Chapter Text
Gale huffed as he let the cabinet door on the bedside table slam shut. No luck , he thought to himself, but I know that bastard has it hidden here somewhere. He placed a steadying hand on the deep red duvet on the bed, rising to stand so he could continue his search.
He stood in Astarion’s room on the third floor of a quaint inn the party had taken refuge in during a mission out of town. After completing the quest they had been hired for, the party was finally able to rest, though Gale knew they tended to have an affinity for partying instead. Tav, Karlach, and Lae’zel were downstairs in the inn’s tavern, drinking and telling stories of battle to their hearts’ content. Wyll and Shadowheart had been deep in conversation on the porch of the building when Gale had last seen them, lightheartedly discussing something he hadn’t been able to make out. Astarion had separated from them in town, no doubt on his way to buy time with someone in a brothel or steal valuables from unsuspecting tourists, Gale thought to himself.
Gale had gone to his room, returned downstairs to drink half a beer at the tavern, and was now alone upstairs again in Astarion’s room, rummaging through his furniture and any packs he’d left behind on it.
When they had first arrived in the small town days ago, Gale had handed an amulet of Misty Step over to Astarion after losing a bet (now, he knew better than to assume he could avoid saying the word "Weave" for more than half a day). The vampire had grinned, his eyes sparkling at the thought of all the mischief he could perform with such a fine piece of magical jewelry. Now, Gale regretted it, a pang of hunger in his chest alerting him to the urgency of his regretful dietary needs. He had ransacked his own room the moment they’d gotten home - nothing. Normally, he’d ask Tav, but they seemed so drunk and excited downstairs, and he didn’t want to beg in front of everyone, ruining the mood.
Gale rummaged through a simple set of drawers across the room from the bed, his eyes searching desperately for the signature glimmer of enchanted gold and sapphire. The first drawer was completely empty, the second was a pristine collection of Astarion’s clothes, folded and categorically sorted. Gale let out a sharp breath through his nose, internally laughing at how Astarion was apparently the type of man -- elf? vampire? -- to immediately unpack his belongings into inn furniture. After carefully examining the second drawer, being sure not to disturb the meticulously organized laundry, the wizard moved onto the third.
Gale struggled to open the drawer at first; clearly, something large had been shoved inside. With a grunt, he yanked it back, revealing one of the inn’s plush pillows, sans pillowcase. He was immediately beyond confused. Turning around to check the bed, he confirmed that there was one missing from it. But why put it here, he pondered inwardly, and where is the pillowcase? As his eyes wandered from the bed, he noticed a sliver of cream-white fabric peeking out from the lid of the trunk at the foot of it. He gently lifted the lid, picking up what he immediately recognized to be the mysterious missing pillowcase. It seemed completely normal at first, and Gale started to examine it closer, until his fingers brushed by its center, and felt that it was damp.
“Oh!” he yelped, yanking his hand back from the fabric as he threw it down into the trunk. It closed with a slam, and the wizard grimaced, wiping his hand on his robes. The fabric had not been stained, but the dampness was thick, unlike water. His breath caught in his throat as he realized -- oh . Shaking the utterly degenerate thoughts from his mind, Gale reasoned that it may have been drool. “Drool,” he muttered to himself, “or… it could’ve been water. He spilled water, of course.” But even the rushed rationalization couldn’t push the redness from his cheeks. In any other room, with anyone else’s pillowcase, he would’ve run out of the room gagging. But the thought of Astarion finishing, the thought of such a prepared and meticulous elf having to use a pillowcase to clean up after himself… it made him shiver.
Gale stood abruptly and turned to close the pillow drawer but his hands faltered on the handles as he noticed something that made his heart jolt: a single drop of dried blood on a far corner of the pillow. Gale brought his fist to his mouth and let out a muffled groan, his imagination running wild: had the vampire laid someone down on this pillow, drained them of their blood, and been driven so wild that he could not resist using their mouth after the deed was done? Had he gotten in from a night of 'drinking', pleasured himself, been unable to reach for his handkerchief and resorting to the soft linens instead? Or, had he brought home someone to share the night with, and supported their hips with this pillow while he thrust into them? Perhaps (and this thought had the human’s face burning the most) he had been the one using the support?
Gale knew that these thoughts weren’t intrusive in the slightest - Astarion was constantly on his mind. He had been awake one night, near the beginning of the party’s journey together, and witnessed a confrontation between the vampire and Tav. Astarion had been leaning over them, trying to drink their blood before they had awoken and stopped him. Astarion had not been allowed to drink the blood of another person since, only animals. Gale saw how hungry that made him, especially during battle. Sometimes they would make eye contact after a difficult slaughter, and the starving, animalistic bloodlust in the elf’s red eyes made something in his core spark. Maybe it was him just wanting to help, or maybe it was his anxious need for the rogue’s lips on his skin, but Gale had recently grown much fonder of the idea of Astarion using him to feed.
It was more than that, though. Any vampire could bite him, but not any vampire was that pretentious pale elf. Astarion had this irresistible charm, one that Gale knew he used on everyone, but that he had nonetheless fallen for completely. The milky smoothness of his skin, the languid movements of his nimble fingers, his little moans and groans of exertion... it wasn't hard to imagine what he would be like as a lover. Gale did a lot of imagining anyway.
The wizard felt a bolt of electric heat jump from his chest to his lower abdomen, beginning to build into something he knew he didn’t want to get caught taking care of later. He stood to his feet, sighing and untucking his tunic to better hide his slight erection. Keeping the thought of Astarion’s various imaginary orgasms fresh on his mind, he planned to resign to his room and find solace in his hand before cleaning up with anything but a pillowcase. He turned to leave, but the sight in the doorway made his stomach drop to his feet.
“Hello, Gale.”