Work Text:
They’re all gathered around the campfire, having dinner. Well, most of them are having dinner. He’s not, but there isn’t really anything for him to eat either. He’s fine. He’ll manage. The others had stocked up on supplies at the inn, their rationing finally over. He’s happy for them. They should eat well, even if he can’t. The thought fits oddly in his mind. New. Not unwelcome.
He’s sitting next to Gale, basking, more than anything else. He’s enjoying it, even if he’s hungry, taking in the warmth of the fire and his… his Gale.
Everything is feeling a bit fuzzy, the conversation flowing over him without him really hearing it. The flickering of the fire is almost hypnotic, and his eyes follow the flames as they dance. It’s almost alive. It’s warm and it’s moving, crackling softly. He’s pretty sure it’s more alive than he is, at the moment, eating away at the wood underneath it, small sparks flying off to land on the ground, petering out almost immediately.
The dead lands can feed a fire, at least, even if they can’t feed any of them.
Gale is holding a bowl of stew, cradling it in his palms. He has such nice hands. Warm and soft. Astarion would like to be that bowl. To be gently held by Gale. Maybe then he wouldn’t have to feel like he’s blurring at the edges.
Maybe he could ask for some stew. Maybe this time his body is desperate enough to actually absorb something from it. Just feeling something in his stomach would be enough, even if he’d have to throw it up again. Maybe that would stop the gnawing pain in it.
The log he’s sitting on shifts as Halsin sits down next to him.
“Astarion.” He sounds serious. Not unusual for him, but he hasn’t done anything, so he’s not sure what the other elf might be here to talk about. Maybe he accidentally stepped on some plant that magically wasn’t dead, and now any chance of saving the forest is ruined.
Still, he nods to him. “Halsin.”
He can feel how dry his throat is, the way it makes his voice creak like old wood, how the inside of his mouth rubs against his teeth like sandpaper. The fact that he can still talk is shocking, honestly, and he can only chalk it up to ‘vampire magic’.
The druid takes some time to speak again, staring into the fire. He looks almost upset. “I fear we have neglected our duties to you, my friend.”
That’s… not what he expected. He was expecting some form of reprimand, a stern talking to, maybe, not an… apology? “I- how so?”
He looks up from the fire, meeting his eyes. He still looks stern, like he’s about to dive into another lecture on the importance of respecting nature, but he doesn’t. “Your needs are not lesser, for simply being different. You have not had enough to eat, and we have not helped you.”
He blanches. “It’s not exactly something I can ask for.” It’s not something he’s allowed.
Halsin sighs. “You are not asking, I’m offering.” He shifts, pulling on the straps of his bracer. “I do not mean to intrude, but I know that this isn’t something your wizard can help you with.”
He feels he might blush at Gale being referred to as his . He probably would, if he had any blood in his body. His wizard.
Halsin finishes untying his bracer and holds his arm out to Astarion. He’s salivating just from looking at the veins under the tanned skin. “Are you sure?” It feels wrong, to deny himself this freely offered gift, but he cannot take it, not if it would risk something. Risk his place here.
The larger elf just nods. “I am.”
The hunger gnawing at his insides is a physical force. He can’t think. “You will need to stop me before I take too much.” He’s ashamed to admit it, to put his weakness out there for everyone to look at, but he is so hungry. He just wants the pain to stop.
“I’m aware of my own limitations. You are not the first to have unique needs.”
He glances at Gale, unsure why he feels the need to see his response, but he has to. Halsin called him his wizard. He said he might be intruding. Does Gale see it the same way? Does Gale view himself as Astarion’s wizard? Would Gale offer him this, if he could?
He had, before. When Astarion came to him in the night.
He wishes it was Gale’s arm in front of him. His blood he would be drinking. He wishes that the wizard’s blight would disappear, un-taint his blood, stop eating him from the inside. He would taste so good.
Gale meets his eyes, nodding encouragingly, and that’s all it takes. He grasps Halsins arm with both hands, his long fingers unable to wrap fully around the girth of his wrist, and brings it to his mouth. The elf is so warm. So large. His blood is thrumming loudly underneath his skin.
His teeth sink in easily. The blood pools fast, and he’s never tasted anything quite so good. It’s a pure taste, the energy of Silvanus coursing through the druid into him. Nothing like the few goblins and duergar he’s tasted in battle, no cloying taste of fear or adrenalin, no lingering taste of rot, just pure life. Nothing like Gale’s blood. This one doesn’t eat him back.
There’s a hand on his back, but he doesn’t know whose. He doesn’t care. He’s so hungry. Someone is saying something above him, and it floats right through his head without sticking.
The hand on his back moves up into his hair, just holding him.
Vaguely, he hears someone call his name.
The blood feels so good flowing down his parched throat, moisture returning to him at last. It’s heaven. He’s not going to starve. He can live, just for a little longer.
A hand grabs his face, thumb digging into his jaw, forcing his mouth open. His teeth slip out of the skin as easily as they had entered, his mouth detaching with a wet sound.
The arm he was holding pulls away, and he blinks slowly as the world comes back to him.
Gale is cradling his head, he has Halsins’s hand clamped over his jaw. They’re saying his name. It takes a few more seconds to wake up enough to speak.
“My apologies.” His voice doesn’t creak, this time.
Halsin lets out a deep chuckle. “No need to worry, my friend. Starvation does cruel things to a man. You are forgiven.” He releases his face. “I hope we can catch it earlier in the future.”
The thought of being given blood, blood from a sentient creature, freely, regularly, is almost inconceivable.
“I’m sure I can fix some minor blood loss, if necessary.” Shadowheart pipes up from across the fire. He’d forgotten the others were still there.
He doesn’t know what to say to that. What to think. “I- thank you. Truly.” It’s overwhelming. Gale’s hand slides down to his shoulder, squeezing gently.
She smiles. “I’m sure we can find a few veins to let, between us.” Her eyes flick to Halsin’s wrist, to the blood still trickling out of the bite. “And hopefully you won’t be as rabid next time.”
He’s about to respond, to defend himself, but he doesn’t know what to say. He is rabid. A starved animal. “You try not eating for weeks, and we’ll see how you handle it.” Gale’s voice is sharp when he speaks, a whip crack.
Shadowheart looks chastened, shrinking back a bit. “I- yes. Sorry.”
Gale’s quick defense of him warms him. Settling along everything else piling up in his chest. It’s odd, how full he feels. Not just with blood, but with all these new emotions taking up space inside him, pushing out on his ribs. All he can do is grab the hand on his shoulder, squeezing it gently. Gale’s there for him.
“Your worry is not unwarranted .” He looks down into his lap, not wanting to meet the other’s eyes as he speaks. “I am… not used to feeding on anything I’d mind killing.”
He can feel the looks being traded over his head.
The pause before someone speaks is too long. Too tense. “So… what does that say about Gale then?” He doesn’t need to look up to see where the other man’s eyes are focused, the still healing scabs on Gale’s neck stand out like blood on snow. Wyll’s voice is cautious, like he’s worried about what the answer might be. Like he thinks Astarion would hurt Gale. He has, yes, but not on purpose . Not like that.
He doesn’t look up. “Gale is… I did not mean to bite him.” It’s shameful, that he did. That he lost control like that, even with extenuating circumstances.
Wyll scoffs. “What, you blacked out and woke up with your teeth in his neck?” His incredulity sits heavy in his voice.
He doesn’t want them to think he’s a mindless beast. He’s finally found a group of people who might trust him. Who he can maybe even trust in return. But lying here won’t help him, won’t make them trust him any more. Gale’s encouraging hand on his shoulder is the only thing allowing him to answer. “...yes.” The fact that it’s the truth only makes it more embarrassing.
Everyone else goes quiet. He can feel how his own breathing stops in response, a reflex at this point, to make him less noticeable. If they don’t see him, don’t notice him, they can’t hurt him.
“He almost died of hypothermia, while starving to death, and woke up next to a body full of blood.” Gale pulls him closer, pressing their sides together, the hand on his shoulder sliding down to hold his waist. “And if I, as the one who actually got bit, don’t hold it against him, you all cannot either.”
There’s another moment of silence, in which he’s sure that he’s going to be deemed too dangerous, regardless of the fact that he hasn’t bitten anyone else, that Gale trusts him, that he’d die if he left. He’s too dangerous to keep around, and they’re going to force him out. He doesn’t want to go.
“I’m not sure if my blood is drinkable, but after Dammon fixed up my engine again I run a lot cooler. I can take donor duty tomorrow as long as you can drink it without burning up.”
Oh Karlach. Oh lovely kind Karlach. He could cry. Just like that, she’s dissipated all the tension, all the possibilities of a no. Just like that, he gets to stay.
Wyll hums. “If we’re making a rotation of it, we need to make sure it doesn’t clash with watch duty.”
“Do you think a little lost blood would incapacitate me? A warrior who cannot fight at full capacity even when wounded is no warrior at all.” Lae’zel sounds so genuinely offended at the idea that he thinks she might offer to feed him just to prove a point.
“None of you are going to be wounded! We have two capable healers here!” Gale’s voice is tinged with exasperation, but he sounds fond too. They’re bickering for bickering’s sake, the decision already made.
He finally looks up, and is met with happy faces. Karlach is leaning closer, gesturing to the druid next to him. “And Halsin is so big that I don’t think he’d even notice. Like a bug bite.”
Gale makes an offended noise. “He’s not a bug!”
She hums, tapping a finger on her chin. “Okay, fine, a… Astarion, which animal do you want to be?”
“Why do I have to be an animal?”
Her laugh is bright. “To know which type of bite it is!”
He finds himself smiling as well. It’s nice, to be accepted. “I’m not sure, I’m quite satisfied as I am, actually.”
Next to him, Gale lets out a laugh as well. “He’d be a cat, for sure.” When faced with Astarion’s questioning look, he just shrugs. “You act like one. Always sunning yourself, preferring company on your own terms, graceful, dangerous. And, you know, the claws and sharp teeth.”
“I do not ! I am much more refined than any common housepet.” The offense in his voice is entirely feigned, and the rest of the party laughs along with them.
“Well, I think Halsin would survive a cat-bite as well, so we really have nothing to worry about.” Karlach lets out a thoughtful noise. “Unless the cat has rabies. That would probably still be quite bad.”
Next to him, Halsin laughs too. “I have been bitten by many a beast, and yet lived to tell the tale. He is far from the most dangerous, cat or no.”
As the others are talking Gale leans in a bit further, his beard brushing Astarion’s cheek, and whispers. “I’ve always been partial to cats.”
The blush on his cheeks is entirely involuntary, finally fed enough with Halsin’s blood for his cheeks to redden. If he was going to respond at all, he's forgotten what he was going to say. It’s embarrassing to blush in front of so many people, and it’s a physical effort to stop himself from hiding his face in Gale’s neck.
Karlach makes a cooing noise off to the side, commenting on how cute they are, and he decides that no, he is not engaging in this any more, thank you very much.
“Thank you all for your offers of help. I appreciate it. Now.” He squeezes Gale’s leg before he stands. “I have something very important to do in my tent.”
He can still hear them as he walks away, all of the tents set so close together that no conversation is really private. “He really is just like a cat.” Karlach says with a bit of wonder in her voice.
Gale sighs softly. “Yes, and now you’ve chased him away.”
“What do you think it is he’s got to do?”
All Karlach gets in response to her question is continued laughter from the others.
They’re not all bad. They’re just… a bit much. Preferring company on your own terms. He’s not a cat! He’s a fully grown person, not some pet. He doesn’t act like a cat. Okay, maybe sometimes, not always. He just- the sun is nice, okay? And sometimes the others are very loud. That doesn’t mean anything.
I’ve always been partial to cats.
Well- well-
He can still feel the blush on his face when he closes the tent flap behind him.
Needing something, anything, to do, he pulls out his armor. The tear in his undershirt is still there, taunting him with the memory of his breakdown. His needle and thread sit in a pouch by his pillow, and he takes a moment to light a candle so that he can compare the colors of them. No one is going to see this mend, he knows, but he still wants it as invisible as possible. He’s going to see it, and he would rather not.
Sewing is mindless work, in, out, pull, in, out pull. It lets his mind wander more than he’d like. He hadn’t expected today. Not Halsin, not the others, and, to some degree, not even Gale. He had been so quick to come to his defense. Putting himself between him and the others, like he’d done with Raphael. No one had ever…
The needle pokes into his finger.
Ow.
His stitches are even, well practiced, even with him lost in thought. He finished the sleeve, the place the needle poked him right above the edge of the fabric, his hands having kept going on their own.
A soft thunk outside his tent lets him know there’s someone there. Usually not necessary with his hearing, but good if he’s distracted. He might be a bit distracted right now.
“Come in?”
Gale ducks in quickly, letting the flap close behind him, and takes a seat next to him.
“I’m sorry if I’m intruding, but I wanted to check on how you’re doing.”
Of course he does. Gale is so good, he cares so much. He cares more for Astarion than he’s thought anyone ever would.
He can’t help his smile. “I appreciate the thought. I’m alright.”
The wizard smiles back, though there’s an anxious edge to it. “I’m glad to hear that. I hope I wasn’t- That it wasn’t too much, out there.”
The thought is laughable. That someone would care if something he went through was too much . That his embarrassment mattered. Almost laughable. Gale cares. That, on its own, would have made it okay. “No. I-” He’s blushing again just thinking about it. Why is he like this? He can handle the most depraved sex acts without batting an eye, but Gale telling him how he’s partial to him flusters him to no end. “It’s new, is all.”
“I’m glad to hear that.” And the wizard is. He’s so clearly happy with Astarion’s comfort, with his happiness, it’s almost absurd.
They both sit in silence for a moment, neither of them sure what to say. It’s nice, to just be.
The pressure in his chest builds, clawing at the inside of his ribs, fighting to get out. Words form in his throat without conscious thought, made purely from the growing something inside of him. “Thank you. For standing up. For me.” They bypass all of his faculties, coming out choppy and cracked.
Gale’s answering smile is sad. “Of course. Always.”
The worst thing is, he believes him. Gale would. He’d stand by Astarion, no matter what.
New words build in his chest, and he has no idea what they are. He just knows it’s too early. Too much. He can’t. Not right now.
It’s habit to reach for his needle again, to pick up a contrast thread, to work it into the fabric of the sleeve, forming a pattern. He can’t speak, not yet.
Gale watched him in silence, letting him work. The thread he picked is a light cream, the fabric dark blue, and a sea of stars soon swims up from the cuff.
“That’s the sword and dagger, right?” Gale points at a section close to the cuff.
He almost laughs, of course his wizard knows all the constellations. What doesn’t he know? “Yes. I find it… fitting.”
He leans closer, getting a better look. “It’s beautiful work. It suits you.”
He’s going to spontaneously combust. He doesn’t care if it’s not possible. He started sewing to avoid thinking about it, about Gale and his soft words. The only response he can manage is a strangled noise, and Gale chuckles next to him, still sitting so close. So close that his heat is drifting into Astarion.
When he finally finishes the sleeve, an entire night sky climbing up it, Gale heaves a sigh. “I enjoy the time we spend together, but I think I should get some sleep, too.. Long day tomorrow, like all of them.” The wizard sound disappointed, sad to be leaving.
He’s not sure what comes over him, but his hand darts out, catching Gale’s wrist. “I- What you said before. About the cold. Is that- Would you?”
The other man looks so soft, standing above him in the candlelight. “Of course. Whenever you want me to.”
“Then, could you? Tonight?” Asking is horrible. It’s embarrassing and exposing, like baring his throat. Showing exactly where to strike to hurt the most. But it’s Gale . He wouldn’t. “I don’t want to be alone.”
He sits back down, knee pressed to Astarion’s thigh. “It would be a pleasure.”
Neither of them undress, their camp clothes comfortable enough to sleep in, and he’s grateful. Whatever this is, he’s still not sure, but it’s not anything he’s ever done before. He doesn’t want to ruin it.
Gale stretches out on his bedroll and opens his arms. “Come here.” He looks soft and inviting.
It feels weird to lay down next to him. To know that there’s no expectation of anything. His arm wraps around Astarion’s waist, pulling him closer, and the movement makes his head land on the wizard’s chest. He’s warm. And soft. He smells of the campfire, of worn parchment and sage. He smells like Gale.
It’s Gale who pulls the blanket over them, Gale who snuffs out the candle, and all Astarion has to do is lay there and grow warm. It’s just like he’d imagined, the soft pressure of Gale’s arm around his back, the slow sound of his breathing under his ear. Gale’s body heat is sinking into him, bit by bit, driving out the lingering chill. It’s better than he could have imagined. His arm is wrapped around Gale’s middle, his hand splayed over his ribs. He feels safe, as insane as that feels. He’s never felt safe with someone else in bed before.
The hand on his back slides up, carding slowly through his hair. Gale’s nails scratch gently across his scalp, sending a shiver down his entire body. It’s simple to lean into it, to accept the affection. It’s Gale.
The simile to a cat comes to him, and even with his best efforts he can’t be mad. He can be a bit like a cat. Gale likes it.
If he was able to sleep, he imagines this would be when he’d do it.
Instead, he listens to the heartbeat under his head slow, he counts the breaths the other takes, he runs his hand up Gale’s side, counting his ribs, just because he can. He feels the other man’s body beneath his, how his breathing ruffles Astarion’s hair, how the hand in his hair traces little patterns, slows, and then stops.
When he’s sure Gale is asleep, he allows himself a little indulgence. Something just for him. The arm that’s not wrapped around him lays limp on Gale’s other side, its hand resting on his stomach. The hand which had been exploring Gale’s body trails back down, slipping into it. He laces their fingers together, carefully, his wizard’s hand so warm and soft against his, his fingers broader, his entire build more solid than Astarion’s. He’s solid and there and safe and warm. His head is resting on Gale’s chest, so close to his neck, and it’s simple, easy, to just tilt his neck up a bit, to bury his nose in his neck, right where his beard gives way to skin. He breathes in, basking in the scent of Gale.
Then, wrapped up in warmth and safety, he closes his eyes, and simply rests.