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“I’m still hesitant to believe Rolan regards me as more than a fellow scholar of the Weave and a friend.”
“All good colleagues jump at the chance to sleep in each other’s homes instead of staying at an inn, I’m sure,” Astarion drawled, watching his husband prepare the guest bedroom.
Gale focused on tucking the corners of the sheet under the mattress instead of dignifying Astarion’s remark with a response. That was fine. Astarion used the time to admire the view. When Gale turned to address him again, he knew exactly where Astarion’s mind had been and huffed a laugh.
“Darling, you have such wonderful assets. Is it so difficult to believe others might admire them? Believe me, Rolan did his fair share of it at the party.”
It had been cute, in a pathetic sort of way. The man had always been eager to show off his magical talents to an audience, but that evening at Withers’s gathering he took a special interest in ensuring Gale witnessed his displays.
To his credit, his abilities had grown to warrant his title at Ramazith’s Tower. Astarion enjoyed his fireworks show far more than the piddly sparks he created at the party the tieflings threw so long ago.
When onlookers started to applaud, Rolan only smiled once Gale joined in.
All night, Rolan hung on every word Gale spared him. Laughed at his jokes. Talked incessantly about the tower and arcane theories, asking for Gale’s opinions like they were rare spell components.
There were no inappropriate touches, no outright flirtation, and certainly no propositions. He socialized with other guests and avoided interrupting Gale when his attention was elsewhere, but he kept the archmage within his peripheral vision for most of the evening.
If Rolan had overstepped boundaries or made Gale uncomfortable for a single second, Astarion would not have permitted him to leave the party in one piece. Instead, Rolan indulged his crush as far as social graces allowed, and Astarion took it all in as free entertainment.
To want someone left you vulnerable. Put you on your back foot around them. Astarion almost pitied him.
When the time came for farewells, Rolan shook Gale’s hand a few seconds longer than necessary. Astarion wrapped an arm around his husband’s waist and grinned as he wished Rolan a safe journey back to Ramazith’s Tower. Rolan forced a smile and wished him well in turn.
Again, credit where credit was due, Rolan had matured with time, leaving his inclination for obnoxious whining and tantrums firmly in the past.
On the journey back to Waterdeep, Astarion ran out of jokes to make to himself about the whelp Rolan had once been. He gave deeper consideration to the man he had become.
Rolan was well-groomed. He took better care of his hair than Gale had before Astarion intervened. He knew how to dress flatteringly. All of Rolan’s flaws — pride, stubbornness, a hunger for power, short-sightedness and a shorter temper — were under much better control, and continuing to criticize them would make Astarion a hypocrite.
And Rolan’s eyes — gold irises against black scelera — were a bit like twin stars in the night sky.
Perhaps there was fun to be had.
Gale laughed in disbelief at his suggestion. It became a running joke between them. Astarion called Rolan’s correspondances “love letters.” Gale played along about being caught and read paragraphs on runes in a voice reserved for erotica.
And now Gale had invited Rolan to stay with them for Fleetswake to experience the best Waterdeep had to offer.
Gale fluffed the last pillow and straightened. “Do you plan on broaching the subject while he’s under our roof?”
Our roof. So many simple things Gale did and said without thinking made Astarion feel a warmth he never thought he could experience before they met.
“I don’t plan on scaring him off and jeopardizing your friendship, if that’s what you’re worried about.”
His husband’s gaze veered to the window, spotlessly clean thanks to an Unseen Servant. “And if he seemed amenable?”
An old, predatory smile split Astarion’s face. “Are you amenable?”
“Are you?”
Astarion crossed the room and cupped Gale’s jaw to gently demand eye contact. “Darling, my life is too precious to waste agreeing to something I don’t think I’ll enjoy. Wouldn’t you agree?”
Gale kissed him. When they parted, his face was a delightful shade of pink. “I do.”
Rolan was a courteous guest. He washed his dishes. He thanked his hosts throughout his stay. He treated Astarion cordially, and did not twitch a single brow when Astarion found every possible excuse to lavish Gale with affection in front of him.
He was tense, though. The tenseness of a man with a secret.
Astarion accompanied him and Gale to several after-dark Fleetswake festivities to confirm his suspicion.
At the fireworks display, Rolan worked a little too hard at holding his ground when the press of the crowd pushed him against Gale. At the Shiprights’ Ball, he watched Gale and Astarion dance. When Gale offered to teach him the steps, he sputtered an excuse about two left feet. When they had a bit too much to drink one night in the tower, Rolan asked Gale to show him the proper form for a complicated somatic component, but when he remembered Astarion was in the same room he shrank from Gale’s touch like it burned.
Astarion had no need to hunt these days, but he kept his predatory skills sharp, occasionally prowling Waterdeep’s streets for a warm meal. Waiting for the right moment to corner Rolan and finding him alone in the kitchen on the fourth night felt similar.
“Can’t sleep?”
The glass did not shatter, but the sound of it clattering against the sink was almost worse. “My apologies.” Rolan fumbled and resumed filling it. “Did I disturb you?”
It was closer to morning than midnight, but Gale would remain asleep for the next few hours at least. More than enough time.
“Not at all. I’m pleased we have the opportunity to speak in private.” At night, the tower was as dark and quiet as the grave. Paired with Astarion’s elven hearing, every sound was as clear as a bell.
The small noise of interest Rolan made in the back of his throat. The restless swish of his tail against his pajamas. The clink of his long nails against the glass as he shifted his grip.
Astarion approached slowly, his own steps silent from practice. “You aren’t subtle.”
Rolan stilled, glass halfway to his mouth. “Pardon?”
“Your little crush. It's adorable, really. I first noticed you fawning over him at the party, but I’m sure its origins predate that.”
Rolan tucked his chin to his chest, protecting his throat, eyes boring holes into the counter. “I sincerely apologize if I've made either of you uncomfortable.”
“No offense taken, darling. If anything, we're intrigued.”
Rolan's brows pinched and his mouth pursed in that anxious, prissy way he modeled whenever he felt underestimated. He could not stand not knowing everything, not being in control.
Astarion pulled himself onto the counter, nudging the wooden knife block out of the way with his hip, and kicked his dangling feet like they were schoolchildren discussing a crush. “Come on, tell me how it started. After we massacred those goblins, when he offered to help you hone your magic tricks? At the Last Light, when he pulled you out of your drink and despair? At Sorcerous Sundries, when he pledged to be your savior? Throughout our adventures, he never could resist a charity case.”
“Is that why he helped you?” It was a good rebuttal, all things considered, sharp and true and well-deserved, and perhaps if Astarion had been expecting it, he would have appreciated it.
Instead his hand flexed, for the briefest moment, toward the knife block. He curled his nails into his palm and slammed his fist against the counter.
Rolan could have moved to defend himself, Astarion had seen wizards respond in half the time, but his hands were still wrapped around the glass. When Astarion hunted deer, their heartbeat always gave them away even when the rest of their body turned stone-still. Rolan's heartbeat was all he could hear now.
Astarion remembered what Rolan admitted after they killed Lorroakan. The endless nonsensical questions that led to endless beatings, every night at Sorcerous Sundries ending in shame and pain.
Slowly, Astarion moved his hands to rest palm-up on his thighs where Rolan could see. He wondered what Gale would say after mucking something up as thoroughly he had.
Rolan spoke first. “I can leave in the morning. Earlier, if you wish it.” His tone was careful, but he was not talking to Astarion anymore, not really. He was thinking about what Astarion could do to him and to his relationship with Gale.
Astarion had the blade to Rolan’s throat, could go for the kill without even moving, and it made him nauseous. This hunt was not fun anymore. Perhaps it never had been.
“That won’t be necessary, although I would not blame you if you did. Cruelty is a poor trait for a host to have.” Astarion kept his body still, kept his voice soft, kept his eyes on the far wall. Gale would take this opportunity to apologize, but Astarion was not Gale. “It’s a difficult habit to break, when it’s been beaten into you that kindness is weakness, and compassion is pity. If you lived under Lorroakan's thumb for two hundred years, perhaps you would understand.”
The tension trickled away, leaving Rolan merely exhausted. “What do you want from me, Astarion?”
Astarion considered it. “Another chance, and I’ll try to be less of a bastard.”
For a moment, Astarion thought Rolan was going to leave. Instead, he carefully joined Astarion on the counter and cooled his forehead with the glass. “Is it always this damned humid in Waterdeep?”
Astarion’s second attempt at broaching the subject went much easier, albeit not without its own fumbles.
“And Gale wants to? With me?”
“Would I speak to you about this before my husband?”
Rolan refilled his glass from the sink, avoiding eye contact. “And what about you?”
Astarion smiled with extra teeth. “I get a show.”
“You only want to watch?” Rolan sounded cautious.
“I plan to keep my fangs firmly out of your neck, if that is your concern.”
“I didn’t mean that,” he said softly.
Astarion crossed his legs. “I’m perfectly content with a box seat. I’ve been a performer long enough, and you don’t need to spare my feelings about who you want to share the stage with.”
He opened his mouth again, closed it. Rolan gave him a long, appraising look, his confidence surprising Astarion after so much skirting around. “However you are most comfortable.”
Before Astarion could snap about how he knew perfectly well what he wanted, Rolan asked, “What happens after?”
“Nothing about your relationship with him would change.” Astarion looked out the window and saw the sky had begun to lighten. “Take until the last day of Fleetswake to think about it. If you decide you’re interested, stay another night. If you decide you aren’t, go home as you originally planned and another word on the subject will never be spoken. There are no wrong answers.”
Rolan hummed under his breath. “I’ll consider it. I appreciate the trust you both have placed in me.”
Astarion waved a hand and slid off the counter. “Don’t overthink it now, darling. When you mortals go without a full night's sleep, you come up with such silly ideas.” He did not look back as he slipped out of the kitchen, but he heard Rolan’s faint laughter.
In the end, Rolan asked to stay the extra night.
They set boundaries beforehand. Gale, of course, had insisted on a group discussion, which Astarion found marginally less excruciating than anticipated. Their rules were straightforward and agreed upon easily. No penetration of any party — Gale’s. No rough play — Rolan’s. Nothing could happen unless all three of them were present — Astarion’s. And so on.
When Gale and Rolan finally kissed, Astarion marveled at how much work had gone into getting them there. He watched from a plush armchair angled for the perfect view of the bed. The chair and the bed were purple, of course — Gale’s influence reigned throughout the tower — and Dancing Lights softly lit the room. Astarion did not need them, but Gale insisted on evening the playing field.
Despite how they had barely begun, Gale’s face and the triangle of hirstute chest visible from the cut of his robes were flushed pink. Rolan’s crimson complexion hid any blush, but his tail swished over the bedspread like it needed a good sweeping.
Gale only knew how to do things tenderly. He kissed slowly, deeply, as if he really had ascended to godhood and now had all the time in the world. He stroked Rolan’s hair and cupped the back of his neck. When they paused for air and Gale’s and Astarion’s eyes met, Gale winked.
“Enjoying yourself, my love?”
Astarion palmed himself through his leather trousers, initially to return the performance, and found himself half-hard already. He hid his surprise. “I’m excited to see more of you both.”
Rolan’s gaze never lingered on him beyond glances, as if checking that Astarion was still there. He focused on undoing the clasps of his shirt. His arms and chest were wiry, with ridges crossing over his collarbones and ribs.
After Mystra removed the orb, Gale regained the weight lost to its hunger. Astarion loved to touch the new softness, proof of Gale's freedom.
Together, they formed a beautifully contrasting pair.
Gale traced a line of cartilage and Rolan’s breath hitched. Astarion recognized how his husband’s expression briefly shifted from arousal to academic curiosity.
“Are you particularly sensitive here?”
“I believe it has more to do with how you're the one touching me,” Rolan offered.
Gale continued to follow the ridges with his fingertips. “As long as it pleases you.”
Rolan hummed and kissed him again, arching into the contact. He squirmed as Gale explored, almost ticklish, and scratched his long nails through the thicker hair over Gale’s stomach as retaliation.
“Ah-”
Astarion continued to touch himself over his clothes, more focused on the show than his own completion, taking mental notes whenever Gale seemed pleasantly surprised by something Rolan did.
Rolan pulled away and hovered a hand over Gale’s still-clothed lap. “I’ve thought a lot about… about pleasing you,” he said, repeating Gale’s phrasing awkwardly. He continued to glance between the two of them. “May I?”
“He does love a warm mouth,” Astarion drawled. “It’s one of the few things that renders him truly speechless.”
Rolan’s tail swished, a nervous mouse skittering over the bedspread. He shifted to kneel on the floor at the end of the bed.
Gale’s blush deepened and he guided Rolan’s hands to the laces of his trousers. “You look stunning on your knees for me.” He shifted his weight to his palms pressed against the mattress and lifted his hips to help Rolan ease the fabric down. His trousers and underthings caught around his knees and Rolan let them hang there, as if revealing Gale's shins would be truly untoward.
Gale’s cock was dark pink and stiff with blood — Astarion could smell it from across the room — and Rolan stared it down like it was going to bite him.
If Astarion had frozen like that a few years prior, a hand would have grabbed his hair and shoved him into action. A stranger’s, Cazador’s, it hardly mattered. People were always impatient. Always ready to remind him he was a mere object in their bed.
Gale kept his hands palm-up on his thighs. “There is no need to do anything you aren't wholly comfortable with.”
His assurance made Rolan tense further.
“Surely you endured at least one of those sloppy tongue-swapping sessions that defined most teenagers’ sexual awakenings,” Astarion said.
Rolan turned, clearly confused, mouth tight and ready to spit venom.
“You know, too much spit and tongue.” Astarion raised an eyebrow, waiting for him to catch on. “It's a good reference point to start with.”
Gale, bless him, laughed. “That is a fairly accurate description of my first few attempts at Blackstaff.”
“That’s where you acquired your skills?” Astarion tilted his head. “I expect stories later.”
Rolan took a slow, deep breath and relaxed his shoulders. He pressed an open-mouthed kiss to the head of Gale’s cock. He flicked his tongue, more of a kitten lick than a sloppy makeout, but it drew a sigh of contentment from Gale nonetheless. Hesitation melted into leisure. Gale released a litany of sighs and soft sounds. The moment Astarion spotted a glint of confidence in Rolan's eyes, he knew what was about to happen, but there was no chance of stopping it. It was a formative moment in every cocksucker's life.
Rolan tried to swallow Gale to the hilt and failed miserably. Sputtering, he jerked backward and had to slam his hands behind him against the floor to avoid falling over. He coughed against his shoulder and screwed his eyes shut.
Walking silently came naturally to Astarion, but he chose to scuff his feet against the carpet so Rolan would not startle. Rolan blinked up at him stupidly, braced for a strike or an insult or a dismissal for his failure. Astarion wondered, fleetingly, if Rolan still kept secrets about his time with Lorroakan.
Gale's dedication to manners and compassion was endless. It had almost gotten them killed many times during their travels. It had almost driven Astarion away many more. Gale still struggled to understand why, but Astarion knew. Sometimes sugar-coated kindness was harder to swallow.
“You aren't a paid whore.” Astarion reached out but did not touch. “If you are amenable, I could teach you.”
Rolan shivered. “Please.” He leaned forward to bury Astarion's fingertips into his hair. The movement was so smooth, for a moment Astarion stood perfectly still in wonder.
Then, he pressed his palm against Rolan's skull, fingers splayed loosely. Astarion encouraged him to wrap his lips around the head of Gale’s cock again.
“Use your hand and breathe through your nose. Not choking is more important than taking it all.”
Rolan reached for the rest of Gale's cock. Astarion applied a little pressure and Rolan bobbed his head, obscenely kissing his own fist before pulling back to the tip.
“Good.”
Rolan moaned, and the vibrations caused Gale’s breath to hitch.
“Very good. Listen to how easy he is.” Astarion winked at Gale’s ever-deepening blush. “This is more than enough to bring him off.”
As Rolan fell into a rhythm, Gale gripped the bedspread. Occasionally the tendons in his hands flexed, and his gaze flickered between Rolan’s mouth and the jet black horns curling from his forehead.
The corner of Astarion’s mouth curled wryly. “Rolan, darling, would you like Gale to hold onto your horns? He knows how to be gentle.”
Rolan moaned and looked up at Gale pleadingly without pulling off his cock. Astarion released his hair and sat back on the bed.
Gale took his horns in his hands like they were made of glass. He rubbed where they met Rolan’s skull with his thumbs. Every touch drew more noises from Rolan, creating a beautiful loop of feedback.
“So good — Rolan, you must know I’m close,” Gale said between gasps.
Rolan closed his eyes and did not pull off. For a moment Gale appeared hesitant, but his sudden orgasm washed the look away. Astarion loved the way Gale’s face changed when he came, the way his eyelids flickered and his lips parted around a low groan. Nothing practiced about it, unabashedly vulnerable.
By the gods, Rolan swallowed as much as he could. Astarion was a little impressed. When Rolan sank back on his heels, a thin rivulet dripping from the corner of his mouth, Astarion let him take one, two, three raspy breaths before kissing him. Hand loose enough in Rolan’s hair that he could pull away if he wanted, but he didn’t. He braced a hand on Astarion’s knee and let him lick his mouth open.
Astarion imagined how they must look from Gale's point of view, mouths connected with strands of saliva and his spend. The thought sent another spike of arousal through him. Astarion moaned and Rolan cupped the back of his neck to draw him closer. They did not break away until everything had been swallowed.
Rolan, bleary-eyed, made no move to rise from his knees. Instead, he slid the hand on Astarion’s knee over his thigh. Astarion caught his wrist. Shook his head. When Rolan’s brows furrowed and his mouth pursed, so fucking open, worried he did something wrong, Astarion’s throat tightened and he could hardly speak.
“Let us take care of you,” Gale said. Still dazed from his own pleasure, Gale shifted and patted the newly-opened space on the mattress between him and Astarion.
Rolan hesitated. He climbed up slowly, a dog expecting to be told its place is not on the furniture. A man who had the rug ripped out from under him again and again as soon as he got comfortable.
Gale drew him into another tender kiss and moaned at his own taste on Rolan’s forked tongue.
Astarion palmed his cock and found it almost painful. He was the only one left fully clothed. He could take off his shirt, but Rolan did not know about his scars. He could masturbate while Gale got Rolan off, but Gale liked to watch him finish. He could wait until the two of them had finished and take Gale back to their own bedroom, but that would break his own rule.
Rolan’s shoulder bumped Astarion. Astarion caught him before he could sit upright and encouraged him to lean back against his chest. While he was caught in his own mind, Gale had undone Rolan’s laces. His cock was lovely, really, as red and ridged as the rest of him with a proud curve.
Rolan was a furnace against him, something real to focus on. “Please, please touch me.”
“I would be most obliged. You’re a vision, and you deserve a reward for your patience.” Gale took a vial of oil from the bedside table and rubbed a generous amount between his palms before taking Rolan in hand. Rolan vibrated like a plucked string as Gale stroked him long and slow.
“You might regret that. He’s a devil about taking his time,” Astarion murmured. Rolan shivered at the breath against his skin. “Oh? Sensitive here, are you? Or is it because you're still thinking about what I could do to you?” Astarion pressed a featherlight kiss to Rolan's neck and elicited another full-body shiver. No desire to bite, only to savor as he licked and sucked.
Rolan gave the sweetest little whimper when Astarion pinched both of his nipples, arching his chest into the other's hands. Astarion remembered Rolan’s boundary against anything too rough, but he had also bedded enough tieflings to know their standards differed from humans. “A little harder?” he asked, and Rolan nodded so quickly Astarion had to swallow a laugh. He obliged and Rolan made another beautiful sound.
Astarion knew what Gale was doing without watching his hands, knew all his tricks and how to read them in Rolan’s delightful reactions. When Rolan thrashed without really wanting to get away, he knew Gale was rubbing his thumb just below the head, a move that had brought on Astarion’s own release countless times.
“Did you tease yourself like this when you thought of me?” Gale asked. “No, you never seemed the type to deny yourself. Always in a rush, aren't you? You can relax now. This moment is all there is, and I want to take care of you. Can you do that for me?”
When Rolan came, it was with a gasp that wasn’t quite Gale's name, choked off with a shudder. Gale stroked him through it and pressed one last kiss to his cheek before pulling away.
Rolan laid back fully on the bed and caught his breath. With Rolan’s attention on the ceiling, Gale gave Astarion an inquiring look and reached over. Astarion squeezed his hand and shook his head before releasing it.
Gale stretched. “Perhaps it’s a lingering effect of traveling without real soap for so long, but I only feel truly clean after a good scrub. You're welcome to join me if you wish.” He gave Astarion another look and headed to the ensuite bathroom.
Astarion fixed his sleeves, letting Rolan have a private moment to recover himself. He smelled ozone and assumed the man had opted for Prestidigitation over a shower. To each their own, he supposed.
“I should get going,” Rolan murmured, half to himself.
Astarion turned and found Rolan shivering. Uncertainty replaced post-coital bliss.
Astarion recognized that look. It often took hold of the inexperienced, stealing away their hazy pleasure. It made it so much harder to bring them to Cazador. The first time Astarion and Gale slept together — really slept together, with no manipulation intended — it seized Astarion.
“I thought you planned to leave in the morning?”
Rolan pulled on his underwear, found his shirt and held it against his chest in a crumpled ball. His movements were jerky, like he hardly knew what his body was doing. “Yes. Yes, I did, but I think I should leave now. No need to fret.”
“Gale?” Astarion put enough urgency into his tone that Gale appeared in the doorway with damp hair and a towel around his waist.
“Yes?”
“Come here.” Astarion turned. “Rolan, you don't have to stay the night, but do me one more favor and lay back.”
Still shivering, Rolan complied. Thank the gods, Gale caught on and laid beside him while Astarion pressed against his back.
“Is this- Did you want me to-”
“Focus on not shaking yourself apart.”
Even above the sheets, all three of them laying together quickly warmed the bed. Gale encouraged Rolan to rest his head where the orb once resided while Astarion draped a hand on his waist. Gradually, Rolan’s heartrate settled.
“Astarion?” His voice was tentative. Rolan shifted his hips and Astarion realized what caught his attention.
Astarion was still half-hard against him.
Rolan began to turn over. “Did you want me to-”
“No.” He bit out the answer automatically. Astarion felt the bed shift as Gale sat up against the pillows. Sensed the warmth of his husband’s hand paused by his head, waiting for permission. Astarion pushed into it and let Gale scratch at his scalp. There was no push, no pressure. He could keep that answer if he meant it.
Astarion considered Rolan’s hair. His eyes. The long look Rolan gave him in the kitchen that night.
“You don’t have to.”
Rolan rested a hand over his. “I want to. However you are most comfortable.”
Astarion shut his eyes and paid attention to his body for the first time that night. He gave himself permission to want. His hips rocked against Rolan’s warmth. “Like this?”
“Yes.”
Astarion started a slow grind against Rolan's clothed backside. It was quiet except for Astarion’s punched-out breaths and Rolan’s occasional groans. He had not even undressed and the friction was so unexpectedly good. Gale stroked his hair and murmured encouragement.
Time turned to syrup. Astarion could not tell if he was crying. He could not bring himself to look at either of his bedfellows. His body burned, approaching the edge but unable to cross over.
A moment of clarity made him reach for his husband’s wrist. He kissed Gale’s knuckles and whined.
“Yes.” The word was hardly out of Gale’s mouth before Astarion bit into the meat of his palm. Familiar blood flooded his mouth and Astarion came.
When Astarion returned, freshly scrubbed and clad in clean undergarments, he found Gale and Rolan asleep in each other’s arms. Getting into bed would entail their sweat rubbing off on him. Astarion opted to trance in the master bedroom.
The next morning when he entered the kitchen for breakfast, Rolan was a wreck.
Rolan nearly dropped his coffee mug in his hurry to set it on the counter and press a hand over his heart. “On my honor, nothing happened after you left.”
Astarion pulled a bag of blood out of the icebox and poured it into a pot on the stove. “I know. You think I wouldn’t trust my husband?”
Rolan’s tail paused mid-thrash. Astarion winked at him and added, “Yes, yes, and you as well. Your honor as the Master of Sorcerous Sundries would never permit it.”
Rolan huffed. “Do you enjoy watching me squirm like a worm on a hook?”
“Do you enjoy squirming for me?” Astarion poured the warmed blood into a mug and sipped.
Rolan considered the contents of his own mug. He opened his mouth. Closed it. Opened it again. “Bastard.”
Later, Gale would tell them he woke two floors above to Astarion’s laughter.