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“Normally, a place like this would be impossible,” Gale explained. “This kind of coexistence between plants from the freezing tundras and tropical blooms wouldn’t thrive if it weren’t for the druids’ magic! They’ve woven layers upon layers of enchantments into the land here to make it all possible. The soil, the air, the water. Everything.”
Astarion walked beside Gale, nodding along and watching him speak and gesture around as if giving a lecture. With how things were going, it seemed as if Astarion was being given a tour of the place instead of a date for their anniversary.
Still, it wasn’t all that bad. The peaceful atmosphere made up for what may have been a droning lecture, and instead turned the whole experience rather pleasant.
The afternoon sunlight filtered through the canopy of trees overhead, casting patches of light and shadows onto the stone pathways. The warmth of the day was a soft, gentle embrace— comforting in a way that after all these years still felt novel to Astarion. He glanced at the ring on his finger, its faint magical glow barely visible in the daylight. Gale had been so proud when he’d gifted it to him, insisting that they’d make use of it for something special, that obtaining a ring of sunwalking was a momentous occasion that deserved an equally grand celebration. And now, here they were, in a botanical garden in the day.
“Darling, I thought you were a wizard, not a druid,” Astarion finally commented with a hum. His gaze drifted to a cluster of orchids hanging from a nearby tree, their petals a delicate swirl of purple and white. He supposed there was some beauty in the chaos of it all—the mix of colors and vines and roots, how untamed yet contained the wild was. And, if he were honest, he enjoyed seeing Gale like this—excited, passionate, as alive as the flowers themselves.
“Oh, I’m a wizard through and through, but this,” he looked back at the elf with such a bright smile Astarion would have thought he was the one lighting the whole place up, “is so much different than what I do. Druidcraft is… life. Nature, balance.”
Astarion acquiesced with a nod, his own lips curved in a soft smile of affection few ever saw. His husband’s excitement was rather contagious, even if the elf didn’t have as much of a connection with the subject. He supposed that’s what he got for marrying a professor—a good one could make you enthralled with any topic, and Gale was a damn good one.
They continued their meandering through the barely controlled growth, Gale pointing out the druidic runes along the path and asking if Astarion felt the shift in the air as they walked through different parts of the garden. The elf only shrugged and hummed confusedly each time, but the wizard didn’t seem to mind. He stopped and opened his mouth to comment again but interrupted himself upon seeing a cluster of pale lilac flowers.
“Oh! Autumncrocus!” he exclaimed as if they were some sort of magical artifact rather than a mundane cropping of plants. Then again, everything mundane seemed to be something valuable to the man—Astarion had seen him more excited and eager over a few children’s books that he hadn’t read in decades, beaming up at him with an ecstatic smile.
“Didn’t we have a collection of these during our adventure together?” Astarion asked, stepping closer to the flowers. “We used them for some potions.” Gale nodded with a smile still on his face, stepping forward to examine the flowers closer. “Yes, for feather fall potions. I’m surprised these are just… here, for the public,” he mused. “These flowers have a toxin called colchicine, and just a few grams can kill an adult.”
“What? And we drank it?”
“Indeed,” Gale continued casually. “The alchemical process which neutralizes the poison and extracts its latent magical properties is a rather delicate and important procedure.”
“Well, isn’t it lucky we had such a skilled alchemist during our adventure?” Astarion teased with a wink.
The wizard chuckled lightly, returning to the path. “Oh, hardly. Halsin and Shadowheart were the experts at that task, not me. They actually showed me the ropes on procuring our healing potions; the more lethal materials were up to them. I was but a clueless assistant next to them.” He paused, eyes gleaming with interest at a patch of mushrooms. “Oh! Look—swarming toadstools. They’re used to make drow poison.”
“Lovely, more things that can kill us,” Astarion drawled. Not that he was particularly perturbed by the subject. He tilted his head curiously at the mushrooms, then looked up at the swaying vines from the trees, noting the strange flowers blooming along them. Usually he’d be itching to take them, hoping his companions could use them in whatever concoction they had. During their adventure they always had to scavenge for anything that seemed potentially useful. “It’s rather nice to look at plants without having the urge to collect them for our own needs.”
Gale nodded in agreement, looking back to Astarion with a teasing grin. “I remember how you’d pick up every little thing on our adventure, claiming it would be useful later on.”
“I’ll have you know, everything I took had their uses.” Astarion faked offense, putting a hand on his chest with a small gasp. “Don’t tell me the books we found along the way weren’t very useful. It provided us with plenty of coin.”
“We certainly didn’t need to sell them,” Gale scoffed. “At least not until I finished reading them.”
Astarion rolled his eyes. “You insisted we keep them for sentimental value anyway—you still have some in our tower! Besides, with all those random plants made into potions, they all had their purposes. Those potions of feather fall came in useful during our fight with the Absolute. After the brain exploded, it saved us all from a rather undignified end.”
“Yes, yes, that they did. Your incessant hoarding and ‘borrowing’ tendencies had its value.” His teasing tone was light as they rounded a bend to another section of the garden. The canopy was denser here, very little light coming through, but still bright enough that Gale didn’t need darkvision to see. The wizard hurried forward towards a patch of dark blue flowers, humming excitedly before Astarion could defend himself about his thieving habits. “Night orchids!”
“It’s quite strange to see these in the sun,” Astarion commented, watching Gale lean down to examine them closer. “After the Shadowlands we hadn’t the time to see the place all pretty and revived.”
“I wonder if we should send some to Shadowheart—the seeds, at least. Do you think she gardens?”
“Last I heard she had an entire zoo to take care of; what’s another couple plants?”
Gale chuckled at his remark, gratefully taking Astarion’s offered hand to stand up. He let out a small groan as he heaved himself up, his knees popping with a sound loud enough to make Astarion wince. He didn’t release his husband’s hand as he patted himself down, dusting off dirt before leading the elf further along the path.
Astarion couldn’t help the fond smile pulling at his lips as he watched Gale, listening to him ramble on about the flowers and mushrooms and even the animals. He talked about everything there was to see in the garden, hardly taking a breath before continuing on to the next subject.
As they walked, Gale expanded on the uses of the plants in alchemy: elixirs that could be made from the night orchids, various resistance elixirs, grenades from the spores of mushrooms, different kinds of woods from trees for barkskin potions; his rambles a font of knowledge as always, some of which went completely over Astarion’s head. That didn’t stop them from reminiscing on more plants and fungi that they had used on their adventure. Rogue’s morsel, belladonna, bullywug trumpets, even noblestalk.
They passed by a somewhat tidier section, cordoned off with a neat label for cooking ingredients. Gale chattered about which ones he used and about the spices and herbs and the different flavors each item could add—Astarion’s dead heart felt alive as the wizard talked about how much he wished for the vampire to share in the experience of cooking and eating, even when Astarion insisted the blood-infused wines and dishes made for him was more than enough.
The afternoon soon became evening, and when the sky began to darken, Gale showed Astarion to another area. Through a cascade of vines that framed the entrance into a cave, where a soft, cool glow brightened the entire place. An array of colorful and bioluminescent flowers lined the walls, their petals shimmering faintly and spores floating through the air like embers.
Their footsteps echoed faintly against the smooth stone as they walked further in. The elf paused, letting out a quiet breath, taking in the scene. “Oh.”
“Oh?” Gale looked back to the elf with a raised eyebrow.
In his 200 years of living undead, Astarion thought he’d seen all there was in the world to offer. This was not the most beautiful thing he’d experienced by far—he’d seen the Astral Plane, the Underdark, the transformation of the Shadowlands’ curse being lifted—yet this….
“Nothing,” Astarion replied after a moment. “This is just… really nice.”
They stood in silence for a while, just being. Perhaps it was the juxtaposition of those centuries of hell next to something so simple, so peaceful. Perhaps it was the quietness, the serenity. Perhaps it was the fact that he was with Gale. His husband, his love.
“I sometimes forget how much the light suits you,” Gale murmured. He turned his head to Astarion, expression soft. “You have a way of catching it, reflecting it. As if you’re the source of the light. And in a way, you are.” He reached out slowly, pushing a stray white curl behind Astarion’s ear. “My source of light.”
The elf’s lips twitched into a fond smile. “Whatever will you do without me?” he said quietly.
“Perish, surely.” Gale chuckled, taking Astarion’s hand again. “Come, there’s more to see.”
He guided Astarion further into the cave until they emerged into the clearing. The sight before them was even more magnificent, taking Astarion’s unneeded breath away. A large tree towered at the heart of the cavern, its branches stretching upward and outward, decorated with bright, glowing blue flowers. Astarion recognized them as Sussur blooms.
“I thought these only grew in the Underdark,” he breathed.
“Druid magic is a wondrous thing, isn’t it?”
“But… don’t they create an anti-magic field around them?” “Truly paradoxical,” Gale hummed. “That’s the beauty of it all, that this sort of thing can exist, thriving so well.” He paused, looping an arm around Astarion’s as he leaned in closer. “It’s disorienting.”
Astarion turned his head slightly, noting the faint crease in Gale’s brow, the way he squeezed his arm as if looking for reassurance. “You’re a wizard, of course you’d feel that way. Come on, let’s get you out of here.”
Gale exhaled slowly. “No, no, it’s fine. It’s… strange, usually. In the Underdark, it was like a part of me was stripped away. I felt… empty, lost, helpless. But now, here, with you—it doesn’t feel so bad. The emptiness doesn’t seem quite so vast. And the sight of it….” He gestured toward the tree. “It’s worth it. To share this with you.”
Astarion regarded Gale for a moment, watching how those soft brown eyes reflected the faint, ethereal glow of the Sussur blooms.
“Thank you,” Astarion said quietly. His husband turned to him, a question in his eyes, but Astarion knew he knew. Astarion snorted, knowing the wizard was going to make him say it. His hand waved vaguely in the air, as if gesturing to the garden, the cave, the entire day they’d spent together. “For this,” he continued. “For everything. I don’t say it enough, but… thank you.”
Gale smiled, squeezing Astarion’s hand. “You don’t need to thank me, love. You’re all the reason I need. If I could, I’d give you the world and more, every day, piece by piece.”
“You’re sappier than the trees you talk about,” Astarion scoffed, no real heat behind the words. The heat seemed to crawl up his neck and to his cheeks nowadays with Gale. “Now, let’s get going before the Sussur blooms drain you of all your energy.”
“Oh, they don’t drain me of energy, technically,” Gale explained, his voice rising into his professor-like tone from the tenderness of earlier. “They just put a sort of block to my magical abilities, and I can sense it within its aura.”
Astarion nodded with a smile as the wizard continued talking about the flowers, making their way back to the entrance of the cave. Just as they reached the edge of the garden, something caught the elf’s eye. Hanging from a low branch overhead was a small cluster of green leaves and white berries, illuminated faintly by the soft glow of nearby blossoms.
“... and the weapons made from the bark of those trees don’t have the same aura, and any other objects made from it would have the same effect—oh! Mistletoe!” Gale glanced up at the plant before beaming at Astarion.
The elf chuckled, tilting his head to the side with a teasing smile. “I don’t know, I’m not usually one for traditions—”
“Did you know the plant is a symbol of life and fertility to the druids? It’s because they bloom even in the harshest of winters. It’s quite fascinating when you think about its symbolism, how it’s both nurturing and draining at the same time because it’s of a parasitic nature.”
Astarion watched Gale, amused, stepping closer with a smirk. “Mhm,” he hummed noncommittally, eyes flicking between Gale’s animated gestures and his lips.
“In other cultures it’s a sign of love and peace based on a story about a goddess who lost her son, who was killed by an arrow made of mistletoe—”
The elf interrupted him, pressing his lips against the wizard’s with a hand to cradle his face. Gale froze for half a second, words dissipating into the kiss. Then he melted into it, arms wrapping around Astarion’s waist, pulling him closer. When they finally broke apart, Gale’s cheeks were flushed, and his breath hitched slightly. Astarion pressed another kiss to the tip of his nose.
“You’ve been talking far too much on this date, darling,” he murmured. “Not that I don’t appreciate that clever mouth of yours, but I think there’s a far better use for it.”
Gale blinked, momentarily caught between flustered and flattered. “I—well, that is—”
“Shh.” Astarion placed a finger gently over Gale’s lips, grinning slyly. He leaned in closer, his breath warm against Gale’s ear. “When we get home, perhaps I’ll show you just how grateful I am for this wonderful date.”
…
It wasn’t until a tenday later that Astarion could truly make good on his words. While they did have a lovely night together after their date—with Gale’s dick deep down Astarion’s throat, fingers tangled in white curls pulling gently, lips parted around loud moans of pleasure—the elf did have something else in mind tonight.
He sat at the foot of the bed, toying with a length of pale blue rope as he waited for the wizard to come home from work. He stretched the rope taut between his hands, examining the fibers and the faint aura woven into it. It was made of jute and Sussur blooms—or maybe the bark of Sussur trees; Astarion only barely paid attention to Gale’s lecture on how the material was used to craft items. With this, the wizard would be completely helpless and vulnerable, unable to cast any spells. Astarion could use a gag, of course, but there was something about the wizard being able to feel the lack of power and control that Astarion knew would be much more fun.
It wasn’t long before he heard the front door open and Gale’s voice calling out for Astarion, signifying his arrival. The elf set the ropes down, quickly hopping off the bed to greet his husband.
Gale was shrugging off his coat, looking surprisingly tired, hair slightly tousled and… singed? He looked up at the vampire when he heard his steps, lips curling up into a bright smile. “Welcome home, darling,” Astarion purred, padding up to him and wrapping his arms around the man from behind. He immediately scrunched his nose as the scent hit him. “Gods, I can smell the ash on you. What did you and your students get up to this time?”
Gale chuckled softly, leaning back into the elf’s embrace as he reached up to squeeze his hands. “Oh, nothing too catastrophic,” he said. “One of the students misread a fireball scroll for a firebolt one. You’d think a cantrip would be obviously simple and easy to read, rather than the more complex chants of the other one. But, I suppose that goes to show how skilled she is at magic!”
“Hm, means she has an excellent professor,” Astarion hummed, resting his chin on Gale’s shoulder. His lips brushing lightly against the curve of Gale’s ear. “Regardless, you’re home now. And I intend to make sure you forget all about fireballs and scrolls and students.” He let his hands trail slowly down Gale’s chest, fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt.
Gale’s breath caught for a moment, and he turned his head slightly to glance at Astarion. “Oh? And what exactly do you have in mind?”
The vampire grinned, stepping around to face Gale. “Come with me, darling. I have a surprise for you. Tonight, you’re going to let me take care of everything.” Without waiting for a response, he took Gale’s hand and began to lead him toward the bedroom. “Remember our date last tenday?”
“Astarion, you truly don’t have to ‘pay me back’ for that,” Gale murmured. “Besides, that evening was absolutely wonderful, my love.”
“Your lecture on jute plant was fascinating, dear,” Astarion continued, waving off the wizard’s reassurance, “and I recall you specifically mentioning how it was used for ropes and the like.”
“O-oh.” Gale’s cheeks flushed at the elf’s words, quickly realizing what he had in mind for the evening together. “Yes, it is a remarkably versatile material. Strong, flexible, lightweight….”
“And remember how you talked about how Sussur can be infused in items as well?”
“Oh.”
Astarion led him through the open door, watching with amusement as Gale’s gaze fell on the blue rope sitting clearly on the bed, its faint magical aura shimmering ever so slightly in the low light of the room. His cheeks deepened in color, as he adjusted his stance nervously.
“I see you’ve been paying attention, after all,” he said softly.
Astarion smirked, hands ghosting over Gale’s sides. “Oh, I always pay attention to you,” he purred. “And tonight, it’s all about you.” He leaned in, pressing a kiss to the corner of Gale’s lips, teasingly brief.
Gale turned his head slightly, chasing the kiss instinctively but finding Astarion already pulling away. “Love, you really don’t—”
“Sit,” Astarion said simply, reaching out to take Gale’s hand and guiding him toward the bed. Movements light, tone gentle but commanding. A deep, velvety timbre he knew Gale liked.
Gale complied immediately, settling down at the edge of the bed. A hand reached up to undo the buttons of his shirt, but Astarion stopped him.
“No, no, let me,” he purred, his hands brushing away Gale’s gently. “Tonight, you’re going to let me take care of everything, remember?”
His husband nodded slowly, letting out a soft breath as the elf’s nimble fingers began undoing the buttons one by one. With each undone button, Astarion pressed a light kiss to Gale’s chest, more and more of the patch of soft brown hair being revealed as he pulled the cloth open. He slipped the shirt off Gale’s shoulders gracefully, letting the fabric’s texture drag along the man’s arms. He set it to the side, pressing another kiss to Gale’s collarbone.
“Lay back,” he commanded softly, and his wizard complied just as quickly as before, settling against the pillows, dark brown hair fanning out around him. His breath hitched as Astarion straddled his hips, leaning over him with predatory smirk. The elf reached over to grab the length of rope, setting it over Gale’s chest. “Do you feel that? That lack of power, that lack of control? How your magic slips away at just the barest contact?”
“Yes,” Gale murmured softly with a nod, breaths shaky as he blinked up at Astarion. “Though it isn’t as pronounced as it would be if it were made of the bark instead of the fibers of the flowers, but I suppose it wouldn’t be crafted in such a way to allow for something so flexible and—ahh….”
Astarion pressed the heel of his palm down against Gale’s clothed erection. Yes, this was a much better way to interrupt his husband’s ramblings instead of with his own words and kisses. Gale fell silent apart from quiet breaths and moans as Astarion’s fingers teased along the outline of his cock. The elf chuckled, leaning down to nuzzle into the crook of Gale’s neck.
“You do love to lecture, don’t you?” he purred, the tips of his fangs brushing against Gale’s pulse point. “But I think I prefer you like this. Speechless, quiet, no thoughts. Only pleasure.” He nipped lightly at the wizard’s skin, eliciting a soft gasp.
The elf straightened up slightly, hands deftly working to undo Gale’s trousers, pulling them down to expose his husband fully. Astarion trailed his fingers along Gale’s thighs, enjoying the way the muscles tensed and relaxed under his touch. He grabbed the rope again, undoing the knot keeping it coiled together and running one end teasingly over Gale’s chest and stomach.
“Now, be a good boy for me,” Astarion murmured, eyes glinting at the way Gale shuddered at the faint brushes beneath him. “Let me show you just how much I adore you.”
He looped one end of the rope behind Gale’s neck, then under his arms, painfully slow, just to drag things out. Perhaps payback for Gale dragging the day out with all his painfully long lectures about botany—though both secretly did enjoy the slow, drawn-out time spent together.
A knot at the center of Gale’s collarbone, then over the shoulders, around his torso, over his arms, binding them close to his body. A complex pattern, but nothing Astarion couldn’t do, and it would cover enough surface area to have the wizard feel as much of it as possible.
“There,” Astarion said softly after a few minutes, securing the final knot. “Perfect. Comfortable?”
Gale nodded, chest rising prettily beneath the blue ropes with each heavy breath. “Yes.”
“Good.” Astarion sat back to admire his work. Gale was a vision, his body encased in the shimmering blue rope, the diamond patterns of the ropes accentuated his form framing his pecs, his stomach, his hips. The wizard’s flushed cheeks, labored breathing, and the look of trust and surrender in his eyes made Astarion’s chest swell with affection. “You wear it well.”
He trailed his fingers down Gale’s body, over the ropes and exposed skin. The elf’s lips followed, pressing kisses to every knot, every exposed patch of skin, as if he were worshipping his husband piece by piece. When Astarion finally reached Gale’s cock, his touch was agonizingly slow, teasing, as he ran his fingers lightly along the length.
Gale shifted in his binds, instinctively arching up to seek more friction. “Please….”
“Begging already?” Astarion cooed, his smile teasing as he slowly wrapped a hand around his cock to allow for some relief for the poor man. “I’ve barely started.” He gave a light stroke, enough pressure to draw out soft gasps from the man, but nowhere near enough to satisfy.
“You know, darling,” he continued nonchalantly, examining the fibers of the rope, “It takes a master craftsman to weave the fibers properly. I had spent quite the time looking for someone who could create something like this—though the demand for it was surprisingly high. I wonder why….” He then trailed up Gale’s waist, tracing the ropes up to his nipples. “It was a good thing I was able to convince the druids to let me take some of those Sussur blooms from the garden; our connection to Halsin is rather useful. Otherwise it would have been quite expensive.”
“Astarion,” Gale whined, pupils wide with need as he looked up at Astarion desperately.
Astarion laughed lightly, watching the ropes as the wizard strained against them uselessly, body trembling as he fought to keep still. “Careful, dear. The artisan told me they’re quite fragile. When making this, any mistake and the rope could unravel, much like you are now.” Oh, and how beautifully Gale did so. Panting heavily with just a few light touches from the elf already, cock hard and leaking against his stomach.
Astarion knew that Gale knew what he was doing. Rambling on about the ropes, the intricacies of the material, the flowers… a delightful torture for them both.
Gale shuddered, his breaths shaky. “Y-you seem to have done your research,” he managed.
“Oh, quite. I can feel its effects too, by the way,” Astarion mused. “Perhaps not as much as you, whose whole life is weaved into… well, the Weave, but with just my elven ancestry touching into magic, I can sense how it dulls my powers. It’s quite strange, really. I can only imagine how helpless you feel wrapped in this.”
He leaned down again, giving the man another shower of kisses over his body. This time with hints of fang nicking his skin, small pinches and pricks against the soft skin. Hooking over the ropes to pull them slightly loose, only to let it snap back and press into Gale’s body. All the way back down to his cock, flushed and twitching for attention. He pressed a soft kiss to the tip, chuckling at the strangled moan Gale let out as his hips bucked up for more.
“Gods, Astarion, please,” Gale groaned.
“Hm, you are listening to me, yes?”
“As much as I am able.” His voice was strained with need, shaky and low. “And as much as you do when I ramble, love.”
That was enough, of course. Not that Astarion would have minded if Gale wasn’t taking in a single word he said. He leaned back, hands spreading Gale’s legs apart as he settled on the mattress between them. “Spell some grease for us, would you?” he murmured, then laughed lightly with a teasing grin. “Oh, right, you can’t.”
He reached over to the bedside drawer, taking his time to search through it. He knew where the bottle of oil was, but it was fun to draw this out even more as he let Gale sit waiting, unable to hurry the process up with his lack of spellcasting. After a couple more moments of letting Gale sit with anticipation, twitching impatiently, he found the bottle, quickly opening it and pouring some onto his hands.
“Relax for me, love,” Astarion murmured with a smirk, dipping his head to press a lingering kiss just below Gale’s navel before slowly taking his cock into his mouth. The wizard gasped, his head falling back against the pillow. Astarion’s tongue swirled over the head, savoring the salty-sweet taste of his arousal, as his hand worked to spread the lube across Gale’s entrance.
He pressed a single finger against Gale’s entrance, circling slowly, teasingly, before easing in. The resistance melted away easily as Gale exhaled a shuddering breath, body trying to relax at the intrusion.
Astarion hummed in approval, the vibration drawing a strangled moan from Gale. He worked his mouth and hand in tandem, his lips moving up and down Gale’s length as his finger pressed deeper, curling slightly into that bundle of nerves to coax even more desperate sounds from the wizard.
“F-fuck,” Gale breathed, his voice ragged. “Astarion, I—”
Astarion pulled back, a string of saliva connecting his lips to Gale’s cock. He added a second finger, scissoring gently, watching with delight as Gale’s hips bucked helplessly against him. “Yes, yes, you’re falling apart so wonderfully for me. But not completely, not yet, darling.”
Returning his attention to Gale’s cock, Astarion took him in deeper this time, his lips sliding down until his nose brushed the base. Gale cried out, his body trembling as his legs instinctively parted further to grant Astarion better access. As Gale writhed against the ropes, he carefully added a third finger, easing it inside slowly. He paused briefly to let Gale adjust, his other hand stroking circles along the wizard’s hip with his thumb.
He let out a low, satisfied hum around Gale’s length, sitting back to admire the man’s bound form again. His chest heaved beneath the ropes with each ragged breath, eyes hazed over with pleasure and need and vulnerability. Gods, what did Astarion do to deserve this trust, this adoration, this love?
He slipped his fingers out, the wet squelch of the fluid mixing with the desperate moans of Gale. Astarion shifted back, wiping his hand on his clothes before slowly taking them off. He put on a show for Gale, taking even more time before the main event, especially with Gale prepared and so ready for him. Astarion would make him wait just a little longer, taking his time pulling his shirt over his head, letting it slide off his arms. Fiddling with the laces of his pants, smirking as Gale watched him, biting his lower lip slightly, no doubt biting back a plea to hurry up.
Astarion finally relented, picking up speed as he kicked his pants off, positioning himself between Gale’s legs before leaning forward and giving a tender kiss to Gale’s lips. A hand gathered some of the oil from the wizard’s hole, giving himself a few slow strokes to slick himself up. “Ready for me, love?”
Gale nodded with a whispered, “Yes.” His bound hands clenching the sheets beneath himself as Astarion started pressing in. Slowly, carefully, as he had with everything else tonight, savoring every second of the way Gale’s body welcomed him.
The wizard gasped, back arching slightly off the bed with a soft moan. Once fully buried in, Astarion stilled, his head falling forward to rest against Gale’s shoulder. He pressed kisses along the curve of Gale’s neck, nipping lightly at his skin. “Perfect,” he whispered against Gale’s ear. “You’re perfect.”
His hands roamed Gale’s body, tracing the rope’s patterns and the soft contours of his skin as if committing every inch of him to memory.
“Remember how you stopped to admire each and every flower and fungi on our date?” Astarion murmured against Gale’s ear. He set a slow, deliberate pace as he talked, voice silky and smooth. “How you always had something to say about every little thing.”
Gale only gave a groan in response, body shaking in his restraints, legs trembling around Astarion with each drawn-out thrust.
“You talked of how each one was unique, thriving in its own way, with so many meanings for each of them.” How he wished to be as poetic as Gale, as verbose and eloquent and giving him as much praise and love that Gale gave him. How he wished to give Gale the words that he gave Astarion that tugged at his heart, making him feel more alive than he ever had before. How he wished he could give him words of his own rather than the practiced lines of centuries of flirting and seduction. “You remind me of them now.”
Perhaps he could.
He adjusted his angle, pulling another ragged moan from Gale as he found that perfect spot within him. A hand slid to cradle Gale’s cheek, tilting his face upward so their eyes could meet. “The way you bloom under my touch, the way your body responds… you’re far more captivating than anything we saw that day. Even the most vibrant rose would envy the flush on your cheeks right now. Just look at you, my darling.”
Astarion pulled back just enough to take in Gale’s expression—his half-lidded eyes, his parted lips, the shaking limbs. The rhythm of his hips quickened, the restraint he’d practiced all night giving way to his own growing need. “You’re not just one flower. You’re an entire garden, Gale. G-giving me more life than I thought possible. Complex, beautiful, strong despite everything you’ve done through.”
“A-Astarion, mmph—” Gale tried to respond, but any words were replaced by air forced out of him with a hard thrust from the elf, each move becoming more urgent as the pleasure built between them.
“So much energy—fuck—so much warmth, so vibrant, so bright, I could give the sun away again and I w-wouldn’t miss it with you by my side.” He leaned down to capture Gale’s lips in his, words breaking down into moans of pleasure, grip tightening on the wizard’s hips.
He felt it in the clenching of Gale around him, the broken moan into his mouth, the straining body against his as he thrusted deeper, harder. Gale came without warning, spilling between their bodies and onto his stomach, his chest, over the ropes.
“That’s it, love,” Astarion breathed, hips stuttering as he felt himself hurtling towards the edge as well. “That’s it, so good for me, s-so perfect, fuck, I’m—”
A final slam in, and he was spilling into Gale with a loud moan, pleasure ripping through him in crashing waves. He rocked back and forth as he worked through both their releases. If it weren’t for the Sussur ropes pressing against their skin, he would have thought they were back on the Astral Plane—or an illusion of it—that Gale brought them to. He felt light, airy, like this was an out-of-body experience. But no, this was real, so painfully real.
The room fell into a peaceful quiet of soft breaths and pants as the last shudder of their release faded. Astarion pulled gently out of Gale, quickly loosening the knots of the ropes. Gale laid there, chest rising and falling for slow, deep breaths, body still trembling from his orgasm.
As the last knot came loose, the elf brushed the ropes away, moving them off of the wizard completely so that his magic would return to him. Astarion hovered over him for a moment, scanning Gale’s face—dazed, but with a content smile as he gazed back up at the elf. Arms tiredly reached up to pull Astarion in, and the vampire complied easily.
He laid next to Gale, not minding the sweat and cum between them. His fingers brushed a strand of hair from Gale’s face, leaning in to place a gentle kiss on his lips. Slow, tender, no urgency in the contact.
“Thank you,” Gale murmured with a smile. “I love you so much, Astarion.”
Astarion could feel something bloom within him as he whispered four words back.