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How much time has passed since they started? Gale doesn’t know, having lost himself in the taste of Astarion’s lips against his—tangy in the metallic way as Astarion’s mouth always seems to be—the press of that lithe body against his own more substantial one. It could’ve been hours since they set off to bed, only to end up here.
A wet tongue presses to his neck not moments after they break for air. Astarion shoves his face there, pressing close like he wants to bury under Gale’s skin and stay. Gods, he’s breathing him in, isn’t he? Astarion always has an obsession with his neck, pressing that cold nose to the warm skin and inhaling, as if Gale’s scent alone could feed him.
“Astarion,” Gale breathes, just needing to say the other’s name.
His hands twitch at their place on Astarion’s back, digging into the muscle there when Astarion bites down. All he can do is gasp, head falling back to give him more access, more room to suck the lifeblood from Gale’s veins.
He’d let him go until there wasn’t a drop left, if he could.
Quick as it came, Astarion pulls from the bite. It lacks the accompaniment of the usual final lick, instead the blood drips down, staining Gale’s hair where it’s spread out against the pillow. Hooded eyes meet his, dark and dilated and downright ravenous.
Gods, Gale’s let a monster in his bed, and he could hardly care.
The bastard smirks, dragging two fingers over the bite and coming away red. The sight of his blood on Astarion’s skin never fails to send a shiver down his spine. It’s so—barbaric, primal , so unlike the divinity he experienced through Mystra. It’s unmistakably real.
“You taste so much better without the poison, darling,” Astarion tells him, licking his fangs clean. His blood-soaked fingers press to Gale’s lips, smearing it there. It shouldn’t make Gale breathless, but hells, it does. “You should have a try too.”
Gale brushes his tongue against his lips, cleaning the blood off them. Hardly the first time he’s accidentally (or not so) tasted blood. It certainly is the first he’s tried his own. It’s a sharp iron taste, but that hardly matters in the face of Astarion’s expression.
Astarion’s mouth parts, his own wicked tongue wetting his kiss-swollen lips. He looks ravenous, hungry, like Gale is something to be devoured. Gale wants to be devoured.
“Dirty little pup,” the elf tuts, sitting up over him, one hand pressed to the centre of Gale’s chest. His fingers curl into the hair there, tugging oh so slightly, enough that Gale feels the sting of it. Sharp nails dig into Gale’s skin, leaving indents behind. “You look positively delicious, darling, I might just have to taste you everywhere.”
“By all means,” Gale’s voice comes out rougher than intended, low with his simmering desire. “I would be… remiss to stop you.”
A wicked smirk crosses that lovely face, cold hands grabbing Gale by the arms firmly.
“Good boy.”
Languid in his movement, Astarion pushes Gale’s arms up and over his head, ducking down to brush his nose over the skin. The elf stops at the underside of his upper arm, pressing a soft kiss there before sinking his fangs in again. A shock of heat shoots through Gale, and gods if he wasn’t hard before, he is now.
It feels like molten want in his veins, body twitching with each little brush of stimulation, chest heaving with the need to suck in air. One day, Astarion’s going to kill him like this.
Astarion lavishes attention to the mark, moving down to his wrist and biting there too. Each bite is far too quick to actually drink from, the purpose being nothing more than the simple act of it. Down further, to Gale’s chest, taking one of his nipples into his mouth. He doesn’t bite there, not yet.
No, he waits until Gale can’t stop himself from burying his hand in those soft white locks, pressing Astarion closer, grinding against his long limbs. Gods, he needs more or he'll go mad with it.
“Please,” he gasps, his other hand resting on Astarion’s hip, pushing them closer, firmer together. He needs, so badly— “Astarion. I need you to touch me.”
Astarion laughs, a teasing little sound, “Not yet darling. Soon, I promise.”
With a soft moan, Astarion grinds back against him, taking that chance to bite into the softness of Gale’s pectorals. Gale’s hand tightens its grip in Astarion’s hair, and a groan pulls itself from his lips.
“You’re infuriating, ” he grumbles out through the arousal, forcing himself to let go and rest both hands on Astarion’s hips now.
Gods, he’s nothing more than Astarion’s personal chew toy sometimes. Oh he hardly minds. Each mark is further proof of Astarion’s claim on him, and Gale’s claim in return. It is Gale’s blood that fuels his love, sets that lovely flush on his pale face.
“Are you hard, my love?” Astarion coos, lips slick with blood when he pulls back. A small tittering laugh leaves him, then. “I can’t even tell. Hardly anything there to feel.”
It’s humiliating. It’s—infuriatingly arousing, for Astarion to talk about him like that. He’s as hot as the hells inside, need festering under his skin, building up.
The day Astarion learned that kind of talk, ah, fueled the fires, so to speak, was the day it was over for Gale.
“You—” Gale groans. “You incorrigible tease.”
It just earns him another laugh. Astarion’s fingers tease at his nipples as the elf continues moving down. Gale’s cock is already dripping by the time Astarion gets to his stomach, sinking ice-sharp fangs into the fat of it. There, he finally takes the time to drink, languishing in the act of indulging in Gale’s blood. It’s accompanied by another grind, the firmness of him teasing against Gale’s thigh. Gale wants to bury himself in Astarion, to fuck those lovely noises out of him.
He rolls them, unable to hold back anymore. Astarion just laughs a breathy noise, like Gale is some misbehaving pup, but does little to stop him.
“And just what do you think you’re going to do?” the insufferable man purrs, pale fingers curling around the scruff of Gale’s jaw. Astarion’s unphased as Gale hovers over him. His legs are around Gale’s waist, ankles locking at his back.
There’s a beautiful divinity to be found in the paleness of his skin, the way the moon shines off him from the window, the subtle belittlement in his gaze. Gale could write countless poems on the elf’s beauty, if only Astarion would enjoy them.
“Taking matters into my own hands,” Gale pants, shifting his face to kiss Astarion’s palm. “Since you seem to take pleasure in my frustration.”
“I do so love seeing you squirm under me,” Astarion flirts, letting his hand slide up to tangle in Gale’s hair. “I love hearing you whine for me, darling. You’re always so eager to please, but your body betrays your wants.”
Gale hums, letting himself calm in the small moment he’s given them, “As if you’re not rather obvious in your desires either. You look at me like a piece of meat, fit to be eaten. I see the way you look at me, Astarion.”
Something gropes at the pudge of his hips, nails digging into flesh. Astarion grins up at him, shamelessly repeating the motion.
“What can I say? You’re so full, so… thick and soft I can hardly help myself. These,” Astarion drags his hands up, cupping Gale’s chest, “look perfect to bury my face in. As do your thighs. Gods, I’m sure I could get off on them alone, riding them while you watch.”
Gale gives a small fond huff at that, nuzzling his face into Astarion’s neck. He’s warm all over from the unashamed way Astarion gropes at him, dexterous hands cupping his excess or pulling at his body hair. Oh, he knows he's a handsome man, many have said so, and Gale is rather fond of his appearance—but there's something so different about the way Astarion shows it. So much more indulgent, and downright dirty the way Astarion ogles him sometimes.
Lovingly, he leaves a kiss to the twin scars on Astarion’s neck, kissing up the pale column of his throat and to his jaw. Astarion may be prone to biting, to sinking his teeth in every bit of Gale he can get, but Gale is not immune to wanting to leave his own marks. He digs his teeth in the sharpness of Astarion’s jaw, revelling in the little whine it earns him.
“Darling, don’t tease,” Astarion chides. “You were so needy just a moment ago.”
“Yes, but now I have you under me,” Gale grins, pressing their lips together in a small peck. “I could cherish you.”
Astarion rolls his eyes, “Or, you could settle for getting us both off.”
With a little hum of a laugh, he skates his fingers down Astarion’s side, “Perhaps I could. Or we could savour this moment, soak in the divine pleasure that is the two of us together. I could give you a taste of pleasure you’ll get nowhere else, our souls twinned in the Weave. Give you experiences of which you've never had.”
Hand covering his mouth, Astarion gave a little laugh, snickering at Gale’s attempt to woo him. It should be embarrassing—if Gale hadn’t done it on purpose. Flowery words are not for them, not anymore, not when they feel secure in their love. So yes, he enjoys hearing Astarion’s reaction to his romanticism.
Besides, pulling a real laugh out of his lover feels like a sunrise, seeing the first dredges of light rising over the horizon, promising a brighter day. It’s a wondrous thing to see Astarion give into his own joy, without it being performative.
“Darling, hardly necessary,” Astarion purrs, and with an expert—and rather impressive —twist of his hips, Astarion flips them again.
Gale settles back in the bed with an amused smile settling on his face, content to look up at the elf. Alright then, he’ll see what Astarion has in store for him tonight. Some night soon, Gale will indulge himself in worshipping Astarion.
“Then I’m at your mercy,” Gale tells him, gently squeezing Astarion’s hips.
“How right you are.”
Weight settles on his thighs as Astarion sits back, admiring him from his perch. Dark eyes roam over Gale’s face, down his neck and chest. It’s a wondrous thing to be here, and not see those eyes grow distant. Eventually, his gaze halts between Gale’s legs, and a devious little smirk appears on Astarion’s face.
“My, my,” Astarion muses, two fingers trailing through the hair on his lower stomach. They slip further still, teasing the inside of Gale’s thigh. Gale barely holds in a noise. “What’s this? I almost didn’t see it down here, you know.”
Terrible, awful, wicked , fingers brush against the base of his cock, sliding up the length and tapping the head. Gale’s thighs tense at that, flexing with the need to buck his hips up. The touch is far too light, too teasing, and Gale needs something more substantial.
“Not to use your words against you,” Gale berates, though his voice is a bit too breathy for his own liking. It certainly has nothing to do with Astarion’s belittling of course. “But do stop teasing.”
“Hm, but the teasing is so fun. Besides, you’ll get what you want in no time. I’ll hardly need any prep to take this little thing.”
He cups his hand around Gale’s length in full. Pleasure-tinged mortification floods through Gale at the fact that he nicely fits in the entirety of Astarion's grip. It's not like Gale is all that lacking, perhaps the only part of him that is… slightly … below average. But Gods, the way Astarion holds him, touches him, makes him feel smaller.
A pale hand slips below the silk-covered pillow beneath Gale's head, retrieving the small vial of oil they stash there. How Astarion manages to uncap it and slick his own hand using only one—his other still stroking Gale—never fails to be impressive. Gale is helpless to watch as Astarion arches, and reaches behind himself. When a gasp leaves the elf, Gale tugs him down for a devouring kiss, licking inside of Astarion's mouth to taste his pleasured noises directly from the source.
“Hells,” Astarion groans into his mouth, nipping his bottom lip with his fangs. The sharp canines dig into the plush skin, pulling blood to the surface and smearing it against both their mouths. “Don't stop kissing me.”
“Wouldn't dream of it,” Gale murmurs back, his voice a low rumble.
They only part long enough for Gale to catch his breath before they come together again, lips and tongues moving against each other. It's not an elegant dance, no technique, no performance; it's just pure need and want and the desire to crawl into each other's skin and never leave.
Eventually Astarion pulls away, eyes swallowed by black pupils to the point only a thin ring of red remains. He's panting, even with a lack of need to. Gods that shouldn't arouse Gale as much as it does—to see Astarion exhibit signs of arousal he technically doesn't need to, but can't help but to is intoxicating.
Astarion shuffles back, his pale thighs bracketing Gale's hips as he raises himself up over him. With a firm grip to Gale's cock, Astarion positions himself and sinks down onto it. It doesn't take long, and there's little resistance to be met as he does. Pleasure washes over him in waves, leaving his hands clenching tight on Astarion's hips, his eyes fluttering closed. It's nearly overwhelming to finally be inside of him, to have that lithe body perched on top of him. Gale could die as a happy man here, wishing for nothing else.
“Eyes open, my sweet, I want you to look at me,” Astarion scolds. A cold hand grips Gale's jaw, forcing it to bend down. Gale is helpless but to obey and open his eyes for him.
Perfectly coiffed curls are in disarray, mussed and messy from their tangling. A healthy little dusting of pink paints pale skin, reaching up to even the tips of Astarion's ears. Gods, he did that; his blood did that. Astarion's the spitting image of base pleasure: a quickly fading bruise on his jaw, lips swollen and slick from kissing, dirtied with Gale's own blood. It's messy. It's real.
“You are the most wondrous being I've ever seen,” Gale breathes out, the words pulled right from the depths of his mind. “You are magnificent beyond words. A thousand poems could be written to your beauty and not a single one would come close to capturing it. Your very touch is a gift I am too weak to deny.”
A lovely little whine falls from Astarion’s lips, and the elf grinds forward, as if he couldn’t help it. It’s an instinctual motion, nothing practised about it but it leaves Gale groaning. His head falls back to the pillow, breathing heavily.
Astarion murmurs, a little too breathy to be the condescending tone Gale knows he intends, “I can’t even feel anything, darling, are you sure you’re in me?”
“Gods above, Astarion,” Gale responds, his face heating. “I am not lacking so greatly.”
A click of his tongue, then, “I don’t know darling. I think you are.”
He follows it with another roll of his hips that leaves Gale breathless again, thighs tensing with the need to buck up. Gods, he could show Astarion just how much he isn’t lacking, fuck into him with abandon in a primal filthy sort of way, to bring Astarion even a fraction of the pleasure Gale feels. Astarion knows very well how to get that reaction out of him. Astarion also knows how to leave Gale a melted puddle in the sheets.
“Nothing,” Astarion sighs with a frustrated sound, “can’t even fuck me properly, can you, darling? I guess I’ll have to settle for that practised tongue of yours.”
To his utmost displeasure, Astarion shuffles off him. Though he accompanies the move with a sharp-toothed grin. “Though I suppose I have been teasing you for so long. Ask me to get you off first, and maybe I will.”
“Astarion—” Gale hisses, too on edge to keep control of his tone.
Why in the nine hells did he have to fall in love with someone so tortuous, so sadistic with pleasure. Oh how Astarion loves to draw it out until Gale is begging, desperate for any touch. The bastard takes delight in Gale’s tears of frustration or need.
He’d be a liar to say he doesn’t like it, doesn’t ask for it sometimes.
A clawed finger taps the head of his cock, shiny and slick already. Gale can’t help but choke on a noise at the jolt of pleasure, yet it’s still not enough. The need to come, to get off, is so strong it’s nearly painful
“I said ask, darling, that doesn’t quite sound like asking.”
Gale’s face burns in his embarrassment, though it did little to dissuade his arousal. There’s that small part of him that wants to protest, to argue against it and retain his dignity—hardly something he even needs here—but he knows Astarion won’t give him what he wants if he choses that route.
Still, he closes his eyes and ignores the way his face heats further when he says, no, whines to his horror, “Astarion, please . Please, I need to come.”
“Good boy,” Astarion praises, leaning in to give him a quick kiss on his cheek. “See, that wasn’t so hard, now was it? Now, how would you like me to get you off darling, my hand or my mouth?”
“Gods, your mouth,” Gale breathed before he could even think about it, wanting that silver tongue on his cock. “Don’t make me ask again, please.”
Astarion laughs, shuffling back until he’s between Gale’s spread thighs. “That was asking enough, wasn’t it? I do love making you beg though darling, you look so pretty with tears down your face.”
A whine threatened to slip free again, but Gale bit down on his lip to stop it.
“Hardly a problem to use my mouth,” Astarion said, nuzzling into the skin where Gale’s hip met his thigh. “I mean look at you, hardly even a mouthful. No worry of jaw pain at least.”
Astarion licks at the base of his cock, seemingly uncaring as his tongue lavishes over the thick hair there. His tongue is warmer than most would expect, not quite to a human level, but it makes it pleasant enough. Unable to hold back anymore, Gale gives a shallow buck of his hips. It’s, gods, he needs Astarion’s mouth fully on him now or he’ll go mad with want. The bastard seems to still be dragging it out, so Gale buries a hand in those white curls and presses him closer.
“Needy,” Astarion growls, but doesn’t shoo Gale’s hand away.
Finally, the elf takes him into his mouth, swallowing him whole almost effortlessly. With a cry, Gale fucks up into that dangerous mouth. He can feel the scrape of Astarion’s fangs on his cock, only making him shiver with arousal, heat pooling in his gut. He’s not going to last long, not now when he finally has what he wants.
Pale hands settle on Gale’s hips and press down with unnatural strength, keeping him from moving. There’s nothing he can do as Astarion pulls pleasure from him, expert lips and tongue sucking and licking at his length. Satisfied when Gale doesn’t fight against the hold, Astarion drops one of his hands down to Gale’s balls, brushing over them before going lower, teasing the pucker of his hole.
“Gods,” Gale groans, fisting at Astarion’s hair to a point that must be painful, yet the elf gives no complaints. “You’re so good. I love your mouth, I love you.”
Then Astarion hums around him and Gale can’t hold on anymore. With a cry, something snaps inside of him, orgasm wrung out of him far more quickly than he’d like. But gods, he’s been on edge for so long, aching for so long.
Astarion holds him down when his body tenses, keeping his nose pressed to Gale’s skin. He doesn’t let up as he drinks down every last bit of Gale’s cum. For a moment he can’t breathe, can’t do anything but be washed away in the waves of pleasure. Unstrung in this moment by someone he trusts so wholly.
Slowly, and with a final little kiss to the tip of Gale’s cock, Astarion pulls off. He wears a satisfied little smile—like the cat that got the cream—no doubt pleased with reducing Gale to a mess. Gale can hardly blame him, feeling much the same whenever he leaves Astarion reduced to a puddle.
“Shh, darling,” Astarion soothes, reaching up to brush away tears from Gale’s eyes. “You were so good, my love. Looked so beautiful coming for me.”
Gale pants, attempting to catch his breath. The urge to pull Astarion as close as possible is a bothersome itch under his skin, making his arms twitch in a half-aborted attempt. Astarion’s eyes flick down to them, and a knowing expression flitters along his face.
“I know, but you’ve yet to return the favour,” Astarion chides, pushing himself up and moving forward more. He turns then, his ass perched over Gale’s face. “Go on then. Please me.”
Without further adieu, Astarion settles over Gale’s face. Gale wastes no time in licking into Astarion, fueled by the little shakes and gasps Astarion lets out. Oh, Gale knows how to please, even still soaking in the aftermath of his own orgasm.
He sucks at Astarion’s rim, still slick from the oil used earlier, but it hardly deters him.
“Yes, good. Gale—” he hears Astarion groan above him as pale thighs squeeze around his head. It’s followed by the sound of flesh on flesh. Is he touching himself? Stroking that lovely cock of his as Gale fucks him with his tongue? A breathy moan leaves the elf, enticing Gale to double his efforts.
He knows Astarion’s close with the way he tenses, heavy breaths falling from those wicked lips.
That’s it , he thinks, while his mouth is occupied. Come undone for me, love. Let yourself be pleased, let yourself let go. I have you, I won’t let you go.
A sharp cry and a splattering of warmth on his stomach tells him when Astarion falls over the edge, thighs clamped tight around Gale’s face. Astarion’s hips rock back and forth, riding his tongue as he works himself through his orgasm.
“I seem—” Astarion laughs, a real lighter sound, “to have made a mess of your chest, my sweet.”
He can’t respond like this, and as happy as Gale is to have Astarion sat on his face, he does need to breathe. Gale taps his side, and Astarion slides off, flopping onto the bed beside him. The elf lets out a little omph and stretches out like a cat.
There's nothing more rapturous than this, messy and real and nothing like the ethereal joining in the Weave he knew for so long. They're both covered in blood, sweat, and cum, basking in the afterglow of their orgasms. All Gale can do is roll over and bundle Astarion in his arms; press him down into the bed and bury his face in Astarion's neck. He smells like sex and his usual mix of rosemary, bergamot and aged brandy, but underneath that Gale can detect the faintest scent of decay.
A hand pets through his sweaty hair, nails catching on snags and working them out. They’ll both need a bath to clean off, but Gale is loath to leave this moment. They’ve found themselves a little bubble of peace, held safely in each other's arms.
“Have I finally rid the great wizard of his words?” Astarion teases.
“Hardly,” Gale chuckles, kissing the underside of Astarion’s jaw. “I’m simply… basking in the moment.”
“Well I can’t fault you for that. I am amazing at this.”
With a fond shake of his head, Gale sits up so he can cup Astarion’s face with his hand, smiling down at him. There’s naked affection reflected in those beautiful red eyes, in the little curl of Astarion’s mouth. It’s a luxury, no, an honour to see Astarion like this, so unabashedly free with his love.
“I love you,” Gale murmurs, brushing his thumb under Astarion’s eye, over the permanent dark smudge that has settled there, presumably, since he turned. “I love you more than I’ve loved anyone.”
“I…” Astarion averts his eyes, a lovely little flush blotching his face. “I didn’t know what love was until I met you.”
Gale can’t stop the smile that takes over his face, nearly hurting with how intense it is.