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In 6 seconds, Astarion can drop two to three people. He can cover nearly 30 meters of distance, and leap over at least two chasms. He can bite and stab and kick in a flurry of attacks, weave between his companions and grievously injure foes twice, thrice his size. And while his skills with a dagger and bow (and his teeth, of course) are his forte, he's picked up a decent repertoire of spells.
All of this to say, he has absolutely no need to do what he does in the moment that a barbed arrow catches him in the back of his shoulder with a thunderous force, knocking him forward off a steep, jagged ledge: yelp, drop his weapons and, as the adrenaline rush of the surging fall hits, reach blindly towards Gale.
Gravity slows as Gale effortlessly casts Feather Fall, and Astarion easily catches himself, the moment of terror quickly passing as Astarion scrambles back up the cliff to get in position for a quick scroll of Hold Person, at least - he won't have time to grab his daggers before getting attacked once again, and frankly, he'd rather Karlach and Lae'zel finish up the job at this point.
And finish it they do, he thinks, as he sees the enemy that had gotten the jump on him hurtle past him and hit the ground with the crack of someone distinctly not Feather Fall-ed.
He clambers the rest of the way up, sending a Mass Healing Word through everyone to join with Shadowheart's heals and Wyll's Lay on Hands.
He busies himself with looting the corpses of their enemies, though he finds precious little loot. Absolutely vile of enemies to get the jump on him, scare him like that, and have nothing but simple longbows and leather armors. He sells these to vendors in packs, at this point.
He glances at Gale, who is patiently reading through every note and book left lying around the enemy camp, and shivers.
His hands can almost remember the motion of reaching for Gale, the lurch of falling and the way his arm had come up unbidden...
He shakes the memory away.
He doesn't want to think about it.
With every pocket unturned, he stands up and stalks over to sulk at Gale. "I'm exhausted," he announces. "Let's get out of here."
"Aww," Karlach says, looking vaguely sweaty and pained. "C'mon, I've got one more drink in me topside."
Wyll sighs. "Karlach," he scolds. He looks to Tav for backup, as though the drow will offer anything but whatever Karlach asks for.
"I dooo, honest!" she whines.
One drink can't hurt, Tav signs, predictably.
If it was anyone but Karlach, Astarion would say no. His mood is souring, and that phantom reach still haunts his arm, shivering up his wrist into his neck. Like the accursed appendage has caught a taste of something and hungers to do it again.
He doesn't have to be nice about it, though. "Oh, alright, if you insist, " he grumbles. "Gale, darling, you're paying."
Gale looks up. "Am I? How generous of you to volunteer me, my love."
Astarion schools his face into one of gleeful mockery. "Well of course. You're the only one with a proper income, you know!"
Not true - Shadowheart is making quite the living as a traveling cleric, and it's not as though Astarion is struggling, what with all his emptying of pockets after anyone runs afoul of him. He hasn't asked much about how lucrative Avernus has been for Wyll, Tav and Karlach, but he imagines there's a decent amount of gold to be found in some devil's lairs.
Really, it's only Lae'zel who doesn't make much of a living, with freedom fighting and all. Yet another lesson, Astarion thinks.
But it's fun to tease Gale, and he has no shortage of gold from both teaching and spellwork.
Tonight, however, Astarion fears there might be an edge of vengeance in the usual jest.
"My time here is at an end," Lae'zel reports. "I hope that soon I am able to spend more time here, but until then, I must humbly request that you have a drink in my honor."
"Oh, gladly," Shadowheart volunteers, batting her lashes. "I'll be sure to get absolutely wasted for you."
Lae'zel quirks something close to a smile. "Please, do inform me of the results," she says. "I will enjoy tales of your humiliation greatly in my time away."
Shadowheart sneers at her, affectionately, and Lae'zel is gone. Astarion sends a silent prayer of gratitude to the void he thinks of in lieu of any gods that Lae'zel's visits have become frequent enough she doesn't say anything about missing them anymore before leaving. Astarion doesn't think he could stand it tonight.
She activates her teleportation charm with a curt nod at Tav, and vanishes.
Karlach claps Gale on the back. "Well then! Let's go."
Gale shoots Astarion a withering look, but he's as helpless to Karlach as Astarion is.
***
They crash into Gale's tower just before sunrise, or maybe even a little bit after - Astarion thinks he vaguely recalls Gale's arm stretching his cloak out over Astarion's head, but he's going to pretend he hadn't. Gale already seems to have noticed something's wrong, and Astarion doesn't need to get any more bitter.
Gale clears his throat, then pauses.
Astarion quells the urge to snap his teeth at him for it.
It's not really the wizard's fault. He hadn't played it subtle. Shadowheart and Karlach had engaged him in drunk gossip, and when an extremely inebriated Shadowheart had offered a glass of her blood, Astarion had acquiesced. She'd let her blood into a wine glass, and he hadn't mentioned how much he hated drinking blood from a cup, the humiliation of lapping it up, too viscous to be sipped. That, and the buzz of recently healed injuries and an ungodly amount of actual wine, along with being well fed from combat and Gale's donations, had been enough to tip him into pleasantly fuzzy.
Gods, he needed it. Needed a little bit of the crawling, disgusting horrors of his own mind to leave him be.
The downside of that, of course, being that Gale's eyes had been boring into him ever since.
He doesn't drink their friends' blood often. Doesn't even drink Gale's blood that often.
But it had felt good to get nice and bleary and bicker with Shadowheart and stumble up against Karlach and not think about...
... about...
He shivers with loathsome disgust.
"Will you be joining me in my bed tonight?" Gale asks, finally. " Not for sex, mind you, not while you're tipsy. Just in general."
"Ugh," Astarion says. Spits. "You're such a gentleman. "
Gale's eyes narrow. "I have the faint suspicion you say that with more vitriol than usual. Care to elaborate?"
"No," Astarion replies, pompously. He truly doesn't. "And no, I will not be joining you tonight."
He attempts to turn smoothly on his heel and ends up having to catch himself on the wall.
What in the nine hells had Shadowheart been drinking?
"Astarion," Gale says, somewhere between frustrated and worried. "If I've done something to upset you, I would very much like to know about it. As much as I like puzzles, I don't like being left in the dark when it comes to your emotional state."
Astarion whirls around, gallantly grinning at his lover. "I'm fine, darling, I'm just not interested."
It's a kneejerk reaction, pretending to be aloof, and the wrong one. Gale isn't fooled by that anymore. Astarion hates him for it, hates him passionately and grippingly, gods above he hates...
"So I have upset you," Gale confirms.
"Oh shut up," Astarion snaps at him. "Can't I have my upsets in peace? You have to stick your talkative nose into my every grimace, it's cloying and it isn't cute."
Gale's eyebrow arches. "Oh, so that's how it is?" he says.
A few months ago, he would have still gotten riled up by this, and Astarion could have had a proper argument. Vile, detestable wizard, learning Astarion like he's nothing more than a tome to be read.
"I can cast Feather Fall myself, you know!" he snaps, mostly accidentally.
Gale blinks at him. "I'm aware," he says, "but I would hazard to say that the optimal time for casting Feather Fall tends to be before one is actively falling, and I thought perhaps that might make it a tad bit simpler for me to do it."
He hadn't noticed. It's childish, but Astarion feels so relieved he could weep. However, he's now dug himself a different hole. He's good at that. "Oh, yes, very practical," he sneers. He can't admit defeat too quickly.
Gale regards him very slowly, like he's speaking in tongues. Which, really, he sort of is. "Now, I am very much aware of my propensity for being, well, ah, a smidge condescending about magic," he says, slowly. Astarion wonders if he'd arrived at the term organically or if one of their friends had thrown it at him in recent memory, "but have I said anything specific recently about it that has led you to believe I doubt your capabilities in combat?"
"I just think you could have asked," Astarion says, stupidly.
"What, just shouted over the edge of the cliff?" Gale asks, stunned. "Excuse me, my love, would you mind terribly if I cast Feather Fall so you don't break all your bones at the bottom of a ravine?"
"Well you don't know," Astarion insists. "I might have had a potion of Feather Fall on me."
"And that would be quite a relief. However, I would much rather you receive Feather Fall from two sources than none," Gale protests.
"I just think," that I would very much like to leave this conversation, "that I should get more acknowledgement for how quick thinking and deft I am in a fight!"
"Astarion, you are the most adept master of cunning violence I have ever had the joys of beholding," Gale says, indulgently. "However, I continue to be at a loss as to why you might be upset about me giving you aid. I am, after all, your wizard, and that is my job. I very much trust you to make the most of it, and my skills at your disposal, you continue to be the architect of your own quite impressive performance."
"Thank you," Astarion says.
This, unfortunately, does not satisfy Gale's curiosity. "I'm glad that's what you wanted to hear. Once again, I really must know, did I say or do anything to indicate the contrary?"
"It's just that Feather Fall, it throws off my gravity," Astarion protests. "Disrupts the whole trajectory of everything."
"So in the future you would prefer that I do not cast it in combat?" Gale asks, slowly.
"Well, no," Astarion says.
"So you're simply upset with me for acting reasonably and casting the appropriate spell when seeing one of my allies fall off a cliff?" Gale says.
Maybe there is a god out there with some mercy, and Astarion wish he knew who to thank for Gale's temper. "It's simply rude to throw off one's rhythm and not even say a word afterwards!" he says, adding some flourish now that he's found an excuse to make this a silly spat, rather than some kind of horrid emotion.
"Well," Gale says, tersely, "I will be sure to remember to apologize for my aid in the future."
"Is that so much to ask?" Astarion purrs.
Gale scowls at him. "I don't understand you at all sometimes," he grumbles, and starts to go towards his room. He turns back a few steps down and shoots Astarion a curt, "Good morning. Rest well."
Astarion listens to him walk away, waits for the door to slam, and finally relaxes.
What an absolutely foolish thing to do, he finally dares to think. To blindly reach for his lover in the middle of a battle? Stupid. Childish.
He shakes himself and finds his own room, collapsing down on the bed.
He rolls over and stares at the ceiling.
Somehow, it's only then that it dawns on him that now he's stuck, dizzy and tipsy, in the quiet of his own room without any Gale to slump against and trance comfortably.
Horrible wizard, Astarion thinks bitterly, and pulls his pillow over his head to avoid seeing the ceiling spin.
***
Trancing is a miserable four hours of soothing down his mind and curtailing it away from feeling things in his body - shame, desire, coldness and loneliness and humiliation. It's rare for his trance to be so deeply unpleasant when he's not curling in on himself with hunger.
He rouses himself like clockwork, glad to leave behind the semblance of rest as quickly as possible. He wanders around the tower for a while, and almost works himself up to contemplating whether he should apologize. Maybe even, horrible as it may sound, explain himself.
He ends up on his belly in Gale's library, which is warm even with the curtains tightly closed, and stares at the gentle glow of the sun at the bottom of them. He's almost tempted to reach out and feel it, but he's tried - the burning of the sun as it is now doesn't quell his desire for it one bit, just makes him sick and angry at it, which in turn makes missing it even more excruciating.
Perhaps, were he a braver man, he might consider whether that feeling applied to anything else he craved.
It's nearly 2 after noon when Gale finally finds him in his miserable pining.
He hears Gale sigh, sit down at his desk and shuffle some papers. "Should I have failed to indicate it lately, I do find you exceedingly competent. At a great many things. Though this may not be a particularly kind thing to say, perhaps you might find solace in the fact that I would have very little interest in you were that not the case. I can't say that I will do anything less than my best to aid you in a fight, but I would do so for any ally, and it does not reflect in any way on my opinion of how well you can protect yourself."
There's a long pause. Astarion should speak up, should explain. But all he can muster is fear, fear of another insatiable hunger, and that makes him angry . Why in all of Faerun would he deserve to be cursed all over again? To crave something that doesn't even have the decency to make him sharper and more deadly, but something that makes him stupid and forget how to save himself? After everything he's been through.
"I am, however, sorry if I robbed you of an opportunity to feel... independent," Gale says, finally. "You know it's never my intention to do such a thing."
The anger boils over, and really, someone should praise Astarion for tamping it all down and not biting and gnawing and spitting at Gale like some feral beast. Instead he sits up sharply and snaps, "I don't want to talk about it anymore." His voice sounds distant and hoarse to himself, and he finds himself smiling and preening. "You felt the need to jump to my rescue like a knight in mage armor, I would have been just fine without you, and we're all very sorry."
Gale gives him a hard glare. The gleam in his eyes becomes stony and crystalline when he's angry, and Astarion would find it very alluring were it not honed on him. "Oh, yes, very convincing."
Astarion resists the urge to bare his teeth, but he's sure Gale can still see it in his eyes, because he throws his hands up. "But very well. If you don't wish to talk about it, we will drop the issue. I will endeavor to be less helpful to you next time we face any enemies."
"Darling," Astarion lies, "don't act as though I should feel threatened by that. I don't."
"I wasn't trying to threaten you," Gale also lies.
"Oh, good. I'd hate to think you were so dreadful at it."
Gale scrubs a hand over his face. "You really are insufferable at times, you know?" Then, most horribly of all, he says, "I missed you terribly this morning. As obvious as it was that you were having a moment, you were quite lovely to behold laughing with the others at the bar."
Astarion mentally ruffles his feathers, trying not to cave too visibly. "Flattery will get you everywhere, my sweet. Please, continue."
Gale looks so wonderfully bedraggled and exhausted by Astarion, Astarion very nearly tells him he missed him too. However, the words get lost somewhere between his chest and his lips, so he just hauls himself up from the floor and settles onto the ottoman across from Gale's desk, and resumes the book he was reading before. Gale settles, always happy to see Astarion relaxing in front of him.
It's not exactly kissing and making up, but Astarion can rest easy knowing Gale will leave the issue for now.
***
Perhaps, Astarion thinks, some of his accursed existence is a direct consequence of his own actions.
Gale does, in fact, drop the issue.
And also attempts to amend his behavior to what he believes Astarion wants.
And perhaps, Astarion nearly dares to think, he might have done a better job of that, had Astarion not lied and misled him to his face.
They're rooting out a few cultists that had gathered up north of Baldur's Gate - nothing as impressive as the Absolute, but with their own forms of control and dominion over others. Shadowheart had asked them to help her out, and Astarion is all too happy to drink his fill from them.
The thing is, Astarion can understand the mental calculations Gale goes through before it happens: This is Karlach's second time up from Avernus quite recently, and her heart has her more off kilter than she'd like to admit. She's also their heaviest hitter, fast and powerful and armed to the teeth with every trinket Tav has lovingly fetched for her, the lovesick idiot. And Astarion, as an elf, should be better at resisting these sorts of charms. (Sometimes, he wonders whether Cazador's dominion over him has carved grooves into his mind that every foul magic can find. He's seen Tav's pinched, tired look when he succumbs to charms, as though the drow knows he should be doing better.)
So, Gale saves the Counterspell for Karlach.
Leaves Astarion to the independence he'd pretended to want.
Astarion would be more inclined to forgive him for it if this didn't end in him forced to his knees as a specially crafted Dominate Person sinks into his mind, cloying and terrible. It's not the first time, not with all the tadpole nonsense, and he's shaken it off rather well, but this time, the offending mage takes her hands and places them on his neck, thumbs sliding up his jaw and tilting his head up. A necrotic pull rushes through him as she saps the vitality from the blood in his stomach - that hard earned warmth, that precious salve against the hunger - to heal herself.
His eyes roll, sluggish and uncooperative, and find Gale.
He'd be ashamed, if he were not so blindingly frightened. As is, he's just glad he doesn't have enough control over himself to beg and scream.
Karlach is faster, as always, and she's cleaving down on the attacker, breaking the charm and silencing them with her glittering sussur bark greatsword - once, then again, then again, then again - someone has hastened her even more than she already was.
The charm breaks, but Astarion is still frozen, on his knees, a different poison seeping into his blood, robbing his mind. His vision sways, and he can feel Cazador stand above him, eager to hear the pleas that bubble towards Astarion's lips.
He's pulled back to the present as a deafening Thunderwave booms around him, leaving him untouched as everything else shatters and flies around him. He sluggishly thinks well, that was stupid, Gale, Thunder won't penetrate the aura of Silence infused into the mage's wounds.
It's not until Gale positions himself between Astarion and the mage that Astarion realizes the Thunderwave was meant to get her away from him, and little else. He feels cruelly relieved, and the relief twists through his guts like a blade. He wouldn’t have to be relieved if he could just pull himself together.
The Blood of Lathander's sunbeam scorches past him, burning even with the careful placement of the blast - avoiding him, even as it hits Karlach, like she and Shadowheart had silently communicated that this was a worthwhile sacrifice to burn away the cultist that had done this to him. It joins with a flurry of Eldritch Blasts from Tav and Wyll alike and sends debris flying everywhere.
But it certainly is enough - overkill, really, given that Shadowheart can only muster the energy to channel the mace once a day. Likely Lae'zel could have finished her, had they waited long enough for her to cross the distance to them after slaughtering the rest of the cultists.
Gale snaps his attention back with his specially crafted Shocking Grasp - just for Astarion, the smallest tickle of warning before touching him. Something they'd developed after Astarion had informed him that if he asked to touch Astarion's shoulder one more time, he would be kicking Gale off his precious balcony to his death.
He lets Gale help him up, standing on shaky legs.
Everyone is looking at him.
He cannot take it. He'll slit his own throat, or all of theirs, whichever will get him out of this fastest.
"All good there, Fangs?" Karlach asks.
"Perhaps you should mind your own business," Astarion finds himself saying.
Karlach knows him well enough not to be offended by that sort of thing anymore. Disgustingly, Astarion is relieved at it.
"A moment, please?" Gale asks, breathless.
"Yeah," Karlach says. "No problem. C'mon, love, let's break into the vault downstairs, that door looked quite vulnerable to Force damage."
They march off, Shadowheart shooting a Healing Word at him, and Astarion is left with Gale, who looks dangerously poised to ask him if he's alright.
In a panic, Astarion blurts, "Odd. I distinctly remember you discussing with Tav that a Counterspell would be quite useful here, given their propensity for using their enemies as healing charms."
"Yes, well," Gale says. "I admit, our... latest battle was still at the forefront of my mind, and I had hoped it... well, wouldn't be needed."
"Oh, yes, save it for Karlach, whose lover is showering her with Counterspells every time a mage so much as looks her way," Astarion says, even though he knows, he knows, had the thought even as the charm hit him.
Gale's patience is wearing thin, Astarion can see, and the temptation to push further, to avoid a real talk is too great.
"Perhaps it was ill timed, yes, but I thought this was what you wanted," Gale says, crossly.
"Oh, yes," Astarion spits. "Of course. The moment I'm not falling all over myself with gratitude that the great Gale of Waterdeep deigns to be my knight in mage armor whether I like it or not, I'm on my own to face whatever horrors await. A very creative punishment!"
"I can only assume," Gale says coldly, "quite charitably, I might add, that you mean to rile me up to avoid your fears, otherwise that would be quite the cruel accusation."
"Oh, I'm sorry," Astarion continues, because he despises that Gale is right, "far be it from me to suggest that you, of all people, react well to being told your immense talent is not required."
"Perhaps," Gale says, "if you wished for me to be less inclined to jump to your protection, you might consider acting less like a trapped, wild animal without the sense to avoid mauling anything in its vicinity."
Well, Astarion thinks. That actually stung. "Well, you've certainly proven how much you don't think lowly of me! How silly of me!"
"I don't--!" Gale exclaims, desperately, before catching himself and schooling his tone. "I don't think lowly of you, Astarion, but I cannot fathom why you refuse so vehemently to explain to me what truly occupies your mind in this predicament!" And then, even more quietly, patiently, horribly, he says. "I try to give you your freedom, and your privacy. But you know that my patience with problems I cannot solve due to deliberately withheld information is mighty thin."
"Oh, you're confused about the problem?" Astarion bites. "Well, let's see if any of our common, simple minds can enlighten your immense one." He turns and kicks the door to the antechamber they're in open so he can join the others.
"Does anyone here," he declares, "see the problem--"
"Merciful Moonmaiden above, protect my ears from this drivel," Shadowheart mutters to herself.
"Er, Astarion," Wyll tries, ever reasonable. "I'm not sure that you want everyone involved with--"
"--with our only wizard," Astarion continues loudly, "dropping everything mid-combat and tripping over his own feet to rush to the aid of his poor, darling damsel lover the moment that he reaches for him..."
Gale scoffs. "Please," he says. "Other than your theatrical complaining, I can hardly imagine you reaching for..."
He trails off, realizing at the same time as Astarion just how monumentally he's fucked up.
"Except you did," Gale says, almost to himself. "That night, at the ravine..."
"I did not," Astarion hisses. Fear shudders through him, too intense and gripping to even be analyzed. He just needs it to stop, all of this to stop.
And Gale laughs. A short, breathless chuckle. "No, no," he says. "I didn't notice it at the time, but we both know my memory is quite robust. You reached for me as you fell." The laugh is exhausted, but also genuinely amused. Beneath the stress of the argument, he revels in this information. "That's what this has all been about? All this tantruming and complaining, because you sought my help in a moment of need?"
"Don't," Astarion warns. "I mean it."
He can see a glimmer of vengeful mischief pass through Gale's eyes, but it's gone just as quickly. "I wish you had just told me," he says. "But of course, my love, we shall speak no more of it."
"How wonderful," Shadowheart says. "May we be excused from this lover's spat now, or would you like us to witness you kiss and make up as well?"
Astarion feels revolted by the idea of a kiss at the moment.
"I, for one, found this fascinating," Lae'zel interjects. "I can certainly understand the humiliation of looking to a lover in the heat of battle, asking for rescue. I would have never thought you so feeble minded, Astarion."
"Lae'zel," Wyll complains. "Please."
She blinks at him, either not understanding or not wanting to.
"Kindly fuck off, Lae'zel," Astarion spits, which earns him another disapproving look from Wyll. Astarion has to wonder how he manages the energy to be such a wet blanket. "I'm tired. I'm going home."
He reaches for the teleportation charm Gale imbued them both with, and fast travels without so much as waiting for Gale to join him.
"Mister Ancunin," Tara purrs, as she passes him in the hallway. "You certainly look like you've seen better days. Where is Mister Dekarios? Is he neglecting you in favor of some silly course of study?"
"I'm sure he'll be home soon," Astarion manages. "I'm going to bed."
"Oh dear," Tara says. "Is everything alright?"
Perhaps it's because Astarion cannot bring himself to be rude to Tara, but he can almost see himself collapsing before her and weeping. But since he refuses to do so and cannot fathom why he would need to, he just smiles. "Of course. Good morning, Tara."
He flees to his room and collapses into his bed, succumbing to shivers of terrors he can't begin to comprehend.
***
He's coherent again, by the time he hears Gale shuffle in front of his door, the familiar pattern of his footsteps when he's deciding whether to knock or to let Astarion stalk out of hiding himself. And, ever the experience cat owner, he decides against it. Astarion listens to him walk away, and curls in on himself for another grueling few hours of trying to coax words, understanding, anything of value from the terror.
***
By the time he finally has landed upon something to say, practicing it in his mind as he walks to Gale's room, Gale is dead asleep, propped up against the headboard with a book in hand, like he'd been trying to stay awake.
Astarion needs to say his piece before he falls victim to cowardice once again, so he grasps Gale's arm and leans over him.
Gale starts awake, jumping quite visibly. "By the nine hells, Astarion, could you not wake me any gentler?!"
"I cannot fault you for enjoying my dependence on you," Astarion informs him. "But I don't care for it."
Gale blinks at him, still waking up. "Dependence on--? Astarion, I do not want you to be dependent on me."
Astarion scoffs. "Isn't that what everyone wants? A lover who will never want to leave them?"
Gale groans. "I suppose, were I to plunder the depths of my darkest whims, I am certain I could find a selfish and cruel sliver of myself which would enjoy such a thing. You and I are no strangers to the desire for power and control, after all, and I am not free of temptation. But as I like to think that I, Gale Dekarios, am not my basest, most evil desires, I think I can say quite honestly that I find your continued choice to be with me quite invigorating. And flattering."
"I thought of nothing," Astarion says, "but you. In the ravine. While charmed. I could do nothing but look to you."
Gale reaches for him, then pauses and extends a hand for Astarion to make the move first. Astarion hesitates, then takes it. "My love," Gale says, so softly Astarion fears he will finally break, after all these years of torment. Done in by a wizard with no desire to harm him. Pathetic. "All thinking creatures desire safety. I offer it to you gladly, and freely, and I am touched when you choose to take it, because there is no doubt in my mind that you are brave and strong enough to choose ."
Astarion feels so deeply, deeply tired. He collapses onto Gale's shoulder. "I cannot withstand it any more than my hunger. I hate it. I hate you for making me feel this way."
Perhaps he might be more convincing, if he could manage to say it without burying his face into Gale's shoulder. He doesn't really think he wants to be convincing.
"Can't say that I am sorry," Gale says, "though I do hope someday being protected comes with less fear of that protection being revoked."
"What if it never does?" Astarion murmurs. He can't tell whether he is proud of himself or ashamed of himself for putting the fear to words. "What if I remain vile and hungry forever?"
"Then I will still love you," Gale says, quite simply, no embellishments or rambles.
"That's disgusting," Astarion tells him.
"Of course, my love," Gale says, clearly very proud of himself.
Astarion closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. The fear doesn't go away, but it loses a few teeth.
"Now, may I please delight in you reaching for me in combat?" Gale asks, a laugh threatening to slither into his tone. "I find it extremely charming. You would be quite adorable, were you not so stubbornly infuriating."
"Absolutely not," Astarion bites, but he relaxes himself a little bit further into Gale's arms, hoping that's enough to tell the wizard he may continue with his delight, if he must. Astarion has absolutely no intention of saying so in so many words.
"Not even if I remind you that this would not be nearly as momentous a revelation if I didn't find you exceedingly dangerous and frighteningly vicious?" Gale purrs.
"And yet," Astarion purrs threateningly. "You take pleasure in my weakness and vulnerability."
"Only the pleasurable kinds, my dearest," Gale purrs right back. He's getting good at that, no doubt through intense study of Astarion.
"Despicable wizard," Astarion says. "Next time do me a favor and let me fall, remind me that breaking my neck is preferable to giving you more to flatter yourself with."
"I will do no such thing," Gale laughs, kissing Astarion's forehead.
Astarion may let him live another day.