Archive of Our Own

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They first had dinner on a Wednesday night...

To sit. A simple enough task and one he had managed, somehow, without much duress in his thirty nine years. This was no different. Even the glinting cutlery sparked memories of many a time before he had sat upon such cushioned chairs and lavish spreads, only to end the night spread beneath his host at the whims of another.

“How did you make the potato purée so smooth?” Light conversation. How it always started.

“Oh, that was quite the puzzle.” A delighted smile was his reward, white teeth shining out from the lightly bearded visage across from him. “But once one has patiently studied the techniques of Robuchon, it can be quite easy to replicate.”

“Interesting. I can say I’ve never had it before. The closest could be that quick mix stuff you just add water to from a packet.”

The bearded smile turned into a grimace, as though Astarion had insulted his mother. Maybe he had. He was forming an apologetic excuse before his host spoke up.

“Don’t even think about that horrid excuse for food. It is an insult to those who have strived to create so many flavours and textures, a myriad of colour in an otherwise bland and harsh world. I’ll hope you will never again suffer such horror upon your tongue. Not while in my house. Not ever.”

Astarion blinked. The man was a poet, and quite passionate about his craft. Very well.

“Very well,” he said out loud, lifting a forkful of the smooth buttery concoction to his mouth. “I shall endeavour to hold true to your requests.”

The dessert was a rather simple, though unbelievably delicious, honey yoghurt panna cotta. The only reason Astarion knew what it was called was because Mr Dekarios had presented it as though he were a waiter in a five star restaurant.

He left that night, stomach full and content with the instructions and promise he would return same time next week. He also left very confused, because the man had been fine with only keeping him for the exact five hours, and most of that had been spent eating and drinking wine while discussing the minutia of the world.

It was also interesting that – for the first time in countless years – he fell into a bed by himself and was asleep well before midnight.

---

Home-made cheese-stuffed ravioli. Of course it was.

Astarion stared down at his plate and poked a silver fork into the soft, yet extraordinarily well done pasta and stared at it in wonder. He wanted to observe this small piece of art, moulded by hand and presented just for him for longer, but his stomach clenched painfully and he was reminded why he was here. The plate was nigh licked clean within minutes, had he not caught himself and simply crossed the cutlery upon the empty porcelain dish in the silent etiquette of saying ‘I enjoyed this food’.

However many times he had visited this house of obvious wealth and stature, yet without hovering servants (or any staff for that matter), he had not once been disappointed or repulsed by that evenings fair. Mr Dekarios was always prompt with serving, keeping it down to three courses – ever mindful of Astarion’s shrunken stomach – and making a show of being the perfect host.

Every meal was craft by his own hand and every night ended promptly at 10pm, with Astarion’s coat handed to him at the door and an open invite to return same time the following week.

When this evening’s dessert was served, Astarion made a point to shift his place one seat over. That it automatically forced Mr Dekarios to do the same to continue facing directly across from him was completely the point of the exercise. The settings were shuffled a little and the bearded man looked a little flustered by the change, but did not question it as they both honed in on the chocolate lava cake that was still warm, fresh from the oven.

Astarion’s coat was handed to him as usual that night and their fingers brushed lightly together. He did not push for any further contact, but the blush spreading over the other man’s face sent a small shiver down Astarion’s spine.

As he walked out into the night, he pondered how the feeling was less of dread and more of…something else.

---

It had been three weeks since their last evening together, but Astarion was loathe to wait another night of watery soups and crammed shelters that served anything from a can. Blowing his nose and popping another cough drop, he braved the colder winds winding through Waterdeep and caught the bus that would drop him off closer to the Castle District.

Pompous filth layered beneath the guise of refinement and poise, the gates of mansions passed in a blur as he trudged up the hill to 224 Coast Road. He had been given the code on the first night and he punched it in, shivering with his head bowed low, waiting while the well-oiled motor smoothly rolled the gate back and allowed him access.

Golden light spilled over the crushed gravel driveway as he approached the house that should hold at least twenty people, but instead its loan occupant stood at the door, looking at him with an expression akin to worry.

Remembering the blush coating those well-groomed cheeks, Astarion struck him with a dazzling smile. To alleviate concern. To make sure the night would not be a waste. To keep their extremely odd, yet refreshing arrangement going for as long as possible.

“Halsin told me you were sick, but I did not know anything further.” Mr Dekarios said, taking Astarion’s coat as usual and hanging it neatly within the designated cupboard space. “You didn’t need to be out in this weather, I could have come to collect you.”

Alarm shot through him and Astarion, with a practice born of decades of trials and errors upon errors (and so many consequences of those errors), made sure none of that showed on his face. He smiled and sniffed delicately into a tissue.

“It was just the flu. That man must have made it sound worse than it was. All I’ve got left is a little sniffle, and that should be gone very soon.”

He moved smoothly into Dekarios’ personal space and revelled in the familiar sound of hitched breath, and that slight aroma of nervous sweat. It had been weeks of dancing around this topic and things needed to start moving along, or it could all fall apart too soon.

It was too good a deal to lose this early in the game.

Picking a non-existent speck of lint from the gently curled locks, Astarion tucked a stray strand behind the man’s ear and stepped back. “Just a bit of fluff. I hope you didn’t mind.”

The blush looked to be near setting Mr Dekarios’ neck on fire as he managed to find his voice, coughing with obvious nervousness.

“Of course not. Not at all. No.” He stammered, then paused. An uncomfortable silence stretching between them. Astarion was about to break it when Mr Dekarios clapped his hands together and bounced back in his heels. “Well then! Dinner is ready as always. And, as always, up in front and in full.”

The thick and heavy envelope was passed between them and Astarion pocketed it gingerly. It was always a lot of money to be just carrying around, but this had been the deal from the start. As they walked into the dining room (always the dining room, never anywhere else except the lavatory and ground floor bathroom used to freshen up. He didn’t even know how many rooms this place had) the other man chattered about the past few weeks. About the weather, about his cat, about his mother’s newest art piece.

It was mindless news and suited such a hermit like the rich fool before him quite well.

Dinner was presented this time in a near translucent porcelain bowl with little painted flowers and kittens dancing around the edges. Always sweet, always endearing. Rich enough to flaunt it, but never to gaudy excess.

Chicken soup.

His host must have guessed his thoughts because he piped up, a tell-tale squeak to his voice that Astarion had learned was directly related to nerves.

“It was Halsin again. I asked him if you had been eating well while under the weather and he made it clear you had been subsisting on the shelter meals. Frankly, he and I both agreed you would need a bit more than that to get better, so I have made enough to give to Halsin in the morning to pass onto you. Should last you the week. If you like it of course.”

‘ I hope you like it ’ hung unsaid in the air as Astarion brought the spoon to his lips and sipped the smooth, warm liquid into his mouth.

Had his nose not been so stuffy, he did not doubt the flavour would be exploding on his tongue right now. As it was, it still tasted miles better than pretty much anything he had eaten in life to date.

“It’s really good. And you didn’t have to make me any extra. Afterall, am I not here for your company first and foremost?” He could not let this one slip out of his life. Not yet. Please not yet.

“Oh I insist,” said Mr Dekarios. Gods, he would have to start finding a better way to address the man. The polite affectations were getting tiresome. “It’s my mother’s recipe and I hadn’t made it in so long, that I might have gone a little overboard. There’s two pots worth in the kitchen already.”

That nervous chuckle again.

Astarion smiled at him and kept spooning the soup into his mouth. Both to avoid replying while he was still trying to order his own thoughts, but also to give the very clear impression he did like the soup.

They sat in silence from then on. Aside from the gentle music from Swan Lake playing in the background and the equally gentle tick of a grandfather clock out in the main hall, the air was only permeated by little clinks of silverware and dainty slurps of a soup well appreciated.

While Mr Dekarios went to fetch their dessert, Astarion shifted over to the next chair. The table was long, but they were getting closer to the head of it. He wondered if the man knew. As the lemon sorbet with vanilla sauce was consumed, he wondered how long until they would finally move to the next step.

They never moved past the dining room and, at 10pm, Astarion turned down the offer of a lift. Back to his shabby loft space in a slumlord apartment complex? No. He’d rather keep the illusion alive.

 As he shambled down the street, fighting to keep his coat closed against the wind, Astarion thought deeply about that next step.

---

“May I ask you a rather personal question, my dear?”

They were sitting on the comfortable single seat settees in the same dining room they had been eating meals in for the past three months. The fire was crackling merrily as a background medley to their shared bottle of wine between them and Gale, as Astarion had managed to start calling him, had broken out chocolate Christmas cookies.

Christmas was already two weeks past, but the recipe was something the man had been eager to try over and over. It looked like Astarion would be waking up to another knock at his door in the morning, whereby Halsin would be making yet another delivery.

He’d have to start having words with that social worker about how odd this entire arrangement was, and how inappropriate this all felt. No matter how – well – sweet it was.

“Of course,” Gale answered and placed his glass on the little table between them and focused all his attention on the platinum blond man before him. “What can I avail to you?”

Astarion had grown used to the man’s manner of speech, like he was quoting a dictionary, and those deep brown eyes always seeking out his own so fervently. It was rather adorable, if a bit chaste and, as time had passed, it had been less like work and much easier to just meet them with equal energy. Sometimes he would crack a genuine smile in return, like it cost no effort at all.

Astarion steepled his fingers and lightly leaned his chin on the tips.

“How does a man like you end up in a house like this, and still manage the upkeep when I have never once seen a single other person around here?”

To the point.

In his general migration along the dinner table, they had managed to now occupy corner spaces with Astarion at the head. It was the only way to scooch around closer to the man, as Gale had not taken the hint to maybe move closer first. No longer were they looking across the white pristine cloth, table runners and candle sticks. They had been in much closer proximity these past few weeks and now said migration had them sipping wine by the fire in house slippers.

The domesticity of the scene should have unnerved him, but that ship had long since sailed. For now, he’d do with poking at Gale’s odd little defences and find out more about him.

If this arrangement could have progressed any slower, they’d be standing still in time.

Gale hummed lowly and nodded while speaking, a slight bitterness to his tone. “You make a good point. It does look like I live alone here all the time, never seeing anyone. I suppose only visiting once a week could give that impression.”

Damn, Astarion had miscalculated. This was sounding like a sore subject to bring up and he needed to do some serious course correction. He cleared his throat, hoping to get a word in edgewise. But Gale held up a finger and the words stuck before he could even start uttering them.

“No. Don’t get me wrong, I know what some people say about me.” He sighed and leaned his elbows on his knees. “ ’Eccentric inventor makes accidental discovery that propels artificial heart tech into the future. Medicine will never be the same!’ – And then he vanishes from the public face and isn’t seen for years. Until one single foray into a public library had him meeting a bear of a man who volunteered there, who then introduced him to the idea of reaching back into the community.”

Astarion sat, still like stone as more than just light anecdotes and general world events came pouring from the man’s mouth. He had intended to push a little bit, not shatter the entire façade. He waited for an impossibly long, silent minute before Gale continued.

“I do have recurring cleaners and maintenance people, but I don’t like random strangers in my home while I am here. It just feels, ach I don’t know. It feels like I am taking advantage of them, even though I am paying them to do the very job they are proficient at.”

The irony and contradiction of this statement did not seem to strike Gale as being remotely applicable to their current situation. He was either oblivious, or outright ignoring it for some reason.

“So,” he continued, “on the days they come around, I go out into the country and spend time walking among the heathers. Sometimes, during the harvest months, I go to farmers markets and trawl the local produce, bringing back enough to cook, boil, juice and can for later. I have been considering getting a dog to accompany me, though Tara might disapprove. She has enough trouble dealing with anyone in this house aside from me.”

He went quiet again and Astarion used every ounce of his years of training to not move a single muscle. There was a cough working up the back of his throat, but he could hold it. He needed to hear what else the man had to say.

He did not have to wait for too long as Gale took a long swallow of his wine and Astarion watched the movement of his Adam’s apple bobbing with the act, an odd little bit of fascination on his own part.

Gale put the empty glass down and frowned. “That day I met Halsin, he informed me of the local shelters that always needed volunteers. And I was free to do it. I have been living off my patent and have nothing better to do with my time, but it’s a wonder what forced isolation does to the mind after a while.

“I was so happy to be out from under the thumb of the Mystra Foundation that I shut myself away completely, avoiding all human contact. Even my own mother was not immune to my immaturity regarding my own boundaries I had decided to build up. So I could not suddenly break that pattern and dive back into social contact at a thought, it seemed impossible. I was turning into a regular Howard Hughes, inches from wearing tissue boxes on my feet. And then there was you.”

He looked up at Astarion and there was a glimmer of something in his eyes. Were those…tears? Then why the hells was he smiling?

“I know we have the oddest of relationships and I know full well that this,” he waved a hand around, “is not truly real. It’s a two way agreement, in which I am able to cook for someone without fearing their reactions if I fail or fumble, and in turn I can relax in some of the easiest company I have ever experienced.”

“You also spend a rather exorbitant amount of money, you know. More than just mere companionship and meals worth.” Astarion butted in and coughed to remove that stuck piece of phlegm lodged in his throat. The flu had kept making comebacks over the winter and he was dead sick of it, pun intended. “So you are a lonely man, trapped in this massive house all alone without a soul to rely upon. And then you met me.”

Astarion slowly drank the rest of his wine, letting the last, dark red drop linger on his bottom lip before a quick tongue darted out to lap it up. He caught Gale’s eyes flickering to the motion and he smiled a careful, practiced smile as he put the glass down and stood up.

“We’ve been playing this game too long already,” he said, stepping towards Gale who now looked frozen in his seat, rearing back with wide eyes. “Dancing around the true meaning of this, us. All of these little hints and moments of companionship.”

Astarion stepped between Gale’s legs and leaned over, hands planted on the armrests of the chair and faces now mere inches apart. He could sense that scent again. Sweet, nervousness with a touch of…

He pressed a knee gently forward and Gale’s hands gripped the armrests till every knuckle shone white. There it was.

Arousal.

“Ah, I see we, we I know you that I…the food was a gift and – Astarion, please.” Gale stuttered and raised one hand to Astarion’s chest, gently pushing at him.

He stepped back as Gale shoved himself into a wobbly stance, hands clenching and unclenching by his sides. Like he did not know what to do with them.

He waited. This was where it was always going to go, it was only a matter of how they were going to get there. It felt different this time, almost disappointing that the little game was finally at its end. Though at the same time he felt relieved. It was what he was familiar with and, thanks to the amount of money stashed away from this arrangement, he was finally on his way out of the slumlord dump and could move even further from Baldur’s Gate.

Maybe to another country. That would be perfection.

As these thoughts ran rampant through his head, Astarion kept his face neutral, though a ghost of a smile flitting across his lips. The dark haired man barely an arm’s length now before him was almost vibrating out of his skin. He raised a hand as though to comfort.

“Astarion, no!”

The hand dropped and alarm shot through his stomach, his chest tight and smile now frozen on his face.

Gale sighed and ran his hand roughly through his normally well coifed long hair. It fell into his eyes and he scratched at his scalp in apparent agitation, pacing now out of reach of the blond who was stuck in place by the fire.

“I know, I know.” Gale muttered, staring at the floor. “I know what it was you did before meeting me. I know this is a business relationship and I understand how odd this all must be for you but, well…I. Dammit.”

Was he a virgin? Was that what this fluster was all about?

Astarion forced his lips to curve into a smile of warm understanding, making the emotion spread to his eyes. He knew how this worked. Much like coaxing a spooked animal out from its burrow, he needed to tread the ground very carefully here to lure Gale out of his shell.

“Darling. It’s okay to be nervous.” He stepped back, making the space between them a little wider. To reduce the feeling of being caged or coerced. “I have been thoroughly enjoying the company and time I spend with you. Your cooking is divine, my dear. But is making and serving me food really all that you want? Are you not hoping for this to develop into something more?”

The question hung in the air with a tension that should not have been present. Gale was, in all contradiction to expectations, looking even more spooked. If that were possible.

“If…if that is what you want. I guess I could, I don’t know, maybe if…”

The eloquent verbiage was gone right out the window and Astarion realised a truth they had both been avoiding for some time. The elephant in the middle of a very large room in an even larger house he had never seen beyond those doors.

He was a hired escort. Here to make the John as comfortable as possible while in receipt of his skills and knowledge. The contract made between them had been quite simple, with the provisos that all payments for services be presented up front. He had been screwed over too often to not list strict stipulations in this current agreement, though it was interesting how little actual screwing had occurred with his current exclusive client.

He was being paid to make Gale comfortable, and Astarion had been the only one getting anything out of the deal. Taking action was beyond overdue.

“Now,” he said, drawing out his words carefully. “We needed do anything you don’t feel comfortable about. How about we just take it slow and see what happens next?”

Gale still looked panicked, but had not run away like a frightened bunny yet. This was good.

“Like what?” The man was near looking about to burst a blood vessel.

Astarion stepped closer, slowly and carefully. Then turned and faced the fire, leaning on the mantle with one hand, the act of nonchalance intentional. His breath; steady. His poise; perfect.

“When Halsin described you to me, I initially thought you were some sort of stuck up rich boy. A little shy, but still just the same as all the others. You had money you wished to splash around, and I was there ready to accept it. The thing is, you honestly surprised me.” He turned his head, facing Gale sideways and quirked a smile. “You were kind. Are kind. The food you prepare me every visit is beyond exceptional, and your care for my wellbeing, though not entirely needed, was welcome anyway.”

He pushed away from the fireplace and stepped closer to Gale. The man didn’t move, but his eyes had softened somewhat. There was something growing behind them. Curiosity? Hope?

Lust?

Perfect.

“You said you were lonely, when we first met.” Astarion said, stepping closer still. “It’s a sore spot for you, to let someone into your life like this. But you have let me be a part of it for months now.” Another step. He was nearly within arm’s reach. “A companion to dine with in otherwise empty evenings in an echoey mansion, with nothing to keep you company but a seemingly endless wine collection and some classical music. Oh,” he chuckled lowly and stepped forward again. “And your darling cat. But she hates strangers, doesn’t she?”

He had gotten close enough to Gale to reach out and let his forefinger twirl lazily through an escaped lock of hair, before hooking it behind the man’s ear and trailing a finger down the shell, over his jaw and down to cup him gently by the chin. Astarion kept his eyes now on Gale’s lips, where a tongue darted out to wet them.

“Darling, who greeted me at the door tonight with you?”

Gale blinked and took a deep breath. “Tara.”

“Tara,” Astarion repeated. He leaned in closer. “If she trusts me, you can too.”

Their mouths met in the most chaste, gentlest of kisses Astarion could recall in his life. Stretching back decades, it was hard to pin down when he had last kissed or been kissed like this. The beard scratched gently over his own clean shaven skin. A warm hand came up and rested against the side of his face and Gale’s fingers didn’t paw or pull at him, but rather just seemed to hold him in place. Hold Gale in place.

The man was swaying a little and that was all the sign Astarion needed to press his body against the knitted vest of his John, his client. His…sugardaddy?

Astarion used every foul inch of his self-control to not burst out laughing. Instead he focused on the task at hand and gave Gale the greatest snog he probably had had in the last ten years, if not more. The man obviously had experience, albeit a little out of practice. But that was resolved quickly. Their heads tilted in opposition to each other as the kiss grew deeper and their tongues measured distance between them in mere millimetres, before becoming entwined and indistinguishable from the other. Gale tasted of strong, heady wine and a hint of cinnamon. The sweet pastries for that night’s dessert had overwhelmed the cookies by far and he drank it in hungrily. Pushing gently and guiding Gale backwards to the wall next to the fireplace, he knew there was space there just from memory and this man needed to be pinned.

And then devoured.

They broke apart after a solid two minutes or more, both panting and Astarion braced himself on the wall by Gale’s head. The man looked dishevelled, no longer in control and most certainly sparking with a fire in his belly that was an answer Astarion’s lucrative skills.

“I – wow.” Gale said, trying to catch his breath with a rather cute and goofy smile pulling at his face. “That was…amazing.”

Before Astarion could answer, they were temporarily interrupted by the sweet tinkering brass bells from the entry hall. The grandfather clock let the precise and exquisite mechanisms of the music play in full, before it began tolling the hour.

They waited.

Eight chimes.

He leaned in and purred into Gale’s ear. “You have me for another two hours, my sweet. Shall we make ourselves more comfortable?”

There was a beat of time, barely as long as the time between those bells before Astarion was suddenly pushed back and away. His heel caught on the edge of the plush rug and he fell squarely on his backside, the pain of a bruised coccyx shot into his skull like white hot lightning.

“Ffffff…!” Astarion could barely even speak. It wasn’t really the worst pain he had ever felt, but the shock and suddenness of it was short circuiting his brain into incoherency.

He pulled himself up onto his knees and crouched forward, defensive, eyes almost as wide as the man staring down at him in seeming horror.

“Oh gods. I’m sorry. I just…oh – “ Gale turned an interesting shade of pale green, swivelled on one foot and dashed out of the room. He didn’t bother closing the door behind him and, within a few moments, Astarion could hear the sounds of sick coming from the toilet down behind the stairs.

He knelt for a little longer, blinking slowly in the directions of distress heaving up all of their evening consumption and wine. It was only another few ticks of the great clock’s pendulum before he gingerly got back onto his feet and tested the feeling in his toes. Nothing was broken, so there was that.

Over the speakers hung from the wall, Handel’s Suite No. 4 strung out its solemn violins, appropriately setting the scene for the myriad of confusing emotions running through his body. Astarion stopped to take note of its irony, then pulled out the envelope packed with at least two month’s rent and placed it on the little table where the half bottle of Cannonau di Sardegna sat flanked by two empty wine glasses.

He should regret this. He should pocket the money and just leave. Or stay.

There was a sound of running water now and he felt his choices slipping away with every further tick of that bloody clock. A distinct sound of someone sobbing, or hiccupping into sniffles echoed clearly from the bathroom and his mind was made up.

The snow had started falling thickly in the time between showing up to this shit fest and when he opened the door, fat wet flakes plastering to his face within seconds. He did not dare use the phone in the parlour to call a cabby, so he began the long walk down the fancy driveway, through the fancy gate and past more fancy houses behind fancy stone walls. The buses had stopped running by now, so he walked till he found a phone box and dialled for a pick up.

His arse hurt in a way that was completely not indicative of what should have happened that night, yet that was not what sat like a brick in his chest the most. The wait in that tiny little red and glass box was one of the longest half hours of his life.

---

“It was supposed to just be fucking anal sex, you prick!” Astarion reared back and aimed, though Halsin merely dodging the thrown pillow neatly and shook his head with a rueful smile. This pissed the perpetrator of the throw off even more. “But nooo,” he took a breath and continued ranting, “you had to go find me some git who has morals and conscience. I had a plan! I had a fucking good plan…”

Astarion trailed off and slumped back into his bed, where hard springs dug into his spine and he was regretting throwing the only soft thing he actually owned.

A quiet whimper. “I had a plan.”

He stared up at the large bulk of the gentle giant Halsin as he scooped up the failed projectile, helped Astarion sit up a little and tucked it back behind his head.

“Well then,” chuffed the bear in ill-suited humour. “I’m seeing your plan may not have been as well thought out as you had hoped.” He grabbed another comforter from the suitcase at his feet and – despite feeling like a petulant little brat – Astarion did feel a little enjoyment being tucked in. He was warm now. At least a little.

“He’s filthy rich. Thought he was like the rest. I thought maybe going to the racketball courts and slamming a few out,” Astarion muttered. “Get him all worked up and horny and then we’d be having a great time. But instead all he does is cook. Every damned week. Food, food, food. He was paying me to eat his food, for hell’s sake. It’s like the guy is a fucking service eunuch.”

Halsin was silent as he listened. He had finished making Astarion comfortable and sat gingerly down on the rickety chair he had carried from the kitchenette. He stared at the ill man in the bed, not saying a word. Those care filled hazel eyes were, as always, annoyingly filled with trust and love for their growing friendship over the years. Halsin had looked after him as best as he could looking in from the outside of the industry. He always had Astarion’s best interests in mind and had helped smuggle him out of Baldur’s Gate, right out from under the thumb of his pimp who practically owned the police there.

If it weren’t for Halsin, Astarion knew he’d have probably ended up in a ditch years ago. Just another used up whore, popped into a crematorium and forgotten.

He let out a violent, sudden sneeze and grabbed some tissues to combat the endless snot filled fountain pouring from his nose. He hated being sick and this winter was doing him in. Maybe being stuck in a frozen phone box during a snowstorm wasn’t great for business. Hah.

“You fell for him, didn’t you.”

It was not a question and Astarion froze, tissue against his nose as the implications hit him. That attachments were a proxy risk concerning tricks of the trade, or even when a client treated their consort with special kindness was known. But it had never happened to Astarion in all his years as a prostitute. He may have climbed up out of the regular cliental and made himself ‘exclusive’, but Gale was only one of a long list of forgettable faces. He was a rich boy, burrowing himself away in his little sad excuse for a castle and his money bought him company. You didn’t get ‘feelings’ for someone like that. No matter how good the food was. No matter how they also forgot this was a transactional relationship.

Nope. No. That was not how things worked. Not ever.

“Fuck off no,” he muttered and tossed the used tissue into the bin by his bed. “He hired me for BFE and I was ready to give him the whole package. He paid for it up front. I was in the clear! What kind of idiot doesn’t want to have sex after paying for it?”

Halsin tilted his head and sighed. “I would have hoped you could have seen past the expectations, and appreciate something new and special in your life. That the only reason Gale paid you was to make sure you were safe, comfortable and in his.”

There was silence for a few moments. Then Astarion sneezed again and grabbed more tissues.

“Fuck you.” He sniffed

“I know.”

“I gave back the money.”

Halsin placed a hand on Astarion’s knee under the covers. “I know.”

“He forgot he was paying me for sex.”

“I know.”

Astarion sighed sniffled, unsure if it was tears or the blasted cold making his eyes water. “We’re done, aren’t we?”

“Yeh,” Halsin nodded and squeezed his knee. “Yeh I would guess so.”

There was silence again aside from occasional sneezes and coughs while a blizzard blew outside and a pot of canned chicken soup simmered away on the paraffin stove sitting on some covered bricks. It was back to normal. Everything was fine.

---

Time moved on.

Spring was a brief and pollen-filled affair that left Astarion’s eyes red and watering day in and day out. But it was the first spring in a long while where he could afford antihistamines to fight it. He had the money to splash around now, but he knew this was a finite situation with a looming end date.

The slumlord didn’t need to know about his box of cash hidden behind the toilet cistern, so the rent never really changed. And he kept his purchases low and continued to shop at charity places for spare clothes and fashion trappings. He still had to work on his image of course, even if there was no rush to take on more cliental.

Spring turned into summer and Astarion visited Halsin less and less. The heat was getting too much and he simply did not have the energy to spare in maintaining social engagements. Not while he was still trying to pursue the next steps for a better future.

It was nearing the end of the relentless heat of August when that fucking flu came back and, this time, he was completely bedridden. It was like it was committing some sort of war crime on his body with how hard it tore through him.

The fever rocked him to the core. Images of sunlight shining through broken wooden horizontal blinds flickered through his vision. Dust motes dancing in the air in light that changed from gold, to silver, to gold again. Days turned to night to day again.

Were days passing? He honestly did not know and was using every spare sliver of his waking moments to shuffle to the kitchen sink, drink directly from the tap and then collapse back into bed. Sometimes he went to take a piss, then found himself on the floor an indeterminate amount of time later after blacking out.

He couldn’t eat, every muscle hurt and the persistent, throbbing headache pounding inconsistent rhythms through his skull made telling real time tremendously difficult. The dreams were even more disjointed.

Memories of his years under Cazador.

A few brief flitters of what life was like before that, trapped in the foster system.

Did he have parents?

Dad came back after the war different, apparently. Astarion never knew what he was like before that.

Mum died.

So many families. So many punishments.

Phantom pain struck his flesh as the memories of belt buckles caught on every inch of exposed skin.

Cigarette burns peppering his arms.

Cazador again.

Then…nothing.

His mind drifted through fog, listless anarchy of a personality fighting with itself and losing. He heard singing, a sweet soprano warbling something German. Then it was replaced by a beeping, like car horns in rhythm with more horns, more beeps. The bed dipped and swayed beneath him. The world was white, then black. He felt like he was about to fly away.

And then he did.

---

“Hey.”

The soft, familiar voice by his ear was gentle and soothing.

Astarion forced stiff, crust coasted eyelids to crack open and winced at the sudden light flooding them.

“Oops. Let’s just turn that off. There we are.”

The side of the bed dipped slightly and he tried opening his eyes again. This time there was only light diffused from elsewhere and he took a breath. It caught and he found himself coughing violently, shuddering as the pain racked his body that felt like he had been dragged behind a car over boulders and barbed wire.

Warm arms held him around his shoulders, cradling him as he fought to be done with the coughing fit. It eventually calmed down and he let those arms gently lower him back to the bed. He blinked slowly then and took note of his surroundings.

That beeping noise that hid in his dreams was now obviously a heart monitor. He raised a hand to his face and felt the plastic tubing of a nasal cannula running beneath his nose. Looking down he saw his hand and arm. Pale, near transparent skin stretched over white bones.

Gods he was skinny.

He was fighting looking like a skeleton even before his meals with Gale. But after losing him, time had not been kind.

Astarion lifted his eyes slowly to the figure leaning on the side of his bed, then down at the olive toned hands clasping his own between them. So warm. So gentle. Like he was afraid he would crush Astarion if he squeezed too hard.

“Hi.”

“Hi yourself,” Gale smiled tenuously and reached up to Astarion’s face, tucking a curl of hair behind his ear.

Astarion leaned into it best he could and closed his eyes. Breathing the man in. Not wanting to lose contact again. Not wanting to fuck up so badly again.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered and Gale made little hushing sounds.

“Now, now. That’s all in the past.” He was patting down Astarion’s hair as he said this.

It was soothing and looked past the man to take stock of his surroundings. A closed door, white walls in a private room that stank of antiseptic that all hospitals seemed to reek of. There were more tubes running in and out of the arm Gale was still cradling, which led up to an IV bag above his bed and some more cables again creeping out from under the dreadful hospital gown he had apparently been forced in. That was how they could tell what his heart was doing, he guessed, as he watched the little green light bounce at the same time the thrumming of blood washed through his ears

Disconcerted by being able to see what his heart was doing, he let his eyes drift around to the window that showed a late afternoon glow in the sky and spotted bright coloured flowers in a giant bundle, with pale wide petals interspersed. Artistically tied into a bow around the vase was a red ribbon and he turned back to Gale with a raised eye.

“Halsin told me you had hayfever allergies.” He looked a bit abashed. “So I looked up the best flowers to not trigger that and, well, you got tulips and snapdragons.”

“It’s a bit late for tulips and snapdragons, isn’t it?” Astarion was so tired, but was glad his snark made the man smile.

“Heh, not if you’re someone with far more money than sense and the ability to order them fresh from Dutch greenhouses.” Gale chuckled, then stilled, fingers still lightly combing through his curls and nails lightly skritching Astarion’s scalp. “I’m sorry too. For my reaction that night.”

“You didn’t – ”

“No,” Gale hushed him again and shook his head. “I need to say this. Because despite being a bloody genius, I am shit at everything else.” He paused, then launched into an explanation that only made everything better and worse, all at the same time.

He told Astarion of the years he spent earning scholarships and positions into elite classes and colleges. The degrees in chemistry and engineering. The fact he never went for his doctorate because he had the poor sense to get involved with corporate bureaucracy. And, as a result, they sucked the joy of discovery and majesty of the world, moulded him into a neat little cog to fit into their well oiled machine.

Making him into a drone that did what he was told, and nothing else.

His invention broke him out of that trap and, despite the company trying to claim it as their intellectual property since he had developed it while under their employ, none of the notes or mechanical bits and pieces for the prototype were kept anywhere on any land they owned or ran.

He was given fair and full rights to the ownership of the patent, then tried to regain who he was before that decade of soul sucking drudgery.

No shit that didn’t work.

He had bought the house with the intent to start as life of philanthropy; hosting charity galas and means of making sure grants were given to the ones who most needed it, or maybe even funding animal shelters.

His agoraphobia and general anxiety over the sheer idea of meeting new people over and over again threw those ideas in the bin almost right away.

He lost the ability to trust anyone. Lost the abilities on the ways one can interact and communicate with people outside of professional relationships. It came back to that Howard Hughs confession. Came back to Halsin meeting Gale at one of those book markets and they had hit off on an oddly polite friendship, continued through mainly letters and occasional phonecalls.

It wasn’t even a conscious thought that asking if Halsin knew anyone who could help him get his confidence back, it could possibly refer to an escort service.

“I was so bashful,” he said, still holding Astarion’s hand loosely. “So afraid that meeting anyone who wasn’t a bloody shrink, or being paid to be around would mean their company was limited to what I could offer them. And you were so…nice to me.”

Astarion blinked. “What?”

“You didn’t compliment my food because I was paying you to. You actually enjoyed it. You were fine with coming back again and again and didn’t just tolerate me, or my cooking. Hells, my cat started liking you, and she still hisses at my cleaners who have worked for me for years and runs off whenever they come round.

“Look. Tara is a great judge of character. If only she could have warned me that I was – uhm – ” Gale looked down and coughed, with that familiar blush crawled up his neck.

Astarion didn’t want to interrupt him by coughing again, so he just squeezed the man’s hand lightly and Gale looked up, that loopy smile plastered quite solidly on his face.

Gods. The man made him feel so warm.

There were no more words.

Gale leaned forward and gently kissed Astarion on the forehead, then looked down at him with that warmer, dopey smile Astarion was learning to love.

“I’m taking you home. My home. I will take care of you for as long as you need it.” Something changed in his doe brown eyes for a moment. They looked a little watery, a little sad. Then he blinked and the look was gone. “You’ll never be alone again and we never need to think transactionally about it. Just accept me, with all my foibles and a rotten attitude concerning relationships and give me a second chance to make it up to you. I’ll make chicken soup again.”

The cough Astarion had been supressing burst out once more and he struggled to turn onto his side, a feat only accomplished by Gale assisting him once more. Patting him on the back and waiting patiently till it tapered off. He slumped into the crisp hospital sheets and shuddered, blinking slowly at Gale and forcing a smile to his own lips.                                                                                                                                                                                                                               

“Sounds groovy. When do they let me out?”

---

Halsin and Gale had worked in tandem. Keeping random strangers from seeing Astarion exit the hospital, even hiring a specialised medical transport so they wouldn’t have to move him from the wheelchair. Money talked and Astarion had barely any interaction with anyone else except them before the familiar gates loomed, opened and the van rolled in smoothly over the gravel and parked next to a side entrance of the house.

Finagling the oxygen tank was a new thing for both of them, though the EMT assisting was most helpful and then worked with them in transporting the spare tanks inside. He didn’t bother meeting his eyes though and was gone back to the van before he could even possibly maybe think about saying thank you. The cold shoulder was something he was used to though, it was the warmer attention he was struggling to manage. Astarion was now wheeled up a ramp and into a part of the house he had never seen before, though that was not a hard ask.

The kitchen spread out before him in all its vast, panelled wood and white backed glory. Endless cupboards, a walk in fridge or freezer and enough surface space to possibly host Wimbledon. Huffing into the oxygen mask over his nose, Astarion shook his head.

“Bloody knew it. Two ovens?”

“And a kosher one connected to it out the back way.” Gale took hold of the handles of the chair and began the slow, methodical tour of the house.

He showed Astarion everything. From the office, to the double storied library, to the sunrooms. There had been a mechanical chair lift attached to the curved stairs leading up and Gale hooked the chair in and pressed a button.

Astarion wished he hadn’t fallen asleep on the simple, short trek up. But he did and soon found himself in yet another room. It was both disorientating and comforting, in the way he knew he actually was being looked after.

Halsin stood there arranging the medical equipment around and was fluffing some pillows in the rather large, comfortable looking bed.

“My. Enough space for both of us, darling?”

Gale stepped out from the walk in wardrobe and tilted his head.

“Well. I thought you might appreciate a room all of your own. Your own space.” He smiled slightly as Astarion’s eyes went wide at him. “My room is just down the hall, and there’s an intercom connecting you to it and the rest of the house.”

Astarion still sat, mouth open. He couldn’t form the words. He didn’t know what to do or say.

Halsin straightened up, turned and pulled open the curtains. Soft morning light shone in and, as he let his eyes adjust, Astarion swore he could see past everyone else’s rooftops and to the hilly countryside beyond.

“I’ll be coming around often to check on you. Both of you.” Halsin said, dusting his hands on his jeans. “Remember, you’re not alone in this.”

Gale accepted the hug Halsin pulled him into without any argument and Astarion waved off any sappiness directed at him, which got his hair properly ruffled instead.

Halsin left the room, saying he could find his own way out and Astarion turned to Gale.

“What aren’t we alone in? Learning how to be friends, or more than friends. Or not sex buddies?” he joked, though stopped his mirth when Gale did not respond as expected.

“You don’t remember?”

---

It was winter again. This time they were spending New Years Eve together, curled up on the couch and watching the countdown on tv.

Astarion had his head in Gale’s lap and they were holding hands again. The numbers started hitting the teens and he spoke up softly, not wanting to break the magic of the moment.

“Do you want to know my new year’s resolution?” He said, eyes still fixed on the screen.

“Always.” Gale said, though his voice had an odd tenseness to it.

The blond man waited a few moments more till the count reached 0, and the fireworks started going off all over the bay. Illuminating Waterdeep in colours and light. Like watching a nebula form, the numbers ‘Nineteen Eighty Four’ glittered across the screen, before the fireworks took over once more.

“I want to get better. So you don’t have to keep looking after me.”

---

“Did I ever tell you about the moment I fell in love with you?”

“Yes. But tell me again.”

“It was when you hand made me ravioli from scratch.”

“Only the best for you.”

---

It was snowing again. Or was it snowing for the first time this year? Astarion stared out the large window and tried ignoring that damned car beeping away in the background. The alarm was going off or something and it was getting annoying.

Gale was next to him, holding his hand and keeping him warm. Sure, the blankets were cozy, but nothing beat the living radiator laying on top of the covers, reading out loud.

“…All that is gold does not glitter, not all those who wander are lost; the old that is strong does not wither, deep roots are not reached by the frost.”

“Who said that?”

There was a pause and Gale took a shaky breath. The man really needed to calm down a bit. It wasn’t his fault Astarion had such a shitty memory.

“Gandalf.” He finally said, turning a page.

“Oh.” Astarion turned to face him, frowning. “Who’s Gandalf?”

---

“I got a new birthmark.”

“Astarion, they’re not – ”

“I said , I got a new birthmark.”

“Yes. That’s right. You’re always right, my love.”

---

The portable recordplayer was one of the better additions to their lives and it currently played the gentle, floating melody of piano and violin. ‘ Arvo Pärt- Spiegel im Spiegel ’. How sentimental.

“I wish they didn’t look at me like I was going to infect them by breathing the same air as them.”

“They’re just frightened. It’s all still pretty new to everyone.”

“Fucking nurses. You’d think they’d be more professional.”

“I’m sorry you have to deal with all that.”

There was a pleasant, warm breeze moving through the trees above them. Being outside really was quite nice sometimes, even if he couldn’t do it as often anymore. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He felt the air wafting through his hair. He felt the hand holding his. It belongs to the man in the chair next to him. The man who cooked. The man who accepted him. The man he wanted to stay with.

Then something changed.

“Gale?”

“Yes? What is it?”

“Gale…”

“Astarion? ASTARION!?”

---

If anyone would have told him that the day he was born, Astarion’s mother had loved him and held him close. That there was such a thing as unconditional love that people could offer without being asked. That loneliness did not have to be permanent and that people like Cazador were not the most powerful in the face of everything the world could throw at him…he would have told them they were lying.

Unconditional love. Trust that could grow simply by being around someone and letting them be kind.

Foreign concepts that took him just a little too long to learn.

If he had known someone like Gale existed before it was too late…

Well. There was no point in crying about spilt milk. They had the time that they had. That was all.

In a world of cruelty, despair, cold and contractual benefits in a transactional capitalistic society, there would always be a Gale. There would always be a Halsin. No gods damned virus could take everyone away.

The Astarions just had to let themselves know it was possible.

Before reality caught up.