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"Astarion," he hears Gale’s voice floating back into his head. He sounds so far away, but Astarion knows he’s right there, because a hand gently smacks at his cheek. He flinches as another wave rolls through his body at the touch. "I’ve brought you to your tent. Can you open your eyes? I should take my leave, though it would be very uncomfortable for me to explain to the others how you died." |
"Died? Don’t you dare leave! No, no, stay and help me." |
"I’ll remind you again, Astarion, you can’t be healed of this, you need to–" |
"I heard you the first – gods, ugh – the first time." |
His eyes flutter open to see Gale sitting beside him, tense with worry. Astarion doesn’t register it, because suddenly, everything is so much slower around him. Everything in his vision dips, and then he only notices the wizard’s eyes swirling like rich brandy and dissolved sugar cubes so bright they could burn a hole in his body. There is a whole galaxy swimming and humming in Gale’s chest and all Astarion can think of is how he wants to plunge himself into it, to wrap his hands around the magic nestled deep inside and to squeeze until Gale comes undone under him and — |
"Oh," Astarion breathes, eyes drooping into glassy little crescents. Well, if this is how he dies, Astarion thinks, this is how he dies. A shame that he’ll never get to plunge a stake through Cazador’s chest. "Death is so beautiful." |
"...Precisely how much of this spider’s blood did you consume?" Gale asks, his hands brushing Astarion’s hair off his soaked forehead. The touch makes the unbearable, painful heat in his body squeeze around him like a heavy chain. "You’re scorching. You could give Karlach a run for all her gold." |
"All of it," he barks out a harsh laugh. |
"Of course. Of course you drank all of the tainted spider blood. And of course – I'm the one that has the misfortune of being the only one awake when you come back from feeding on said spider..." Gale trails off, shaking his head. |
"I loathe," Astarion grits out as he aggressively scratches at his neck, his long, sharp nails scraping vivid red lines under his jaw, "wasting a good meal. Wouldn’t you know something about that?" |
Gale stays silent, taking in a deep breath of frustration as he conjures a spell and casts it on Astarion. His arms drop sharply to his sides and his eyes shift to Gale’s face in confusion and anger. |
"Clearly, you cannot be trusted to be in charge of your own limbs right now." There is an agonizingly long pause before Gale sighs, and continues, "And yes, you’re right, I can't fault you. I do know what it means to quell your hunger, lest the maddening thirst overwhelms you." |
Astarion’s eyes grow wider and wider until his mouth falls wide open into the most feverish smile. "A lesson in overindulgence, slow down on your next decadent meal of boots, wizard..." |
His face drops. |
"Wait, I’m dead. I’m dead?" |
"You are not dead." |
"I’m dying, then?" |
"While I'm certainly no cleric, I can safely say you’re not dying – but you are in a state of delirium." |
"Okay. Okay, if I’m not dead," he says, blinking up at Gale, trying to get rid of the stars speckling in his eyes. "Then you can help me purge this from my body – and I do mean help." |
"Help..." He stares down at Astarion with a look of disbelief. "Help, help? Ha! Yes, you are definitely out of your mind." |
"You’ve only made this worse by touching me and– and smelling so good – only a buffoon would touch the person in literal heat. My body has decided that it – needs you." |
"I," Gale starts and stops, his mouth settling into a thin, mortified line. |
"What good is a mage who doesn’t make use of his magic in times of true need?" Astarion babbles. "I can’t do it myself, and you don’t have to either, just. Let a mage hand do it. It’s not like it’s you’re actually touching me – we wouldn’t want that – but this way we can get it out without provoking me into a frenzied itching fit." |
"I suppose I can make some concessions and — help you. We are both grown men, after all, and this is an emergency. However, we will be having a long chat about your lack of self preservation later," Gale warns. He clears his throat, clearly uncomfortable, but then he conjures up the mage hand, and Astarion strains his head to glance in its direction. His vision corrects itself a few times, eyes crossing under his half open lids until he sees spectral hands, glowing a dim sapphire, poised and ready for its next command. Its cool fingers brush up his thigh, the vague touch causing little pin pricks to shudder down his spine, stopping at the top of his waistband. |
"Err — are you ready?" |
"Don’t ask stupid questions," Astarion hisses. |
His head feels too heavy for him to lift up anymore, and it falls back onto the pillow with a thud. The itch in his body is so extreme that he doesn’t even care how pathetic he looks right now, but a voice in the back of his mind shouts at him: it's not too late to turn back – you’ve lost enough of your dignity, tell Gale to leave! Deal with this on your own, weakling! Astarion stuffs it back into a crevice in his mind; right now, relief is all that matters. This – this desire is weakness, he knows, but he has an excuse this time. It’s the spittle... it’s not him. |
"I’m only looking to see if there’s anything else abnormal going on," Gale assures him. "Not a second further." |
The hand tugs at the fabric of his pants, then, his underwear; and he holds back a groan as his length is freed from the confines of his pants, rock solid and rigid. His cock is so extremely skin taut and bulging to the head, it looks like it’s suffocating at the tip. It seems almost bruised, tinged with deep shades of purple, nearly black at some spots. Gale coughs as he sees it for just a second before turning his head to the ceiling. |
"What? What is it?" he strains, unable to muster up the strength to lift his head up to take a peek at what’s happening between his legs. |
"The hue of it... I can’t imagine that such discoloration is normal for you, regardless of your undead nature." |
"Speak. Plainly." Astarion grits out between his teeth. |
"It’s purple." |
"Purple? My cock?" |
"Oh – gods. It’s going to fall off. I’m going to lose my cock. I’m going to be a eunuch," he splutters. |
"You are not going to lose anything. If I can’t fix this then I’ll have to truly evaluate my skills as a wizard." |
He shudders out a heavy breath as Gale commands the hand to touch his cock. It’s a gentle touch, hesitant to do anything more. "This year, Gale," Astarion croaks. The fingers wrap loosely around him, and that’s enough to make him take a sharp breath. It starts to slowly stroke up and down, squeezing when it reaches the head, the magic radiating from the conjured hand seemingly sparking through his cock. "Faster." The hand falters for a second, before it follows his directions and works along his cock with more intensity. A tense minute of this passes before Gale breaks the heavy, shuddering silence. |
"Is... is it all right?" |
"Yes," Astarion answers, but he thinks what he really needs is Gale’s touch – his real hands, not some conjured imagination of them. "No – yes, but no, I need – I need – touch me," he begs, fucking begs. If he was in a less unhinged state, Astarion would throw up from how pitiful he sounds. |
"I am touching you," Gale reminds him. |
"Gale, damn it." He barely notices the heavy way that Gale swallows through his dry mouth. "That’s not what I mean." |
The mage hand continues to move up and down in a seamless glide, spreading his precum around, coating his cock slick. Astarion’s so hard he could cut through steel, it’s so painful, and he’s leaking a puddle against his stomach. It feels good — yet... It’s. Not. Enough. He can’t come from this alone. His head tilts back as he pants, his hips attempting to hump up against the conjured hand for more. "It hurts. It hurts so badly." |
Gale finally turns his head away from the tent’s ceiling to look at Astarion. His perturbed eyes bear into his skull. He’s thinking, weighing an idea. |
"Please remember," he mutters. "You asked me to touch you." |
With some degree of hesitance, he reaches a hand out to rub his fingers along the outside of Astarion’s right ear, gentle as he moves root to tip, running his thumb along the inner surface. Astarion lets out a gravelly moan, eyes crossing over as his mind is flooded with even more pleasure. Such an intimate act – reserved for the most cherished of lovers, Gale must know this – is not one that he can recall ever experiencing. Astarion’s reaction is instant; the caress has him trembling and on the brink of tears. At the same time, the arcane hand wraps its slick fingers tighter around his cock and gives faster, firmer strokes, twisting at the base and rubbing its thumb over the head with each pull. |
"It feels – okay?" Gale asks, voice barely above a whisper. |
Astarion chokes out something between a laugh of disbelief and a whiney moan – what a stupid question, what a completely insensible thing to ask! |
"Ta," he slurs, mind short circuiting, unable to push the answer – yes – out in common tongue. |
Gale thankfully knows Elvish, he remembers, though it wouldn’t matter much if he didn’t, because anyone with half a brain can tell that whatever is going on is very much alright with Astarion. Another hand reaches out to curl over the shell of his left ear, fingers rubbing back and forth between the tip, down to gingerly pinching his earlobe. |
Astarion writhes, deep gasps turning into shuddering purrs from his ears being stimulated. Frankly, it feels fucking shameless – the sensation overshadowing the thrusts of his cock against the mage hand. The only thing better that he can possibly imagine would be to have Gale’s pretty lips wrapped around his cock – and though he knows vaguely that there isn’t a chance Gale will relent to that idea, he groans at the image, terribly pained, and horrifyingly, overwhelmingly aroused. |
Gale probably mistakes the groan of pleasure for only a pained sound, because he whispers to him with sincerity, "You’re okay, Astarion. It’ll be over soon. You’re doing – you’re doing good. " |
The comforting tone pulls a pathetic whimper from Astarion and he looks up at Gale, eyes pitched dark in lust as the hand pumps his cock. Astarion meets each one with a thrust of his own. Gale tries to break his gaze and fails, his own face flushed with arousal, his chest dimly glowing in the darkness of the tent. Astarion doesn’t recognize the voice coming from his throat, whining for more, quicker, harder. |
"Déithe. Le do thoil." |
Gods. Please. |
The pace of the mage hand stroking his length speeds up, fist clenching more and more each time as it reaches around his tip, and Astarion feels the wave of his orgasm spiraling out from his belly already like Gale is actually pulling it out from him with a spell. His breath hitches, and his cock pulses with cum – so much cum –and it spills all over the blue fingers, thick and hot and seemingly endless. True relief washes through him, but it’s also agonizing in its own way, and Astarion can't help when a grateful, broken sob wrecks through his chest. It’s over. Finally. |
"Buíochas, buíochas, thank you–" |
Before Astarion can even register it, the relief is short lived, and his cock is still hard as ever, still the same unsightly shade of purple. What the fuck. It’s as if Gale didn’t help at all. The only comfort is that the itch burning through his body has subsided. He can feel his legs again, and it seems that the spell on his arms has worn off. But his lust is full throttle, somehow worse than before; Astarion continues to want, to need. |
"You're still–" Gale begins incredulously, but Astarion scrambles with all his strength to push him down on the ground before he can finish his sentence. His hands are all over Gale, fumblingly groping at his chest. He’s hysterically turned on, mindlessly driven to seek more pleasure, more flesh, more anything from Gale by whatever the spittle blood is doing to his mind and body, and he makes a strangled noise when he pushes apart his cloak and sees it. |
The outline of Gale’s cock straining in his pants. |
A dark, wet spot at the top of the waistband. |
Astarion’s hands tremble as they run down Gale’s chest to his soft thighs. "You’re almost as hard as I am. Did you also drink something suspicious?" He leans in and braves just enough to place a finger at the outline of the tip. "No. I caused this," Astarion salivates. "Not an uncommon circumstance." |
"You—" Gale gasps, snatching Astarion’s wrist away. "You are not in the right state of mind, Astarion." |
"Why state something so obvious?" Astarion gives a maniacal laugh. "No! No, I’m not fully in the same realm as you right now. But it doesn’t matter. I want to thank you. It’s only good manners, and I am nothing if not a gentleman." |
"There’s no need to thank me. I mean, really, I’m being completely sincere when I say I've changed my mind – you don’t have to bring up this terribly maladroit situation at all –" |
"Then forget about thanks, darling, and just allow me the pleasure of pleasuring you," he implores, looking back up at him, pupils blown wide. Let me, let me, let me. "I’m not so completely rat-arsed to not know that you’re hard because of me." |
His fingers trace over the waistband of Gale’s trousers, pulling them slightly so that he can see the soft, brown hair that deliciously trails from his navel. Astarion marvels at the feeling tugging at his chest: how he wants , and what’s more, he carelessly wants to want. |
Gale’s eyes flit across Astarion’s face, his own expression fraught with anxiety. "I need to go," he says weakly. "Once you regain your regular state of mind, you’ll regret that I was the one to find you, to help you at all – this is a product of transient folly, spurred on by the spittle –" |
"Please spare me from the precious coddling, it doesn’t suit you at all." |
Astarion spits the words out with venom. He wants to touch Gale so badly he might throw up, and for a second he’s sure that Gale is going to get up and walk away. Good . Good, he should get up and leave. How fucking embarrassing, how utterly uncouth and vile is it of Astarion, to push himself further on a man who simply wanted to help him not writhe around in agony due to a stupid mistake he made? |
Gale – he doesn’t make a single move, his body might as well be frozen as he only offers a shaky breath, hand falling down to his side. Astarion can’t let another second pass him by, just in case Gale does come to his senses and Astarion doesn’t have the strength to accept it. He tugs his britches down to his thighs and Gale’s cock springs out against his stomach, already leaking and waiting at attention for him. |
He swears there’s two versions of himself – one in control of the body, the other one floating outside– Astarion can see through another perspective as he drools, spit leaking onto Gale’s hard cock; he can hear the exact second when it hits the tip. He slobbers more saliva in his hand, then spreads it all along the veiny length, admiring the difference compared to his own pale cock – it’s not as long, but it’s curved, and thick enough that Astarion practically feels the phantom weight of it already in his throat. |
His thumb dips over the dribbling tip, swiping over beads of precum. Astarion is mesmerized by the sight of it, by the erratic breathing from the man under him. It’s like he’s been bestowed a holy gift — and it’s all overwhelming for someone as impious as Astarion to accept it, but accept it he will. He drinks it all in at first, savoring the way he slowly works his fist; base to tip, then tip tortuously slow back down to base. Then, he speeds up with a fervor, and that’s when Gale’s hands reach to fold over his — and he’s so entranced he doesn’t even look up. |
But it’s not that Gale makes him stop. He doesn’t make him pull off from him. He doesn’t even say anything at all. He just forces Astarion to slow down. |
They're like that for a while, quiet, two pairs of hands moving up and down together, making the maddening lust inside of Astarion simmer and boil. The slick sounds and the way that Gale’s chest quickly rises and falls threatens to set Astarion ablaze if he doesn’t get his mouth around his cock immediately. |
"Did Mystra ever deign to get on her knees for her darling little mage?" |
"She— she is the Mother of Magic, Astarion," Gale chides him, like he is some kind of unruly child. |
"That’s a no, then." |
He takes his left hand off and pins one of Gale’s hands to his side and leans in to trace his lips along the fat head of Gale’s cock. The groan that falls from Gale’s lips makes it obvious that it’s been a long, long time since anyone, no less Mystra, has shown the worshiper what it means to be worshiped. |
Poor Gale. A man who has had the unique privilege of making astral love with a literal Goddess, and yet, he is so starved of basic touch. Astarion feverishly contemplates what it means to be devout as he licks a slow stripe up Gale’s cock, savoring the taste of vaguely herbal skin, tongue lingering on the veins that line his length. Mystra be damned – Astarion will find out how it feels to hold Gale in his hands and pull tautly at all his strings.To desire and to be desired, oh, isn’t it all the same, so foreign in their intertwining? It’s a near violent, possessive urge: the need for Gale to remember the way his tongue works like a prayer, to recite it over and over in his memory long after tonight. |
He realizes, grimly, that Gale will be the first living, free person to remember him in this way. |
Astarion then looks up through his lashes, dismayed to see Gale’s expression: curious but somewhat flat, like he’s simply observing. Writing mental notes to review later. That’s certainly not an expression Astarion has ever seen while in this delicate position, and he decides he’s not fond of it – it better change, he thinks, before he says something needlessly cruel. He slides the head of Gale’s cock between his lips, before closing them around the crown; then, he drags his tongue along the underside and then up the slit, tasting the droplets of precum pooling at the top. He watches Gale the entire time, unblinking, and he hums with satisfaction when Gale’s eyes widen in awe; his attention shifting to suck all around the leaking cock, making it messy with spit and flat tongue. |
"Gods above," Gale whispers, voice raspy, hands sliding up to his silvery curls. Astarion groans, closing his eyes, letting the fingers in his hair guide his motions, slurping and tightening his mouth when he feels Gale involuntarily jerk against it. "This – ah, this , isn’t any form of gratitude I’m familiar with." |
Astarion hollows out his mouth and slides his cock all the way back, so far down his throat that Gale makes an incoherent noise. The sounds of Gale teetering on the edge of his hushed composure is too much for his over-stimulated brain – Astarion juts his hand down to his still viciously hard cock, tugging at it harshly. What is a prayer compared to the sanctity of Gale’s moans? They’re such sweet, hesitant little cracks under the way Astarion’s throat works like it wants to wring his cock out completely dry. |
Astarion’s head wobbles from it all. Is he really after Gale’s cum or is it still his blood? Maybe he’s only after some of the sanity he’s currently missing, rattling around in Gale’s brain. Maybe it’s all of the above, everything. He gasps for air as he pulls away, long strands of spit and precum connecting his mouth to Gale’s cock. |
"Tell me, Gale," Astarion grins like a madman, pupils so blown that there’s just a sliver of crimson around the rims. "Is the regret settling in yet?" |
"Yes," Gale groans, frustration lacing his tone. Astarion’s face falters at the answer and his stomach almost drops, but then he feels fingers grasping around his curls. "I regret knowing that mouth — it’s completely wicked." |
"You’re not a liar, right?" Astarion asks, fluttering kisses all around Gale’s cock. "Have you thought about my mouth before?" |
Gale nearly hisses in disapproval at the question: "Astarion." |
"You have, haven’t you?" |
"Anyone would, when you’re constantly boasting about your skills," Gale grimaces, as if admitting such a thing is painful. |
Astarion nails scrape against the base of Gale’s cock, causing him to tense against his grasp. He’s not sure why he needs to hear this so badly. "Have you touched yourself, thinking of me?" |
Gale is breathless, but he gives him a straight answer, no wit involved. |
Something snaps in Astarion at the admission and his hands shake when they go to tug Gale’s pants further down to his ankles, eliciting a surprised groan from him. Astarion pulls him apart and palms his ass, watching as he shudders, then dives in with a long, messy lick along his perineum. He laps at him, rolling his tongue around the tight rim of muscles, then sinks inside, fucking his tongue in and out while Gale’s whole body shakes under him. Astarion’s cock leaks as he licks and fucks his tongue in, completely and blindly overtaken by desire. He circles his asshole with his tongue, one hand hooking under Gale’s knee to lift him, the other snaking down to grasp Gale's cock to pump it in tandem with each lap. He listens as Gale’s breathing becomes more raw and ragged as he pulls at Astarion’s hair. |
"Astarion," Gale strains, "Astarion, please, just –" |
The moan that tumbles out from Astarion feels like it has been punched out of him. Oh, he thinks, how lovely – Gale has never sounded better than with Astarion’s name on his lips, it’s such beautiful pleading — he could get used to it. |
His original goal was to make Gale come apart under his tongue, but he thinks of something else, another wicked way to make the mage fall apart, to come closer to the same raving lunacy that Astarion is experiencing. One that involves less mental juggling of hand and mouth. Astarion pulls his mouth away, pushes forward and climbs onto his lap. They look at each other with a shared gasp when their slick, aching cocks meet, rubbing together. |
"You– we– we should stop." Gale strains, angling to push him away. "You don’t know what you’re doing." |
Astarion scoffs, sinking further over him. "I know exactly what I’m doing to you." Gale’s cock twitches against his and he licks his lips, baring his teeth as he simpers. "And you like it." |
"This – this could be too much for the orb in my chest – no matter how stabilized it is. I could be in danger of exploding, quite literally." |
Sweet Gale, exaggerating and trying to do the right thing, however late – and fruitless – at this point. If they stop now, what difference does it make? |
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