Chapter Text
It was easier, Tav found one middle-day morning, if he shapeshifted into someone he knew.
It had been weeks of absolutely no success. He was getting sick of his own reflection, from all the time he spent staring into the mirror, trying to get his features to change. Gale and Astarion had both told him it was surely just a matter of time, of getting to know himself, and it would come to him if he was patient.
Patience wasn’t Tav’s best attribute. “Don’t I know myself plenty?” Tav had demanded half-heartedly, headachey from scowling at himself and stroppy with it. (They had exchanged knowing glances and then poured him some of that sweet, milky tea that he begrudgingly had to admit helped when he was feeling tired.)
There was no guide for this. If there were any changelings or doppelgängers or particularly unlucky half-elves poisoned with Bhaal’s blood and then miraculously cured from it living in Baldur’s Gate or Waterdeep, Tav had no idea where to find them to consult on his so-called abilities.
So he was stuck, ‘meditating’ and squinting at his reflection and feeling like an idiot, until one morning he simply thought, ‘Astarion’, and his whole body rippled in the mirror. After tendays of glaring into the reflective surface, amounting to little more than a change in eye-color or hair-shade, Astarion’s form settled on him with the ease of putting on an old, familiar robe.
“Oh,” he breathed, and it was Astarion’s pitch, if not his accent, and not his grin, that spread across his reflection’s face. “Holy shit.”
Gale hadn’t noticed yet; it had become apparent the first few days of their ‘experimenting’ that there was really nothing he could do to actually aid Tav in achieving mastery over his innate shapeshifting abilities, other than provide moral support. Thus, he usually spent these mornings poring over a book, copying scrolls, or doing his student grading. Tav would have felt a little bad about commandeering his study, but Gale had seemed so genuinely grateful for the company— especially for the marking work— that he couldn’t regret the time spent concurrently, if not actually together.
It was nice, to spend his mornings in Gale’s mostly-quiet company. Neither one of them minded the other’s occasional muttering or humming or thought spoken aloud, and Astarion usually slept mornings anyway, and woke Tav when he came back to bed after a night out hunting, and Tav could never fall asleep again once he woke for the day.
Plus, Tara was usually in here.
“Well done, dear,” he heard her say, and he looked over to see what new spell Gale was toying with, but Tara was looking at Tav. He preened, then had to stifle a laugh, catching sight of his reflection doing so out of the corner of his eye. He held his hands up in front of his face and looked at Astarion’s graceful fingers.
Mostly. Half of a pinky was still gone.
“My goodness, Tav!” He looked up to see Gale’s shocked expression transform into a wide grin. “Ah, I knew you could do it,” he said, rushing over. “How do you feel?”
“…Fine?” Tav said, again in Astarion’s tone. It was odd to hear him without the usual accent. “He’s going to be insufferable about being my inspiration,” he mused, and Gale grinned at him.
“Well, perhaps,” he agreed. He reached out to feel along Tav’s shoulder and upper arm, and that was the thing with Gale; when he was casting magic, his gestures were precise and neat and nothing like any wizard Tav had ever seen. The rest of the time, his hands seemed to have a mind of their own.
“Fascinating,” the wizard muttered to himself. “It’s not illusion magic, you’ve actually altered the matter of your form. You know, some of my colleagues would no doubt love to study changeling anatomy—”
“I’d rather just keep this between us,” Tav said quickly, and Gale visibly shook off his reverie at Tara’s pointed throat-clearing.
“Of course, dear boy,” Gale said, and Tav felt his heart in his throat all at once. “Purely theoretical, I would never subject you to a faculty full of wizards like that. I’m certain they give you plenty of grief as it is, when you guest lecture on bardic magic,” he said, offering Tav a smile, inviting him in on the joke.
Tav’s tongue felt clumsy in his mouth. “I only want one wizard’s attention,” he blurted, but Gale’s smile just grew wider, fonder. Friendly. Ah, well. Tav hadn’t really expected anything different, after tendays of hints.
“Can you change back?” Gale asked, and Tav thought about it, and did. There was a slick sound and an unsettling cracking noise, and then he was back in his own skin.
“Guess so,” Tav mused wryly. Gale, whose hand was still on his arm, looked fascinated rather than disgusted by the viscerality of the ability.
“This is truly remarkable,” he said. “The fact that you are able to transfigure your entire skeleton and all of the layers of dermis, without a complete knowledge of the anatomical—” And Tav stopped listening as it got theoretical, just enjoying the warmth of Gale’s undivided attention and the hand, squeezing and rubbing his shoulder. He felt a weird sort of warmth throbbing near-painfully in his chest and wondered if it was a side-effect of shapeshifting.
Tav didn’t manage any other form other than Astarion’s for the rest of that morning, but Gale was satisfactorily appreciative of the ability, and was good enough to laugh with him over his attempts at imitating Astarion’s accent. “I don’t know how appreciative Astarion will be of you stealing his appearance,” Gale pointed out wryly, watching Tav strut back and forth along the length of his study until he got Astarion’s swagger just right.
“Well, darling, I suppose I’ll have to forgive him eventually. My face is really too good to pass up,” Tav drawled in Astarion’s accent. “Why wouldn’t he prefer to go around using it rather than his own?” Gale snorted a laugh.
“I wouldn’t count yours out entirely,” Gale said warmly, and Tav changed back before Astarion’s paler skin could damn him by blushing.
* * *
It turned out changing into people he knew was a lot easier than strangers, or than crafting someone entirely new by personally designing them.
He flicked back and forth between himself and Astarion for the next few days, enjoying the challenge, seeing how quickly he could slip into one or the other. There didn’t seem to be any in-between state, which Gale said was unexpected, but also said that there wasn’t much published literature on changelings, so who knew how accurate their accounts were. Still, Tav was a little afraid of getting ‘stuck’ and wasn’t eager to branch out into someone else’s shape, at first.
He did make a nuisance of himself, of course. Why else learn shapeshifting? He visited Gale at the academy one bright sunny afternoon in Astarion’s shape, shocking his students who had crafted all kinds of rumors about the night-dwelling housemate Gale kept locked up in his tower. Then he went to Astarion’s favorite Waterdavian tailor and ordered him three new doublets made to precisely his measurements that he would absolutely hate. (What Astarion had against slash-strip sleeves, Tav couldn’t understand. Tav thought they were the height of fashion, himself.)
Astarion didn’t seem to mind Tav borrowing his appearance. He liked dressing Tav up, and testing new hairstyles on him, and, well, he was enough of an egoist to ask Tav to wear his shape to bed once, too. (That had been a very diverting evening.) It wouldn’t stand up to physical inspection— Tav’s pulse was steady and he had no idea how to flash fang or claw like Astarion could, and he could withstand the sun— but visibly they were identical.
Nearly.
Some of the damage Tav had done to his own body was not purely cosmetic. Half of his little finger stayed gone, even in Astarion’s shape, the missing chunk of his ear, his autopsy scars. The ones on his neck faded quite a bit in Astarion’s form, so pale as to be nearly invisible, but the nick on his mouth and brow stayed.
A handy illusion spell or two could cover those up, however, and were more difficult to spot, with most of him being genuine rather than illusory.
(Bizarrely, his biggest facial scar disappeared, as though it were simply painted on, when he wore Astarion’s shape. Tav had no idea what that meant.)
“Alright, wizard,” Astarion drawled one evening as they both prowled into the kitchen.
“Tell us apart, if you can,” Tav challenged, illusions in place to cover his scars and wearing some of Astarion’s clothes; he’d gotten quite good at imitating Astarion’s mannerisms and voice, over the last tenday.
Gale half-turned to face them from where he was standing over the stove, making something that smelled absolutely delicious. He was warming blood fresh from the butcher’s too, in the special tea kettle he reserved just for Astarion, ever since Astarion had confessed that though he couldn’t parse the taste of anything other than blood, the temperature did have an effect on his enjoyment.
Gale raised both brows in their direction. “Well,” he said, playing along. “What will you be having for dinner, Astarion?”
“Blood, obviously,” they scoffed in-sync, and Gale looked amused.
“I suppose that one’s too easy,” he mused, then pointed his wooden spoon at them. (He claimed that the prep work could be done with magic, but the actual cooking needed a hands-on approach, and Tav had never dared argue with him, for lack of losing access to the positively divine things he could produce in his kitchen.)
Gale’s expression went a bit flinty as he gestured at them with the utensil. “Sit down,” he said firmly, and Tav dropped into a seat at the table without protest. He realized a beat too late his mistake as Astarion started sniggering— still standing, with little more than a raised brow— and Gale huffed, a smirk hiding beneath his mustache. “Tav,” he said, pointing right at him, and then turned back to his stove as Tav groaned, feeling unaccountably warm all over.
“Cheater,” he muttered, and slipped back into his own shape in time for Astarion to settle in his lap and insult him lovingly for losing.
(He felt like Gale was sneaking glances at them, but he couldn’t be sure with Astarion distracting him with kisses. Gale had long since given up pretending to be surprised about finding them in all manner of compromising positions, so maybe a little snogging at the kitchen table wasn’t all that interesting.
Dinner was delicious, as always.)
* * *
Eventually, his curiosity got the better of him.
He stuck with the elf theme at first and tried on Halsin, marveling at the sensation of being taller, then slipped into Wyll’s shape, but the horns and one-sided vision immediately gave him a headache and he had to go lie down, cutting his morning with Gale regrettably short.
“Shall I summon Astarion?” Gale asked softly, after he brought Tav a cool, damp towel and laid it over his brow. He’d drawn all the curtains with a gesture and put out the lamps, the lovely fellow.
“Nah, let him sleep,” Tav said.
“Elves don’t sleep,” Gale told him primly, in a pretty close match for Astarion’s voice when he got snippy about it, and Tav grinned with his eyes closed.
“Hey, you’d make a pretty good shapeshifter, Gale, if the wizarding business doesn’t work out,” he said, and swore he felt Gale’s fingers smooth very gently through his hair before he walked away.
(Astarion showed up anyway, awake suspiciously early, and tucked Tav safe from the light and sound between his familiar, slightly cool body and the back of the sofa, and bit him very sweetly when his throbbing headache insisted on growing into a migraine, offering the only remedy Tav had yet to find for his chronic pain. Thank the gods for vampire teeth and venom, he thought dizzily, and fell gratefully asleep as Astarion licked the wound closed.)
The next day, freshly fortified after a hearty dinner the night before— somehow Gale always had one ready to go after Astarion bit him, for business or pleasure— and a tincture intended to help someone recover from blood loss, he tried again. No horns, he decided very firmly, and slipped into Gale’s shape as easily as breathing.
Well, almost. His chest was tight, for some reason.
“Huh,” he mused, and there was a surprised noise by Gale’s desk. When he glanced over, Gale was staring at him openly. “Too weird?” Tav asked, grinning at him a little, and reached up to rub at his itchy face. Beard, right. Mm. That felt. Interesting.
“I’m quite used to seeing myself through magical means,” Gale said, and Tav wondered if that meant he was cooking up simulacrums somewhere, or if he was just talking about his habit of trimming his beard using an illusion of himself rather than a mirror. “But it’s quite different when it’s my own magic. There is a… thread of connection still, from it to myself.” He got up and crossed to Tav, circling him, and Tav stayed put, waiting for his judgement. “You’ll have to borrow something from my wardrobe, if you plan to playact me,” Gale said eventually with a rueful look, eyeing the way Tav’s clothes no longer fit. Gale was both taller and thicker than he was, in most directions.
Tav felt the desperate urge, all at once, to just… confirm that last thought. Purely for scientific reasons. “If I had legs like these, I’d wear hose all the time,” he blurted, to avoid following that train of thought. It seemed rude. “Or maybe those new short pants that are so popular on-campus right now,” he added, inanely.
Gale blinked at him, pink showing up on his cheeks under his beard, and Tav suddenly realized how unsettling this might feel, to someone who wasn’t Astarion— someone who didn’t already know he was Tav’s other half, who trusted Tav implicitly not to disrespect his person in any way because they’d already seen and done everything to each other. He changed back abruptly, the best apology he knew how to make.
“I won’t disrespect your privacy,” he promised Gale, meaning both his wardrobe and his body. “Or prank your students by casting like a bard while wearing your face,” he added innocently, like he hadn’t been thinking of doing exactly that, a few moments ago.
Gale blinked, then laughed a little. “If that’s the worst you can think of doing, my dear, then by all means. A little surprise now and then won’t hurt my students, to be sure,” he said with a grin. “What’s mine is yours,” he added, a familiar phrase by now, as he’d told Tav and Astarion it endlessly when they’d first come to visit, until they had thoroughly made themselves comfortable in his home.
But he couldn’t possibly be including his own body in that refrain? Tav tried not to let his imagination get away from him, at the thought. Failed. “It’s- I don’t want to overstep,” he said. “You’re important to me.”
Gale’s expression softened with fondness, and Tav exhaled slowly. “I would be more comfortable if you asked for permission before copying my shape,” he agreed. “But I won’t say it’s off-limits.”
“If it makes you uncomfortable, it is,” Tav said firmly, and Gale hummed in acknowledgement.
“It’s not. Well, only in a mild sense,” he mused. “But I would never ask you to stifle yourself in such a way, my friend. This ability is a part of you, and I would have you feel free and comfortable to use it as you see fit,” he said, and Tav felt that annoying warmth tingling in his chest again. “Though it seems a shame for you to go gray and scruffy like me, when you’ve gone to all this work to find your own style,” he added, tugging very gently on a lock of Tav’s hair; it had taken months of getting used to, but Tav could finally live with his hair brushing his neck or hanging in his face, and both Gale and Astarion had seemed quite enamored with the color, enough that he still had yet to cut it short again, even though Tav didn’t think dishwater brown was all that special.
The self-deprecation was unusual from Gale, though. He was quite content in his own body; he’d told them once, during a quiet evening, that his time with Mystra had made him appreciate the physical all the more, once he returned to it. Was he fishing for compliments, then? Because boy, Tav had compliments.
“Please, scruffy? You spend longer on that beard that Astarion does on his hair,” Tav huffed, cautiously teasing. “And with good reason. I’ll never grow a beard that thick and even,” he mused. “It suits you.”
Gale gave him a smile. “Well, I have grown quite used to it. Keeps one warm in the winter, too.” Tav bit back the immediate quip he would have made if he were talking to Astarion, and just nodded.
“Between the two of us, you have nicer hair, anyway,” Tav pointed out, pushing his luck, and Gale raised his brows in question. “It just—” It looked thick and smooth and like Tav wanted to sink his hands into it and tug, pull it out of the neat half-updo he wore for work.
It would look good spread on his pillow, Tav decided, and nearly swallowed his tongue before he said it aloud. “The silver fox thing really works for you,” he said, which was worse, probably, but Gale at least looked amused. “It’s just at your temples anyway. All your students think you’re hot,” he rambled, because it was the only way to keep his mind off the fact that he wondered if Gale was going gray anywhere else and the knowledge that he could, in fact, check if he really wanted to.
“Well, anything that gets them to pay attention, I suppose,” Gale said wryly, and Tav snorted.
“They pay attention because you know what you’re talking about, not like those other idiots,” he huffed, relieved to be back on stable footing.
“‘Those idiots’ are the Blackstaff herself, and some of the most talented wizards of this age,” Gale said wryly, and Tav sniffed.
“They’re not Gale of Waterdeep,” he said archly, a little bit of Astarion winding into his voice.
“Professor Dekarios is just fine,” Gale demurred, and Tav wondered if he’d like it if Tav said that from on his knees. He could be so into that, if Gale wanted him to be.
“Yessir,” he drawled, like all the sycophants at the academy, but his voice sounded a lot more breathless than theirs.
Sue him. Maybe he had kinks. That was allowed! Astarion had told him so, plenty of times.
“Get back to your studies, Tavran,” Gale said, pressing a warm hand briefly between his shoulder blades, and Tav wondered if Gale ran hot or if it was just different than the way Astarion touched him.
“You’re a hard taskmaster,” Tav complained, like he wasn’t mostly just standing around, drinking tea and getting fed little sandwiches and sweets and staring at his own reflection every morning that he spent on this side project.
“And I expect your homework to be done as well, Mr. Gregory,” Gale added archly, and Tav grinned, delighted by the teasing and by the sunny morning and by the knowledge that he would get to do this all again tomorrow.
* * *
Gale brought home a basket from work a few days later. It meowed.
Astarion was charmed immediately, Tav noted fondly. His prickly vampire would eat any animal he came across, when hungry, except for cats. He doted on Tara— the tressym, not at all a cat— spoiling her even more than Gale did. Tav could see him falling in love even before he laid eyes on the animal.
“A colleague’s familiar had quite the litter, recently,” Gale explained, setting the basket down in the sitting room under Tara’s watchful eye. “She was chasing a dozen kittens around her flat, trying to keep them out of all the magical artifacts, or off off high shelves. We had to intervene as a faculty when she nearly set fire to a student, for exhaustion,” Gale said wryly, and Astarion cooed as he opened the cover to reveal three kittens— one black, one orange, and one gray-striped.
They really were cute, Tav mused, immediately dropping to sit on the floor with them. “I remembered you had mentioned wanting to adopt a cat, Astarion,” Gale added. “I thought you might like to choose one. Or three.”
“They’re the only animals who aren’t afraid of vampires,” Astarion said absently, gently tipping the basket so the three little balls of fluff could cautiously scramble out. “Aside from Tavran.”
“Hey.”
“Well, that just goes to show that cats are a superior species,” Tara sniffed. “As a Tressym, I am quite fond of my distant cousins, lesser though they may be. As long as they stay away from my cushions, of course.”
“We’ll make sure they know to give you your space, Tara,” Gale said fondly.
“What’s wrong with dogs?” Tav asked, offering his fingers to one of the little fluff balls. “Cats are cute, but they can’t play fetch. Or follow orders,” he pointed out, and Astarion made a funny sort of sound, though when Tav glanced at him, he was fully occupied with coaxing the striped kitten toward himself.
“Ugh, yapping, outrageous creatures, full of more enthusiasm than sense,” Tara said, wings fluttering with distaste. “I should be quite sorry to see that day when one of those sets foot in my abode,” she said, spiritedly.
“It’s okay, Tara, I wouldn’t bring a dog into your home, that wouldn’t be very good guest etiquette,” Tav assured her, letting two of the kittens bat at his fingers. The black one bored quickly and made itself home on his foot, curled up, and went to sleep, and he thought he might die of cuteness. “Can I name them?” Tav asked hopefully.
“No,” Astarion said, firmly, scooping up the striped one.
“Please.”
“What would you call this one?” Astarion asked, raising a brow at him, and Tav hesitated.
“….Orange.”
“No.”
“Awh, c’mon, it’s ironic.”
“It’s foolish. These are my cats, and I will give them proper names. With Gale’s approval, of course, as joint-parent.” Tav glanced up, but Gale simply inclined his head.
“I’m sure whatever names you pick out will be utterly appropriate, Astarion, but do let me know if you would like a second opinion,” he said, and Tav got to watch Astarion smile, real and crooked.
“Hey, what if I want to be joint-parent,” Tav protested mildly.
“Please, we all know you’re more like fun-uncle,” Astarion scoffed, which. True.
“Tavran,” Tara said, clearing her throat, and Tav looked over, surprised at the grave note in her voice. “If a puppy would make you happy, you should of course acquire one,” she said, somehow sincere in spite of the distaste evident in her tone. “As this is your home as well, not only my own, and you should be just as comfortable here as I am.”
Tav blinked at her, then shot a glance at Gale, not sure what to expect. But Gale was smiling fondly at Tara. “That’s very good of you, Tara. Sharing space means a lot of compromise, and I’m certain if Tav wants a dog, we can work something out.”
Tara sniffed, graciously acknowledging her self-sacrifice while Tav wrestled with the warm feeling in his chest. It felt like it might burst out of him and make a mess all over the kitten trying to climb him like a piece of furniture. “Personally, I think one pup is quite enough for the household, but if Tavran really needs a playmate that badly…”
Tav blinked, then sputtered, while Astarion snickered behind him, and Gale covered his mouth in amusement. Traitors, all of them. His ears were hot.
“Wha- oi, I’m not a puppy, Tara, what in Faerun—!”
* * *
It was only a matter of time before he started to try a body-shape that was, well, a little more foreign to him.
He started with Lae’zel. He’d seen her naked a rather (un?)fortunate amount of times, because she hadn’t been one for ‘absurd and inefficient Faerunian customs of modesty’ and the one night he’d spent at her service was sort of… burned into his memory, no matter how hard he tried not to think of it.
Also he was curious if he could shift into a gith’yanki. Were they too different?
Seemed not. He shifted after little less than an hour of attempting it, and met Lae’s yellow eyes in the mirror.
“T’skva,” he muttered, then giggled, which was so funny with Lae’zel’s face that it made him laugh harder. Gods, he missed her.
Gale was fascinated, of course. Gith’yanki anatomy wasn’t precisely the same as Faerunian female anatomy, and he’d never had the opportunity to study it. Tav did his best to answer his questions, and even let Gale peel off his shirt— apparently the lack of mammary glands was somehow scientifically noteworthy— glad that gith skin didn’t allow for much in the way of blushing.
“Does this seem rude?” Gale asked ruefully, mid-thought, pausing a moment in his perusal of Lae’zel’s rib cage, and Tav scrunched up his borrowed face in thought.
“Maybe if it were someone else?” Tav suggested. “I don’t think Lae would care, though. She walked through camp mostly naked like… a lot.” Gale huffed an amused breath.
“I suppose she did rather invite attention that way. Or perhaps more accurately, she simply did not associate any shame or discomfort with physicality,” he mused, and Tav paused, studying Gale’s face a moment. Tav couldn’t read him, which was happening a lot lately, and frustrating.
“Yeah,” Tav said, belatedly, but Gale didn’t sass him with his eyebrows for it the way Astarion would have. “A nice attitude to have, huh?” he said, and it was probably because it was Lae’zel’s voice, not suited to hiding wistfulness, that he gave himself away.
Gale looked him in the eye. “Were you hoping to alter your usual body in some way by mastering this ability, Tavran?” he asked, and it was so gentle, so lacking in judgement. No wonder his students stayed after hours so long to listen to him talk.
“No,” Tav said. “Good thing too, since it obviously doesn’t work.” He gestured to his— Lae’zel’s— chest, where his autopsy scar marred her githyanki anatomy. The tip of his pinky was still missing, and the notch in his ear remained. Gale’s brow furrowed, just slightly, and Tav suddenly didn’t want to be in Lae’zel’s body anymore. He wanted his own for this conversation.
With the usual disconcerting cracking and fleshy noises he reshaped back to himself, comfortable and familiar. Gale didn’t even cringe. “The damage stays no matter whose shape I’m copying,” Tav pointed out, glancing at himself in the mirror.
“Did you want the scars to be gone?” Gale asked, frowning a little. “I’m sure we could arrange for a competent healer to see to you. Between Astarion and I, we certainly have the resources to—”
“No,” Tav said, interrupting because even though he hated it himself, Gale could keep going forever if you let him. “Maybe some day, for this one,” he admitted after a moment, knuckling his sternum. “It hurts, still.” Gale gave him a concerned look then, but Tav waved him off. “It’s fine, I manage.” He glanced at himself in the mirror. “I like my other scars. Is that madness? They belong to me. And I think they make me look mysterious,” he added, waggling his brows foolishly, and Gale huffed a reluctant laugh.
“Our skin can carry marks of our personal story,” he agreed absently, as though he was thinking of something else— wizards, Tav thought fondly, their brains never stopped— as his gaze went briefly distant. His hand came up to Tav’s throat, and Tav froze, ever aware of where Gale’s clever touch drifted to. His casting was always impeccably self-controlled, but when he got caught up in something, his hands seemed to have a mind of their own.
Tav thought Gale was about to touch the bite scar Astarion had left on his neck, but his fingers moved on, brushing instead against the notch on Tav’s left ear. “Like a tomcat,” Gale said, tone warming with humor.
Gale thumbed the shape of the missing tissue on Tav’s ear, and Tav’s whole body was suddenly alight. Then his fingers slid up to lightly pinch the soft point of Tav’s half-elvish(?) ear next, and maybe it was meant to be teasing, or maybe he didn’t notice what he was doing, but to Tav if felt like someone had just dragged a warm touch down the length of his spine, heat unspooling low in his gut.
His next inhale was unsteady, and Gale chose that moment to pay attention to what was outside his head rather than in it, apparently, because he went very still. His fingers flinched away, and Tav bit back a whine. “Apologies, dear boy, I should have asked for permission before—”
“You can touch,” he breathed, and Gale’s hand hovered uncertainly. “I like it,” Tav said more directly.
’Dear boy’. How could Tav let him stop, after that?
Gale looked at him for a long moment, and Tav had no idea what his face must be doing. Astarion told him that Tav’s eyes always betrayed him, but Tav didn’t know what that meant. He knew he loved it when Gale looked at him, though.
Tav was certain Gale was going to step away, pretend the air hadn’t gone syrupy and charged between them, and Tav would let him because the last thing he wanted to do was make Gale uncomfortable. But sometimes Tav forgot that this man who liked warm hearths and long afternoons in quiet libraries with exotic teas was the same man who played with plane-altering magics for fun, who never stopped asking questions, who touched things he shouldn’t even when they cost him his love and his life.
The touch returned. Warm fingers stroked the back of Tav’s ear next, and he shivered at the sensation of a caress against the sensitive skin. “Does this injury also ache?” Gale asked, and Tav would have shaken his head, but he didn’t want to chase off the hand.
“No,” Tav murmured. “I— only when it’s really cold.”
“You don’t look cold,” Gale murmured lowly, and gods, his voice.
“My ears are sensitive,” Tav blurted. Gale made one of his thoughtful hums, like a student had managed to say something interesting in their essay, or a spell detail had surprised him, and something about the fact that Tav had caused it at all made a thrill prickle down the nape of his neck and along his spine.
Then Gale gently pressed Tav’s earlobe between his thumb and the knuckle of his pointer finger and rubbed, just right. It felt like there were a hundred nerve-endings there, and a touch there felt— well. He just hoped he wasn’t blushing.
“The scar tissue isn’t numb?” Gale asked, curiously, and Tav struggled to make a noise that wasn’t just ‘hng’ or something even more embarrassing. Gale’s fingers mercifully released him to trace the outline of his ear instead, lingering over the unnatural curve. The first stroke made Tav bite his lip, the second drew a shiver.
“No,” he managed. “The opposite.” It was Gale’s turn to let out a shaky sigh, and Tav opened his eyes— when had he shut them?— just in time to see the anxious hesitance he had expected from the beginning.
“Tavran—”
“It’s okay,” Tav blurted, and he’d intended to be a lot more suave about this, had told Astarion he couldn’t do it because he was likely to say something sarcastic and ruin the whole mood when Gale deserved something just as romantic as those novels he devoured when he thought no one was looking. And here Tav was, fumbling it anyway, because the smartest man he’d ever met had his fingertips on Tav’s ragged outer helix. “It’s okay, if you want to-”
“Does Astarion know?” Gale asked in a rush, and Tav grinned a little.
“About my ears?” he asked, teasing a little, and Gale pursed his lips. “He knows,” Tav said quickly. “We’ve talked about it.”
“It?” Gale asked, apprehensive.
“You,” Tav clarified. “That you’re allowed to touch.”
Gale sucked in a sharp breath, eyes going a bit wide. “You’re both the only ones who are,” Tav added, nerves and hope blooming side by side in his chest. Oh, please, let this be the end of the pining, Tav wasn’t suited for it.
Gale let out a breath, then offered him a small smile. “That is quite the honor,” he said softly. “I thank you for it.” His fingers left Tav’s ear then, and brushed through Tav’s hair instead, smoothing it back out of Tav’s face. Hm, hair pets were the only thing that made having all this hair worthwhile, Tav mused, swaying toward him a little. Just a little more and Tav could have those sturdy arms around him, or straddle a thick thigh, or maybe let those precious hands press into his body, into his mouth— he would be so good for him, if Gale let him.
And then Gale released him, and walked away. When Tav was right there! Ready to bend over any surface at even the slightest indication that Gale wanted to enjoy him! Or he could get on his knees, he was pretty good at that too!
“Breakfast, my dear?” Gale asked instead, like he did every morning around this time, and Tav grunted something in agreement, because the other option was to whine about not getting what he wanted, at all.
* * *
Tav told Astarion the whole story later, with his face planted in Astarion’s sternum. It was a good place. Good for hiding from his humiliation.
“I want him so bad,” Tav groaned into Astarion’s chest, and Astarion laughed at him, which was rude, and petted his hair, which made up for it. “I practically offered myself up, and he gave me a pat on the head.”
“That’s not true at all, you brat,” Astarion said, pinching him meanly. “From the sound of it, he touched you quite a bit more intimately than that.”
Tav sighed morosely. “Do you think he just doesn’t want me like that?”
“Are those the only two options?” Astarion asked archly. “That he needs to ravish you immediately, or that he doesn’t want you at all?” Tav considered that, worrying his lip for a moment.
“No,” he admitted after a beat. “I guess— No, those aren’t the only options.”
“Let him take his time. Let him take his time with us,” Astarion suggested, rubbing Tav’s neck. “I’m rather enjoying being courted. It’s been some time.”
Tav frowned a little. “How do you know he’s courting us? He’s acted the same way the whole time we’ve been here,” he demanded, sounding more desperate for assurance than he really had intended, and Astarion heaved one of his dramatic, unnecessary sighs, and coaxed Tav up to kiss his mouth. He was very good at that, kissing, so good in fact that Tav forgot his question.
“We have time, darling,” Astarion murmured to him when Tav was flushed and felt like his whole body was humming pleasantly. “Are you happy with him, here, in his company, even if nothing else changed?”
“Yeah,” Tav said honestly. “Gale’s here. You’re here. I get to lecture a bunch of stuffy wizards about how they’re wrong about magic, and stab the occasional bandit, and there are kittens downstairs. I’m happy.” Astarion’s lips quirked up. “I just— he wanted me, once,” Tav blurted. “I don’t know how to be someone he wants like that, again.”
“You don’t have to be anyone, sweetheart. Just be yourself,” Astarion murmured.
Tav was pretty sure that was wrong, somehow, but Astarion was really good at kissing him until anything he said sounded like the best idea Tav had ever heard, so he didn’t get a chance to protest.
* * *
Tav was wary of trying Shadowheart’s form, for some reason. (It had nothing to do with the way he was pretty sure she and Gale had a thing for a few years there, while he and Astarion were faffing about down south and she still had yet to settle down. Certainly not.)
He didn’t want Gale to look at him with desire for the first time because he was wearing someone else’s face.
He picked Karlach, instead. They weren’t as close, these days, with her taking over the Fist in the Gate as Wyll’s right-hand-woman, but he still talked to her a few times a year and was familiar enough with her beaming grin to slip into her figure. The horns still gave him a headache
No engine though. Judging by Gale’s panic when he first saw Tav’s new shape, he maybe should have considered that little problem before trying to wear a heart-less person’s body.
“I’m fine,” he said, quickly, in Karlach’s voice. “It’s fine! No engine,” he said, unlacing his now-too-tight shirt enough to prove it. “Just… regular tiefling. Huh. Guess there’s a limit to this shapeshifting thing,” he mused, and Gale briefly put his hand to his head.
“You gave me quite the fright,” he said, shaking his head, and Tav grinned a little.
“I wouldna burned down your library, Gale, promise,” he said, liking the way Karlach’s voice slid along his casual speech patterns. Gale gave him a flat look.
“I was worried about the state of your organs, Tavran, not my books,” he said, and Tav paused.
“Oh.” He looked down. “Well. I think they’re all fine,” he said.
He stretched in Karlach’s strong frame, and it was odd, to feel at home in a body that was unfamiliar in the mirror. He had experienced this with every change, though; it felt right when he transformed, like he’d never been anything else, until he changed back again, and remembered his own body. His real body? Ugh, this was such a trip.
Still, sensations could be new. Like having a tail. “Sorry,” he blurted, finding it wrapped around Gale’s leg, feeling hot. “It has a mind of its own,” he said, and Gale just chuckled as Tav glared at it, willing it to let go. He didn’t need to know how firm Gale’s thighs were, okay?
“I can only imagine,” Gale said mildly. He gently pulled at it, and the traitorous thing went obligingly limp in his hold, allowing him to free himself. Tav felt sparks go up his spine when Gale’s fingers brushed the underside of the misbehaving appendage, and felt a familiar-yet-not warmth start to pool low in his belly and— yeah, time to change back.
He was Tav again, tail-free a moment later, willing the remnants of his blush away. “Man, that’s weird. Never thought about what having a tail would feel like. It’s one thing if it’s just… you know, different hair or something.”
“Quite,” Gale mused. “You know,” he added, slowly, which made Tav’s ears prick. Gale only spoke slowly when he had something important to say. “I wonder if there were anyone to mentor you on these abilities. Someone not affiliated with, er, your prior relations.” Tav snorted at the delicate phrasing.
“It’s alright, you don’t have to talk around it,” Tav said wryly, practicing looking down his nose in the mirror. “Doppelgängers are pretty evil, the ones we’ve met. And Orin… Well. We know what she used her powers for.” Tav studied his hands again; sometimes, even after all these years, they didn’t look like his hands. The threat, long-gone though it was, of someone else bending them to their will made him flex his fingers uneasily.
“There are peaceful doppelgängers, just as there are brawny wood elves,” Gale pointed out, and Tav grinned a little.
“Well. Fair enough,” he said, looking up, but Gale had come a lot closer, and he wasn’t returning Tav’s smile.
“I wanted to thank you for trusting me with this,” Gale said seriously, and Tav blinked at him.
“Uh, you’re welcome?” he said, before his thoughts caught up. “With what? Getting to see me make our friends look like a clumsy fools?” he asked, one corner of his mouth twitching up, inviting Gale back to the easy camaraderie of before, but Gale wouldn’t be tempted.
“With your secrets,” Gale said, still very gravely, as if having Tav’s trust was somehow worthy of formality. “I once acted very poorly, when questions of your heritage were revealed. I would have understood, had you preferred to keep any other parts of your past to yourself, and I want you to know that I am deeply grateful that you were willing, instead, to allow me the honor of discovering this with you.”
Huh. Tav must have been spending too much time with Astarion (impossible) for so much sincerity to feel like this, warm and surprising and heavy in his stomach. “I- yeah. I mean, no, it’s fine. I trust you, Gale,” he said, trying to get the man to stop looking at him like that. It wasn’t good for his heart, surely, to flutter like that.
“Look,” Tav added. “That time, with uh, the whole Bhaalspawn-causing-the-Absolute-Crisis-thing. I don’t hold that against you. Or anyone,” he pointed out. Astarion had thanked him, his ridiculous elf, but the others had been…frosty, for a while. They’d been caught off-guard, it was understandable. It seemed fair now, looking back, though his feelings had been pricked a little at the time. And anyway, it was ancient history now, almost a decade ago.
But Gale shook his head. “Even back then, I knew you well enough to see that the bard standing before me was not the same as the one who started that plot,” he said firmly. “How could I rightly hold you accountable for the actions of someone else?”
Tav’s brow furrowed. “It wasn’t someone else. It was me,” he pointed out.
“You had no memories of that person. Your actions, from the moment you woke on the nautiloid— those were the ones to judge by, nothing prior,” Gale said, and then he was reaching for Tav’s face, to pull his fingers away from his scarred cheek. Tav hadn’t noticed he’d been touching it. Gale’s touch, where he held Tav’s hand, was scorching.
“I didn’t wake up in a new body, as a new person, like a newborn or something,” Tav argued, not sure why he pressed the issue. “Pieces of me were still in there. Still the same.” Then his breath hitched; Gale had cupped his cheek and pressed his thumb to the scarring that bisected his face, then began to rub it gently, as if to test the texture of it. Tav hoped Gale couldn’t hear the way his breathing stuttered.
“How much of our personality, of our being, is based on experience rather than our shape?” Gale asked lightly, like he didn’t notice he had his hand on Tav’s face. “You always said you wanted to let go of the past.”
“What does that mean?” Tav asked, bristling a little; he and Astarion had had only two major fights, in their many years together, and one of them had been about this scar. Tav wasn’t eager for a repeat. “Yeah, maybe I don’t want to remember. I don’t see why I should have to. The person who did those things—” He stopped, hearing what he was about to say before he said it.
“‘Wasn’t you’?” Gale asked, looking a little smug. “My point exactly.”
“Ok, smartass,” Tav muttered, but his lips twitched reluctantly into a smile.
“Does this scar hurt, Tavran?” Gale asked, meeting his eyes, and it was too much. Gale was so close, and warm, and his clever hand was touching the brand of shame Tav carried after all these years, as his rightful due, the mark of his bloodied past right there on his face for all to see, like it wasn’t anything at all.
“Not right now,” he rasped.
He really thought, for a moment there, that Gale was going to kiss him. He was sure looking at Tav’s mouth like he wanted to, but people did that all the time, so Tav didn’t take it as a sign. It had been a whole tenday since Tav had told him he could touch Tav however he wanted— have Tav however he wanted— but this was the first time since then he had reached out again, and Tav ached.
(It was worse than the time Tav had broken both arms—doing something admittedly foolish— and Astarion had slept plastered against Tav’s back, not allowing Tav to touch and not touching Tav himself, but murmuring teasing filth in his ear until Tav was squirming and desperate. It was worse than the tendays all the way back during the Absolute Crisis that he had promised Astarion space when all he wanted was to curl up in Astarion’s bedroll and hide from the whole world. It was worse than that time he’d spent a month alone in jail until Astarion had broken him out, no one for company other than the twice-daily visits from a disinterested guard.
Well, okay, maybe not that bad. It was possible he was getting a little overdramatic.)
Gale made another thoughtful noise and pressed his thumb all the way from Tav’s jaw up to his opposite temple, following the line of his scar with gentle pressure. Tav realized his fingers had hooked in Gale’s robes, and he was gripping tight, needing for some reason the support to keep himself grounded.
“You can let go, sweetheart,” Gale murmured, dropping the bottom out of Tav’s stomach and cupping his face for a glorious moment. His fingertips brushed against the underside of both of Tav’s ears, and he shivered with a mix of pleasure and anticipation. Surely now…?
But he didn’t. He pulled away, briefly pressing a hand to the side of Tav’s neck, then murmured something about tea and invited Tav to the kitchen before leaving him.
Again.
Tav balefully eyed his reflection in the mirror, his slightly pink cheeks, the dazed look in his eyes. That was it.
Tomorrow, he swore to his reflection. Tomorrow he was going to seduce that damned wizard no matter what it took. He was resourceful, and clever, and not bad to look at, and he could take on any shape the wizard could possibly want. He practically couldn’t fail.
Gods, how difficult could bedding one wizard really be?