Expeditious Retreat - Haarlec - Baldur's Gate (Video Games) [Archive of Our Own] (2024)

It had begun, as all best-laid holiday plans do, with a solid itinerary.

Tendays, they’d spent planning. Well. Tendays, Gale had spent planning, while Astarion had made vague humming sounds for him to interpret at every suggestion.

Another adventure – a quieter one – to slough the settling dust that littered their year of stagnation in Waterdeep. A gift for themselves, taking a break from their increasingly doldrum workloads and to celebrate their recent nuptials.

Their ceremony had been a simple one. They’d done it privately, alone except for their former companions, Tara and Morena as witnesses and the hired Cleric who had cast Ceremony ritual for them. It was perfect, sheltered in a secluded glade; something for them. Astarion had been relieved at the lack of performance and artifice, his true self marrying the most honest and open human he’d ever met. It had gone so smoothly that he’d almost been surprised at the seamlessness of their transition from affianced joy to wedded bliss.

And now, they’re taking the chance for endless sunshine, tastes and smells of various cultures and locations, so he could adjust to those new-old things, as well. Gale had been methodical in finding the most interesting places to go. In fact, he’d spent almost-sleepless nights obsessing and talking over where best he could take Astarion to enable him to truly enjoy his actual wedding present.

For Astarion’s part, he couldn’t wait to idle on a beach, or taste fine Amnian wine, or step through cobblestoned city paths with his husband; the Scroll of True Resurrection his clever wizard had gifted him with finally enabling him to grasp the delights and delicacies of life once again.

And yes, the plan had included several stops to visit places of meaning to them, and to take the opportunity to visit familiar faces. But there had been plenty of time in the schedule for spontaneity – Gale had insisted on that fact. A romantic adventure that would see treading new paths to take in different sights, but would also see them back in their old stomping grounds.

Without the constant threat of death, exploding or ceremorphosis, this time, though.

All this to say, there was a plan. Well documented, itemized and colour-coded, if Astarion thought to flick through the parchment shown to him that very morning.

Lucky they still had that, he supposed, tucked away tightly on Gale’s person.

Oh, their missing possessions? Tendays of clothing and food and supplies to sustain them for their journey, completely lost to the void? Not a problem, at least they still had the itinerary! He wants to vocalize his frustration, but for once tempers his reaction. It won’t do any good here, and he doesn’t want to make the start of their vacation even more sour.

Still, it would be uncharacteristic of him to not say anything.

“This is why we can’t have nice things,” Astarion pouts, leaning against the half-wall bestowed with the ancient sigil circle they’d arrived through. Stone crumbles away a little as he pulls himself up to sit, watching his husband flurry his hand through his hair in agitation.

“Our luggage has to exist on some plane somewhere,” he insists.

Astarion rolls his eyes. They have one bag left between them – Gale’s, of course, slung over his back -and whatever was in their pockets at the time. Not a lot, and most of their stash of coin was in one of the bags that was spirited off. He imagines some creature will have a field day when they find it.

“Well,” he asserts, dusting himself off as he jumps back to his feet. “You have fun checking them all. I’m going to go check us into the inn.”

Gale nods distractedly, already focused in on the swirling circle embedded into rock.

Time to bring back some of his old slight of hand skills, Astarion thinks as he walks through the parts of Reithwin still being rebuilt towards the Last Light.

Some things never change, he supposes.

It’s a little surprising, how quickly the landscape of the town has changed in the almost two-years since the Shadow Curse was lifted. People mill about, some children running and shouting in play underfoot while others work on construction. A few people are trading in the main square – he’s curious, but not enough to walk further away from his destination. There’s always tomorrow.

He does see a few faces that might be familiar to him if he’d cared enough to pay attention the first time around. He doesn’t spy Halsin, but that doesn’t surprise him; they had plans to meet with him later, once they’d had some time for themselves. Astarion expects the man might be visiting a mutual acquaintance of theirs, if he reads carefully enough through the lines of Shadowheart’s latest correspondence.

It's a shorter walk than he remembers. The twisting vines and branches have burned away under the sunlight and efforts of the townspeople, and he finds himself standing next to Darkmaw the Wicked at the entrance to the taproom before he knows it.

It’s not a dwelling, technically, so he doesn’t have to be invited in.

Well.

He’s not a vampire, anymore. He doesn’t have to be invited in anywhere, which sends a spark of delight down his spine as he remembers.

The people serving here are definitely new to him. The Fist and the refugees that had haunted the place during it’s darker days have clearly moved on for better things, but Gale had managed to talk him into the romanticism of visiting the place of their first kiss. So he grits his teeth, straightens up and approaches the barkeep.

She’s a tough-looking woman, a Halfling with several scars on her cheeks and a scowl on her face.

It doesn’t stop him laying on the charm when he approaches.

“Good afternoon, darling,” he greets, propping an elbow on the bar as he reaches it. An easy grin slides onto his face, fangless yet not innocent.

She blinks balefully at him.

“What'cha want?” she flicks her hair over her shoulder as she goes back to the ledger she’s balancing behind the shelf.

Well. Lovely service, but not bad considering the warm welcome they’d received last time they were in this neck of the woods. He shrugs it off, sliding onto a stool.

“My husband has arranged one of the upstairs suites for our use for the tenday. He sent it ahead with payment, it will be under the name Gale Dekarios.” Astarion says smoothly.

She looks up at him, then, an eyebrow raised.

“And what’s yer name then?” she asks rudely.

Which, well.

It’s the first time he gets to show it off.

“I’m Astarion. Astarion Dekarios,” he purrs, extending a hand over the bar for her to shake, charisma in his words if not his expression.

Blue eyes eye his hand like it’s infected by something contagious. He pulls it away awkwardly.

“I ain’t checking you in if yer name ain’t on the booking,” she tells him. “Order a drink, or piss off.”

He narrows his eyes down at her. She wouldn’t have even been worth the trouble of killing, if he still went in for that kind of thing. Marriage seems to have mellowed him, so he settles for a deadly glare and a layer of false charm dripping from his voice.

“That’s my husband. We’re married- newly married. Why don’t you hand over the key, so I can get up there and surprise him with something nice when he makes his way back here?” he smiles in a way that doesn’t reach his eyes.

She glares back up at him, thoroughly unimpressed with her arms crossed.

He might have tried a little too hard, here – it’s clear she’s not letting him in without Gale, who could take forever to investigate for their lost belongings. He offers her a tight nod, and doesn’t bother asking for an ale. He can wait outside.

Astarion’s mood sees a greater downward slide, practically in accordance with the way the temperature drops in the cool outside air in the time he waits for Gale to arrive.

And arrive he does, and he’s not entirely empty-handed; another case has been located. It’s Astarion’s, a deep burgundy pack that lightens his spirits just a little when he sees it in his husband’s hands. He’s got enough goodwill to plant a kiss on Gale’s cheekbone just under his eye as he leans in to take the case.

“I’ve got it,” Gale insists- what a gentleman. Astarion shrugs, and lets him have his moment.

“No luck with the rest?” he asks instead, as they turn to come back into the Last Light.

“No, but I’m sure they’ll turn up eventually,” Gale hums. Astarion doesn’t care much – he’s at least got a couple of changes of clothes now. “Why are you sitting out here, instead of inside where it’s warm?” He reaches over to take his hand, warm fingers wrapping around his own.

“Long story,” Astarion mutters. He just wants to get indoors and tuck himself up in Gale’s warmth. He may not have the cold skin and aura of undeath permeating his bones, but it’s taking a while for his body to relearn how to regulate his temperature; he’s usually either sweating or shivering.

It’s the latter, this time, as he’s lead back indoors. He lurks behind Gale as the mage steps up to the bar, watching with a satisfied smile as the Halfling turns to him.

She narrows her eyes at Astarion, then turns to Gale.

“What d’you want?”

Ah, at least she’s consistent in her bad manners. Gale bristles a little, and Astarion tries not to feel too satisfied about what’s coming.

“I have a booking here, under Dekarios? Paid in advance, of course,” he says, slow in his enunciation as if he’s worried the woman won’t catch what he says.

She scowls at him.

“First name?” And Astarion rolls his eyes again. He’s going to shake something loose, someday, doing that too often.

“Gale. It’s a suite, for my new husband and I.” The hand in his own tightens at the word, and a bubble of something broils in his stomach at the way it’s stated so simply, so definitively.

The Halfling snorts, looks down at the book for a half-second, and then looks back up at them.

“I ain’t taken any bookings.”

Astarion snarls as Gale splutters, the woman’s face giving nothing away as they flounder.

“Excuse me?”

“I sent money for this ages ago-”

“Why did you ask my name if you don’t-”

“And there’s no way you didn’t receive it, I Sent a spell at the same ti-”

She stares, resolute, watery-blue eyes glancing between them both nonplussed.

“No booking. You can pay, or you can leave.”

f*ck. f*ck it, as if things weren’t going poorly already. He just wants to be warm, wants to sink in Gale’s arms, feel him wrapped around his cold body. He doesn’t want to stand here with half his luggage missing, arguing with some bitchy innkeeper about their room.

“Fine!” Astarion snaps, fishing his coin-purse from his pocket. Okay, so he hadn’t spent his time outside completely idle. “How much for the suite?”

She looks down at the book, and he thumps Gale gently in the side with his elbow when he opens his mouth to continue arguing. He doesn’t care anymore – it’s been a long day, and he still feels vaguely unwell from the long-distance warp travel.

“Ain’t no suite left,” the woman decides eventually.

Gale makes an angry noise; Astarion taps his boot with his own.

“Any standard rooms?” the elf asks through gritted teeth – teeth he wished were still pointy enough to tear out this Halfling’s throat for how frustrated he is. But she’s the line of defense between him and a soft mattress, and he’ll play nice. For now.

“One left. 850gp for the tenday.”

“That’s ridiculous,” Gale bursts out. Astarion is too busy letting out his own noise of outrage. “We’ve already paid, and it was less than that for the suite! This is extortion, and I will not stand for-“

Astarion claps a hand over his mouth, sending him a Look.

Gale quietens, and Astarion turns back with an icy smile.

She’s still looking at them, arms crossed and extremely unbothered.

He hates this, cannot wait to be away from her and this bar.

“We’ll give you 100gp, and be gone in the morning.” It’s a generous enough offer; the room isn’t worth more than 50gp, but it’s hardly his money by any law other than possession anyway. She seems to think it over, and clearly decides it’s worth it to be rid of the pair of them. Gale seems to want to protest, but he squeezes his hand gently – they can rework the plan.

He forks over the coin, and she hands a single key over on a rusted metal ring.

“Ground floor, right over there,” she says, pointing to the door to their right. The inn has been redecorated, but the layout is the same as Astarion remembers; it’s the single room in the corner. Next to the bar, a tiny, pokey little thing – but there’s a bed, and they can be gone in the morning.

At least it’s not far to go with their remaining luggage, he supposes as he nods at her and leads his husband to the door with their linked hands, the warmth of Gale’s heated ring sending a flash of joy through him as the key scrapes in the lock and he pushes open the door to their room.

It’s like stepping through time, the room almost completely untouched from the way it had been all those months ago. The décor is the same – a red padded loveseat against the window, dressers around the room, and he’s sure the floorboard is still loose over next to the bed.

The bed.

The very small, suitable-for-a-single-person bed.

He groans, and Gale looks over from where he’d been placing their bags atop the shelf closest to the wall.

“Oh, for the sake of all nine layers of Avernus,” the wizard hisses. He makes for the door, and Astarion knows this is only going to end one way. He’d rather curl up on a tiny bed than be forced out into the waning sunset.

“It’s fine,” he asserts. “We can just get cozy, darling.”

Gale dithers, and Astarion makes his mind up for him by pulling his linen shirt off overhead. It would be warmer with it on, but he flushes with still unusual heat at the way his husband’s eyes lock onto him as his pale skin is revealed. The removal of his trousers is met with similar enthusiasm, and he knows he’s got him when the man takes a faltering half-step away from the door towards him.

He feels like a lure, but it’s so different to every other way he’s baited someone into bed. Astarion banishes the thought, the comparison that is so vastly removed that it doesn’t belong in the same realm of his brain. He wants his husband to cuddle him to sleep, and he knows he’ll oblige by the way he begins tugging off his own clothing in a flurry of fabric and flailing limbs.

Just cuddles, tonight; it goes unsaid. Gale, for all his talk, is fantastic at picking up on the minutiae of Astarion’s signals, reading his body so effortlessly it might as well be his mind with the assistance of a mindflayer tadpole. And he seems equally delighted by the notion of cuddles, tucking around Astarion close on the bed so neither of them fall over the edge as they drift off to sleep.

***

They Send a note to Halsin, letting him know the plan has changed as they trudge their way out of the inn the next morning. They don’t stick around for breakfast, which has Astarion’s stomach rumbling in an entirely different hunger than he’s used to; they resolve to stop somewhere on the way to hire a carriage.

A carriage. It’s a quaint notion, but one he enjoys – far better to travel by cart than warp and lose even more of their belongings. The time they’d planned to spend in Reithwin would be better spent making the trip to the Gate, and they could meet up with their friends there. Some of their planned time to visit the lands no longer touched by the Shadow Curse would be cut short, but Astarion was happy enough to just be spending time with his lover in the sun.

Of course, there’s no carriages available to rent as they reach the edge of town. They’ve all been taken, people wanting to escape the encroaching chill of winter that was settling early over the small country town for the warmer embrace of the Gate.

There’s no point arguing with the poor lad who tells them the sorry news, but that doesn’t stop Gale from launching into an exhausted monologue about the state of their trip the second they’re out of the stables. He kisses him softly, mostly out of adoration for his ability to launch into a tirade after getting nearly no sleep, but at least slightly out of a desire for him to stop exacerbating Astarion’s growing headache.

“We’ve done the walk before,” Astarion points out, leaning their foreheads together and looking into warm brown eyes which soften before his gaze.

“I wanted better than this. I wanted you to have better memories, wanted us to enjoy this trip,” Gale protests.

Astarion can only kiss him again at the plaintive tone his voice takes on.

“Oh, my sweet, silly wizard,” he says, letting one hand come up to cup his cheekbone. He delights in the way his husband leans into his touch, how his skin and stubble feels under his blood-warmed fingers. “I’ll enjoy wherever I am, if I’m with you.”

It’s sappier than he usually allows himself to be in public, but this is his husband, and he’s trying to be sweet to Astarion as usual. He tilts his head down to kiss him on the forehead, then pushes away carefully.

“Come on,” he says. “Let’s grab something sweet to eat, and start our journey.”

***

The first dubious stroke of luck seems to strike as they make their way across the bridge heading out of town, munching on sweet cinnamon buns as they go; Astarion’s been enjoying the sweet tooth he’s discovered in himself. He’s carrying his own pack once more – insisting that one can’t always be a gentleman, and he’s big enough to carry a bag, thank you Gale. His own words always seem to work when spun around against him, Astarion’s noticed.

That said, he’s relieved to be able to put it down as they spy a familiar face among the slow-moving traffic heading out of the cobbled streets.

“Lia!” Gale calls, surprised to see the Tiefling so far away from Ramazith’s tower.

She whips her head around to see them, and grins as she takes them in from where she sits atop a loaded cart stacked with bales of hay.

Astarion blinks at her stupidly for a moment, adjusting his eyes to take her in. She seems to be steering the cart away from Reithwin, two oxen pulling to a halt as she stops to dismount.

“Hey, guys!” she calls jovially as they approach. She clasps arms with Gale in a friendly gesture, claps Astarion on the shoulder. They’d never been particularly close, but he knows she appreciates them looking out for her brother as he’d taken on Lorroakan back in the day.

“What are you doing out here?” Gale asks, which makes her laugh.

“Could ask you the same thing,” she points out. Fair point. She still elaborates first.

“I’ve been helping the other Tieflings get settled on some farmland in Rivington. It’s mostly been building houses,” Lia tells them excitedly. “Cal and I needed something to do while Rolan was off learning how to be a proper wizard. Thank you for the resources, by the way.” She says this to Gale, who waves it away. Astarion can’t remember much about that, but he guesses it hadn’t registered as important that his husband had been helping yet another troubled wizard learn to use the Weave beyond his students.

“And the hay?” the elf asks, dipping his head to indicate the cart.

“We’re up to getting some animals settled, but it’s been harder to grow feed on the older soil. Halsin offered to help us out, last time he visited.”

Makes sense, Astarion supposes. He doesn’t much care for the doldrum, beyond making sure he and Gale are fed and watered each day.

“What about you? What are you doing here?” Lia asks, eyes bright as she takes them in curiously.

He knows what they must look like. Neither of them have slept well, and Astarion’s resurrection hasn’t made his complexion any warmer. It doesn’t stop the beauty shining through on Gale’s face as he cheerfully tells her that they’re having a trip to celebrate their marriage.

“Congratulations!” she interrupts to say, “That sounds so exciting! I would love to see more of the world – it’s why I volunteered to come back, you know? There’s just something about travelling that settles the itch under my skin.”

Astarion wants to agree with her – that getting out of the tower has soothed something in him that balks at the idea of settling down in one place.

In truth, it’s the opposite. They haven’t been gone for a full day of their month-long trip, yet he longs for the comfort of their bed, the balcony overlooking the bay, their books and Tara. He wants to curl up in front of the hearth, resting his head on Gale’s stomach while the man lays on his back, a book propped above him and pages turned with a Mage Hand. Wants to try experimenting with spices and flavours, making his husband flinch as he tastes exotic and unheard-of combinations. Wants to watch the sunset from the roof, Tara curled in his lap with his fingers petting her feathery fur.

He’s drawn from his thoughts as the two of them look at him expectantly. He tries not to flush – a damned inconvenient quirk of the living.

“Only if it’s not a problem for you,” Gale says to Lia, who waves a hand at him.

“There’s plenty of room, and it’s not like we have different destinations! It’s the least I can do for you. You’ll just have to put up with sharing with the hay, although one of you could probably sit up on the bench with me.”

Gale squeezes his hand.

“Shall we?”

He tries to catch up, but it seems they’ve found a ride to the city, and he’s not going to look a gift horse-cart in the mouth, or however that idiom goes. He graciously takes the hand Gale offers him to help him step up to the back of the cart, settling as comfortably as he can against the straw.

***

By the time they make it into Rivington, they’re exhausted. It’s been several days of travel on the cart, stopping for meals and laying around the campsite in the evenings. Lia had a spare bedroll – one of Cal’s or Rolan’s, they assume; which they’d split in half to lay across a hay bale on the ground each night. Near enough to the fire to keep warm, but far enough away that the spitting embers and ash couldn’t catch them alight.

It had been rather romantic, being out under the stars again. Despite the discomfort of their sleeping arrangement, that is. And in spite of the fact that so far, they hadn’t had any romantic interludes on their whole journey. It was hard to be ungracious after Lia had welcomed them along so kindly, but it had been hard to find even a moment of privacy.

Needless to say, they’re grateful in more ways than one to bid her and her cart farewell as she turns off the main road towards the former refugee camp, now turned open farming land. There’s a few distant structures that weren’t there before, slightly shoddy-looking but sturdy from what his inexperienced eye can tell.

Their passage through Wyrm’s Crossing and the Rock into the Lower City is much easier this time around. Their reputation clearly smooths their way, despite the last time either of them had been seen publicly in the town had been as they’d pulled themselves out of the Chionthar; dripping wet and covered in river muck.

They’re only a bit better off this time. The smell of hay was overpowered by the smell of the oxen, permeating their hair and clothes no matter how much they’d cleaned off in the banks of the river along the way. All Astarion wants to do is sink into a hot bath with lots of soaps, and crawl into bed.

They have further to go, though. Gale has splurged this time, a stunning little inn beyond the Gate. The Elfsong had been considered, but it held some difficult memories as well, and was better suited for the open, dormitory-style rooms like the one they’d shared in their adventure. The Helm and Cloak is pretty upscale, but getting there isn’t the easiest. It’s lucky they’re recognised as the Heroes of the Gate, really, because as unkempt as they are it’s unlikely, they would have gotten anywhere near the Temples District otherwise.

The inn is startlingly clean and beautifully decorated, when they arrive.

The process of checking in goes a lot smoother than it had at The Last Light. Gale has barely told the wizened man behind the desk his name before two shining, matching golden keys are pressed upon them. Astarion clings tightly to the strap of his bag as a passing young man wearing a neat uniform attempts to take it from him. The half-elf shrugs at him, then walks off, leaving them to carry their own bags up the stairs to the number engraved on each of the keys.

Astarion doesn’t notice it at first, in such a rush to drop his bag and beeline to the sunken tub in the corner of the room. It’s only when he realises Gale hasn’t sprung to join him that he turns to take in the room.

It’s stunning. Golden light filters through the glass windows, clean dark floorboards and soft rugs in pristine condition. A perfect room, a reward for how terrible their adventure had gone thus far.

Except.

Except, there’s two beds- and they’re both singles.

“Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me,” Astarion sighs, investigating the wooden frames around the two twin beds. It’s possible to push them together, he thinks; he turns to mention as much to Gale when he notices the man is no longer in the room.

sh*t.

He runs to the door, dropping his bag next to Gale’s as he races to the top of the stairs. He can already hear the deep tones of his husband’s voice – not raised, not threatening, but definitely pissed-off as he talks to the man behind the desk.

Astarion descends carefully, curious about what he’ll overhear. His elven ears are definitely a boon to him in this moment, and he finds himself flushing deep burgundy when he hears Gale tell the man in no uncertain terms that they better find them a room with one double-sized bed so he could finally make love to his new husband.

The concierge is no better, bright red in the face as he stutters and stammers his way through apologies. Gale clearly doesn’t care to listen to the hurried explanation about how there’s no more rooms, how they book out so far in advance and about how sorry he is for the confusion in the booking. Astarion feels a new level of heat spread through him as burning brown eyes land on his, an answering flush on the wizard’s face as he knows he’s been overheard.

Astarion shakes his head, then crooks a delicate finger in his direction.

Gale follows him wordlessly up the stairs, ignoring the other patrons and the man who’d checked them in resolutely. They can make the best of it, like they always do.

He makes a point of locking the door firmly behind Gale, kissing him softly as he starts to undress him.

“The beds,” Gale says plaintively.

“You can f*ck me on a much smaller surface than that,” Astarion huffs. “Besides, we’re just taking a bath, for now.” He tugs at the human’s shirt, pulling it off over his head as he leans into the touch.

“I can,” and soft lips brush against his ear with a wicked smirk. “But I wanted to spread you out, take my time exploring you tonight.”

Astarion hates and loves in equal measure what that does to his body, especially when they can’t act on it here.

“Get in the bath,” he says, and laughs as Gale tugs him along with him.

***

“It’s not so bad.”

Astarion huffs, rolling over to face the man as they lay on their separate mattresses a few inches apart.

They’d tugged and pulled the beds as close as they could to each other, struggled for ages to move the heavy mahogany frames together; but the wood surrounding and supporting the soft mattresses made it difficult to push them flush together.

“I want you to f*ck me,” he says mildly, watching Gale’s eyes darken. They’ve had a few glasses of wine, some cheese and rolls before retiring. The effervescent wine still bubbles pleasantly through his bloodstream, warming him from the inside out.

Or maybe that’s just the heated eyes on him, heavy, tangible.

“My love, we’re not going to fit on that bed,” his love says. Astarion resists the urge to stick his tongue out petulantly – but only just.

“Fine.”

He lets silence reign for a few moments. Gale doesn’t look away, and neither does he; eyes locked as they’re inches and oceans apart.

Astarion lets his lip quirk up in a smirk, as his hand drifts down to rest on his stomach. Brown eyes snap down to watch his hand, and he revels at the attention. He lets himself preen a little, his naked torso glinting under the candlelight as he slips his hand further down to reach into his soft sleep trousers.

He hears Gale’s throat click as he swallows roughly, audibly.

“What a shame, darling,” Astarion sighs heavily as he reaches down tug his length out of his trousers. It takes nothing at all to get him hard, especially after days of denial stuck on the back of the oxen cart. Even more so, with dark eyes tracking his every movement so deliciously. He traces dexterous fingers up and down, tracing the veins that line his co*ck and teasing his thumb under the head gently.

He writhes performatively, a gasp dripping from his lips as he bucks his hips up into his hand. He keeps his eyes on his husband and lets his mouth drop open a little, forming a wordless cry of his name.

There’s a flash of light, and Gale is standing suddenly at the end of their beds. Astarion pauses in his ministrations, hand wrapped loosely around himself as he sits up a bit to watch, enjoying the way those eyes glow as he deftly moves his fingers through the motions of his casting.

The man is concentrating, doing – well, something. Astarion lets out a short yelp of surprise as he feels the bed beneath him snap slightly, like a rubber band being stretched and falling back into a new form.

When he looks, he can see that the bed has been transmuted slightly. The wooden frame is now blended into one. It’s impossible to see where the two once stood separately, the grain and texture seamlessly mixed into one. Even the mattress is now one completed piece, one which Gale happily flops onto as he finishes his spell-craft and strips out of his own sleeping clothes.

“Better?” Astarion asks as he’s rejoined back on the bed, laughing a little at his lover’s enthusiasm as he pounces on him.

“Much,” Gale breathes giddily against his lips. He tastes like the wine, like the sweet raisins that were in the buns from dinner, and like the essence of something uniquely Gale. He drinks it down, lifting his hips at the hands that roam down his sides as the kiss turns passionate, deep, consuming. He offers himself up readily, letting a whimper slide between their mouths as a warm, broad hand slides down to wrap around his dripping length.

Gale runs his thumb over the tip of him, both of them looking down to watch; he presses in gently, then pulls his hand away slowly to watch the string of pre-cum drool back down against his length from Gale’s fingers.

“f*ck,” Astarion hisses, and bucks his hips up hard so he can thrust against his husband’s own erection.

The man lets out a groan, leaning forward to plant one of his elbows and gain better purchase to keep kissing him open. A hand slides carefully around to push his leg up and splay him open, a wet finger gently running over his entrance. He arches his back up to push them together, gasping a desperate plea.

Gale obliges, shifting so they can keep rutting together mindlessly, rocking his hips down and forward firmly to drive Astarion wild under the sensation. He adjusts, planting his knee firmly into the mattress to gain better purchase as he whimpers into his mouth.

A sharp crack is the split-second warning they get.

“Ow!” Astarion yelps as they bang foreheads together, Gale’s weight landing on him and crushing him in a less-pleasant-than-usual manner as the bed suddenly gives way beneath them. The once-sturdy wooden frame, weakened by the alteration, splits right down the middle, causing the mattress to bend in half and send them rolling into the middle of the cracked bed on the floor.

Gale yelps as Astarion flails in the moments of chaos and confusion, accidentally knocking him somewhere unpleasant as he wriggles to take in the situation.

Once he understands, though, he can’t help but lay in the middle of the dip that the two broken halves of the bedframe form in the mattress, gasping for air as he descends into loud guffaws.

His husband looks at him in concern for a moment, assessing the damage; seeing that there is none, he seems to also find the hilarity in the situation, letting out his own huff of laughter. He’s smiling even as he shakes his head, leaning down to kiss him. It doesn’t become deep, Astarion too struck by the amusem*nt of the situation.

“Come on, we should try to fix this so we can sleep,” Gale says, despite the way he’s placing pecks against Astarion’s face and cheeks.

“No, no, come on, my love, f*ck me, f*ck me like this,” Astarion giggles breathlessly against Gale’s mouth. The responding grin only heightens his own amusem*nt, and he rocks his hips back up again with considerable effort. Neither of them are particularly hard anymore, but the intimacy of a shared moment of vulnerability and hilarity is nice; Astarion rolls his hips further to make Gale’s co*ck slide between his thighs and over his entrance teasingly.

“S-stop, stop making me laugh, I can’t-” Gale chuckles against his skin, the vibrations of it buzzing through Astarion’s skin as the human presses his mouth against his neck.

“Put it in me, baby,” Astarion guffaws, and that’s it- words that could be appealing under the right context destroying any visage of a moment that might have remained. They lay there, giggling, just enjoying each other’s company in the giddy moment until they’re ready to get up and put the room back to some version of right.

***

“I thought it would be nice, you know?” Gale pouts into his neck later, much later. They’re on the mattress on the floor, one of his legs thrown over Astarion’s thighs as he’s pressed along his side.

He hums encouragingly, wordlessly asking him to continue the thought. His love huffs, warm air puffing out over Astarion’s sensitive skin.

“A romantic escape, for the two of us. See the sights, bask in the sun. Try new foods, have some amazing sex and suchlike. But it’s just been a disaster from the start, and we still have thirty-one days to go.”

“Gale,” Astarion says, as patiently as he can, pulling himself out from the grip Gale’s clinging to him with so he can cup the man’s face in his hands. “The life I live with you is not something I want, nor will ever want, to escape from.” He looks into cinnamon-brown eyes, making sure the truth takes.

It seems to, if the blush that suffuses his husband’s cheeks is any indication.

“I love you,” is all he says in response, the end of it muffled against Astarion’s lips.

And Astarion realises he’d give a thousand days over to illness, would lose all of his worldly possessions to a portal if it means he and his husband can be back in their tower in the next hour. Screw the itinerary, the beaches and visiting friends and the different cuisines; there’s nowhere else on the continent he’d rather be.

“Take me home, mage,” he whispers into Gale’s ear, closing his eyes against the surge of purple arcane light that glitters around them as his husband obliges.