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Vintage pinball machines jingled and jangled in a desperate plea for coins, but a woman’s voice boomed over them.
“Quit moving!”
Astarion didn't think he was, but Karlach kept yelling about it, so he must have been. Holding himself completely still, he lasered his focus and stared straight ahead at the low-cut neckline of her long, black dress.
In just the few months it took to complete their adult literacy course, the two had become close enough friends that she was helping him with his wedding gown.
The beefy red tiefling had a high vantage point, and she kept finding something wrong with the way his cloak was sitting. Once again, she pricked at the sheer fabric around his neck and adjusted it slightly.
“There. It's perfect!”
“Yes, all I have to do now is stand completely still for the next four hours—”
Without warning, she grabbed him by the shoulders and spun him around so he could see himself in a full-length mirror. A normal one that had been dragged in and placed in front of the hokey funhouse mirrors that came with the facility rental.
Dribbles’ Fun Zone arcade at Bowl Hole wasn't the classiest place to get ready for a wedding, but the venue was inexpensive and it held sentimental value. Bowl Hole was where Astarion first met Gale, and this very arcade was where he'd coaxed the first orgasm out of his soon-to-be husband.
Standing in front of arcade games and skeeball tables that could never hold up to a black light’s scrutiny, Astarion had to admit he looked great. Gale was going to lose it.
Since Astarion had balked at couture prices, his gown was cobbled together from disparate parts. The dress itself came from a thrift shop. It was a short, silky off-white number that left almost the full length of his legs exposed. He'd tucked the top half of the dress into a white corset he'd gotten for free as compensation from the Fae-ren Faire. Its tight, stiff form fell just beneath his pecs, leaving his chest and the top half of his back just as exposed as his legs.
For jewelry, he chose simple gold cuffs, both on his wrists and around the tips of his pointy ears.
Adding some more glamour to the outfit was a full-body sleeveless cloak, made of sheer tulle. The only thing he'd actually purchased new (from a shady website that made designer knockoffs), it began as a solid white choker around his neck. Beneath that, there was a cluster of dense white beads at the neckline that became more and more sparse as they spread downward, to the point that his nipples were clearly visible beneath the cloak. The very bottom of the covering was accented by large tufts of tulle that gave the impression Astarion wasn't walking on black moto boots but instead floating on a cloud.
He certainly felt like he was.
“It's perfect,” he said, repeating Karlach’s words. With a short sniff, he added, “I'm going to ruin my eyes.”
The only makeup he was wearing was some black eyeliner and smokey eyeshadow, and Astarion had a feeling he'd be looking like a raccoon by the end of the night.
“You'll be fine,” Karlach insisted. “Shar doesn't smudge. When I married Wyll, I was crying like a baby and everything stayed in place.”
“My ass isn’t out, is it?” Astarion turned and glanced over his shoulder. While his prison tattoo was clearly visible, his ass was not.
Some gentle, pre-recorded piano music began piping through the venue’s speakers, and it was time.
“Come on,” Karlach said with a huge smile.
Most people would have been walked down the aisle by a parent or a close relative. Maybe even a lifelong friend. But Astarion didn’t have any of those. He had Karlach, and he was grateful for her.
Arm in arm, they broke through the dusty curtain drawn around Dribbles' Fun Zone and made their way into the bowling alley.
Decked out with Party City’s finest balloons, streamers, and confetti, it was as beautiful as a bowling alley could be. A bright white aisle led straight from the arcade to the center of the building, then took a hard right turn toward one of the lanes. There, beneath an arch made of artificial roses and peonies, stood his groom.
The aisle flashed off-white in patches as the fluorescent lights above flickered. It didn’t matter. With a spring in his step, Astarion made his way past dozens of members of the Dekarios clan who sat awkwardly in the seating for different lanes, craning their necks and pushing white balloons out of the way to try and get a good look at what was going on.
None of them mattered to Astarion. Not even a little.
When he made the turn at the center of the alley, he was awestruck. In front of him stood their half-elven officiant—some internet-ordained minister of all faiths they found on Faerûn Freeforall—and Gale. His sweet, beautiful, loving groom.
Judging by Gale’s wide eyes, he was as enamored as Astarion was.
He looked positively radiant in his rental tuxedo. The white wool jacket, vest, and bowtie were all subtly textured in zigzagging patterns that made them seem as soft as the man beneath them. For contrast, Gale's white shirt and slacks were smooth and shiny. In a move that made Astarion laugh slightly, Gale had paired it all with white bowling shoes.
Better than all of that, though, was Gale’s smile. Astarion saw it every day, but he could never tire of that smile. Gale was beaming.
As Astarion and Karlach approached the bowling lane, she ducked off to sit next to Wyll, leaving Astarion standing face-to-face with the love of his life.
“Hey,” he said.
Gale mouthed the same in reply, apparently too lovestricken to speak.
For a fraction of a second, Astarion let himself be distracted by the fact that there was an uninvited white dragonborn sitting next to Karlach and Wyll. But if Dirk Eurge wanted to crash his wedding, he really didn’t care. Not when Gale was right there.
He reached out and took Gale’s hands in his own.
The officiant began speaking their rehearsed lines. “Friends, family, and loved ones, we come together today in the sight of the gods and of you all as witnesses to join Gale and Astarion in marriage. We gather around them now in this wonderful bowling alley, and we look on with love and hope as these two begin their new life together as one. Gentlemen, I believe you’ve written vows for each other?”
They nodded.
“Gale, would you go ahead?”
Gale’s cheeks turned rosy as he spoke his vows from memory.
“Astarion…”
Just one word in, Gale choked up a bit. Astarion squeezed his hands.
“When we met, I was at the lowest point of my life. Things were bad, and I didn’t see how they’d ever get better. You, though… you reminded me that there is joy in this world, and that’s what I’ve continued to find at your side. In your jokes, in your sense of adventure, in the way your smile lights up a room—”
Astarion felt tears begin to run down his face. Sincerity was everywhere in Gale’s words, his expression, his posture. He meant it all whole-heartedly.
As Gale continued, he squeezed Astarion’s hands in turn, forcing him to believe every word. “You’re an inspiration to me, and each day with you is a gift that I refuse to take for granted. So long as I can think or breathe, I vow to make sure you know how much I love you. Every day, for the rest of our days.”
“Astarion?” the minister probed.
Reluctantly relinquishing Gale’s hands, Astarion hoisted his cloak so he could reach into his corset and remove a folded-up piece of paper. The gown resettled with a gentle swooshing sound, and he tried to keep his composure.
“Gale, I…”
Astarion sniffed loudly as the gravity of what he was doing set in. When he and Gale first met in this bowling alley, he couldn’t even spell his soon-to-be husband’s name. Back then, he couldn’t imagine a single day that wasn’t bleak, let alone a lifelong commitment to love.
Love. It was real after all.
He went a bit off script…
“Gale, I wouldn’t be able to read these vows if you hadn’t come into my life,” he said, looking directly into Gale’s damp eyes. “I know you’d object to that and say I did the work myself, but I wouldn’t have without you. No one else ever…”
No one else ever cared about him before.
After another loud sniff, he glanced down and began reading what he’d actually prepared. “Before you, I merely existed. You’re the reason I want. You’re the reason I care. You’re the reason I try. You make me want to be better so I can deserve someone as wonderful as you. Your kindness, sincerity, and romance drew me in and have had me in a chokehold ever since.” He shoved the scrap of paper at the minister and took Gale’s hands again. “I love you, and I’ll be yours until I’m dead. Maybe even after that.”
Gale chuckled through his tears. “I love you.”
The minister inspected their hands. “You’ve both been wearing your rings for a while now, so I don’t believe there’s anything else to exchange…”
“Not quite true,” Gale said, pointing his damp eyes down the aisle. “Psstpsstpsst.”
Tara, their elegant little tortoiseshell tressym, pranced right down the middle toward them with her head held high and a small envelope tucked into her collar.
Astarion was perplexed. “What did you…?”
Letting go of Astarion, Gale bent down and grabbed the envelope. Inside were two mystery tattoos from the toy capsule machines in Dribbles’ Fun Zone, packaged in tiny white packets with the word ‘FUN’ aggressively stamped across them.
“I wanted to exchange something,” Gale explained.
A loud cackle broke through Astarion’s lips. It tapered into a short snort, then a long series of sniffles. He was marrying an absolute madman, and he loved it.
They each took a packet and ripped it open. Inside Gale’s was the somewhat deranged-looking face of a grinning clown: Dribbles, of Dribbles’ Fun Zone fame, with his painted face and pink and blue hair. Inside Astarion’s packet was a red heart containing the face of Dribbles’ mastiff sidekick, Buddy the Dog.
With a loud CRACK, Gale got down on one knee. He took Astarion’s hand and applied Dribbles to the back of it. Then he opened his mouth and licked a broad stripe across it to wet the paper. He pressed it down with his palm, and began counting to thirty under his breath.
It was utterly adorable.
There were whispers of confusion around the bowling alley, but neither groom gave a shit.
When Gale rose, Astarion had a temporary clown tattoo.
“If I kneel in this dress, I’ll probably go back to prison,” Astarion said, directing a pointed gaze toward some random Dekarios children. “Give me your hand.”
Gale extended it directly in front of Astarion.
Astarion applied Buddy the Dog to the back of Gale’s hand, then leaned in and kissed the tattoo. One hot, wet kiss became two, which became three long, quasi-erotic smacks until he was satisfied that the paper was soaked through. Gale’s face was beet red when Astarion finally pressed the tattoo to his skin and held it there.
Soon they were both faux-inked, and the minister shot them a look that said “finally.”
“I can’t say I’ve ever seen that before, but please take each other’s… newly tattooed hands.”
They did, and a bit of wet inky funk rubbed onto Astarion’s thumb.
“Astarion, do you take Gale to be your lawfully wedded husband from this day forward, through whatever challenges and triumphs life brings you; do you promise to love him, honor him, and cherish him for the rest of your life?”
The words came easily. “I do.”
“Gale, do you take Astarion to be your lawfully wedded husband from this day forward, through whatever challenges and triumphs life brings you; do you promise to love him, honor him, and cherish him for the rest of your life?”
“I do.”
“Then by the power vested in me by the Faerûnian Internet Ministry, I pronounce you husbands. You may now kiss.”
Astarion didn’t have to be told twice. He dashed forward, smashing his lips against Gale’s and nearly causing his husband to stumble. They were husbands now, and that notion made him ram his tongue down the back of Gale’s throat.
From the front row, Karlach cheered like she was watching a sporting event. Everyone else applauded politely.
The kiss could have been twenty seconds, or it could have been several minutes. Astarion wasn’t keeping track of time, and he didn’t care.
Eventually, though, he broke for air.
“A round of applause for misters Gale and Astarion Dekarios!”
With that, the minister made their way behind an A/V booth to double as the evening’s emcee.
As the piano music pumped through the speaker system once more, Astarion and Gale made their way hand in hand to the head table. Perfectly comfortable only having candid shots of their wedding, they’d hired no photographer, so the ceremony ran right into the reception. It helped minimize the time they had to spend with family members Gale had described as “difficult,” which was most of them.
Their head table was the bowling alley’s snack bar, and Tara was already seated on its counter, lapping up a plate of lactose-free milk. They took their seats on a pair of sticky stools behind the bar, where toasting supplies were waiting for them.
“Everyone listen up!” demanded the minister-cum-emcee.
With knowing smirks on their faces, Astarion and Gale each grabbed a deep-fried mozzarella stick. Raising them into the air, they looked around the room at an array of confused guests also receiving mozzarella sticks and cups of marinara from a handful of beleaguered staffers in purple bowling shirts.
Astarion cleared his throat. “Thank you all for coming, even though I don’t know who in the hells most of you are.”
There were a few small laughs.
“It’s wonderful to see you all here,” Gale added. “We look forward to mingling after dinner.”
“Cheers,” they said, then tapped their mozzarella sticks together.
With that, they crunched into the sticks. The lukewarm, rubbery cheese hit their mouths at the same time, and Gale hummed a little.
“You were better at frying them,” he said.
“And I have the war wounds to prove it,” Astarion said, displaying the myriad of hot oil splatter scars up and down the length of his forearm.
Set up as a buffet, the catering was about as good as could be expected from a bowling alley. There were crinkle-cut fries and pizza slices and an obligatory bin full of limp salad that came from a bag.
The pièce de resistance, though, was the nacho fountain. Not far from where Astarion and Gale sat was a three-tiered silver fountain cascading warm, bright orange nacho cheese. Available for dipping into the lightly jalapeñoed cheddar were pretzel bites, broccoli, onion rings, and—of course—tortilla chips.
Astarion sensually rubbed a boot against Gale’s bowling shoe. “I cannot wait for these people to leave so I can get you alone with that cheese fountain.”
“We haven’t even spoken to any of them yet.”
“I know. It’s going to be agony.”
When they finished up their dinner, the pair wandered over to a table that housed their wedding cake: a simple sheet cake that appeared white from afar but had a faint green tint up close. This was the result of the frosting being Celestial Dew buttercream. Scrawled across the cake in cursive were the words “We Dew!”
The cake cutting happened without incident, though Astarion did startle Gale into dropping a bite when he lowered his voice to say “This isn’t the only cake I’ll be eating tonight.”
Everyone had dessert, and then it was time to dance and mingle.
“Give it up for our grooms!” the emcee said with obviously fake enthusiasm.
Astarion and Gale ventured slowly onto a square patch of black and white plastic tiles. To the dulcet sounds of Milil’s “Chaotic Good,” the rest of the room faded away and they danced, looking only at each other, mouthing “I love you” over and over.
It was possibly the most romantic thing ever to happen in a bowling alley, and it wasn’t tarnished by Astarion’s constant chub at all of the declarations of love.
Unfortunately, the room didn’t stay faded away.
As soon as the song ended, Gale’s family began rushing them. There were handshakes and congratulations out the wazoo from great-uncle so and so and second cousin whatsername. There were sticky, bored children and geezers near death who’d never remember Astarion’s name. One dementia-adjacent Dekarios asked Astarion whether his ears were erogenous zones, to which Gale replied “Look at that cheese fountain!” and sent him on his way.
A short woman with shoulder-length grey hair and a nose that looked a lot like Gale’s approached with a vexed sort of expression on her face. Astarion recognized her from photographs as Gale’s long-estranged mother. His husband’s mother. His mother-in-law. It dawned on him that he had a mother-in-law now.
“Mrs. Dekarios,” he said with a hard swallow.
“Morena is fine,” she said, mostly ignoring him as she reached out and pinched Gale’s cheek. “It’s been too long, my dear.”
“Yes… well…” Gale freed his face from the pinch and shuffled a bit, and Astarion could tell his husband really wanted to say something about her not showing up until the day of the wedding. Because he was Gale, though, he instead opted for pleasantries.
“How was your trip in?” he asked.
“Dreadful, but not nearly as dreadful as your last spouse.”
“Mother!” Gale yelped. “It’s been a decade.”
She set her sights on Astarion.
“That’s quite an outfit,” Morena said, her voice tinged with judgment that made Astarion swallow hard. The judgment faded as she continued. “You both seem very happy.”
“We are,” they said at once.
“I suppose that’s all that matters then. We’ll talk more tomorrow. Tonight’s for the people you won’t ever see again.”
With that, she turned to appease some distant relatives.
“I don’t think she likes me,” Astarion said.
“She’d let you know outright if she didn’t.”
Before they could make their way around the room, another family member accosted them.
“Galey!” exclaimed a middle-aged woman with huge glasses. She wore a tight cheetah print dress that exposed a tremendous amount of her wrinkled chest.
“Aunt Agnes,” Gale said. “This is Astarion. Astarion…”
Aunt Agnes was preoccupied with Gale. She fussed with his tuxedo, pulling the quarters closer together. “You know, a black tux would have been more flattering. It would have disguised some of this pudge.”
“Perhaps,” Gale said, looking thoroughly embarrassed.
Astarion roped an arm around Gale and pulled him away from his aunt. His voice darkened as he looked directly into her bespectacled eyes. “My husband can wear whatever he damn well pleases. Gods know he’d look better than you do in that.”
She huffed away, presumably to gossip about her nephew’s rude new husband.
“You really would look better in that thing than she does.”
“Astarion…” Gale sighed.
“I know, I should play nice.” He shot a snooty look in the direction of where Aunt Agnes was sharing her turmoil with some half-snoozing old man. “But I won’t let anyone slander you.”
Gale seemed pale, and was visibly sweating. “I don’t think I can do this for three more hours.”
“Hrm. I know what you mean. Come on.”
Astarion led him away through a tattered beaded curtain into the snack bar’s supply room.
The circumstances were much happier than the last time they were in this room together. Back then, Gale was having an existential crisis next to a barrel of jalapeño slices. Now, Astarion was reaching into his corset, just as he had for his vows.
With a grin, he pulled out a tiny plastic bag of heart-shaped pink pills.
“This should help pass the time, wouldn’t you say?”
“Where did you get ecstasy?”
“Gale, I’ve been to prison.”
Astarion grabbed a bottle of water off a shelf and handed it to Gale before taking one for himself. They took their pills and chugged, then headed back out for the party.
Though they weren’t hungry, they lingered at the nacho fountain, lazily dipping pretzel pieces into molten cheese, feeding them to each other, and waiting for the drugs to kick in.
After a bit, Karlach came running over with Wyll at her side. He was human and much smaller than his tiefling wife, but no less dapper in a well-fitted charcoal suit that matched the patch over his right eye.
“There you are!” Karlach said. “I thought you two were banging in the back room.”
“Not yet,” Astarion said slyly.
Wyll offered a nod. “Congratulations.”
“Thank you,” Astarion and Gale said at once.
“Will we see you again next Eighthday?” Wyll asked.
Wyll and Karlach had been holding a biweekly dinner party for their friends for years, and Astarion and Gale had attended the last four of them.
“Ohhh!” Karlach butted in. “Lae’s in town this week. You’ll love her.”
“We wouldn’t miss it,” Astarion said.
Gale looked to Wyll. “What’s the theme?”
“Glad you asked! This time we’re doing Marsembian cuisine.”
Gale’s eyes lit up. “I can make a fantastic mustard-fried flounder. I used to anyway. I’m sure it’ll come right back to me.”
The two of them started going on and on about ingredients (apparently there were different mustards and that mattered), but Astarion tuned it out. He glanced toward the sad dancefloor, where exactly two people were bouncing along to the beat of some upbeat pop song.
“On it!” Karlach said, grabbing him by the arm.
At this point, Astarion was beginning to feel the effects of the ecstasy. The bowling alley lights and the bass of the music seemed to synchronize with his heartbeat. He began swaying as if he was one with the dancefloor.
“You high, mate?” Karlach asked. “Your eyes are huge.”
Astarion rubbed at his forearm. “We may have done some ecstasy in the back…”
“And you didn’t offer to share?” She looked around at the bored and boring members of Gale’s extended family, who weren’t even bothering to explore Dribbles’ Fun Zone. “These people are dull.”
“In my corset,” Astarion said, jutting out his chest.
Karlach knelt to the floor, then stood up inside his cloak, so that they were sharing it and her head was poking out through a sleeve hole. She jammed a muscular hand between his corset and skin, and her fingers emerged with the packet.
“Aces!” she said, tossing a pill down her throat.
She was warm and wonderful, and suddenly Astarion wanted nothing more than to hold and dance with his best friend.
“I love you,” he said.
“Aww. Love you too.”
His inhibitions fading, Astarion couldn’t help but babble. “No, really. You’re my first friend ever, and you’re so nice and pretty and I want you to stay in my life forever. Please.”
“Okay,” she laughed. “I will.”
Karlach hugged him tight, and they did what could loosely be considered dancing for a while—all while sharing his tulle cloak. It was peaceful, beautiful, and right.
Time became muddled, but at some point, a white dragonborn approached. It was Dirk, Astarion’s coworker for a very brief time when he worked at Little Warm Balls. He was even higher than Astarion, and had ripped off his shirt to reveal an edgy ‘BHAAL’ tattoo across his chest scales.
“Dancin’?” he slurred.
Astarion ignored that he’d never invited Dirk, and nodded. “We’re dancing.”
Dirk joined in, and even though Astarion didn’t know anything about the man, he felt like they shared a connection. He felt that way about everyone in the world. Dirk was meant to be there. They were all meant to be there. There was love or the potential for love everywhere.
“Gale!” he called out. “Gale! Come here!”
When Gale and Wyll arrived, Karlach extracted herself from Astarion’s cloak.
“Nooo,” he whined.
“I’m still here,” she said, hugging him again from the outside.
“Karlach, you’re so sweet,” Gale said. “I was just telling Wyll. You’re both so sweet…”
“Group hug!” Karlach shouted. “I love you all so much!”
Wyll seemed deeply confused, but unbothered to be roped into a five-person hug.
“Is that Dirk?” Gale wondered.
“Yes, I love Dirk,” Astarion said.
“So do I.”
The dragonborn slurred. “Dirk—love—too—”
“I love you,” Astarion said, staring into Gale’s shimmering eyes.
Everything was warm and wonderful, and none of them cared that an entire bowling alley full of crotchety Dekarioses were glowering at them. They were probably nice, in their own way.
The evening breezed by after that, in a whirlwind of dancing, hugging, and general merriment.
When the last guest left (Karlach, escorted away by her sober husband), Astarion and Gale lingered. Tara too, but she was asleep at the snack bar.
Bowl Hole’s new owner was as unscrupulous as its last: some woman named Ethel who operated it under a shell company called Coven LLC. Normally, full-alley rentals only lasted until eleven o’clock, but by slipping Ethel some cash under the table, Astarion and Gale were able to secure the place for the entire night. Just for themselves, for old times’ sake.
They had big plans. In particular, there were some sticky slappy hands and finger traps at Dribbles’ prize booth that seemed promising…
Astarion breathed in the alley’s stale aroma of sweat and cheese. “Should we open our gifts first, or… each other?”
Gale pushed Astarion into a seat at a bowling lane, which answered that.
“I love you,” he said.
“Ohhh,” Astarion purred. “I love you too—”
Gale dropped to his knees on the tacky floor in front of him, lifted the bottom of Astarion’s cloak, and crawled right up into it, caressing the length of Astarion’s legs as he moved between them.
Being touched by Gale was always a wonder, but on ecstasy the sensation was unbelievable. Astarion’s skin quivered at the energy of it.
In order to avoid visible underwear lines, Astarion hadn’t worn any. Gale was able to nose right up into his dress and—SMACK—plant a kiss on his sweaty balls. It was as if the universe itself had smooched his sack. Pure bliss.
Gale’s thick fingers dug into Astarion’s thighs as he spread his legs further and higher. With a hungry growl, he pressed forward and Astarion felt a wet tongue hit his rim.
“I was supposed to eat your cake, love.”
Things got much wetter as Gale pointedly—and slowly—dragged his tongue across Astarion’s hole, finishing in a loud slurping sound. “We have all night.”
“We do, don’t we?” Astarion grabbed onto an armrest and leaned back. His loopy head drooped over the back of the low chair and he stared at the bowling alley ceiling.
The drop tiles were still water-stained, and there was fluffy pink insulation poking through a hole in one of them. In Astarion’s mind, that cotton candy flock was pulsing, like a beating heart. It bulged and contracted in time with the beats of Astarion’s own.
There was no music—only the licking and smacking of Gale’s tongue and lips, which also seemed synchronous with everything else. His pleased humming made its own music with the whirring buzz of the alley’s tube lights.
Astarion was perfectly content. His drug-induced euphoria intensified as Gale slipped a fat finger inside him. From just that small touch, Astarion felt like his head might burst open. His jaw clenched, and the grind of his teeth made him wish he had something to suck on.
Their bodies were as close as could be—Gale was literally inside him—but it wasn’t close enough. Astarion’s lovesome mind wanted everything at once. It wanted Gale’s beard roughing up his chin. It wanted kisses on his ear tips. It wanted a hand curling through his hair, two hands cupping his ass, two hands on his chest, a thumb caressing his cheek.
More than all of that, Astarion wanted hugs and kisses and snuggles, and to murmur affirmations. He put his hands on Gale’s shoulders and squeezed.
“I love you—”
Above all, he didn’t want to be a disappointment on their wedding night. He’d made big promises that he had every intention of keeping.
Shooting upright, he pushed Gale away from his asshole.
“My turn.”
Astarion stood up and—pulling Gale along—stepped toward the dessert table, where a few sad square slices of cake with stiff frosting remained.
“I was very good earlier,” Astarion said, “not stuffing this in your delicious little mouth and ruining your tux with frosting.”
“You were. Though I never expected to get that deposit back.”
“Bend over,” Astarion said, giggling.
Gale leaned over the table, presenting his thick ass like the gift it was, packed tight in white satiny wrapping. Astarion reached under Gale and undid his belt so he could properly unwrap that gift.
He pulled Gale’s trousers to the floor in one smooth motion, leaving them piled atop his bowling shoes. Next, he took a crumbly slice of cake in his hand and mashed it right between Gale’s hairy cheeks, pressing with two fingers until he was sure Gale’s tight pucker was coated with buttercream.
With enthusiasm, Astarion leaned forward and rammed his face into Gale’s ass, smearing his face with frosting. His hands clawed up under the tuxedo jacket to squeeze his husband’s folds and rolls while his mouth worked overtime to eat up every bit of cake it could find—dessert or ass. Two treats in one.
Gods, he wished he could will his tongue to be longer so he could fill Gale’s entire body with it. There was simply no way to be close enough. Not through sex, anyway.
As nice as it was to keep his mouth occupied, Gale’s delectable squirming and moaning couldn’t fulfill Astarion’s deep-seated desire to hold onto him.
“Astarion—” Gale’s voice was strained.
“Yes, darling?”
“I need something in my mouth. I can’t stop grinding my teeth.”
Astarion made some exaggerated smacking sounds as he wolfed down a bite of cake. “What are you thinking?”
He pulled Gale up onto his feet. At the exact same time, they gazed at the nacho cheese fountain. It had been turned off by the catering crew, and only the lowest tier held any queso.
Astarion snickered. “I bet it’s still warm…”
Gale took him by the hand and—shuffling across the room with his pants around his ankles—pulled him toward the fountain. They popped stale pretzel bites into their mouths and sucked the salt away as they pondered the sexual possibilities of cheese fondue.
Astarion hiked up his tulle cloak so he could get a hand on his dick. He positioned it at the edge of the fountain’s lowest tier and watched as Gale did the same.
Their eyes locked.
“Count of three?” Astarion wondered.
Gale nodded, and they counted together.
“One—Two—Three—”
Astarion’s cock broke easily through a congealing surface into the thick, warm cheese sauce beneath.
“Oh, it’s nice,” he said, feeling the heat of the cheese through his entire body.
“It is,” Gale agreed.
They stood there for a bit, just enjoying a luxurious cheese soak.
Again, a feeling of peace came over Astarion as the goopy canned cheese washed over his cock. He was one with everything, including the fondue that connected him to Gale.
“I love cheese,” he choked as his eyes began to water.
“Me too.”
Gale cupped his hands and dunked them into the cheese, then brought them to his face to slurp it all up. He got about three sips in before choking on the thick liquid and drooling some back out. A vivid orange waterfall cascaded from the corners of his lips onto his white vest.
“Whoops,” he said with a stupid laugh.
Hungry not just for cheese but for his husband, Astarion pulled his dick out of the fountain and rushed to Gale, kissing him as hard as he had at the altar. They exchanged globs of tangy queso, passing it between their tongues and—eventually—down their throats.
“Gale,” Astarion said, tugging at his jacket.
Gale seemed to implicitly understand, and the two of them lowered themselves onto the bowling alley floor. They dropped onto their sides, at first face-to-face.
“I want…” Astarion turned himself around, so his face was aligned with Gale’s crotch.
In one happy little gulp, that familiar, small cock fit into Astarion’s mouth and became a part of him. He was high as fuck, and loving it. This was exactly where he was meant to be: on a bowling alley floor, downing his soulmate’s cheese-coated cock.
His tulle crinkled as Gale hiked up the cloak and took Astarion into his mouth as well.
They both mumbled incomprehensibly into each other’s dicks.
There was no telling how long they lay like that, sucking on each other. Astarion seemed to drift away into a state of nothing but bliss, imagining that Gale would come in his mouth in a sharp orange spray, just like a can of Cheez Whiz.
He didn’t think he’d do the same. His dick did nothing but pulse in time with existence. It didn’t matter. Everything was perfect.
What pulled him out of his rapture was the loud CLUNK-CLANK of the bowling alley HVAC shutting off for the night. Though Bowl Hole had allegedly fixed its carbon monoxide issues, the sound was like an alarm to Astarion.
He dipped his tongue into Gale’s slit to catch a clump of cheese, then pulled away.
Honesty was the only option at this point in his roll.
“Gale, I don’t think I can come.”
There was a loud pop as Gale released Astarion’s semi-soft cock from his mouth. “Oh, thank the gods. Me neither. I’ve felt like I need to pee for at least an hour.”
They sat up, facing each other again, laughing. Bits of paper confetti were glued to Gale’s vest by the now-hardened cheese product.
“Do you want to just… cuddle?” Astarion asked coquettishly.
“I’d love nothing more.”
Neither of them bothered to compose themselves. Their cocks and asses were still out as their slack, sweaty forms made it back to a plastic bench near the gifts table. There, they slumped into a hug and snuggled for ages. Gale was soft, warm, and loving.
“This is just as good as sex,” Astarion muttered hazily.
“It is,” Gale said, nuzzling against his chin. “Maybe better…”
“The comedown’s going to be awful…”
“Let’s not worry about that.”
Astarion’s nervous stomach told him he was already beginning the process. He eyed the gift table and shot up. “I need to give you my gift…”
He reached for a small, pale blue gift bag with a white bow across its face.
Mimicking him, Gale reached for a royal blue envelope.
“Here,” he said, handing the envelope to Astarion. “You go first.”
Gale drummed his bare thighs with his hands while he waited.
The envelope was hefty, and Astarion weighed it in his hands for a moment.
Gale continued tapping at his thighs, either in suspense or just to create music.
With a violent rip, Astarion opened the envelope to find… more paper. It was a few pages thick, tri-folded so that it would fit. He unfurled it and saw the first three words on the page:
ORDER FOR EXPUNGEMENT
The rest was a bunch of legalese that blurred together as he tried to understand.
“Gale, what is this?”
“I asked Mizora to start working on it when she filed our suit against Volo and the Fae-ren Faire. It’s, ah, been a process, and not always a smooth one…”
Astarion’s eyes widened. “Is this why you took a job at that dreadful bookstore?”
Gale nodded. “And why I continued selling my underwear on Faerûn Freeforall.”
“Oh, gods…” Astarion realized what he was looking at—really realized—and his brain shorted out. “You… I…”
“You no longer have a criminal record, my love.”
“How? I’ve had one for twenty years.”
“A sympathetic judge,” Gale explained. “I, ah, don’t think we should go through the court arguments tonight…”
“You’re probably right.”
Astarion imagined the documents brought up uncomfortable facts about himself and Cazador—ones he really didn’t need to think about when the headache of withdrawal was already upon him. He chose instead to focus on Gale.
“This is… I don’t know what to say. No one’s ever…” He began sobbing, hard. “I’m free. I’m actually free.”
“Well, you are stuck with me,” Gale jested.
Astarion shut him up with another kiss, through which he could taste the salt of his own happy tears. In his hands was more than a wedding gift. It was more than a mere show of affection. It was Astarion’s release from a prison he’d built for himself and spent a lifetime confined in.
He could do anything now, and he’d have Gale at his side when he did.
“I love you so much,” he said softly.
“And I love you.”
While Astarion nuzzled into Gale’s shoulder, Gale began removing tissue paper from the gift bag to reveal his own gift.
Suddenly, it seemed wholly inadequate.
“I’m sorry,” Astarion said, sitting himself upright. “You did something so incredible, and I just…”
In the bag was a thin paperback book from an online printing service. Its cover was cheesy: the silhouettes of two men holding hands in front of a heart the color of a sunset.
“Lovable Losers?” Gale wondered.
“It’s, erm… well, you like books…”
Gale began leafing through the pages, which told the story of how a down-on-his-luck elf and a down-on-his-luck human fell in love.
“Astarion, you wrote a book about us?” Gale’s eyes went as misty as they had during his vows.
“Sort of. It’s only thirty pages. It’s nothing special…”
“It is special! It’s the most special thing anyone’s ever done for me…”
While Astarion watched in anticipation, Gale flipped to the last page, where the story ended with three large words: TO BE CONTINUED.
“I love it,” Gale said, planting a kiss on Astarion’s cheek.
“Do you want to read it together?”
Gale tossed one arm over Astarion’s shoulder. With the other, he moved the book onto their bare laps. Astarion held the back cover steady as Gale began.
“It began on a typical Eighthday, at a bowling alley…”
