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If Astarion were to say a good thing about Halsin he would say that there was a lot of him. It was better for a person to take up a lot of space than very little. However, that was about the end of his compliments for the man.
Like him, Wyll seemed to agree, except he was a lot more effusive in his praise. Astarion had overheard him tell Karlach, “Halsin is a delight. I pity the cultist who tangles with that thick hunk of an elf,” and had struggled fiercely not to jump in with, "if we ever need to make a quick escape we merely need to throw him at our pursuers.”
Unlike him, Wyll must have found a lot more to like in the man, because he hadn’t left his side since.
Astarion watched from his seat by the fire as the two chatted by Halsin’s tent. Halsin gesticulated expansively and Wyll laughed on occasion, his arms folded in front of his chest in a way that made his top ride up his abdomen and reveal more of the dark trail of hair leading into the waistband of his trousers.
Wyll’s smiles were a common occurrence, so Astarion had had plenty of occasion to note how they crinkled the corner of his eyes charmingly, and how the amused exhale he sometimes let out made his right nostril twitch. And yet, since Halsin had joined them, Astarion couldn’t help thinking he had found himself on the receiving end of rather fewer.
He wrenched his gaze away from the two of them and returned his attention to the task at hand, which was peeling potatoes for Gale’s stew. So far he had managed two.
Gale was humming to himself while he stirred the large pot, stopping on occasion to taste its contents and smack his lips in appreciation. It was a dreadful sight, and Astarion resented having nothing better to do.
“How’s the peeling going? I’m going to need those potatoes soon.”
“Oh, well, then you should have asked someone else to help you.”
Gale sighed in exasperation, but kept stirring his concoction. Astarion stared at his profile trying to muster even the faintest desire to flirt with him.
“Do you think Halsin and Wyll can hear us, all the way over there?”
Gale turned to look in their direction. “Perhaps if we shout.”
Well in that case. “My, Gale, don’t you look just stunning, bent over that big pot, providing for all of us.” He paused. “Well, not me, but everyone else.”
“Uh, thanks, for that…” He was giving Astarion an odd look, but just over his shoulder, he could see Halsin and Wyll looking towards them, so they had most likely overheard him.
Astarion uncurled himself from his sprawl on the wooden log, and walked up to Gale, draping one arm around his waist. “Can I give you a hand with that, darling?”
“You can give me a hand with the potatoes, which is what I asked you for help with.”
Astarion couldn’t care less what Gale wanted. He chanced another look back at Halsin and Wyll, but now Wyll was nowhere to be found. Looking around didn’t immediately reveal his location, so Astarion let his arm drop from around Gale’s middle and took a step towards his tent.
“I’m tired, I think I’m going to rest for a while.”
Gale frowned. “Weren’t you going to help me?”
“I think you’re handling everything amazingly on your own.”
Back in his tent, Astarion flopped onto his bedroll with an annoyed sigh. He didn’t know what he’d been expecting, for Wyll to walk up to him, and tell him not to lose his time with Gale when he was right there? He wasn’t right there, he was having a great time looking up at Halsin’s gigantic biceps.
After a lifetime of pretending to welcome whatever depravity was done to him, Astarion could almost appreciate the irony in finally wanting someone to touch him and not being reciprocated. There was a lesson for him, somewhere in there, it wasn’t a lesson he cared to learn, but it burrowed itself into his brain like a worm in soft soil.
It was also a lesson Cazador had tried to impart on him many times, it vexed Astarion to admit his master had been right now that he didn’t even have to.
He could almost hear him, every word a knife, “You’re good for one thing only, and if you can’t convince someone of that, well, then you’re no good at all.”
Astarion tried to smother these thoughts with the pillow of his indifference. He hadn’t succeeded in securing Wyll’s interest, but so what? He hadn’t been kicked out of the group, and Wyll was even willing to overlook the fact he was a vampire. Shouldn’t he be glad? He had everything he wanted and without needing to get on his back to secure it.
It was all Wyll’s fault that Astarion had ever entertained ideas of seducing him to begin with, what with the whole ‘I don’t care that you’re a vampire’, and ‘I will help you kill your Master’ spiel. If Astarion had known he was to be so humiliatingly turned down, he would never have approached Wyll on that damned beach. He supposed he should feel some modicum of gratitude that the man had tried to spare his feelings, although his lies hadn’t been very convincing.
Still, an effort had been made to leave his dignity intact. Too bad Astarion wasn’t the type of person to appreciate it, and had kept Wyll at a distance ever since.
It was grating that Wyll had respected his wishes and done the same.
This had coincided somewhat with Halsin joining their camp, and now Astarion had a privileged daily view of Wyll’s considerable charm at work on someone else. He half suspected he wouldn’t be nearly as upset with the turn of events if Wyll hadn’t rejected him. He hadn’t even wanted to sleep with him before finding someone better, that stung the sharpest. Cazador’s words echoed around in his mind. ‘No good at all’, indeed.
The rustling of the underbrush outside his tent wrenched him out of his thoughts. He sat up straight on his bedroll, watching shadows dance on the canvas, a large, hunched shape was coming closer. Astarion took out his dagger, but before he could move a familiar voice called out to him:
“Astarion, can I come in?”
Had his maudlin thoughts spilled over to Wyll across the godsdamned tadpole connection? Was he here to reassure Astarion that he liked him just fine, just not enough to fuck?
He got up with a sigh and unpinned the tent flap to let Wyll in, which was when he noticed the hunched shape was a wolf draped across his shoulders.
“What in the hells is that?” Astarion looked on in shock as Wyll hauled the beast into his tent and dumped it on the floor at his feet.
“Your dinner,” Wyll said, wiping his arm across his forehead. “That was really heavy.”
Astarion looked from the seemingly unconscious wolf to Wyll. “Did you carry it all the way from the woods back to camp?”
Wyll smiled sheepishly and shook his head. “Don’t jest, I had to call Lae’zel to help me carry it, and she did, for most of the way, I only brought it to you – under threat of bodily harm should I let Shadowheart ‘glimpse its foul snout’, might I add.”
That still didn’t explain why Wyll had done it in the first place. “I can hunt on my own,” Astarion said, shifting his stance from one foot to the other, uncertain of what to do now that it was just him and Wyll, and an unconscious wolf in a cramped tent.
“Of course you can,” he chuckled, “I just felt it would nice if, for a change, someone else did it for you.”
Something unseemly was happening inside Astarion’s ribcage which he was sure was unrelated to the present circumstances. “Uh, thanks, I’m...glad it’s still alive.”
“Oh, of course, I remember, much nicer to drink from living things.” Wyll nodded.
“Just so.” Astarion nodded too. They were both locked in a nodding pattern they couldn’t seem to break out of.
Finally Wyll cleared his throat. “Right, I’ll just leave you to it. Enjoy.”
“Thank you,” Astarion said, catching the tail-end of Wyll’s smile as he left his tent.
Astarion had no memory of anyone cooking for him, although, logically, he knew it must have happened. There was something odiously vulnerable about a hunger like his, it didn’t make him feel like a predator, it humiliated him. He was no different than a sickly person who must eat a restricted diet lest it worsen their illness.
He was glad to be free of Cazador’s rules, but there was an added layer of humiliation in having to feed from animals. The fact that to drink from people he either needed their permission or to kill them, only compounded the indignity. And yet he knew Wyll meant it as a kindness. He sunk to the floor and gripped the wolf by the neck, bringing its hot fur to his lips. He bit down harshly, the creature whimpered before dying. Its blood was fortifying, but not flavorful, it had none of the spice of cooked meals, and wines, and whatever other indulgences seasoned a life. Astarion drank it all, because he needed the energy, but all the while he imagined how much better Wyll must taste. In his mind’s eye, Wyll’s blood would fill his mouth and taste of all the delicious meals he could smell but never savour, it would quench a two-hundread-year hunger, and awaken a new one. Astarion was sure he would become addicted to it, not just human blood, but Wyll’s in particular.
He was sure that nothing in the world could taste as good as a good man’s blood.
---
Astarion supposed there was beauty to be found in the Underdark but he had no inclination to go looking for it. While everyone stayed back at the myconid colony, making nice with their new mushroom friends, him, Wyll, Halsin and Gale had scouted ahead in search of the wizard’s tower Omeluum and Blurg had told them about.
Gale, for one, could not shut up about it. Astarion had to tune out his prattle or he would be tempted to start making fun of him. Gale was walking ahead with Halsin, gesticulating wildly while pontificating about the dangers they might find ahead and how they should all follow his lead. Astarion hung back, Wyll keeping pace with him.
They were silent, but it wasn’t unpleasant. Part of Astarion was annoyed at himself for being pleased Wyll was with him and not Halsin.
The issue of the wolf hadn’t come up again between the two of them. After draining the animal Astarion had skinned it and dried the pelt. He wasn’t sure what he was going to do with the fur, he could make a nice pair of warm boots, perhaps a cloak. Wyll would look very dashing with a wolf pelt thrown over his shoulders, it would add a roguish edge to his boyish good looks.
Of course, Astarion wouldn’t know how to give him something like that without humiliating himself any more than he already had, so probably he was going to keep the pelt for himself, he’d figure something out. In the meantime he’d keep picturing Wyll wearing it.
Wyll was the first to break the silence, almost startling Astarion. “We’ve been here for three days now, have you manage to find anything to eat?”
Astarion chanced him a sideways glance, wondering if Wyll too had been thinking about the wolf. “Not many animals around these parts, but I’m sure I’ll have my chances once we happen upon the duergar.”
Before Wyll could say anything else a sudden rumbling cut through the air, thunderous like a hammer falling on an anvil, in its wake came the shifting of the ground under their feet, which gave way before they could take a single step in any direction.
Astarion didn’t know for how long he fell, but the pain he expected never materialized. Something soft and spongy broke his fall, making his body bounce before he finally settled on his back. He looked around and found Wyll not far away, trying to balance himself atop the bed of springy mushrooms they had been dropped on.
“Lets hope we’re not treading on anyone’s grandparent,” Astarion said, taking ginger steps across the mushrooms, Wyll’s laughter meant he was likely uninjured as well.
After a considerable struggle, they both managed to step down from the mushrooms and into a bed of moss.
“I think our only way out is up,” Wyll said, looking up at the tall rocky walls that extend all around them. Astarion could hear the faint sound of running water, but it was hard to tell if they could reach it by adventuring further into this clearing of sorts, or if it was coming from beneath their feet.
He cupped his hands around his mouth and shouted upwards. “Hello? We’re down here.”
No reply met his cry, so either Halsin and Gale couldn’t hear him, or they were looking for them elsewhere.
“Maybe they fell into a similar chasm,” Wyll volunteered. “They were only a few paces ahead of us.”
Astarion hadn’t considered that. “They better not,” he said. “I have better things to do than be stuck down here.” If pressed, he wouldn’t be able to name them, but he was sure, in time, something would come to him.
Wyll snorted in amusement, and set out to explore the perimeter of the cave. Astarion remained right where he was, his neck angled skywards.
As time passed he became aware of a growing warmth, which was noticeable because Astarion was either cold or room temperature. His body temperature never rose unless he was leeching the heat off of another body.
The novelty was pleasant for the five minutes it took him to realize that the heat didn’t seem to stop rising, and that it was bringing with it unexpected side-effects. He cleared his throat, and then pawed at it, to unlace the straps of his leather jerkin and the lacing of the undershirt he was wearing underneath.
There was something very wrong, his skin seemed to be burning where the clothes touched him, suffocating and constricting him, at the same time he began to feel arousal follow hot on the heels of the constricting sensation.
Astarion had felt something similar in the past, even though Cazador could simply command them to, he often doused Astarion and his siblings in love potions, when they had company to entertain, to make them beg for their own torture, out of their minds with lust and grateful for every cruel touch.
This was no different, and panic rose in Astarion’s throat like bile. He cast his eyes around for Wyll and found him in a similar predicament all the way across the moss bed, naked from the waist up, his eyes wide and incredulous at what was happening to him.
“Hells,” Astarion cursed under his breath, closing his eyes against the sight of Wyll’s chiseled, scarred body, which only fanned the flames of the inferno growing inside him.
“Astarion, are you...are you alright?” The damned fool was making his way towards Astarion, sweat had begun to gather at his temples and in the hollow between his collar bones.
Wyll’s own gaze was drawn to the sliver of bare chest where Astarion’s undershirt gaped open. “I think there’s something happening to me.”
He sounded uncertain, as if there could be a mild explanation for the sudden arousal he was feeling that he hadn’t yet considered.
Desperation made Astarion mean. “Darling, don’t be daft, you know what’s happening.” He pulled his jerkin and undershirt off over his head in one single movement. “I reckon it’s the mushrooms, I don’t recognize them, but they must be used to brew love potions.” He started working on his trousers under Wyll’s heavy, hot gaze.
“That’s…” Wyll cursed under his breath. “What do we do now?”
He couldn’t be that clueless. Astarion glared at him. “What else? We fuck about it, before it starts hurting.” And it would, very soon, they would be in so much pain that death would feel like a kindness. That was what taking too many potions did, and they had fallen face first into a thousand mushrooms, that was bound to be much, much, worse.
There was something complicated happening to Wyll’s face, some kind of contriteness that burned at Astarion hotter than the mushroom spores. Was the idea of laying with Astarion so repulsive to him that he would have rather taken his chances with the pain? He wouldn’t be able to stand it, of course, but that he would even consider it...
Astarion tried to ignore his own shame as he took off his clothes, turning his back on Wyll. “Listen, I know I’m not your first choice, but believe me when I tell you, resisting is going to drive you mad.”
“That’s not…,” Wyll sighed, long and drawn out, but Astarion heard a rustling sound as he undressed. “This is not how I wanted it to happen.”
“You made that very clear,” Astarion snapped at him, wondering if Wyll was being cruel on purpose or just callous. “Next time, don’t be such a fucking gentleman, maybe if you were walking ahead you’d be here with Halsin instead.”
It wasn’t hard to imagine Halsin having a grand laugh over the whole thing, brushing off the spore’s compulsion as some added flavour for an impromptu tryst. He wondered if Wyll would have looked half as chagrined if he’d found himself in this situation with him instead of Astarion.
A pair of arms wrapped around his waist. Wyll lowered his head into the crook of Astarion’s neck. He had undressed fully too, and his hard cock pressed into the meat of Astarion’s ass like a brand. “Ssh, shh, there’s no need to be scared, we’ll get out of this together.”
The unbearable heat cooled off everywhere their skin touched, but Astarion couldn’t even enjoy the relief because Wyll’s words incensed him. “Who’s scared? Do you have any idea how often --”
He turned to argue face-to-face but was silenced with a kiss.
Wyll was a good kisser, his lips were soft and his tongue was teasing but not intrusive, Astarion slackened into his arms, letting some of the tension drain out of him, and into the kiss. He couldn’t resist nipping at Wyll’s bottom lip with his fangs, but that only made Wyll kiss him harder, exhaling into Astarion’s mouth as his hands roamed the expanse of his back, light over his scars, before one settled on the top of his shoulders and the other on the small of his back.
Astarion let his own hands map the planes of Wyll’s body unbidden; he felt over his hard, furry chest, fingering a scar that came very close to his nipple and that must be sensitive because it made Wyll shiver. His other hand measured the span of the scar that ran from Wyll’s kidney to his navel, nearly bisecting him. It was rough and knotted, and it was a miracle he had survived it at all.
“I have a confession to make,” Wyll said, breaking the kiss to whisper, his thumb came up between their lips so he could spread moisture on Astarion’s lower lip, his clouded gaze enraptured by the sight. “I have never done this before.”
Astarion closed his eyes and cursed under his breath. Of course. He could always be made to feel worse, how could he have forgotten this single, immutable, fact of his life.
“Well, I have, so…,” his tone didn’t sound light even to his own ears, “I know how to make it good for you.”
Worry knotted Wyll’s brow, he used the thumb he still had over Astarion’s lip to tilt his face upwards so he could look into his eyes. “I want it to be good for you too.”
Pretty words, but hard to believe when Astarion knew the truth. Wyll didn’t want him at all.
There was nothing either of them could do about it now, so Astarion kissed him to shut him up. He used the distraction to lower himself onto the bed of moss and pull Wyll down with him. They were parted only for a moment before Astarion’s lips were on him again. The less they talked the less room there was for awkwardness to grow.
Astarion was an expert at making impersonal fucking feel intimate. It was such a shame that Wyll was determined to kiss him so sweetly, Astarion would have preferred it if he had given into the compulsion and just took what he wanted. It made it harder for him to focus on what he needed to do, made it harder to remember that none of this was for him.
He was sitting astride Wyll’s lap, holding on to one of his horns to get at his mouth, busy ensuring there were no deviations from the script. He was startled when Wyll closed his fist around both their cocks, slicking his hand in their combined fluids.
“Good to see a virgin show some initiative,” Astarion said, to distract himself from how much pleasure the simple, sudden touch brought him.
Wyll tightened his fist with a smirk. “This, I’m very familiar with.” He rubbed his thumb over the slit of Astarion’s cockhead, pushing down lightly until a bead of clear fluid burst around his finger. He licked his lips. “Convenient, otherwise we’d have nothing to slick the way.” He gathered more precum on his palm before sliding it down their shafts. “A side effect?”
Astarion couldn’t help fucking into Wyll’s fist. “Clever boy.” He sucked on a breath at the answering twist, his eyelids fluttering. The spores brought everything to the surface, there was a very real danger Astarion might cum from this alone, without having done anything for Wyll but sit on his lap.
He kept his eyes closed because the fleeting glimpses he’d caught of Wyll with his lip between his teeth, and his red eye flooded nearly black with lust almost undid him. This wasn’t how it was supposed to go.
“Astarion, you’re bleeding.”
The words didn’t make sense at first but then he felt Wyll’s finger on his lower lip. He opened his eyes to find Wyll inspecting the blood on his thumb, his tongue poked at it experimentally, before he sucked it into his mouth.
“Tastes like blood,” he said, as if he had conducted a very serious field experiment.
Astarion kissed the grin off his lips, driven out of his mind with more than the spores. Wyll chuckled in amusement at Astarion’s intensity but returned the kiss, his hand on their cocks sped up. “You’re gorgeous, you know?” Wyll said, only breaking the kiss to whisper the words into Astarion’s neck.
“Shut up.” Astarion didn’t want to hear any vacuous praises for his good looks. Everyone was beautiful when they were making you cum.
“No.” Wyll kissed the hinge of his jaw, nipping him softly with the edge of a canine. “I don’t think I will.”
Astarion gritted his teeth but said nothing, he was hurtling fast towards orgasm. He didn’t remember the last time he didn’t have to work hard for it, a concerted mental effort to get his body and mind to sync up enough for him to climax. The pleasure ran through him unbidden, unshackled by the obligation of performing. It should be a relief, it was a relief but he couldn’t ignore the deep irony of finally finding himself in a sexual situation he wanted to be in but with someone who didn’t want to be there.
Wyll was pathologically incapable of not being a gentleman, of course he wouldn’t resent Astarion for any of it. It didn’t mean that Astarion couldn’t resent himself, and his rotten luck.
“Let go,” Wyll said, his voice rough and heavy, “there’s no need to hold yourself back.”
He followed his words with more kisses on Astarion’s neck, his skin was newly sensitized wherever his lips fell. Astarion threw his arms around Wyll’s shoulders to hide himself in his shoulder, but he couldn’t resist a glance downwards at where Wyll had both their cocks wrapped in a tight fist, the crowns glistening with moisture, angry purple and red. The sight was alluring and Astarion’s mouth filled with saliva; out of a desire to have his mouth around Wyll’s cock, and his dexterous, clever fingers inside his body.
Wyll wrapped the fingers of his free hand on the back of Astarion’s head, his breath came in jagged gasps, his heart raced like a stallion against Astarion’s still one. “I’m --,” pleasured overwhelmed him too much to get the words out. Astarion’s body seized like a pulled string and he came with a shout, Wyll following him over the edge with a delighted moan. Astarion lifted his head from the cradle of his neck to kiss him, muffling his pleasure as Wyll worked them over, and through it, making a mess of their abdomens and chests.
Wyll caught his breath in great heaving gasps, interspersed with delighted chuckles and caresses to the back of Astarion’s head.
Astarion’s mind had gone blank with orgasm, washed clean of any worries with the surge of pleasure. It wouldn’t last, but he wanted to stay in that blissful oblivion for as long as he could. It was always what he hated most, being pulled back into his body after managing to escape it.
The flesh that offered him relief also trapped him.
Wyll’s kisses gentled him down, slow and generous, like the man himself. He kissed Astarion just to do it, and not as a prelude for anything else. It was novel, but it hurt him too. He needed to remember that none of this was for him. Kindness was just another word for pity.
“Uh, that’s different,” Wyll said, sounding amused. He was looking down at their laps, Astarion followed his line of sight to their hard cocks.
His naivety was endearing. “Did you think that was all?” What was the use of an aphrodisiac that was good for a single round only? What kind of torture would it be if the need could be staved off with a single orgasm.
Wyll’s smile fell. “Is this so awful for you?”
Astarion groaned. “What do you want? Praises for your performance?”
“No, just your assurance that I’m not doing you harm.”
His face was so open, so devoid of guile, that Astarion almost hated him. He flattened Wyll down onto the moss with a hiss, pushing his shoulders into the ground and keeping him there. “Stupid man, silly boy, I would kill you if you did anything I didn’t want you to.”
To his surprise, Wyll smirked, his handsome face taking on a rakish cast. “Good, that’s all I wanted to hear.”
He surged up on his elbows to kiss a path down Astarion’s chest to his nipples, teasing each one with the tip of his tongue until they were hard as pebbles. Astarion held him in place by the horns, using them as handles to move him where he wanted. His own hands drifted down Wyll’s chest, squeezing and kneading, twisting and pinching just for the satisfaction of hearing Wyll’s pained hisses and feeling his cock jump under his ass. A little pain pleased the Blade. That was something Astarion was going to file for later until he remembered there wasn’t going to be a later – this was a one time event, so he better make the most of it.
“Enough,” he said, pulling Wyll away from his chest with a wrench of his horns. A thin thread of spit still connected his full bottom lip to Astarion’s tit. “Get me ready.”
“For what?” Wyll asked, smiling innocently even has his hands drifted to the globes of Astarion’s ass. “I’m afraid you’ll have to spell it out, since I’ve never done this before.”
Astarion glared down at him, beyond annoyed that Wyll’s act was working on him. He was effortlessly charming, naturally disarming, painfully beautiful. Damn him, damn him, for being everything Astarion had ever wanted and not wanting him back.
He supposed he should be glad, that after all, he was at least good enough to fuck, but it was a cold comfort.
Astarion got on his back, his knees spread to give Wyll a good view. He ducked his head coyly before meeting Astarion’s eyes again, a small, pleased smile tucked into the corner of his lips.
“Fuck me open with your fingers,” Astarion said, turning his head to the side, at once aroused and humiliated to be voicing things so plainly.
Wyll approached him with a keen look of concentration in his eyes. One of his hands settled on the top of Astarion’s knee while the other fisted his cock, stroking it only to coax more precum onto his palm. Astarion allowed it with teeth-gritted concentration, keeping still instead of giving into the desire to fuck up into Wyll’s fist.
The first finger to circle his hole was tentative, pressing very softly against the rim.
“I don’t know what kind of books you’ve been reading, but it doesn’t open up like a flower at true love’s touch, you actually have to push.”
Wyll chuckled, his eyes crinkling with fondness but he did finally get his finger inside Astarion. “Does that hurt?”
“It’s a single finger, it doesn’t feel like much of anything,” Astarion snapped at him, but Wyll’s grin only widened. How he could possibly be enjoying this was beyond comprehension.
“Fussy little thing, aren’t you?” he said, before pulling out and fucking back in with two fingers this time.
Wyll had some idea of what to do, a notion that there was a spot he was meant to find, but mostly he just fucked his fingers inside Astarion at awkward angles and slow speeds. Astarion was ready to berate him some more, but was arrested by the sight of Wyll’s handsome face sweetened by arousal, lips parted as he watched his fingers disappear inside Astarion’s body.
“Have you never done this to yourself?” Astarion asked, adjusting his hips to get a better angle.
“Once or twice,” he admitted, “I assumed it would feel better with a partner.”
“It does, but only if they know what to look for.” He sat up a little to grip Wyll’s wrist and adjust his fingers. “It’s not very far, curl your fingers, yes, like that, make a beckoning motion.” His breath hitched as Wyll got him just right. “That’s it, no, don’t be so direct it can be too intense, just push against it when you fuck in or out, pick one.”
Selfishly, Astarion was teaching Wyll how to please him and him alone. A better teacher would have told him that every body was different, and that what he preferred others might dislike. But Astarion felt nothing but resentment for Wyll’s future lovers.
And Wyll followed directions beautifully, reading the signs of Astarion’s body to draw out his pleasure. He experimented too, changing speeds to see what reaction it would get him. He wrapped his free hand around Astarion’s cock, and grinned in satisfaction when it made his hips lift from the ground to chase his touch.
“You were lying you know, you do open up for me, I can feel you sucking me in.” There was wonder in Wyll’s voice, as if there was something special about Astarion’s body instead of the well-honed instincts of a whore.
Still, there was something to the fantasy that this was something special. Maybe just for a little, Astarion was allowed to pretend that Wyll wanted him as much as he did.
“It’s because I want you to fuck me.”
His words made Wyll’s eyes blow wide, he cursed under his breath. From between his spread thighs Astarion could see him on his knees, his cock an angry purple. His mouth watered at the sight, the need to get his mouth on Wyll nearly overwhelmed him.
Wyll fell back on the moss with a huff when Astarion toppled him, and let out a startled whine when Astarion got his mouth around him, swallowing him down to the root.
“Hells,” his fingers tangled in Astarion’s hair, “that’s some sight.”
Astarion pulled off his cock with a wet pop, grinning around the crown before taking Wyll deep into his mouth again. He’d heard plenty of praise for his cocksucking over the years. Some of it had been said in an attempt to humiliate him, but Astarion had always noticed the irony in demeaning someone for giving you pleasure. Which didn’t mean the degradation didn’t work, only that he didn’t feel as bad for the pleasure he gave others. In many ways it was a kind of power, and he was glad to yield it when he had it.
It was a different story when pleasure was something he was made to suffer.
For now, Wyll had no chance of holding off against Astarion’s talents, and within minutes was warning him that he was cumming. Astarion ignored him and let him cum in his mouth, but didn’t swallow.
He pushed Wyll flat on his back and climbed on top of him, knees around his hips. Wyll was still dazed in the wake of his orgasm, but when Astarion spat his cum onto his open palm he cursed and tried to sit up. Astarion kept him down with a hand on his chest, while reaching behind himself with the other to slick Wyll’s cock with his own cum.
“I wanted to kiss you,” Wyll whined, his fingers digging into Astarion’s thighs.
“You’ve kissed me plenty, darling,” Astarion said, fitting the tip of Wyll’s cock against his hole. “I’m giving you the best view in the house.”
Wyll’s grasp on language unraveled as Astarion sank down on his cock, until he was reduced to strings of whimpers and gasps. Astarion would have gloated, if he weren’t likewise overcome by the delicious stretch of Wyll's cock making space inside his body.
His thighs shook when Wyll was in him to the hilt, keeping still even though it cost him. “How does that feel, darling?” Astarion asked, returning his earlier questions.
“Heavenly,” his brow furrowed in concentration. “Like delicious torture.”
Astarion chuckled and squeezed around him, vice-like. Wyll yelped as if wounded. “I could make you cum without even moving.”
“I don’t doubt that, but I don’t see how that would be any fun for you.”
He lifted his hips by small increments, and dropped down hard. “I would get to see you make those pretty faces, let out those pretty sounds.”
Wyll was flustered, but he still met Astarion’s eyes. “This isn’t all about me, what do you want?”
Astarion wanted this to mean more to Wyll than it did to him. He couldn’t recall the last time he’d had sex without the promise of pain during or immediately afterwards. What he wanted was to feel like there wasn’t something wrong with him for wanting it at all.
He wanted to have met Wyll as a free man, perhaps he would have liked him then, perhaps Astarion would have liked himself.
He balanced backwards on Wyll’s thighs and started bouncing on his cock to get the crown flush against his prostate on the upstroke, the angle so smooth it was almost like scratching an itch. He didn’t care for how he looked, how his own cock bobbed freely as he rode, dripping in a constant, messy stream. Whenever he opened his eyes he saw Wyll looking up at him in stunned wonder, struggling to hold back against another orgasm.
Only a virgin would be so impressed by such an inelegant fuck, and yet Astarion couldn’t help being charmed.
His orgasm hit him by surprise, shooting through him like a shock wave. Astarion came without as much as hand around himself, spilling a slow stream onto Wyll’s pubic hair as his insides twitched with the aftershocks. Wyll thrust up into him once, twice, and came with a groan, pulling Astarion down with a hand on his nape to kiss him while he filled him up.
Astarion didn’t let him catch his breath before dismounting and getting down on his hands and knees. He shot Wyll a look over the shoulder. “We’re not done.”
Wyll surprised him by falling on him mouth first, biting and kissing at the back of Astarion’s thighs, licking over his balls and the tip of his cock before following the trail of his own cum to Astarion’s hole.
It was more enthusiastic than anything else, but it still sent shivers down Astarion’s spine, who fell to his elbows when Wyll chased his lips with his cock.
“Astarion, hells, I feel like I’m losing my mind.”
Astarion muffled laughter into his forearms and pushed his hips back against Wyll. He felt much the same way, but would never admit it. It would be giving Wyll too much power over him to tell him that he loved how he gripped his waist and made adjustments to his posture as he fucked into him. To admit that when one of Wyll’s hands drifted towards Astarion’s navel, it made his abdomen jump and tighten so much that he swore he could feel Wyll’s cock poking through his skin, even though that was impossible.
He would tell Wyll that as he grew more confident and started fucking him at his own pace, that the rhythm and depth he set was perfect, as if he’d taken Astarion’s earlier lesson about fingering and applied them to fucking with the precision of a surgeon. He was so glad Wyll couldn’t see his face, flushed and contorted with ugly, raw pleasure; or the humiliating tears gathering at the corners of his eyes.
The worst part had always been how much he loved this. How much he craved it, and wanted someone to give it to him without making him feel pathetic for it.
No matter what you did you could never turn a dog back into a wolf. In his most honest, shameful, moments, Astarion could admit this to himself. His life had made a whimpering dog out of him, always begging for a kind touch.
Wyll draped himself over his back, pressing wet messy kisses to his sweaty neck. “I’m going to cum,” he warned, his rhythm faltering for just a moment.
“On me, do it on me,” Astarion said, wrapping one hand around his cock, and tugging himself off awkwardly. He came at the same time Wyll did, painting the moss under him just as Wyll shot ropes of cum over his scars.
Before his ears had even stopped ringing, Wyll turned him around and lifted his legs up by the knees, sinking into him until Astarion’s eyes rolled back into his skull.
“My way now,” he said, letting Astarion’s legs drop so he could lower himself fully on top of him.
“I should have known you would want to fuck missionary,” Astarion grumbled, wrapping his legs around Wyll’s waist.
Wyll kissed him, grinning against his lips. “I want to look at you.” He thumbed at the corner of Astarion’s eyes. “Who’d want to miss such a beautiful sight?”
“You’re already fucking me, you don’t need to sweet-talk me.”
“But I want to,” he punctuated his words with a deliberate thrust, “and I think you like it.”
Astarion didn’t mentioned that he liked pretending Wyll meant those words, for him in particular, and not just as a form of courtesy he was extending to the man he was losing his virginity to. The problem with his romantic nature was that he couldn’t see how cruel it was to be so attentive to someone who meant nothing to him.
Instead he pushed down on Wyll’s back with his heels to encourage him to fuck him harder.
Wyll was having none of it, he slowed down deliberately, rolling his hips into Astarion in a way that made his legs twitch.
“What are you so afraid of?” When Astarion tried to look to the side, Wyll held him in place to look into his eyes. “You can tell me.”
“Stop pretending you care,” Astarion hissed, furious he had been made to admit it.
“What makes you think I’m pretending?”
“You made it clear enough you didn’t want me, so let’s not fool ourselves into thinking this is more than the inevitable consequence of very unfortunate circumstances.”
Wyll went very still, his hips stopping completely. “When did I say that?”
Astarion glared at him, if the spores had allowed it, his erection would have wilted. “Must we rehash this? When I approached you on the beach, you told me you weren’t interested.”
“That’s not what I told you.” He frowned. “I told you I didn’t want meaningless sexual encounters, I told you I wanted a courtship first.”
Something sunk inside Astarion. “How was I supposed to know you meant with me?”
Who in their right mind would want to court him? But then Wyll wasn’t looking at him as if he was in his right mind. He touched Astarion’s cheek tenderly, as if he were a precious piece of porcelain that might crumble if mishandled.
“I was trying to give you space, but I regret that now. I’m sorry for hurting you.”
Astarion lowered his eyes to hide his immense relief and the almost sickening surge of happiness that overwhelmed him. "Well, speak plainly, next time.”
“I will, if you promise to do the same” Wyll said, with a playful snap of his hips.
Astarion would do no such thing. “Of course, darling.” But he could wrap his arms around Wyll’s neck and pull him flush against his body, marveling that for once he could have something good for longer than a moment.
The next time they came was almost lethargic, pressed tightly against each other. Astarion’s mind spun with Wyll’s easy revelation, and the way it turned all his assumptions on their head. Part of him wanted to pester him for confirmation, to interrupt their kisses to ask Wyll if he was sure, if he hadn’t mistaken Astarion for a completely different person.
He didn’t need to ask, because Wyll was happy to reassure him.
“How could you not have noticed how crazy I am about you? I’m the only one who laughs at your jokes.”
Astarion would have been insulted if Wyll hadn’t chased that with a dirty kiss and a hand around his cock.
“You’re nice to everyone!”
“But I’m mean only to you.”
“Those are conflicting signals,” Astarion sighed, although he knew that Wyll was playful with him in a way he wasn’t with the others.
“You’re the only one who didn’t notice, Shadowheart and Karlach tease me about it constantly.”
“I thought you liked Halsin.”
That actually made Wyll laugh. “So that’s why he insists you hate him.”
“No, he’s very unpleasant and full of himself, I would have hated him anyway.”
They were so wrapped up in each other that it took them a while to realize that the aphrodisiac spores had run their course.
“I think we’re in the clear,” Wyll said, tugging at his soft cock in faint amusement.
“Pity, there was plenty more I wanted to do to you.”
Wyll rolled him over on his back and climbed onto his lap. “Speaking of which, I think there’s a part of my education still lacking.” He rolled his hips down on Astarion’s soft cock meaningfully, but despite a valiant effort, it wasn’t rising to the occasion.
“You don’t regret it, then?” Astarion asked, looking away from Wyll’s eyes.
“I don’t,” Wyll said, lacing his fingers with Astarion’s and bringing them to his lips. “It wasn’t how I imagined it, but I’m glad it happened anyway.”
Then Astarion could be glad too. He hadn’t hurt Wyll, most surprising, he hadn’t even hurt himself. There was a kind of primal relief in that, almost as if he’d weathered a storm that could have killed him.
His life was a collection of jagged pieces, he didn’t know what to do with something whole, but maybe Wyll would be patient enough to teach him.
“What are you thinking about?” Wyll asked, as he ran a hand through Astarion’s curls.
Astarion nuzzled into his side. “You could have whoever you wanted, why me?”
Wyll was silent for a long time, long enough for Astarion to grow nervous. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but I like that you’re also running from a leash, it makes me feel less alone.”
A shudder ran through Astarion’s back, even though he wasn’t cold at all. “Sometimes I feel like a dog, just waiting for him to call me to heel.”
Wyll nodded. “I know, I feel it too. That’s not what I see when I look at you, though.”
“What do you see?” he asked, and held his breath.
“A wolf.”
Astarion closed his eyes, letting the word wash over him.
“And you, what do you see when you look at me?”
He didn’t have to think long. He ran a hand over one of Wyll’s horns.
They had both been made into someone else's beast, but they could yet find a way back to themselves.
“A dragon.”