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my bloodweave escort au

Alternate universe—no illithids, takes place during the same time period as the game's start.

Newly-escaped vampire spawn Astarion flees to Waterdeep; he's always liked cities, and this one is huge, with more than enough space to go into hiding build a new life for himself. Well-practiced in the skill of seduction and hindered by his inability to go out during the day, he starts work as an escort, complete with a cheesy fake name and a regular clientele. Sure, he'd be more successful with a procurer/manager, but he's trying this new thing called governing himself. Besides, he makes plenty enough to get by.

Gale is surrounded by tressyms, crying into a pint of ice cream getting by just fine, thank you very much. He may not get out much, or talk with anyone besides Tara, and he may spend hours each day reminiscing about his past relationship, but he's surviving. Loneliness is easy enough to overcome, with time. And money.

Can you see where this is going?

Maybe it's Tara that encourages it, please, Mr. Dekarios, we both know you could use the companionship, or maybe she wordlessly leaves the flyer she'd ripped from the city's advertising board on his desk for him to find and be terribly offended by—until that night when he's haunted by dreams of Mystra, and, okay, maybe he should do something about this.

Astarion's nights are booked to the hells and back, but after his regular cancels and a new potential client makes himself known with a magically-sent message (dripping with almost-pathetic desperation), his curiosity is piqued—and he's not going to miss out on some coin.

They meet at an inn.

Gale's hands are shaking when they meet. They're shaking when the elf—who is gorgeous and seems to know it—takes them in his own dainty, pale ones and leads him over to sit on the bed, asks him questions about all manners of things and smiles politely, says his own name to him like it's a secret—Gale of Waterdeep—and Gale's not sure if he's being teased or flirted with but it doesn't much matter when they're kissing, suddenly, or when the elf climbs atop him to grind their hips together, or least of all when he gets Gale's robes undone and brings him off with a practiced hand.

"What can I do for you?" Gale asks, gesturing to him, and he shakes his head, kisses Gale's nose and says, "Aren't you tired, darling, shall we sleep?" And he does, holding the elf while he trances.

He starts to get the sense that despite the circumstances of their meeting, the elf might actually like him.

Astarion realizes quickly that this guy's a fucking moron; the kind of lovesick dweeb he'll be able to drain for some serious cash. He collects the night's due from Gale on his way out, giving himself just enough time to get home before the sun rises.

They keep meeting.

One night: Astarion on his knees with Gale against the wall, whimpering into his elbow because (and Astarion's sure of this) he's never had such good head before.

The next: on the bed, Astarion teaching Gale how to fuck him (he's much too gentle—it's not like Astarion's made of glass, and he says so, and Gale whispers in his ear that he just doesn't want to hurt him).

And then, because Gale keeps begging him to, Astarion lets Gale suck his dick, and he doesn't know what the hell he's doing but Astarion talks him through it and Gale's so damn thrilled about it that it ends up being fun for both of them.

Gale is fucking delighted a very normal amount of excited about their meetings. It's nice to have something to look forward to, but mostly just to feel wanted, even if he has to pay for it. The elf reveals himself to be incredibly quick-witted, and oh is he fun to converse with—they spend the first few hours of their nights together just chatting, and as loathe as the elf is to reveal anything about himself, it's still great to be listened to.

In spite of himself, Astarion starts looking forward to their meetings, too. Gale's sweet to him, and the sex is good, and he doesn't ask Astarion to do any of the weird fetish shit he's accustomed to with some of his clients. At some point, they switch from the inn to house calls, and he can't deny liking Gale's cute little living space, the balcony where Gale reads poetry to him while their legs are slung across each other's on the bench, and most of all his darling tressym, Tara—that is until Astarion arises before Gale does one day and sees Tara staring at him through the mirror where his reflection should be.

Astarion whips around, ready to—well, he's not sure exactly. Pull the dagger he keeps in his boot? Stab her? That's a bit extreme, even for him.

Tara flicks her tail at him. "You can't honestly think we hadn't discovered. Your eyes are red as bloodstones."

"He never said anything—"

"He thinks you're insecure about it. The same way you're insecure about that scarring on your back." And then, calm as anything, she starts a walk to the kitchen. "Come, have some tea. The sun won't rise for hours."

So. The fact that Gale knows about his vampirism settles like a heavy weight on Astarion's chest: the knowledge that Gale sees him as he is and cares about him despite, and the guilt that comes with it.

It only gets worse when Gale comes down with a rough case of I-Can-Save-Him Syndrome, also known as Pretty Woman Disorder—and what used to be questions about how Astarion got into the business start to become questions about what he'd like to be doing, otherwise, and encouragements to pursue other lines of work.

The worst part is that Gale's right in his assumptions—Astarion is sick to death of using his body to trap people. But he doesn't know how to do anything else. He doesn't remember how to do anything else.

Astarion snaps at him one night—"You just want me all to yourself, how pathetic you are to think I'd actually like you for something besides your wallet—" and from the way Gale looks at him, he can tell his little outburst does not have the intended effect; Gale doesn't hate Astarion for it, he hates himself.

Whatever. Not his problem to solve.

He cancels all of his appointments indefinitely and spends a week to himself, draining rats and such. Back to his roots. It feels awful. Is there nothing in this life that will fulfill him?

At least he was making coin before.

Gale messages him again. Something something he's sorry, Astarion was right, please come over. He'll pay for his time.

It's the only reason Astarion acquiesces.

It's startlingly easy to fall back into old patterns as soon as Gale opens his door; Astarion is on him at once; kissing his neck, grabbing a fistful of his robes to pull him closer, ignoring Gale's stop, stop, until he gets a hand on Astarion to shove him away.

Astarion's heart pounds hotly in his chest. What the hells?

But Gale's staring hard at him. "I won't bed you tonight."

"Fine, darling, I could bed you."

"No—" Gale runs a hand back through his hair, frustrated, looking for once like he's got nothing to say.

Astarion has a similar problem. He settles on "You really don't want to bed me?"

"Not tonight," Gale says, surging forward to take Astarion's hands in his own. "I like you," he says, "and I think you like me, too."

"You don't know me."

"I'd like to," Gale continues, unfazed. "Let me."

Maybe it's the wide-eyed, unapologetic vulnerability in Gale's eyes that makes him say yes.

Maybe it's that it's time to try something new.

Maybe he figures it's time to make a decision for himself.

"There's a lot we don't know about each other, huh?"

Gale's smile is shy when he traces the lines of his chest tattoo up his own neck. "We've got the whole night ahead of us."

They sit on the balcony where they can hear the waves.

Astarion tells him everything, starting with his name.