Chapter Text
Astarion stepped out of the shower, breathing in the fragrant steam that billowed around him. He had arrived back from a session at the gym only an hour before. Gale had still been asleep when he left. The usually early riser was feeling the unpleasant effects of his illness and had been resting longer during the mornings. He pleaded with Astarion to wake him, saying he felt as if he was “wasting his day,” but Astarion brushed him off. It was time for him to be cared for instead of him doting on everyone else.
Astarion wiped at the condensation fogging the oval mirror on his side of the double vanity. He opened a drawer and pulled out shaving cream. He found himself smiling as he saw his personal items mingling with Gale’s.
He hadn’t been living with Gale for long, only a few days, but everywhere he looked, there was something that belonged to him. His old, worn out Vans were in the closet next to Gale’s custom ordered Oxfords. His department store Christmas candle sat on the marble countertop of the kitchen island. Even his tattered blanket, the one and only thing his parents had left with him when they abandoned him as an infant, was neatly folded and proudly hung on back of Gale’s armchair.
And the most spectacular bit of it all? Gale had never judged, never made a rude remark or an expression of disgust. When Astarion voiced his concerns of bringing the value down of the home with his belongings, Gale had simply said, “These items are what make you you, and I wouldn’t have it any other way.”
Astarion had started to lather the cream around his jaw when his phone began to ring in the bedroom. He cursed, wiping his hands on the towel wrapped around his waist, and sprinted out of the bathroom.
Gale didn’t stir once at the disturbance. His arms were hugged tightly around his pillow, hair splayed about, and the sheet kicked down to cover his lower half. Astarion wanted nothing more than to crawl over the bed and press his lips to those tan shoulder blades, but his phone was still blaring a god awful default ringtone into the room.
He made his way to the kitchen and answered the call. He hadn’t recognized the number, but he suspected it wasn’t a spam call from the area code.
“Hello?”
“Hello? Astarion?” The voice asked. It sounded familiar but he couldn’t quite place it.
“Depends who’s asking?” He replied, leaning back against the counter.
“It’s me! Isobel Thorm! I got your number from Cazador. I hope you don’t mind.”
Isobel Thorm, the Isobel Thorm had called him. His heart skipped a beat at her name and excitement brewed deep inside of him, but as quickly as the mood appeared, it flitted away. He hadn’t spoken to her since the show. She was probably calling to tell him how poorly he had done and that he’d made a mockery of her designs.
“Astarion? Damn tunnels,” she grumbled.
“Hm? Yes! Sorry, I’m still here.” Astarion breathed in through his nose and out through his mouth. Here we go. Nothing to worry about about. You’ve been let down before.
“Wonderful! I happen to be back in Baldur’s Gate for the holidays and I wanted to speak with you. In person of course, if that’s alright?” Isobel’s tone indicted no ill will. She actually sounded hopeful.
Astarion had forgotten Isobel hailed from the same city as him. How lucky she was to make it out…
He looked up from where he stared at his nails and noticed Gale walking towards him with a smile. He was shirtless with only plaid pajama pants and his glasses on. He had thrown his hair up in a messy bun, loose strands framing his face.
“That would be…”
Gale’s mouth was on his neck. His body pressed against Astarion, gripping the barista’s hip with one hand and his thumb stroking over it. Astarion pulled away to scowl, but he couldn’t resist the heat in the author’s eyes. Gale dipped back in and Astarion shuddered. Then he remembered the phone in his hand.
“That w-would…That would be g-great,” he stuttered.
“Are you okay? I didn’t mean to bother you if you’re busy.”
“No, no!” Astarion said as Gale’s tongue dragged along his chest and down to his nipple. “Everything’s w-wonderful. A ch-chill in the air is all.”
“Oh, dear. Well, I’ll leave you be to warm up and text you to arrange a date. See you soon!” Isobel bid him farewell and hung up before he could do the same.
Astarion slammed his phone down on the counter with a huff. He wasn’t angry with Gale in any way, but the man was a tease and he was frustrated.
Astarion grabbed the author’s shoulders and pushed him away, squinting at him. Gale shot him a smirk.
“What has gotten into you?” Astarion asked with a tilt of his head.
Gale pressed forward again.”You’re the one standing in our kitchen with only a towel on. This,” he swiped his finger through the lather on Astarion’s face, “is new. I don’t believe I’ve ever seen you shave.”
“We have only lived together for a few days, darling. I usually keep up with it. Would you prefer I didn’t?” Astarion wasn’t exactly keen on growing facial hair, but he couldn’t deny he was curious how Gale would react to stubble running along his inner thigh. He imagined the man squirming before him.
“Whatever you wish, my love, but I much prefer the towel.”
Gale’s lips connected with Astarion’s, uncaring of the shaving cream smearing on his face. His hips ground up and Astarion felt his erection rubbing against his own hardening cock. The barista’s hands came up to rest on Gale’s chest. Astarion broke the kiss, panting.
“You’re still recovering,” he breathed.
“Inhaler’s in my pocket,” Gale said against his mouth.
Astarion searched his partner’s eyes, seeing nothing but want for him. He grabbed his towel and yanked at it, letting it fall to the floor.
“Fuck it,” he said before diving back into the kiss and letting Gale lift him onto the counter.
~
“How’s your breathing? Nothing hurts, right?” Astarion asked as he propped himself on one elbow.
Somehow in the chaos of kitchen sex, they had ended up lying across the floor. Their bodies were coated in sweat and a sticky residue left over from the shaving cream that had been spread between them. Astarion knew he would be heading directly back towards the shower after he had full mobility of his legs again.
“My lungs ache a little, but-”
“But nothing,” Astarion stopped the author with a finger to his mouth. “One more day of rest. Tav’s coming over to discuss designs later. You can have your daily enrichment when she joins us for dinner.”
Gale snorted. “Funny.”
The barista pecked Gale’s nose and smiled as he scrunched it. Gale had finally given in two days prior and had explained the reason for Tav being at their home the day he’d been rushed to the hospital. He could see the guilt blooming behind those brown eyes. Gale had wanted to him to feel welcome and the best way he knew how to do that was to allow Astarion to make the space his own. It was a gesture that had Astarion’s eyes welling up. Everyday he was astounded by Gale’s capacity to share himself with others.
Astarion’s phone vibrated on the counter. He reached up, grasping at it. It slid from the marble and smacked him directly in the face. He winced and turned it over, squinting, and saw a message from Isobel.
Hey! How’s tomorrow at noon looking for you? I was thinking we could meet at…
“Oh for fuck’s sake,” Astarion muttered. His head collapsed to the floor.
“What?” A thick eyebrow raised in curiosity.
“Isobel. She’s who I was on a call with earlier. She’s in town and asked to meet, and unfortunately, she’s chosen the Coffee You Know while I’m on shift.”
“You can’t steal away for a few moments?”
“Afraid not. There’s new inventory coming in for the holiday and Raphael has been up our asses lately about putting it away. He’s being an even sketchier fucker than usual.”
Astarion thought back to the last shipment that had come into the shop. There were the usual items of to go cups, beans, straws, and syrups, but there had been a few extra boxes. They were unlabeled and unmarked. Astarion was centimeters away from tearing one open when Raphael hurried over, slapping his hands away, and saying he would take care of them.
The boxes, along with Raphael, disappeared for the day. Astarion didn’t bother questioning his employer’s suspicious attitude. Whatever that slimeball of a man was up to, the barista didn’t want to meddle in. He could turn a blind eye as long as he received his biweekly pay check.
“What about asking to meet at a different time?” Gale proposed.
Astarion sighed. “I work the earliest shift and we’re supposed to shop for a tree tomorrow after I’m off.”
“We can reschedule tree browsing if-”
“No! This will be the first time I’ve ever owned a real Christmas tree. We’re going…and buying ornaments afterwards…and maybe stopping for hot cocoa.” Gale chuckled as Astarion listed plans for the next day. Astarion wanted all the bells and whistles of a cozy Christmas. “I’ll figure things out for my meeting with Isobel later.”
~
Astarion shook a canister of whipped cream and sprayed a swirl of it on top of the “Merry Peppermint Mocha” he had finished making. He reached into a jar and sprinkled a pinch of red sanding sugar on top and garnished it with a mini candy cane. As he handed it over to the preteen that waited eagerly at the counter - and clearly did not care about the candy getting lodged in her braces - he heard his name. He looked up to see Isobel strutting up to the counter, removing her gloves with a grin.
“You…work here?” The designer stopped at the register. Her eyes scanned the shop before returning to his.
“Yes,” Astarion answered, heat crawling up his neck and ears. “I didn’t want to be rude by saying no to your offer, but I don’t have anyone to cover for me. My coworkers are busy in the back. I understand if you no longer want to talk.”
Isobel waved her glove at him with a shake of her head, bob swaying around the collar of her jacket. Astarion couldn’t help but think about how that jacket was probably worth more than everything he owned.
“I won’t keep you long. I’ll just…” Isobel shifted around the counter. She slowed as she ducked to move around a customer, eyes creeping over the muscular, blonde woman, who turned to cast a similar glance at the designer. Usually people shied away from Aylin, but Isobel gave a confident wink.
Astarion smirked as Isobel settled near the end of the counter, a darting look towards the basket of plastic wrapped brownies in front of her. Astarion picked one out and handed it to her.
“I can give you her number, if you’d like,” he said, “I go to her gym. She’s nice, intimidating as hell, but nice.”
“I may take you up on that, but first, how have you been? I haven’t been able to speak with you and I was pretty worried. Cazador said you were fine, but if I’m being honest, I believe only half of what he says.”
So, Cazador hadn’t dragged him through the coals like he expected. The agent was more likely wanting to save his own reputation by staying quiet than actually caring for the barista. Astarion dreaded the day he strolled back into the agency. There would be nothing but a verbal tongue lashing waiting for him.
There were days he wondered if it were all worth it. If the criticism of his body and mind would be worth swallowing down for a glimpse at a successful future. Astarion had been stuck in the same vicious cycle since nineteen, always reaching for the prize, but it was too far from his grasp.
He could quit, continuing his day job at the coffee shop. He knew Gale would care for him. He would want for nothing, but he wanted to be able to provide something. He wanted to be equals, for Gale and for himself.
Astarion sighed, pushing away his worries and grabbed a plastic cup. Aylin’s name was scribbled across it. He spoke with Isobel while preparing the iced latte.
“I’m okay. A small concussion, nothing terrible.”
Isobel’s expression was nothing but sympathy. “You will tell me if you aren’t feeling well next time, won’t you?”
Astarion poured the milk a little too heavy handed as he registered the designer’s words. He sat the carton down and looked to her, bewildered.
“Next time? You would want to work with me again? I was sure I had completely made a fool of myself at the show and-”
“Stop right there,” Isobel demanded, holding a finger up. Astarion’s lips snapped shut. “Don’t belittle yourself because of a health scare. You wore my designs well, better than most seasoned models. Not once have I questioned working with you again. That’s precisely why I wanted to meet with you today. I have an upcoming shoot for the new spring line and would love for you to be a part of it.”
The barista’s jaw hung open. Spring line? This was an opportunity that could catapult him forward in the industry. He would be seen in magazines and billboards across the country, the world. His face plastered in Times Square and Tokyo as onlookers admired him. He would have to be a complete idiot to pass up on her offer.
“Isobel, I-why, yes! Yes, I accept. Thank you!”
“Perfect! I’ll shoot you the details by tomorrow evening,” Isobel told him before tapping the counter and starting to walk away. She hesitated for a second and turned. “And Astarion? You’ve been privately hired by me. Let’s keep things hush hush with Cazador.”
Astarion nodded and watched her leave, kohl covered eyes raking over Aylin one more time.
He snapped the lid onto the latte after pouring the espresso, smiling like a loon the entire time. He couldn’t wait to tell Gale the good news when he came to pick him up.
Astarion carried the drink over and slid it across the counter to Aylin. The giant of a woman bent forward, one buff arm heavily resting on the bakery case.
“Tell me about this Isobel.”
__________________________________
Gale stepped back from the tree to grab another ornament but paused, staring as Astarion stretched to place a glittery golden bulb on a branch. He slid his phone from his pocket and quickly snapped a photo. Illuminated only by the strands of warm Christmas lights, Gale believed Astarion could rival the beauty of any angel topper sold in stores.
~
They had spent the rest of the afternoon and part of the evening perusing through rows upon rows of evergreens at the Christmas tree farm. Astarion chatted away about his meeting with Isobel while skipping through the makeshift forest with glee. His hands ran along branches, testing their stability, checking for missing needles, comparing heights and fullness.
At first, Gale enjoyed his eagerness. He wanted Astarion to have the entire Christmas experience and he would do his best to provide, but after the barista had snubbed the twenty-sixth tree, Gale mentally prepared himself for an arduous night.
Forty-two trees later, Astarion finally decided on a balsam fir that Gale estimated would just barely brush their ceiling in the living area. They had went to the little shack near the front and Gale was seconds away from handing over his card, paying extra for delivery within two hours, when he heard Astarion gasp and grab his arm.
“Gale.”
“Yes, my love?”
Astarion pointed to the corner of the tiny building. “Look, they have Charlie Brown trees.”
The author glanced from Astarion to the trees - that could hardly be considered trees and more-so branches - and back to Astarion, greens eyes resembling a puppy begging for a treat. He sighed, but softened into a loving grin.
“Tara and Myshka will be pleased with their own tree, I suppose.”
With the tree(s) set for delivery, they were off on their next adventure - stopping briefly at the coffee shop for hot cocoa - to search for the perfect ornaments. As they approached the store and Gale noticed the reflection of the fluorescent red bullseye in Astarion’s gleaming green eyes, he was thankful he had prepared the lasagna earlier in the day, but when he felt a gloved hand slip into his, he reminded himself Astarion needed this. All of the pickiness, all of the time spent looking at tree after tree when they all appeared exactly the same to Gale, all of the hours walking through aisles while Astarion piled decorations into the cart were worth seeing the childlike glee on his partner’s face.
Wreaths, garland, lights, ornaments, pillows, and nutcrackers of every size and color were tossed into the cart until it overflowed with literal Christmas cheer. Astarion practically pranced to the checkout with arms full of wrapping paper and ribbon while Gale pushed along behind him. The cashier had let out a whistle when they began to unload their bounty onto the belt.
“First Christmas in the new home?” They had asked, scanning through items at light speed.
Gale considered their question. It had already been his home. He spent day after day in it, usually within the confines of his office. He had chosen neutral colors and the bland furniture with the forceful encouragement of Mystra. It remained spotless and everything had its place. It was safe, but there wasn’t any life to it.
He had listened in on Astarion and Tav as they sat on the barstool at the island the evening before. He had offered to steal away to the bedroom with a book, but Astarion refused to let him shy away, telling him it was his house. Gale blinked several times before saying he would be delighted to lend an ear while prepping dinner. A grin tugged at his lips when he heard Astarion tell Tav purple must be featured somewhere in the home.
Gale had looked back to the cashier as he heard the beep of the last box of lights.
“Yes,” he answered, “Yes it is.” Because with Astarion, it was becoming not only a place to sleep, but a place to live.
~
“Do you think it’s too much?” Astarion asked, climbing down a step stool from where he had placed a silver star on top.
Gale refused to tell him it was leaning slightly to the left. Instead, he took in the sight of the fir covered from top to bottom in white, gold, and silver. Each ornament had been placed with care and the lights had been evenly spaced. Even the tinsel added a nice touch of sparkle in the dimly lit area.
Gale went to Astarion, wrapping his arm around his waist and leaning in to place a soft kiss against his temple.
“It’s perfect,” he answered. “Let’s leave the rest for tomorrow evening. If you’d like, we can watch a movie while we eat dinner.”
“A Chr-”
“Yes, Astarion,” Gale chuckled. “A Christmas movie.”
In the glow of twinkling lights, they huddled together on the couch with their plates and watched National Lampoon’s Christmas Vacation, dozing off minutes before the end.
The next morning, Gale awoke to find Astarion standing barefoot on the counter while he strung up garland around the cabinets. He glanced around to see a wreath hanging on the front door and nutcrackers standing at attention in various locations. He heard a disgruntled meow along with a jingle and looked over to see the small tree they had bought for Tara and Myshka, leaning over from the weight of the bell ornament that Tara was batting at while Myshka grumpily waited his turn.
“My love, how long have you been awake?”
Astarion fussed with the garland, pulling it so it draped across the cabinets. “Not long. An hour or so.”
“I’d be happy to help, but I’m afraid I do need to steal away for a few hours in my office.” Unfortunately, Gale had been falling behind in his writing. He knew readers were still interested in his book. Sales were through the roof and after the holidays, book signings and interviews would be scheduled once again, but none of that mattered to him. He wrote for himself and found happiness at watching words appear across the page.
There was also the matter of Rolan. His agent called, wanting to speak with him days ago, but with his hospital stay and recovery, he had found himself lacking the energy for a conversation.
“Go ahead, darling. I can handle this. I’ll bring a bagel in for you in a bit,” Astarion said.
“And tea?”
“Of course.” Astarion shooed him with a wave of his hand. “Now run along before I’m tempted to come down and tie you up with this.”
Gale flushed and turned away before his mind could wander to more inappropriate thoughts of what Astarion could do with garland and ribbon.
He quickly ran through his morning routine and tossed on a hoodie before shutting himself inside his office.
The blank white screen glared back at him with its taunting emptiness. His fingers had danced across the keys more times than he could count and he had slammed an index finger on the backspace key an equal amount. The bin below his desk was filled with lined paper that contained discarded notes.
He brought the cinnamon raisin bagel that Astarion had lovingly prepared with a honey cream cheese to his mouth and bit into it harshly, tearing away a chunk in frustration. His first novel had flowed onto the pages with ease. There had been very few hiccups in the process, but this second go around was proving to be fruitless. He groaned, taking a gulp of lukewarm tea and letting his head fall to his desk.
His phone vibrated across the wooden surface. He peered up to see his agent’s name. With a sigh, he answered, head still smushed to the desk and glasses pushed up into his hair.
“Good morning, Rolan,” he greeted, voice muffled in the sleeve of his hoodie.
“Gale, how are you?” The usually apathetic agent’s voice carried the faintest hint of concern.
“If you’re asking about the pneumonia, much better, thank you. If it’s about writing, horrendous.”
“Well, I may have news that will interest you. I thought it would be better said over a call than an email.”
Gale sat up, scratching at his beard. If Rolan had waited to speak to him instead of sending an email, whatever he had to say must be important. The agent had never been one to have anything other than brief conversations.
“I must admit, you’ve grabbed my attention.”
“I’ve received word that a company wants to adapt your novel into a video game,” Rolan said enthusiastically. Gale remained straight faced.
“A video game?” He had expected a movie, a tv series, or even an audiobook, but a video game? He had dabbled in gaming in his younger years, but now his console sat hidden away under his tv stand collecting dust.
“Don’t sound so disappointed,” Rolan told him. “The gaming industry has shot through the roof since the pandemic. This could immortalize you in the entertainment world. Also…it’s D&D based.”
“D&D?” Rolan was playing dirty. He was aware of Gale’s love for the role playing game after their first meeting and Gale spoke of it being inspiration for his novel. It had been a year since his last campaign with Halsin and Wyll.
“I can forward the email to you.” Rolan was smug on the other line. He had pulled Gale by uttering two familiar letters that beckoned to the nostalgia in the author’s heart.
“I’ll read over it and get back-”
Gale was interrupted by Astarion opening the door. His chest was heaving and his skin had gone a ghostly white. Gale rushed out a goodbye to Rolan, who called his name before being cut off, and let his phone fall to the chair he swiftly vacated. He moved towards Astarion and cupped his face in his hands.
“Gale, she’s out there, at the door,” Astarion breathed, pointing in the direction of the front of the home.
“Who?” He knew plenty of “she’s” that could appear at his doorstep. His mother, Lae’zel, Tav, Karlach, Jen, but none of them would cause Astarion such a fright.
“Mystra.”
Gale didn’t say a word. His thumb stroked once against the barista’s cheek before his hands fell and he swallowed, moving past Astarion. He walked towards his front door, feeling the draft as cold air blew its way in from outdoors. He froze when he saw the sight waiting for him.
Mystra, standing in nothing but a silk chemise and fuzzy slippers, with a bruised face as the snow swirled around her, lifting the edges of her tangled hair.
“M-May I come in?”