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It's a bit warm tonight.
Gale tugged at his shirt collar with a hooked finger, allowing just enough space for the cool night air to wick away the thin sheen of sweat that had gathered under the garment. While thoughtfully fashioned from breathable linen, his nerves were always willing to interfere with an otherwise flawless plan. It seemed that even in spite of defying gods and goddesses, defeating netherbrains and surviving netherese blights, the need to do well, to be good still chipped away at his constitution. One could wonder how someone of Gale's status and experience could grow more anxious with time, but these days he was fairly certain that he was always this insecure.
The difference being that he no longer felt the need to wrap himself in twenty layers of pomp and ego to compensate. Real confidence, albeit fragile and fleeting, was far better than strutting around Waterdeep like a chicken painted in a peacock's plumage.
In spite of his buzzing nerves, a tiny part of him truly believed that everything would go perfectly well tonight.
The rest would simply have to cling to that grain of faith.
He certainly looked the part. A shimmering robe of navy fabric cascaded down his body like a sheet of midnight, covered in embroidered filigree sewn in with warm golden thread that glittered like the sea at dawn. Yes, the top portion was bodice-like in its construction, and yes it did hug his torso a bit closer than he would normally allow, but even through thick layers of scrutiny and doubt, Gale knew that for a human in his early fifties, he looked rather fetching.
I don't know how I'll keep my hands off of you...
Oh, the thought of such vanity warmed his face and his cheeks puffed with a self-conscious sigh. It ate away at him, the expectations of the night, and in spite of his best efforts and the real, honest desire to stay present, he couldn't help but ruminate. After all, there was only so much meandering one could do on Lliira's Night before it felt like he was missing out... again.
The shape of his tower loomed in the distance, not so tall as to be imposing on the skyline, but still visible from where he was, several blocks away. With the full moon behind, it pierced the night sky like a needle, windows darkened for the first time in years. How could one not feel regret? Over three decades spent in shadow while his beloved city was bathed in music, color, and light, and now that he finally had the courage to step out once more, he was all but pressed against the nearest wall, watching pensively as revelers danced their way down brightly lit streets.
With a shake of his head, he broke out of the spiral once more.
We deserve this.
They deserved this.
With tightly balled fists, he joined a large, quite intoxicated group of revelers in the march down the streets of the Trade Ward.
While most shops were closed, the streets were lined with vendors peddling the traditional holiday fare. Slow-cooked meats covered in sumptuous spice blends and sweet, sticky sauces were offered at every corner alongside colorful, pink-hued cocktails. The temptation to partake was there, but there were butterflies in his stomach, and he would rather not spoil the evening with his appetite.
And if it ever gets to be too much, just call my name.
It had to be perfect, after all.
It's a bit warm tonight.
Astarion dragged his finger along the wrought iron fence in front of a fine Waterdhavian manor, one of those rare abodes that managed to command more space than required by its foundation, the well-polished posts vibrating with each pluck. A voice, bright and eager, tittered in the back of his mind, eagerly informing him about the building's historical place in the city, and that it once had some other purpose, hence the fine courtyard on the other side of its easily permeable barrier.
Even after all of this time, the prospect of being unabashedly welcome in places like this, an open-air celebration among throngs of the living, was foreign to him. Waterdeep was... kind to him. A part of him still thought it completely bizarre that a vampire could so freely walk the streets, even with his reputation as a sort of... hero. Centuries spent creeping in the dark took centuries to unlearn, he supposed.
Still, it was a fine night, and surrounded by countless revelers, he could almost believe his own heart was beating again. The evening air carried a warmth beyond that of the lingering traces of summer sun, the glowing heat of joy, carelessness, community caressing his face with a promise of good fortune.
The pair of spectacles and sneaky little book tucked into his jacket foretold the same.
Oh, what an optimistic fool he'd become...
It becomes you, my love.
Astarion rolled his eyes, trying valiantly and failing spectacularly to suppress the fond smile that wormed its way onto his face, the gentle voice in his mind seeing him far clearer than he ever could. When once he believed himself doomed to an existence of desperate hunger and death, some stubborn, hopelessly romantic fool managed to stumble his way into Astarion's path and dig up that soft core within, nourish it when Astarion tried time and time again to stomp it out, and now–
He jolted as a reveler bumped into him. Rosy-faced even under her festive makeup, she turned about to hurriedly dust gentle fingers over his arm where they had collided. "Apologies, saer!" she said, even as a young man held her at the waist and laughed, teasing over her, apparently, incessant clumsiness.
"She'd lose her arms if they weren't attached to her," he sighed, voice oozing a gentle, knowing affection.
"Would not! Especially not with all of your fretting."
"Makes us a perfect match, my love."
"It's quite alright," Astarion assured with a half step away to escape those fluttering hands, no longer sent into a spiral at an unexpected touch, but still decidedly unfond of being handled by a tipsy stranger, harmless as she might be. Even so, as the two half-walked, half-stumbled away, so carefree and entirely entangled in one another's arms, another surge of warmth thrummed in his chest.
Oh, I always knew you were a romantic. Deep down, perhaps, but definitely there.
"Piss off," he muttered, soft enough that it was only for himself and the amused recollection between his ears, even as he hoped his empty arms might not remain so for much longer.
His perfect match was surely out there, wandering that sea of glittering gold and sweet midnight blues, just waiting to be found.
The throng of bodies Gale inserted himself into was closing in on a spacious garden from which lively music flowed atop the balmy Flamerule breeze. Though not a particularly tall man, he could see enough over the small sea of bobbing heads. Dancers wove atop an ornate terrace, some with their faces hidden behind star-shaped masks, others painted with shimmering blues, golds, and coppers.
Once ushered through the open gates by jovial guards and the eager stranger playing host, he swiftly found himself a spot along a stucco wall. His heart thrummed in his throat as he scanned the crowd, drumming his fingers against the course texture behind him. Now that he was no longer tangled in it, he realized that things were not quite as packed as they felt. Curse his nerves.
And here I thought you didn't get nervous.
A stubborn grin tugged at his lips, and he blushed at the memory of the remark whispered low and heated into his ear. He rubbed his earring between two fingers, a droplet-shaped ruby wrapped in a delicate silver feather, lightweight and comfortable. The metal portion was affixed in such a way that it could be freely rotated around the gemstone and it kept his restless hands busy as he collected himself.
Dashingly dressed staff milled through the loose crowd carrying trays laden with pink, effervescent beverages. It certainly wouldn't hurt to loosen up the nerves a bit...
Something smacked hard into the back of his knees, and he collapsed–
"Oh! Aren't you a clumsy thing?"
A wiry, but terribly strong arm wrapped around his shoulders, Gale suddenly caught in a low dip. A slender hand pressed gently into his chest, as if the stranger knew how his heart was galloping behind his ribs, and smiled with gleaming white teeth that were just a bit too sharp to be normal.
"I..."
His eyes, wide with shock, glittered with the light of a dozen lanterns. Starstruck, as so many often were in his presence. Astarion did not need his reflection to know how gorgeous he was, but a certain ever-so-thoughtful someone had made him an enchanted mirror years ago and that lent him the privilege of being able to apply extravagant costume makeup. Nimble fingers meant for lockpicking and pickpocketing, as it turned out, were also excellent for applying shimmering shades of blue and gold to one's face.
Oh, but this sweet stranger in his arms with the precious rabbit-quick heartbeat was equally gorgeous. His silver-streaked locks cascaded over his shoulders in tempting brunette waves, and he longed to touch and wind the sweeping ends around his fingers. The deliciously well-fitted robes he wore helped too, hugging to his body in a way that emphasized his broad shoulders and tapered waist.
Certainly the work of a very skilled artisan.
"I... I thank you for catching me," he stammered, his voice soft and deep, laying low beneath the joyful music that filled the air.
With a smirk, Astarion pulled him up to stand, smoothing over the back of his robes with one hand while plucking a beverage from a nearby tray with the other. As he handed it to his sweet little charge, he couldn't help but smirk. "Well, I could hardly let a pretty thing like you fall. What if I lost you to the crowd?" Extending a hand, he nodded into a small bow. "Astarion, darling."
Are you certain? I wouldn't want you to relive any bad memories.
What he wouldn't do for that laugh, a bashful giggle that was hardly more than a puff through his nose, but the way the stranger's eyes narrowed into mirthful, glistening crescents was so endearing it ached. Surely pressing kisses into all of the little creases on his face would be allowed, given enough time? He could earn the privilege before the night's end.
The thought sent a pleasant shiver up his spine.
While it was obvious that the stranger should have delicately placed his fingers in Astarion's waiting palm, he instead clasped his hand in a firm shake. "Gale. Gale De– Gale of– Hmm..." Dark brows furrowed thoughtfully, creating more lines that Astarion would simply have to kiss away later, the horror, and those sweet brown eyes flicked up to meet his, question unspoken.
Gently placing his other hand atop Gale's, effectively sandwiching it in his grip, Astarion tutted. "Now now, let's keep a little mystery here. One should not hand out their family name to just any stranger. What if he happens to be a scoundrel?"
A well-timed brow wiggle earned him another breathy laugh, and Gale near-melted into him, thick lashes obscuring those beautiful eyes as he looked down at their joined hands. "And what if I happen to like scoundrels?" he asked softly, a devious little smile on his face.
With a hand planted to his chest in mock offense, Astarion scoffed. But he was so responsive, this sweet man, grinning at every little thing he did. Such an irresponsible little bunny, practically winding himself around Astarion's finger, one he hardly had to lift for it. "Then I suppose it is my duty to show you the error of your ways, you adorable little thing," he purred, laying it on indulgently thick. "Keep you safe from whatever may lurk out there in the dark." He released Gale's hand only to snake an arm around his waist, a hand possessively on his hip. "Would you like that?"
"Hmm." Such a sweet sound hummed through those plush lips, pulled tight with a grin. "I think you underestimate me, Astarion." He was fighting to keep up, but the mischievous spark in his eyes softened a moment, and he gazed into Astarion's eyes, searching.
You'll tell me if it's too much? No fantasy is worth your comfort.
Astarion dipped his head with a quick, singular nod.
Somehow, Gale managed to grin wider, looking terribly pleased with himself and Astarion wanted to devour that smug little mouth. "Oh, aren't you a bold thing?" he drawled, tracing a finger up Gale's jaw, relishing in the well-maintained softness of his beard. "If only you could hide that heartbeat from me." He leaned closer, slowly, until his lips brushed Gale's ear. "Little rabbit."
Oh.
Oh dear.
Gale gulped and took a hurried sip of the fizzy drink Astarion had pushed into his hands, the alcohol burning a little in his throat as a different heat pooled in his gut. Butterflies kicked up in a flurry in his stomach, similar to his racing heart, and he was painfully aware of the burning, deep flush that covered his face. So hot it may very well be melting his makeup.
Astarion was gorgeous. It was decidedly unfair how gorgeous he was. It was decidedly alarming how predatory his gaze was. He felt quite small and rabbit-like indeed, surrounded by his presence, Astarion's lithe body somehow towering over him in spite of their miniscule height difference and Gale's considerable advantage in bulk. If he didn't know any better, he'd think Astarion was about to take a bite out of him, those wicked teeth gleaming between his smiling lips.
He needed to regain some footing.
"What a lucky rabbit I am, then," he began, speaking in a low, smooth cadence that blew Astarion's pupils wide, "to find myself in the protection of someone so enchanting." Then, unable to stop himself, he added with a finger in the air, "And I am quite familiar with enchanting, as is required by my profession."
For a moment, Astarion's expression fell flat, and deep in his mind, Gale was quite pleased with himself. Incorrigible, the both of them, and far be it from Gale to deny himself the opportunity to be just a little annoying.
Then, in a flash, that predatory spark was back in Astarion's eyes, amplified tenfold, ruby irises gleaming with interest. "Silly thing," he murmured, and when white, slender fingers brushed his temple, it took all of Gale's willpower not to lean into it. A stray lock of hair was tucked behind his bashfully pink ear. "Pretty, silly thing." He fiddled with his earring in the same way Gale would.
There was a lull, the two of them close and sinking into one another's eyes in a way that was rather unrealistic for two strangers who just happened to meet on Lliira's Night, but it was a sweet indulgence. To witness Astarion's mask slip, if only just a little, to see the way the sultry lines of his narrowed eyes curved into a round look of pillowy-soft affection, it threw Gale's heart against his ribs. It was heard too, Astarion's gaze flicking to his chest.
I think it would be best if you decide where we go. I don't want it to feel like I'm taking you...
Reluctantly, Gale pulled his eyes away from Astarion's and fished around in his robe for his pocket watch. A beautiful thing it was, a simple heirloom from his mother, and made note of the time. "I believe the fireworks will be starting soon. Would you be amenable to relocating?" After tucking away his watch, he placed a hand on the ornately embroidered shoulder pad of Astarion's doublet. "It's my understanding the spectacle is far more memorable when enjoyed with company."
It was funny, watching Gale try to navigate a crowd. While he was not a small man, his presence was far from demanding, and more than once Astarion nearly lost him in the sea of revelers. Only when he fluttered a desperate hand behind his back did Astarion offer mercy, winding his chilly fingers with Gale's and walking side-by-side with him. They cut through easily after that, Astarion perfectly comfortable demanding space in otherwise cramped quarters.
He was sweating a bit, his Gale, more than the balmy evening demanded, and through the loud hum of the crowd, he could detect Gale's fluttering heartbeat. From excitement or anxiety, Astarion was uncertain, but he gave his new pet's hand a reassuring squeeze just to be safe.
A squeeze in return soothed his own nerves, frayed unbeknownst to him.
The tower grew more and more in the distance, the mysterious abode aged by sea air and years of careful tending. It was a regal structure in its humbleness, as if someone had decided a cottage ought to rise several stories above the ground, enrobed in climbing ivy and mismatched stonework. Astarion had little doubt it was just as quaint within, albeit overstuffed with books, knicknacks, and trinkets.
"Friends in high places?" Astarion teased as Gale brought them up to the tower's front door, sheltered beneath a slight overhang that shadowed the front steps. "Or are we breaking in?"
"Oh I wouldn't advise that," said Gale, his chest puffing with pride. A lovely flash of confidence that cut straight through those pesky nerves and only made him all the more tempting. It was cute, the way the shy ones would peek out of their shells. Astarion would have to find a way to reward him. "A wizard's tower is nothing to be trifled with, although we are in great luck, as this is my own."
"My, taking me home so soon? You're just full of surprises."
Though he expected Gale to sputter, he was instead met with a sly smile, that wave of confidence apparently not yet receded. "I may not be as effortlessly suave as you, Astarion, but I think you'll find that I'm far from coy. An evening with a wizard to be positively magical... if you are willing?" A broad hand, bearing the characteristic callouses from endless hours spent scratching away with quill to parchment, extended palm-up to Astarion.
Are you alright with me touching you? Given that we will be strangers...
Charmed, Astarion gently laid his fingers into Gale's outstretched hand. This one truly did enjoy his punnery. "Gladly, darling."
Gale hoped he would never forget the look on Astarion's face when his toes left the ground and they began their gentle ascent. Fly was always a favored spell of his, the weightlessness it granted the most liberating feeling a mortal could hope to find, and from the look of wide-eyed wonder on Astarion's face, he likely agreed. He kept Astarion close with a firm grip around his waist, guiding them upward in a slow spiral.
It was entirely unnecessary, but they ought to have at least a little bit of a dance on Lliira's Night, right?
The tallest point of the tower sported a shallowly sloping roof, and the clay tile was coarse enough that their shoes could easily grip and provide sturdy footholds. Even still, Astarion lingered close, long fingers so tight around Gale's shoulders he couldn't take a step even if he wanted to.
"Not afraid of heights, are you?" Gale wondered as he guided Astarion to sit aside him atop the tile. There Astarion continued to cling, though his grip had gentled, a hand slipping lower to curl around Gale's waist, and Gale chanced a scoot to the side so they were pressed together from hip to shoulder.
"Not at all, silly thing," Astarion scoffed, leaning into Gale's side and perching his chin atop his shoulder. "I'm very surefooted. I worry that you will take a tumble off this roof. You seem the type." There was an accusation in his tone, a little too knowing, but Gale was more flattered than anything. That someone beyond Tara and Morena cared for his wellbeing, well, that was quite special. Quite special indeed.
"Then I suppose you'll just have to hold me a bit tighter," Gale agreed, humming happily as Astarion tightened his grip at his waist. After a quick glance at his pocketwatch, he muttered, "Fireworks should be soon."
Another lull, one Gale had no desire to break. Although his life had slowed down since he fell into his routine at Blackstaff, it was a rare moment to just exist peacefully in the arms of another. So often his mind whirled and raced, made it so difficult to stay present, but the balmy sea breeze was tousling his hair and Astarion's embrace was refreshingly cool and beneath the winking stars, he wished that this moment might last forever.
Alas, for as much as his mind was his greatest asset, it was also his greatest weakness, and he couldn't help but glance at Astarion.
This night meant so much to him. It'd been his idea to do this, to give themselves the opportunity to experience an innocent, ordinary night of romance. Something sweet and storybook. He'd put in so much work, painstakingly crafting their outfits, orchestrating where they would meet, and had done a far better job keeping up the strangers act than Gale ever could.
If Gale hadn't already mucked things up beyond all repair, he certainly would now... but it was better to know, if only so he had a chance to make things right.
"Star?"
Oh, Astarion knew that look. That sad-eyed look that could convince Astarion to raze cities to the ground if it might fix whatever troubled his most precious wizard. That slight tremor to his plush bottom lip that belied a tempest of emotions behind those pretty, glistening brown eyes. One that so often precluded a preposterously ludicrous statement he was half-prepared to bite him. A little nip. Enough to pinch.
Gale's words echoed in his mind, words that always doomed the poor thing:
I want it to be perfect.
They may have been strangers tonight, but every other day they were husbands nearly two decades strong, and Astarion had little doubt he knew the source of Gale's anxieties. That ever-nagging need to be perfect.
"What is it, my heart?" Astarion asked anyway, cupping Gale's face and dragging his thumb over a slightly tacky, sweat-misted cheek. "Don't say anything silly now, we are in a rather precarious place. I'd hate for something to happen."
Gale chuckled, a little wet, and Astarion's heart sank. "Promise not to push me?"
"I'll do no such thing." With a sharp finger, he jabbed Gale's chest, right over that racing rabbit heart of his. "Now tell me whatever mean little thoughts are swimming around in that big, useless head of yours so I can toss them off this roof."
Again Gale let out a sad little laugh. His lips parted once, twice, like he was considering lying. Dismissing whatever was troubling him. But a glance to meet Astarion's gaze, narrowed into a challenging glare, had him slumping with a sigh. "Tonight... has it been alright? What you were hoping for?"
Ah yes.
Spot on.
Nudging Gale's temple with his nose, he nodded. "Perfectly lovely. I haven't seen you so shy in ages. Was that how you were? A shy little apprentice? Oh, I can see you now, in your cute little student's robes, hiding a bunch of roses behind your back while you wait for your crush's class to finish. I've forgotten how fun it is to get you blushing and flustered."
Gale turned into his touch, their foreheads meeting. "You're too good for me, Star. I hope you know that."
"Ah, now that's silly talk. I'll miss you, darling." He gave Gale the barest of shoves with the arm snaked around his back, though not nearly hard enough to actually move him. That Gale only reacted with a half-hearted glare was disappointing, far too accustomed to his antics, but a glare was better than that hopeless, I'm-not-good-enough-for-my-husband face.
Then Gale sighed, relenting, and oh, how it warmed the cold, dead cockles of Astarion's heart to see him accept the truth from Astarion's mouth rather than the lies his busy busy brain told him. "I– Thank you. You know how I get into my own head..."
"I do indeed." Astarion pressed a kiss to it, big and bothersome as it might be. "You know, the only reason I proposed we do this was because of you."
"Me?"
With a nod, Astarion reached into his jacket and pulled out the little book he'd been carrying all night. He had hoped to show Gale when the night was over, something cute to tease him with, but now seemed a far better time.
Gale frowned, silver-dotted brows furrowed. "Is that... is that my journal? From when I was a child?"
"In my defense, it doesn't look like a journal." Indeed it did not, the cover naming the book a field guide for Amnian herbology, and the apparent capacity of the book far larger than its exterior would suggest. "But you know me and my... concoctions."
"Poisons, love."
"Hardly a difference. Regardless, you'll have to forgive me for cracking it open, but when I did, I just so happened to land on this page." The pages parted at the ribbon Astarion had inserted to mark the fateful spot, an entry from when Gale was a plucky young fifteen year old and, apparently, well on his way to becoming the professional yearner he grew up to be.
Gale scanned the page, taking in the long-forgotten, lovestruck woes of his younger self. A boy who devoured romance novels like they were magical artifacts and longed, desperately, to be courted in much the same way. Adorable as it was, there was no avoiding a twinge of sadness, knowing Gale never had that opportunity because of a certain goddess with, to be generous, dubious proclivities.
Yes, Astarion had little recollection of his own encounters before he was turned, and he may very well have missed such sweetness too, but he wanted this for Gale... and he really should've known better than to keep that to himself.
After a beat of silence and a shuddering breath, all Gale managed to say was a soft, "Oh." But his eyes. They were lit brighter than the stars above, glittering with wonder and boundless affection. The sort of thing Astarion never dreamed of having for himself, yet was doled out right into his bloodied hands time and time again from the most perplexing, stubborn, sweet man he'd ever met.
"Now, Gale family-name-unknown-to-my-good-self, shall we settle in for a show?"
Never let it be said that Waterdeep did not know how to celebrate, though Gale doubted such a thing ever would be uttered. The show was phenomenal, with whorls of gold and silver dancing across the clear night sky. When once he might have been asked to aid with the more magical aspects of the show, there was something pleasant, quaint, about simply enjoying the work of his fellow mages without the need to perform. Judge.
Here in Astarion's arms, he could just be.
Gods, but he adored this man. This wonderful, whip-smart, thoughtful man who wrapped himself in a prickly alley cat's demeanor but was sweet as a kitten underneath. Though he had no idea where Astarion could have found that old journal, frankly Gale couldn't keep track of his current one most days, he couldn't be more grateful. Had Astarion not nudged them back into character, Gale would have surely melted into a blubbering puddle. As it was, he nearly did anyway when he realized he'd forgotten his spectacles. Resigned to see the show in blurry bursts of color, he nearly fell apart when silver rims slipped over his head and rested on his nose, followed by a quick peck to the cheek.
Gale returned the gesture, though he was more careful with his aim and ensured it was a proper kiss.
How fortunate he might be, to do such a thing every day.
In the meantime, he was perfectly content to cuddle up and soak in his companion's little touches, elegant fingers tracing lines across his face, around his neck, along the embroidery of his robes. He reciprocated where he could, running his hand along the outside of Astarion's thigh, turning to share kisses when it suited them, the two of them basking in sweet, comfortable affection.
Perhaps they were moving too fast for a pair of strangers, or too slow for a couple married nearly twenty years, but in this moment everything was just right.
In fact, it might be perfect.