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“Have you ever done this before?”
Gale looked back at Astarion with a raised eyebrow.
“No, but how hard can it be?” he replied. He waved the tiny syringe of RSO in the air. “It has the exact milligram marks on the side.”
Astarion walked forward and looked over Gale’s shoulder at the warming pot of vegetable oil on the stove.
“Sure, darling, but it just seems a bit… finicky,” Astarion replied. “There are so many numbers involved.”
Gale clicked his cheek goodnaturally. “I wouldn’t say ‘so many,’ really. There’s only the total milligrams and how many servings it’s being split into.”
Astarion hummed and wrapped his arms around Gale’s waist. “But didn’t you have to calculate how many milligrams were even in the syringe based on THC percentages and all that?”
Gale twisted his head to peck Astarion’s cheek. “Yes but I’m good at math! You know that.” He paused to turn back and dispense a line of thick, greenish-brown extract from the syringe into the warmed oil. “Do you think maybe you’re just nervous to try this?”
Astarion scoffed and let Gale go. He walked across the kitchen to sit at the island.
“No.”
He paused, thought for a moment, and then tried again.
“Yes, okay. Maybe.”
Gale smiled at him over his shoulder before turning back to stir the oil mixture.
“It will be fine, love, I promise.”
It was, in fact, not fine.
The entire apartment reeked of weed. Probably. It was a bit hard to tell, really, because Astarion had been soaking in the smell for so long as they waited for the RSO to melt, for the brownies to bake, and for the effects to kick in once Gale once had eaten a serving. Astarion sat watching his husband grow progressively more relaxed and then giggly, transitioning from simple unwinding on the couch to snickering at something on his phone.
“What on Toril are you laughing at?”
Gale turned the phone to show Astarion the screen. He was watching some incomprehensible video that showed a series of increasingly deranged cats while a song about drinking shampoo and being poisoned played. Even without being able to see the visuals, simply listening to the audio playing sent Gale into another fit of cackling joy. When it was done, and the phone returned to Gale’s view, a few sluggish swipes of his fingers undoubtedly sent the link Astarion's way.
He couldn’t help but smile at his husband’s antics.
“Feeling good, then?” Astarion asked.
Gale nodded, smiling goofily. “You wanna bite now? I think I’m ready.”
A sudden flush of anxiety ran through Astarion, buzzing and tense, but he nodded through it. This would be good, he reminded himself. It would be fun. He had always wanted to indulge in cannabis but had never been able to, and drinking from an edible-infused Gale would (hopefully) be a fantastic opportunity to experience being high. A fantastic and safe opportunity— at home, with the love of his life, using concentrate they got from an official dispensary using Gale’s new medical card.
“I feel extra floaty,” Gale added. He brought his fingers up in front of his face and wiggled them slowly. “I’m not used to edibles. It’s nice.”
Astarion smiled and reached out a hand to help haul him to his feet. “Fantastic. Where do you want to do this?”
Gale scrunched his eyebrows, looking for a moment like answering the question was taking all of his concentration.
Honestly, it probably was.
“Bath.”
Astarion titled his head in question.
“Bath?”
“Yeah.”
“Okay. Um, why?”
Gale started walking toward the hallway guest bathroom, already peeling his shirt up over his head. “Less messy. I don’t wanna bleed on our stuff.”
Astarion watched as the collar of the shirt got stuck on Gale’s chin. He huffed a quiet laugh to himself and reached over to help pull it off. His husband emerged, hair mussed, and made a small self-satisfied noise at being free from his poly-blend prison.
They entered the bathroom and finished stripping Gale until he was in only his boxer briefs. As he was stepping into the bathtub, extra slowly and carefully so as to not slip in his quite floppy state, he suddenly turned back to point an accusatory finger at Astarion.
“You gotta be naked too!”
Astarion blinked at him.
“What?”
Gale nodded, his loose hair flopping over his shoulders.
“So my blood doesn’t get all over your nice shirt. I like that shirt. It’s soft and it’s the color of, um… that.”
Astarion followed the line of Gale’s finger to the sink countertop, on top of which sat a combined assortment of their toiletries.
“Of what, love?”
Gale huffed in annoyance. “That.”
He took a shaky step out of the tub and a few more toward the sink. Astarion reached out a hand to stabilize his shoulder. Gale grasped for the half-empty jar of Vaseline and pointed at the blue lid.
“That.”
Astarion gently pried the jar from his hand and set it back on the counter. He guided Gale back toward the tub. “Okay, okay. I’ll take my shirt off too, then.”
So he did, and then once Gale was lying down he knelt beside the tub and reached over to smooth down Gale’s increasingly frazzled hair. His husband nuzzled into the touch and sighed.
“Ready?”
Gale nodded against the hand. “Mmm.” He turned to press a kiss into Astarion’s palm.
With an answering peck to Gale's cheek, Astarion leaned over the tub. Gale moved with him, head rolling lazily to the side, eyes fluttered shut, a faint, vaguely dopey smile on his lips.
Gale's skin was warm against his mouth, and Astarion swore he could feel the lax ba-thump ba-thump ba-thump of his pulse even before biting.
His fangs slipped into Gale's neck with ease, and a moment later thick, syrupy blood gushed forth. It was warm and rich and every bit as lovely as the man it belonged to, albeit tinged with something that was distinctly... skunky.
And there was so much of it.
Gale giggled as Astarion frantically attempted to seal his lips over the leaking puncture marks.
“That feels funny.”
Astarion tried to ask if Gale was okay but his words were muffled against Gale’s neck and his voice gurgled with blood. Gale made a small noise of disapproval.
“You shouldn’t talk with your mouth full, baby.”
Astarion’s eyebrows scrunched together.
Gale never called him “baby.” In fact, he had stated on more than one occasion (pointer finger raised in the air) that he has a great disdain for that particular petname. It was, apparently, “unbecoming” for a couple of their age.
Astarion pulled back, bringing his free hand up to press over the wounds.
“Are you sure you’re okay?” he asked. Gale blinked up at him with confused eyes.
“I think so,” he replied. He looked down at his mostly-naked form. “My body’s all here.”
Astarion nodded. “I can see that, love. I meant you seem a bit more out of it than normal.”
Gale looked back up at him with a softly furrowed brow. “Oh.”
Then, a strange feeling began to creep behind Astarion’s eyes. Like everything was blurring for a moment. He shook his head against the sensation and focused back on Gale.
“We should get you out of the tub before you—”
The feeling was spreading, dripping down through the base of his skull, into his spine, out through his limbs. He felt suddenly quite heavy.
“Astarion?”
Astarion looked at Gale. He knew he was looking at Gale, but it took far too long for his vision to catch up to his eyes. "I'm... warm and heavy like an owlbear is sitting on me. And I can't— I can feel my feet but they're so… so far away... Gale? Is this what being high feels like?"
Gale blinked slowly in thought, his two eyes slightly out of time with each other.
"I don't know. It's all floaty for me? Maybe you did it wrong. Maybe you're wrong..."
Gale's voice trailed off in a fog as all of Astarion's delayed synapses fired at once.
Wrong.
Something must have gone wrong.
“Gale, where did you say you got this devilweed?”
Gale tilted his head and hummed. “The dispensary.”
Astarion nodded, a whisper of relief flowing through him. Surely that meant it was safe, right?
Then Gale added more information.
“You know,” he continued, “the one by Gond Gate?”
Well shit.
“You bought us gnomish drugs?” Astarion gasped.
It was all slotting together. The wretched truth. His poor, sweet, innocent husband was swindled by a gang of fraudulent artificers. Earnestly seeking something to ease his pain and walking away with an experimental tincture that was—
Suddenly, the strange cat video from earlier seemed much less like a silly internet distraction and much more like an omen. Or perhaps a premonition, lighting the shared future of Astarion and his husband as they hurtled forward together into the terrifying unknown.
Gale listened, eyes wide, as the terrible reality of their situation spilled from Astarion's lips.
"What— what do we do?" Gale asked, the faintest distressed quiver tinging his voice.
"I—"
What should they do? Gale was already succumbing to the poison and surely Astarion wasn't far behind. In a situation like this, they ought to look to Tara, but she wasn't home. Off to hunt for pigeons, or some such other distinctly catlike behavior (despite her propensity to claim no kinship with such animals).
Then, an idea struck.
There were other wise felines to guide them.
Astarion searched frantically for his phone. Then he remembered that he, unlike Gale, was still wearing his pants and that it was in his pocket.
“They will help.”
Gale’s eyes went wide. “Who?”
Astarion found his quarry and scrambled with a clumsy, one-handed effort to unlock it. “Hold your neck wound for me, love.”
With his enhanced dexterity and only a few smears of blood on the screen, Astarion rushed to his texts where Gale, lovely, oh-so-predictable Gale had indeed sent him a link to the wise cats.
Stills of cats in various states of distress were overlaid with words, but neither the writing nor the staccato chanting could be decoded by his Gondian-poison-addled brain—
A bloody hand grasped his forearm. “Shampoo!”
Astarion lowered his phone to stare down at Gale
“What?”
Gale’s voice grew more insistent. “Shampoo!”
“What?”
Gale made a small, angry noise and turned to grab one of Astarion’s fancy bottles of luxury haircare. “Number!”
Oh.
Right.
Astarion took the bottle and turned it over, squinting at the tiny text on the back until he located the code to their salvation. He looked back up at Gale, his knight in no armor, with a smile.
“Genius, my love!”
Gale smiled dopily. “Yeah.”
The poison tried to foil him as he dialed the number, but on only his second attempt he managed to hit the correct number of “2’s.” He waited with bated (unnecessary) breath while the phone rang.
Astarion turned to Gale, who courageously gazed into his own distorted reflection in the faucet.
"You're so brave, my love," encouraged Astarion. Gale nodded.
Then, the voice of an angel.
“Hello, Poison Center. How can I help you?”
He cleared his throat and tried his best to sound normal.
“Hello, Astarion Ancunín-Dekarios, Esquire speaking.”
There was a pause on the other end of the line. Then, hesitantly, the voice answered.
“Yes, hello. Did you have a question about something that you or another person ingested?”
Astarion swallowed, his throat dry.
“We… yes. Ingested, technically, yes.”
There were clicking noises on the other end of the phone as the agent typed something into a computer. “Okay, I understand. What did you ingest?”
"Poison?"
Another pause. "Yes, sir. What is the nature of the poison? What was the substance or substances?"
Glancing at his husband, Astarion was struck with the realization that while Gale could legally partake of devilweed, botched batch or not, Astarion could not. And if it were made known that Gale had allowed Astarion to indulge, his beloved could lose his medical card and put both of their careers in jeopardy.
Was poison control part of the police? It had "control" in the name...
Gritting his teeth, Astarion steeled himself. He could outsmart this poison and its control. For both of them.
"I, uh—"
Not good.
"A friend of mine—"
Better.
It was as Gale gently guided his shampoo bottle through the air like a rocket ship, filling the air with quiet, staccato puffs of air, that inspiration struck.
"He drank shampoo," Astarion declared as Gale's bottle safely touched down on his shoulder.
That began a series of inquiries, which ended with a description of Astarion's "friend." An elf, a little over two centuries old, fairly lean, incredibly handsome, whip-smart, well endowed, eyes like flaming rubies...
Gale was very helpful in coming up with the description.
"And do you know how much your friend ingested?"
Astarion laid his hand over Gale's. "Some?"
"Wonderful," Gale praised in a loud whisper.
"Well, if it was a small amount, have your friend drink lots of water and—"
"I— he can't do that!"
"Why not?"
"Because..."
Because why? It was bad enough that Astarion had to conceal what the poison actually was, but to reveal to this potential undercover agent that he was also a vampire? It was just too risky.
Fortunately Gale, lovely, brilliant Gale, whispered a suggestion into his ear.
"He has rabies," Astarion echoed.
There must have been a delay in the connection, because it was only after a long period of silence that the operator spoke. "Sir, if you think your friend has rabies, he needs to go to the hospital immediately."
Oh.
"No, no," Astarion assured him.
Now think, Astarion, you need a reason...
"He likes it."
"He likes having... rabies? Sir, you understand this is an emergency line. It is a criminal offense to—"
Ugh, this was pointless!
"And do you understand I have been poisoned by experimental Gondian herbal medicine and may soon succumb? No, you clearly do not, and that ought to be a criminal offense in its own right!"
Gale watched from the tub, eyes sparkling with wonder at Astarion's fierce display.
"Hold on, sir, experimental Gondian—"
"Good day!"
Astarion's phone clattered across the linoleum, discarded as he turned to cup Gale's face in his hands.
"How are you feeling, my sweet?" he asked, dragging a thumb over Gale's too-warm cheek.
"Like I'm full of hot potatoes," Gale sighed. "Are we still gonna die?"
"Not if I can help it," Astarion said, filled with determination.
"Gosh," Gale said softly, and in spite of their peril, he still managed to smile so sweetly. "You're so brave."
Then Gale's smile faded as he smacked his lips once, twice. "I'm so thirsty. My mouth feels like it's made of microfiber. It's gross."
Astarion cooed softly.
"Poor thing. How I hate to see you suffer... I'll be right back."
But Astarion would not be right back, because he could not leave at all. The moment he rose to his feet, the bathroom turned on its side, and it was only by the grace of Gale's sturdy body draped over the edge of the tub that he did not fall and crack his head on the floor.
"Oh no... the poison... it's weakening me."
Gale, parched but patient, even with his oozy and no doubt aching neck, patted Astarion's shoulder. "It's alright." He then... well, he didn't point, as his fingers remained completely limp, but he raised a hand towards the tap. "Water."
Vague memories of Gale, cross and soaked from the shoulders up, scolding him for not resetting the valve after a shower, flashed in Astarion's mind as cold water rained from above. Rivulets of rusty pink stretched toward the drain and Gale tipped his head back, mouth open, like a chicken determined to drown itself in a rainstorm.
Bewilderment and adoration warred in Astarion's heart, as he could not imagine anyone else being so handsome and so disheveled all at once. He imagined Gale as a rocker from his wild 210's, all eighties glam with charcoal-black eye makeup running down his face, cigarette smoke curling from full lips as a cold summer rain drenched him from overhead...
Now there was a thought...
"Gale, darling, hold tight. I think I know what to do."
Lifting his head, Gale tried to look at Astarion, but his eyes could only flutter as he was pelted from above.
"Do what?" he asked, but Astarion was already gone, crawling low on his belly to preserve both strength and dignity as he made his way to the living room.
At those shows, the ones his darling dearest would have stolen hearts from center stage at, Astarion had seen plenty of... unsavory activities. The sorts of things he'd sworn off after watching people collapse to the mud, foaming at the mouth with red eyes and blown pupils.
The blood staining Astarion's front smeared along the carpet as he approached the fireplace. Left to rest as spring came to a close, they had procrastinated clearing out the ash and—
Charcoal.
His limbs moved slowly, as if there were a delay between mind and muscle, but with much effort Astarion managed to swing open the iron grate and clutch a chunk of burned-up wood. Although the charcoal makeup he remembered was a pitch-black powder, clean and fine, surely this would do. It had to.
With a snap and a chorus of dry crunches, Astarion gnawed into the desiccated, gray mass. What saliva wetted his mouth disappeared in an instant, and it was only by way of his desire to save his husband that Astarion managed to choke down the wretched substance.
The effect was immediate. He coughed, a plume of ashen dust erupting forth as his gut churned and settled.
And all became clear.
Though his limbs were still weak and he now left behind blackened handprints to complement the scarlet smears on the carpet, Astarion returned to the bathroom victorious. A hero.
"My love!" he called, hauling himself up to meet Gale at the side of the tub. "I have found our cure!"
"Is that so?" asked Gale, who was shivering something fierce. "What— what is it, pray tell?"
"It's— oh, darling..."
Soaked to the bone with his lovely brunette waves plastered to his head, Astarion returned not to the sight of his husband, but some poor, neglected creature that would look right at home in a tragic animal welfare infomercial. He braved the storm falling from the showerhead, his own curls flattening and falling across his eyes as he was pelted, and pecked Gale's cheek. "You're freezing. Let me turn this off—"
"No!" Gale cried, then shrunk back as if startled by the volume of his own protestation. "No, please, I'm still thirsty." Then, as if to demonstrate the depths of his need, he dropped his mouth open and took a long drink of tepid shower water. "See?" he gargled.
Though he loathed to leave Gale in such a state, Astarion had been around long enough to become resourceful. And so, if he could not rescue Gale from his circumstances, he could at the very least help him be a bit more comfortable.
It was when he crawled back with a heavy duvet from their bed that he saw Gale pointing his index fingers toward each other and gently tapping the tips together.
"What is it, love? Are your fingers alright?" Astarion asked as he carefully rose to his knees and wrapped the increasingly unwieldy blanket around Gale's quivering shoulders.
Though it soaked through almost immediately, his sweet Gale was always so grateful, sighing happily as he wrapped himself up tighter. His sleepy eyes blinked once, twice, and after looking himself over, he nodded.
"Breadstick."
There had been a few occasions that, in spite of how well-read and well-educated Astarion was, Gale's ramblings escaped the realm of his own knowledge. And though Gale was always patient and kind and eager to explain, it always bothered Astarion when he could not go blow-for-blow with his lovely (and occasionally arrogant) husband.
This time, though, Astarion was simply and entirely confused.
"What?"
Gale wrestled his arms free from the sodden duvet only to tap his fingers together once more. "You put the two string cheese inside a breadstick so they touch and then you put it under the bake... I mean the oven. Mmm."
Astarion, of course, noticed the most important detail from Gale's gluten-laced flight of fancy.
"They're touching tips inside the breadstick?"
"Astarion!" Gale gasped, a hand clapped dramatically over his heart. "How boorish!" But the mirthful twinkle in his eye betrayed his amusement, as did the hopelessly goofy giggle fit he burst into.
Gods, Astarion was gone for this man...
"Gale, my sweet," Astarion murmured, "if we survive this, you can have as much cheese and bread as you want. But first we must survive, and for that..." He held up his half-masticated chunk of charcoal. "You must take this cure."
Gale scrunched his nose in disgust. "I don't want that."
Astarion sighed longsufferingly. "But you have to,” he replied. “It's the only way!"
Shaking his head, Gale frowned, squishing himself back further and further as Astarion moved the charcoal ever-closer to his mouth. "You know what I could really go for?"
"What, darling?"
"I don't know!" Gale cried, sounding rather frustrated all of a sudden. "That's why I'm asking you!" He then, with aching gentleness, pushed Astarion's hand away. "I know I don't want that."
Astarion’s heart shattered into too many pieces to count.
"I know, I know, love, but I want you to be alright." It was playing dirty, Astarion knew this, but he had to bring out the big guns if he was to save Gale's life. "Won't you be a good boy for me?"
Alas, it was too late. The poison had already gotten hold of Gale's mind, as he crossed his arms with a great huff. "No!"
Hells, there wasn't time for this! Hopefully Gale would forgive him, would understand that it's for his own good, as Astarion launched himself into the tub and grabbed hold of his husband's face.
"Shthar!" Gale squirmed and writhed, but in his poison-addled state, he was no match for Astarion.
"I'm sorry, my love!" Astarion shrieked, praying that it rang true in Gale's ears, as he gripped around his bottom jaw and popped his mouth open. "It'll all be over soo—"
"By Sharesses's luxurious whiskers, what is going on?"
"Thara!" Gale exclaimed, reaching around Astarion with grabby hands. "How wasth your hunth?"
"You put those soggy paws away right this instant, Mister Dekarios," Tara scolded, hopping atop the nearby counter to glower at them.
"But you're my mom," Gale whimpered.
"And Mister Astarion," Tara continued, coldly ignoring his poor, sweet Gale. "I will give you 'til the count of three to unhand my pet's face and the both of you until the count of five to start explaining why there is blood and dust all over my living room!"
It was a clumsy shuffle of wet blanket corners, heavy limbs, and charcoal paste, but within only the count of four, they managed to recount the day's events. Tara also sent a mage hand to turn off the shower as it was, in her words, a terrible waste of water.
"So you see, I was simply performing my spousal duty to preserve Gale's health. His very life!" Astarion declared proudly.
Gale, who was smooshed against the back of the tub by Astarion, hummed happily. "You're my friend, Astarion. You're my friend too, Tara."
Tara tutted fondly.
"Of course, Mister Dekarios." Ruffling her feathers, Tara's eyes hardened as she looked back to Astarion. "Well, it seems the two of you have suffered enough consequences for this foolish experiment. So long as you pre-treat them, the carpet stains should come out just fine. And Mister Dekarios..."
"Yes, Tara?"
Tara gave her paw a prim little lick. "You would do well to measure your medicine with a bit more care. I would do it myself, had I the dexterity."
She received no response, as her foolish pets had finally succumbed to their indulgences, and were fast asleep.