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dnd_drow

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Wyll chuckled his hand tightened briefly on Astarion's and Astarion allowed himself to be led from the lake shore. They followed it round, further from the camp and the party, until they found a patch of scree that Wyll apparently deemed acceptable. Was it sad that it wasn't the worst prospect he'd been presented with?
Astarion didn't have long to ponder it. Wyll let go of his hand and scrambled across the rocks. He chose a spot far back from the water, hidden from the shore by a boulder. When Astarion picked his way across the pebbles he found Wyll had already dropped his pack and spread a blanket out over the bumpy ground.
He stood awkwardly to one side while Wyll set up bedrolls and cushions and then, after Astarion was sure he must be done, candles. It was quite dexterous really, the flames danced over Wyll’s fingers heating the wax just enough to melt. Then he planted them on the rocks. They’d stand firm, probably. He lit the wicks with a pinch of his fingers and Astarion had to admit that he looked quite lovely by candlelight.
Even if he was a damned fool.
He turned back when he was finished building his ridiculous little nest, smiling and offering Astarion his hand. And well, if he wanted to help Astarion over the rocks as if he was a clumsy maid who might twist her ankle in the dark... Astarion took his hand and let Wyll help him down.
Because anything else would be even more foolish than Wyll was being. He couldn't feign helplessness and then snap when his "hero" offered help.
The blankets were soft underfoot. Wyll sat almost immediately and Astarion knelt. He felt suddenly and quite irrationally as though he had no idea what he was doing. As if he'd missed some vital step.
Then Wyll's hand was on the side of his face, calloused from the sword but gentle. So, so gentle. He was looking at Astarion as though he was the only person in the realms worth looking at. And Gods it was foolish. It was ridiculous. But-
"I could live a thousand years and I doubt I'd see another as beautiful as you," Wyll said, his voice as soft as his touch.
From anyone else it would have sounded trite. But Wyll said it with such sincerity that it was impossible to take it as anything but the truth. Astarion found that he couldn’t look the man in the eye any more, so turned his head into Wyll’s hand and kissed his palm.
He felt Wyll give a little shiver, kissed the base of his thumb. When he kissed his wrist he felt Wyll's pulse jump against his lips. Gods he smelt delicious, divine. Would he taste like Tav? No. No that was inconceivable. Wyll would have a flavour all his own. Something like honesty and woodsmoke.
There was a hand in his hair. He was dimly aware that it was attached to the wrist he was kissing. Then there was another hand on his chin tilting his head back up.
He had to blink twice to take Wyll in.
"I take it all is forgiven then?" He was smiling. It really was unbearable.
"Hmmm, we'll see."
Astarion leaned forward, sliding gracefully into Wyll's lap. He ran his hands down Wyll's sides, making sure to add just a touch of hesitancy, a pause as his fingers reached the hem of his shirt. He let his eyes flick down to the cushions before meeting Wyll's eye.
"I think it will depend chiefly on how good a job you do of kissing me. Though I’ll also consider accepting heartfelt pleas in the throes of passion."
He leant in, giving enough time for Wyll to pull back. When he didn’t Astarion kissed him. Slow and sweet since that seemed to be what Wyll wanted.
It wasn’t a bad guess. Wyll did kiss quite nicely and he seemed to like Astarion’s hair. His hands kept ending up in it, anyway.
Astarion tugged at the hem of Wyll's shirt and ran his fingers along the line of exposed skin. Acting eager would have been much easier then trying to figure out where to balance this- Whatever this was. He was wondering if he should risk reaching higher and tugging off the shirt when Wyll pulled back.
Wyll sat back, looking at him, hand still in Astarion's hair. He had that appraising expression again. So Astarion looked down and, demure as you please, murmured.
"Did I do something wrong?"
"No," Wyll's voice was still every bit as gentle as his hands.
And it wasn't that Astarion wanted the Blade to be a rough, inconsiderate lover. It would just have been easier if the man was a touch more comfortable with taking what he wanted. Guessing and trying to tempt him into action was much more effort.
"As much as I appreciate being admired, I’d hoped for a little more enthusiasm."
"There’s no harm in savouring a moment of light, especially amongst all this darkness." His fingers traced Astarion’s cheekbone and his expression tended far more towards melancholic than it should. "You said that you didn’t have time, and that may be. But here, now, you do. You can, we can, take our time with this."
"I- Ye-es, I, I suppose we can."
Wyll smiled, slow and sweet as he kissed. He leaned back on to his elbows, apparently enjoying the way Astarion looked sitting in his lap. Despite them both having all their clothing, it left Astarion feeling exposed. So he let Wyll look a moment more, then went on his hands and knees for another kiss.
Wyll let him take one but didn’t let it linger like the last.
"What would please you?"
Gods if there was ever a question Astarion couldn't give an honest answer to.
"Well usually," Astarion explained, pausing to kiss the corner of Wyll's mouth then his jaw. "A night of passion involves rather less clothing. And, in my experience, the conversation's somewhat more limited."
Wyll let out a shaky sort of laugh. He shivered under Astarion's touch. Which was good because Astarion had been starting to suspect he was being humoured and what could be more humiliating?
"True, but- We all have different preferences, different tastes. I’d rather hear yours then have us both fumble trying to find out."
The man was infuriating. Gods how was he supposed to-
"What would please you?" Wyll asked again.
Cazador’s death. A mouthful of Wyll’s blood, to find out if he tasted as sweet as he should. For the tadpoles to stay caught in stasis like this forever so that he could enjoy the sun and babbling brooks and other nonsense.
To remember what colour his eyes were, if only so Tav’s question would stop haunting him.
He'd paused too long. "I'm not... Usually people don't ask, they assume."
"Well, I'm asking," Wyll stated, because apparently a certain amount of voicing the bleedingly obvious went with heroism.
Astarion sighed. He rolled out of Wyll's lap on to the blankets and cushions to stare up at the stars. It... was actually comfortable enough. More comfortable than some beds he'd been in. Wyll turned on his side, propped up on his elbow. And he had that intolerable, searching look on his face again.
This was, Astarion decided, the worst act he'd ever had to put on. The most awful sort of lure.
But then, when did anything truly useful come cheap?
He took Wyll's hand and guided him up, on top.
"Like this," Astarion said.
Because it put the decision of what was going where back with Wyll. Because it looked like yielding. Because Wyll seemed inclined to reward every bit of feigned weakness with promises he likely couldn’t keep.
Wyll frowned down at him. Astarion wondered what sort of answer he’d been expecting. Perhaps he’d wanted Astarion to give him an excuse to say "no’. A request for something so debauched the good little lord would have to refuse and flee the premises.
Well, the lake shore.
"Is that all?" Wyll murmured. "Truly?"
Astarion nodded.
He bent for a kiss and now, now things finally seemed be moving in a way Astarion could predict. Gods, he’d really have to avoid seducing heroes in the future if it always took so damned long.
But they were on the right track now. Wyll’s body was pressed against his, warm and pleasing. Wyll’s hands were tugging his shirt free and his tongue was in Astarion’s mouth and it was so, so easy to just yield and let Wyll take his pleasure.
His hands roamed up Astarion’s chest before it seemed to occur to him to remove the shirt. Astarion would have laughed at him, only his mouth was rather busy at the moment. The kisses were less sweet now, they’d taken on a deep, desperate edge and Astarion wasn’t entirely sure if that was his doing.
Wyll was breathing raggedly and pressing against Astarion in a way that suggested, oh yes there it was. The perfect incorruptible hero was quite interested in him after all. He’d pulled Wyll’s shirt up and they broke apart to perform the delicate navigation of getting it off those horns.
He really was beautiful. Smooth planes of muscle and the scars, well the scars added character. Made him look more like a mortal man and less an ideal sculpted into flesh. It was a good view. Distracting.
Astarion didn’t stop to think that perhaps the smarter thing would be to take off his own shirt. He saw the exact moment Wyll found his scars.
He looked equal parts confused and pained. And Astarion didn’t think he could take another sudden
off the path, not now, not when Wyll was so close to the snare. If he pulled back now how in the realms would Astarion catch him again?
Astarion caught his wrist and pulled it back. "Don’t. Don’t look at it. Please."
Before the night was over Astarion would surely know if it was possible to choke to death on pity.
working, wasn’t it? Wyll was already looking at him far more gently than he had the day before. He’d been right in that estimation; what Wyll Ravengard wanted more than anything else
someone to save. And Gods wouldn’t that be the most
ly ironic thing in existence? If Astarion could snare him, set him against Cazador, in part because of the poem Cazador left on his back.
Wyll breathed, deep and slow.
"I won’t. You have my word."
Astarion did his best to look grateful.
Then he dived for Wyll’s mouth because he’d had enough sympathy for a month and any more was liable to make him sick.
Wyll let him kiss and scratch a while before taking the shirt the rest of the way off. He held it awkwardly beside them instead of letting it fall.
"I really don’t want to dredge all that up at this exact moment."
"No I, I understand, just..."
Astarion waited, taut, for whatever new calamity Wyll was preparing to throw between them.
"If you’d prefer to keep your shirt on that wouldn’t... I wouldn’t mind."
"Do you want me to wear it?"
"Customarily people remove their clothes when they have sex," Astarion said, in case Wyll was unfamiliar with the idea.
"I want you to be comfortable."
"I’m fine," Astarion retorted and if he didn’t sound particularly like a liar, he didn’t sound particularly truthful either.
Wyll put the shirt down carefully on the blankets. He put his hand on the side of Astarion’s face and gave him another of those slow, sweet kisses.
"One more question, then on my word, I won’t speak of it again tonight."
Astarion wished that he’d stopped speaking of it already and would hurry up and bury his blade but-
"Do you, would you prefer not to be touched there?"
For some reason that question didn’t strike Astarion as quite so ridiculous as the ones that came before it. He took Wyll’s hand and guided it up to lie flat against his back where the words were thickest.
"Alright," Wyll murmured and they came together again.
He kissed Astarion’s mouth and face, stroked his back ever so gently, ran fingers through his hair. While Astarion tried, with shaking hands, to divest them both of their trousers before they’d properly removed their boots. A silly, messy way of approaching it. But it did create a sense of eagerness and it made Wyll laugh when he had to sit back and peel both of them out of their boots.
Then they were finally,
, naked and pressed together. The tension that had been lodged in Astarion since he’d stalked out of the party shuddered away. Because this, this he knew and understood. This could be controlled. No more pressing questions or odd looks. This was the trap springing closed and biting to the bone.
There was nothing Wyll could throw at him now that he hadn’t seen before. Done before. And if he was still on his back, well, at least this time he knew he’d get more than scraps in return.
He let his hands roam over Wyll’s body, quick and sure. He’d have a working idea of what the man liked in a moment. He’d probably have all of his interests appraised within a week. Well, perhaps a little longer if Wyll really insisted on a slower pace.
For a while they simply kissed and touched. Exploring each other. Astarion traced Wyll’s scars knowing he’d never be able to guess what made them. Wyll ran his hands over Astarion’s chest and back and tangled fingers in his hair.
Astarion let it build until they were both hard and rubbing against each other. Then he scrambled for the oil.
Wyll jerked back, averting his eyes in a way that seemed entirely out of proportion. Until Astarion recalled that he'd given his word not to look at the poem. Apparently he intended to keep it.
"My apologies," Astarion said, and handed him the oil.
Then he settled down, back safely on the floor, to see what Wyll would choose.
Wyll looked at the bottle for a moment, a little flustered Astarion fancied, a little flushed. It made Astarion want to sit up and kiss him again and, well why not?
He kissed Wyll's lips and then a line down the veins of his neck. Enough to give his little hero time to collect himself.
By the time he lay down again Wyll was pouring oil over his fingers, breathing on them to warm them. Which was... thoughtful Astarion supposed. Even if he'd preferred Wyll hurry just a tad. So he'd know where this was going.
"Darling you need to stop worrying. I'm in my element, and a touch concerned that you seem to be out of yours."
"Ha! Well never fear. We're not in such dire straits as that."
He really had a lovely smile. Warm, welcoming. Astarion was suddenly very glad they'd never met before. Because if he'd seen that smile in a tavern a year ago, a month ago-
Astarion leaned forward and kissed him again. Wyll made a pleased noise. And yes finally, he'd put some of the oil over his own cock, so at least Astarion knew what was, in fact, going where.
He moved his hand up as far as Wyll's ear before he thought-