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Astarion watched from the corner of their shared tent, his eyes sharp, as Gale sat with his nose buried in a book, yet again. The wizard’s brow furrowed in concentration, but Astarion wasn’t fooled—he knew that look all too well. Gale was reading, yes, but he wasn’t absorbing a word. His thoughts were elsewhere, dragged down by the relentless tug of responsibility, of obligation, of his damnable goddess and the never-ending hunger for redemption. Astarion couldn’t stand it anymore.
He was a man of action, after all.
He stood, moving with a silent grace towards Gale. “Darling,” he purred, letting his voice curl around the syllables like a serpent around its prey. “Why don’t you put that down for a moment?”
Gale barely glanced up, his frown deepening as if Astarion’s presence was yet another distraction to fend off. “In a moment, Astarion. There are matters I need to—”
“No,” Astarion interrupted smoothly, reaching out to pluck the book from Gale’s hands, ignoring the startled look that flashed across his lover’s face. “Now.”
The vampire tossed the book aside with a casual flick, sending it skittering across the tent as he stepped closer. “You’ve been drowning in the damned book for hours, but I can see you’re just fretting about that goddess of yours.” His voice softened slightly, a hint of concern creeping into his typically sardonic tone. “You need to relax. Let me help.”
Wordlessly, Astarion motioned for him to come closer. Gale hesitated for only a moment before obeying, his eyes already beginning to soften by the warmth of trust between them.
“Come now, darling,” Astarion purred, stepping forward to gently tilt Gale’s chin upwards. “You’ve been so lost in that overstuffed head of yours. I think it’s time you let me take care of you for a change.”
Gale’s lips parted slightly, as if he wanted to respond with some overthought protest, some reason why he couldn’t, why there was still so much left to do. But Astarion silenced him with the brush of his thumb across the mage’s lower lip, his touch cool but insistent, a reminder of the control he so easily wielded when he chose to. “No more thinking. Not tonight. Just do as you’re told.”
He watched as Gale swallowed hard, the tension in his frame loosening ever so slightly, curiosity starting to edge out the lingering stress. Astarion’s eyes gleamed, knowing full well that once Gale was in his hands, it would be easy enough to lead him into the perfect distraction.
Tonight, Gale would be free of everything that haunted him. Mystra’s demands, the ever-present pull of his mistakes—they’d be drowned out, overwhelmed by the sweet oblivion only Astarion could offer.
“Good boy,” Astarion murmured, voice low and commanding, every syllable dripping with assurance as he brushed Gale’s hair from his face. Astarion plopped down onto the nearby chair and looked up at Gale. “Kneel.”
Astarion’s command sliced through the air, soft but undeniable, like the crack of a whip wrapped in silk. His crimson eyes gleamed with an almost predatory glint, watching intently as Gale stood there, tension flickering through his posture. The mage’s breath caught, his mind no doubt running through a litany of reasons to resist.
But none of them held up, not against the weight of Astarion’s gaze. Astarion knew that if he truly overstepped, Gale would put a stop to this—a conversation they’d had countless times since they began their trysts.
Gale’s lips parted slightly, a subtle exhale of surrender as he slowly, almost cautiously, sank to his knees before the vampire. His hands came to rest at his sides, fingers twitching slightly as he looked up at Astarion with something that bordered on reverence, but there was more than that in his eyes—vulnerability, a need that had been buried deep under layers of intellect and responsibility.
The feeling was foreign yet strangely comforting in the safety of his lover’s gaze. Astarion let out a pleased hum, running his fingers through Gale’s dark locks with a possessive stroke.
“That’s it,” Astarion cooed, nails lightly dragging along Gale’s scalp. “Look at you, kneeling at my feet like the good boy you are. You’re playing your part so well already.”
"You look so delicious like this," Astarion mused, his tone almost playful, though there was a dangerous edge to it. "On your knees. No overthinking, no endless worrying. Just here, exactly where you belong."
Gale’s breath shuddered, his gaze never leaving Astarion’s face, eyes darkened with the weight of his surrender. He could feel the power shift between them—Astarion’s control wrapping around him like a vice, tightening with every word, every touch. But there was something freeing in it, too. For once, the weight wasn’t his to bear.
Astarion’s fingers slid down to Gale’s throat, tracing the curve of his neck before resting there, a silent reminder of just how vulnerable he was in this position. His thumb pressed lightly against the pulse there, feeling the rapid beat beneath his skin.
"That’s right," Astarion murmured, his smile sharp as a blade. "You don’t have to be the strong one, the clever one. Not tonight. Tonight, you’re mine. And you’ll do exactly as I say."
Gale’s heart pounded in his chest, his hands clenching into fists against his thighs as he fought the urge to respond, to think, to do anything but what Astarion wanted from him. But the vampire’s gaze was unrelenting, his control absolute.
"Now," Astarion’s voice dropped even lower, a dark promise in every syllable, "Let’s see just how well you can follow orders, darling."
Gale’s breath hitched, the soothing tone slipping over him like a spell. His thoughts, initially buzzing incessantly, started to wane. Astarion’s hand felt grounding, firm yet affectionate as it moved across his head, the point of his nails sending small, electrifying shivers through him. He exhaled, letting the tension melt from his shoulders.
“I want you to focus on being my pet, Gale,” Astarion continued, voice velvety and sweet. “Empty your head for me. There will be no thoughts. Save for the ones that I put in there, of course.”
The words sank into him like a command, and before Gale knew it, he was already nodding. Astarion’s hand remained a constant on his scalp, gentle, yet undeniably in control. Each stroke cast another thought away, his focus instead landing on the soft rhythm of Astarion’s touch and the warmth pooling at the base of his spine.
Astarion’s smile grew wider, wicked with satisfaction. “No more complicated thoughts. You’re just here to entertain me now, aren’t you? A good pet, sitting obediently, doing only what you’re told.” His fingers grazed Gale’s neck, sending a tremor through the kneeling man.
Gale’s lips parted slightly, the weight of the moment pushing all other worried to the edges of his mind. For the first time in what felt like days, he wasn’t thinking about Elminster, or Mystra, or the looming dread of his own folly. He was just here, kneeling at Astarion’s feet, letting himself be led.
Astarion breathed out a soft chuckle, his other hand moving to gently tilt Gale’s chin up, so their eyes could meet. “You love this, don’t you? You love being my pet, my obedient little thing. Existing only to be praised, to be coddled, to be cared for.”
Gale’s breath came out in a shudder, the soft brush of Astarion’s fingers against his skin making his mind fuzzier by the second. It was impossible to think, impossible to do anything but focus on the pleasure of being touched, of being told what to do. He nodded, almost dazed.
“You’re such a stupid little thing when you’re like this,” Astarion murmured, his voice full of dark amusement, though his touch remained tender. “No thoughts, no worries. Just here for me. A good pet who does as he’d told.” He tugged Gale’s hair lightly, eliciting a small gasp from the mage. “Only what he’s told.”
The simplicity of it, the release from his own endless internal battles, was dizzying. Gale’s head lolled slightly into Astarion’s hand, his lips parting in a soft sigh, his gaze distant and heavy-lidded.
Astarion’s grin deepend, thoroughly pleased. “Look at you. So eager to please, aren’t you? My good pet, here to be praised and petted, with nothing at all weighing you down.”
Gale’s heart fluttered, his body responding to the warm approval in Astarion’s voice. It felt… liberating. He let himself sink further into the sensation, into the simple, primal desire to be cared for, to be told what to do. The weight of the world slipped away, leaving nothing but the warmth of Astarion’s hands and the blissful, quiet emptiness.
“You’re such a good boy for me,” Astarion praised, his voice honey-sweet, fingers still tangled in Gale’s hair. “No more thinking. Just loll your tongue out, wag your little tail. Pant for me like the dumb pet you are.”
And gods help him, Gale did. He felt the heat rise to his cheeks, but there was something so freeing, so utterly addictive about letting go of all his pride, all his intellect, just for a little while. He wanted Astarion’s praise more than anything right now. He wanted to feel nothing but that touch, that command, the feeling of being completely his.
Astarion’s hand continued its slow, soothing strokes, his voice wrapping around Gale like a leash. “That’s it. Such a good pet. Here to be cuddled, petted, and endlessly praised. No more complicated thoughts. No more burdens. Just me, with you at my feet, where you belong.”
Gale’s heart thrummed with an unfamiliar peace, his body relaxing into the role, into Astarion’s complete control. No more weight, no more endless, spiraling thoughts. Just Astarion’s touch and praise with Gale being nothing more than his perfect pet, basking in his master’s praise.
Astarion grinned as he watched Gale, his eyes fluttering and starting to cross, vision swimming in the haze of surrender. The mage had fully slipped into the state Astarion had been guiding him towards—completely malleable, all those brilliant, complicated thoughts wiped away entirely. He was nothing more than Astarion’s pet now, a blank canvas of obedience and need.
“Good pets are just happy and dumb, aren’t they, Gale?” Astarion purred, though his tone was taking on an almost high-pitched, teasing lilt. The sharpness of it cut through the fog in Gale’s mind, but only to pull him deeper into his trance. “Don’t you like the sound of that, pet? So simple, so mindless. You’re just a dumb little thing, aren’t you?”
Gale’s lips parted, his breathing heavy, shallow. He tried to form words, but they stuck in his throat, coming out in a half-groan, half-whimper. The only thought left swirling in his mind was how good it felt to be this way, how good it felt to just be.
“Ah, ah, ah. Pets don’t talk. A pet doesn’t need to talk. A pet is a wanting, needing thing that only knows yes,” Astarion commanded. Gale let out a particularly long whimper and nosed further into Astarion’s hand.
Astarion let out a delighted, shrill giggle, the sound sharp and teasing as he cooed at Gale like he was a cute little puppy. “What a good pet you are,” he crooned, his voice lilting, almost squeaky in its exaggerated praise. “There’s a good pet. Such a simple little thing. Dumb and eager, doing exactly what Master tells you.”
Gale felt his face flush, warmth creeping up from his chest as he soaked in the praise. His vision blurred further, almost dizzy with how deep he had sunk into the space Astarion had led him to. The vampire’s fingers still carded through his hair, each stroke a reminder of his place, of his purpose. To please. To obey.
“You’re so dumb for me, aren’t you, my pet?” Astarion’s voice came again, high-pitched and teasing, each word like a caress against the fog in Gale’s mind. “Good pets only want to make their master happy. Only want to stay at their master’s feet, answering to every beck and call, isn’t that right?”
Gale couldn’t stop the low, breathy sound that escaped him, his body reacting instinctively to the sweet, condescending praise. He nodded, head tilting further into Astarion’s hand, the movement lazy and dazed.
As Gale knelt there, the orb in his chest began to flicker with a soft, ominous glow. It started as a faint pulse, barely noticeable, but the orb seemed to respond more and more to the pull of Astarion’s authority. The faint flicker quickly swelled into a radiant flow, casting an eerie, silver-blue light throughout the dim tent, the shadows dancing wildly along the canvas.
Astarion’s smirk sharpened as he looked down at his mage, so thoroughly undone, so blissfully obedient. His hand drifted lower, brushing against Gale’s chest before he let his foot slide forward, the tip of his boot pressing lightly against the bulge in Gale’s trousers. It was only half-hard, the arousal simmering beneath the surface, but even that simple pressure was enough to make Gale gasp.
“Good pets want whatever their master gives them. Good pets hump their master’s leg,” Astarion purred, voice thick with amusement, his boot pressing more firmly now. “So grateful for even the simplest little touches. Isn’t that right, pet?”
Gale moaned, the sound escaping him unbidden as his body responded automatically. His hips rocked forward, seeking out the friction as his cock hardened further beneath the fabric of his trousers. His head swam with the intensity of it, of how utterly good it felt to give in. To do exactly as Astarion wanted. His cock throbbed beneath the teasing pressure of Astarion’s boot, the leather warm against his skin through the fabric.
“Look at you,” Astarion teased, his voice almost a squeal now as he watched Gale grind pathetically against his foot. “Such a good pet. So needy, so desperate. Humping away like a little dog, so grateful for just a touch. That’s all it takes, isn’t it? You don’t need much, do you, my stupid little thing?”
Gale’s breath hitched, his mind spinning further as he bucked his hips against Astarion’s boot, his movements growing more frantic, more desperate. The praise was like a drug, flooding his sense, pushing him further into that mindless state of submission. He couldn’t think—he didn’t want to think. All that mattered was Astarion’s voice, Astarion’s touch, and the way his body responded so instinctively, so automatically.
“Good boy,” Astarion cooed, his foot nudging harder against Gale’s clothed cock, making the mage whimper, his hips jerking forward for more, more, more. “Keep humping, pet. Show me how much you love it. How much you need it.”
And Gale did. He ground himself against Astarion’s leg with an almost feverish desperation, his breath coming in short, ragged gasps as pleasure surged through him, head completely empty save for the overwhelming need to please, to be praised.
“That’s it,” Astarion whispered, voice positively dripping with satisfaction. “Such a good, dumb pet.”
Astarion’s sharp eyes glittered as he watched Gale’s body tremble under his command. The wizard had become the picture of helpless submission, his hips grinding pathetically against Astarion’s boot, his breath ragged and desperate. Astarion’s lips curled into a wicked smile as he bent forward slightly, letting his fingers trace the curve of Gale’s jaw, feeling the heat radiating from his flushed skin.
“You’ll make such a lovely little mess for me, won’t you, pet?” Astarion purred, his voice thick with condescending sweetness. His fingers drifted lazily down to Gale’s lips, brushing over the spit that had begun to collect at the corners. “Oh, sweetie, you’re drooling. Messy thing,” he cooed, his tone almost mocking, but laced with a dark affection. “Such a lovely little thing you are. My dumb little bitch.”
The words sent another tremor through Gale’s body, his legs trembling as he continued to rut helplessly against Astarion’s boot, the friction sending sparks of pleasure up his spine. His vision had long since gone blurry, eyes unfocused, his mind reduced to nothing but the need to obey, to submit, to earn the praise Astarion so teasingly dangled in front of him.
Astarion chuckled softly, his fingers now resting lightly under Gale’s chin, tilting his head back to meet his gaze. “We’ll have to get you a collar and a leash,” he mused, almost idly, as though he were seriously considering it. “Though, I doubt the leash will be necessary. You won’t leave my side, will you, pet? Too stupid to survive without my guidance.”
Gale moaned softly, his hips jerking harder against the press of Astarion’s foot. His thoughts were a jumble of “Yes”, “Master”, and “Please”. His mind fogged with nothing but submission, pleasure, and the overwhelming need to please. The idea of a collar, of being marked as Astarion’s, sent a shiver of both shame and excitement through him.
Astarion’s grin was full of fangs, watching the way Gale’s body reacted to every word, every touch. “That’s right, my sweet little thing,” he spoke, his voice lowering. “You’re mine, aren’t you? My dumb, obedient pet. Eager to please, desperate for everything I give you.”
Gale whimpered, his chest heaving as the pressure built in his body, pleasure coiling tight and unbearable beneath his skin. His mind was gone, reduced to nothing more than instinct as he rocked his hips against Astarion’s boot, each movement bringing him closer to the edge.
Astarion tilted his head, watching Gale intently. “Go on then,” he said, his tone indulgent, as though he were giving permission to a drooling pet waiting for their signal to eat their dinner. “Come for me, sweet little thing. Show me just how much you need me.”
Gale’s body responded beautifully, a few more thrusts and his back was arching as the tension snapped, pleasure flooding through him with a ragged moan that escaped his lips. He jerked harshly against Astarion’s boot, his release spilling in hot waves, soaking through his trousers as his body trembled with the force of it. His vision blurred completely, and for a moment, there was nothing but the sensation of pure, unfiltered pleasure and the soft, cooing sound of Astarion’s voice praising him.
“That’s it,” Astarion murmured, voice dripping with satisfaction and pride. “Such a good boy. My perfect, obedient pet. Making such a lovely little mess for me.”
Gale collapsed forward, his head resting against Astarion’s knee as he panted, body still trembling in the aftermath. His mind was blissfully empty, completely overwhelmed by the pleasure, by the weight of Astarion’s control.
Astarion let out a soft, almost affectionate chuckle, his fingers once again stroking through Gale’s hard. “What a sweet little thing you are,” he whispered. “So easy to control. So desperate for my approval.”
Gale could only whimper in response, too spent, too blissed out to form any coherent words. All he could do was bask in the warmth of Astarion’s touch, in the praise, in the knowledge that he had pleased his master.
The intensity of the moment slowly began to fade, the raw need and submission ebbing like a receding tide. Gale knelt there, still dazed, eyes half-lidded, his chest rising and falling. The orb’s glow faded back into its quiet slumber, leaving behind only the warmth of Astarion’s presence and the soft light of the candles in their tent.
Astarion’s sharp, commanding expression softened as he looked down at Gale—his lover, no longer his pet for the time being. There was satisfaction, yes, but also a deep fondness in the way he gently ran his fingers through Gale’s hair, coaxing him back from the deep space of submission. His voice was a low, soothing murmur now, lulling Gale back from the edge of that haze. “Come back to me, love. You’re safe with me. Breathe, darling.”
Gale blinked slowly, eyes still glazed but beginning to focus as Astarion’s voice, now soft and tender, guided him back. His body still felt heavy, mind sluggish, but the gentleness in Astarion’s tone anchored him, drawing him out of that fog. Astarion continued his slow, comforting strokes through Gale’s hair, his nails light and barely there, just enough to soothe.
“That’s it,” Astarion whispered, his hand shifting to cup Gale’s cheek, tilting his head up so their eyes could meet. His gaze was no longer teasing, no longer sharp with dominance—just warm and affectionate. “You did so well, lover. So perfect.”
Gale managed a small, tired smile, though his limbs still felt limp, his body exhausted from the intensity of everything. Astarion’s touch, however, grounded him further, bringing him gently back to himself.
“Let’s get you cleaned up, shall we?” Astarion murmured, his voice still soft, as though afraid to jolt Gale out of the delicate state he was in. With great care, Astarion helped him up, supporting his weight easily despite his slim frame. Gale leaned against him, still a little unsteady on his feet, but Astarion held him close, pressing a soft kiss to his temple as he led him toward the bedroll.
With slow movements, Astarion knelt by Gale’s side, helping him out of his soiled trousers with a tenderness that was a stark contrast to his earlier commands. He fetched a cloth and a waterskin, dampening the fabric to gently wipe away the mess from Gale’s skin, taking his time with each slow, deliberate stroke. Every touch was careful, reverent, as though reminding Gale that this, too, was part of the care he deserved.
Astarion’s gaze remained soft, his hands never once rushing, never once harsh. He pressed an array of soft kisses to Gale’s forehead, his lips lingering there for a moment longer, as if to convey everything he felt in the silent touch. “There you are, darling. All cleaned up.”
Once Gale was clean and dressed in something loose and comfortable, Astarion eased him down onto the bedroll, tucking the blanket around his exhausted frame.
He slid in beside Gale, wrapping an arm around him and pulling him close, letting Gale rest his head against his chest. “You did so well for me,” Astarion whispered again, his fingers trailing down Gale’s back in soothing circles. “So, so perfect.” His voice was a warm hum, almost hypnotic in is calmness.
Gale sighed, sinking into Astarion’s embrace, his body relaxing fully, the gentleness of the vampire’s touch and the blanket around him grounding him completely. He felt safe and cared for.
Astarion’s hand never stopped its gentle motions, tracing slow, comforting patterns against Gale’s back and shoulders. “I’ve got you, love,” he murmured, voice soft, almost like a purr. “Rest now, sweetheart.”
With those final words, Gale let his eyes close, his breathing evening out as he nuzzled closer to the vampire. Astarion remained by his side, holding him close, never once letting go, a protective presence in the quiet, candlelit tent.