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Astarion was not the jealous type.
He never felt inadequate as he did not compare himself to others. He had confidence in his skills, was aware of his shortcomings and knew very well the effect he had on people.
But he was very new to this whole relationship thing and tonight he felt insecure.
They had met Rolan at the Emerald grove where he had been abrasive, rude and pompous. So had Gale when he had pulled him out of the portal. Back then he had thought that maybe it was just the kind of first impression to expect from wizards and he did not think twice about that insignificant little mage.
Then they had crossed paths again at their camp, during a party that was held in their honor. Gale and Rolan had talked about the weave and the apprentice had tried to impress him with cheap magic tricks. Astarion had noticed of course: at the time he did not care. Neither about Rolan nor about Gale. Not in the capacity he did now. So he had not said anything.
He had also remained quiet when the two mages had reunited at the Last Light Inn a few days ago, or when, before the dismay of the young tiefling, Gale had taken some time to comfort him, guiding him out of his torpor and promising to save his siblings.
He hadn't peeped when later that same day, they had to rescue the horned bastard from shadow specters because he had set himself out to do the very thing Gale had promised to fix for him.
Now Astarion was silent once more, but seething with anger, as the young man was hugging his lover after they had ensured Cal and Lia’s safe return. The hug was a little too tight. The hands were a little too low. The embrace lasted a little too long. And eyes lingered as the two men parted from each other.
Astarion was not the jealous type. Usually…
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Back at camp Astarion had gone to bed early. He did not want to sleep but he was upset and did not want company. A voice came from outside the burlap walls of his tent, disrupting his wishes.
“Astarion, can I come in?” Gale called out.
The vampire grunted. He turned his back to the entrance as the wizard stepped in. He felt the man kneel beside him. When his hand came down to graze his shoulder, he jerked it away.
“Will you tell me what’s wrong?” Gale asked softly.
No way Astarion was going to admit what was wrong.
He felt angry with Gale for giving someone else attention. Angry with Rolan for eying what was his. Angry at himself for his lack of confidence and for feeling threatened by such an unextraordinary suitor.
What did he have that Astarion did not? Sure, the young man was charming, talented, sexy even, if you were into that sort of thing (the naive, sheepish bit). But so was he. Tenfold even!
Yes, the tiefling had kind eyes. A soothing voice. A mastery of the weave that Gale could relate to. He was not a broken doll, used up by hundreds of years of servitude and exploitation… He was most likely capable of loving unconditionally and… Physically…
Astarion trembled at the thought. Gale tucked one of his grey curls behind his ear, and the elf shuddered when the mage’s fingers came to caress the pointy tip.
“I love you…” Gale murmured.
“Do you mind that I don't cast spells?” Astarion asked abruptly.
“You do cast spells!” Gale protested.
Some cantrips and spells he could indeed cast. But that wasn’t what this was about.
“Don’t patronize me!” Astarion spat, “You know what I mean!”
Gale knew what he meant. He had noticed his clenched jaws back at the Last Light Inn and the hint of hate in his eyes. He had noticed his silence throughout the evening and how quickly he had retreated into his tent.
He laid down beside the vampire. Wrapping his arms around his back, delicately placing one hand on his lover’s chest as if to feel a heartbeat that wasn’t there.
It was fine if he did not want to talk. It was fine if he did not want to turn around. It was fine if he did not want to kiss. Gale just wanted to be there and hold him.
“Noone can compare with you.” He murmured, “You’re the only star that shines for me.”
Astarion swallowed a sob.
“Yeah… Whatever!” He scoffed, trying to conceal the wobble in his voice.
With a sigh of relief, he squeezed the hand that laid on his heart.