerfully. “I want you to crawl through this window and go frolick about in snowbanks with me. We’ll build a snowman,” he lets Astarion give his typical scoff, “and make snow angels-” it’s so predictable that Gale can leave gaps in his conversation to allow his husband his indignant noises of protest “- and then we’ll go and have lunch with our friends and beat the hell out of them with snowballs.” Yep, he’s got him now- that competitive gleam alight in his eye.
But just to seal the deal...
“And once we’re all wet and cold,” he presses close to whisper in Astarion’s ear, “we can come back home, and I’ll lay you in front of the fireplace and warm you up.”
Astarion stares for a second, gaze burning through him and giving him goosebumps stronger than the chill seeping through the open window can manage.
He still makes his complaints as Gale helps him out of the window, but from the way he turns back to smile at him Gale knows he’s not really upset.
He takes a few seconds to capture the vision before him. Astarion is aglow against the backdrop of the snow, mischief alight in his eyes now he’s properly incentivised. He can’t believe his luck, sometimes, at finding someone as loyal, loving, beautiful as his husband, but here he is; standing before him, glowing monochrome among the pale landscape, gentle hand extended to escort him through the gap.
Gale smiles brightly, takes the hand and steps out into the cold.