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“Oh, what I would not give for a hot bath,” Gale bemoans to himself. The early morning is cold, but it is solitude he seeks now under the dim rising sun, as he undresses streamside. Of course, magic could easily fix this problem. Karlach, too. But! He is a much more considerate man to the careful balance of nature now that it has been his home for several weeks.
Who knew? All he needed was to get out of his tower and to stretch his legs a bit.
Gale chuckles to himself, rubbing a worn bar of soap over his fingers. They’re stubbornly caked with dirt. Oh, if Tara was to see him now. Beard, hair, dirt, and grime. And, the smell. Ha! She’d be appalled.
(And, yet, it's the most fun he’s had in years. )
“You may soon have your chance, Gale. There are hot springs nestled along the cliffside of the mountain pass to Moonrise. Should we choose to travel its roads.”
The water splashes from a new disturbance, and Gale jumps. A shiver shoots down his spine, and his shoulders go tense. He had been so certain he was alone. How does a man the size of Halsin even sneak up on someone?
“Apologies. I did not mean to intrude. I hope the company is not unwelcome.”
Unwelcome, no. Nerve wracking? Yes.
And, Gale hasn’t even looked yet. It’s the looking which stirs newfound anxiety in his gut. Halsin, naked. A mere stone’s throw away. Their camp has buzzed with raunchy gossip ever since his arrival. Thick hunk of an elf, that one stuck with him. Based on sheer proportions and some basic mathematics, Gale can only assume the man to be well-equipped.
Reality proves his estimations correct.
The morning sun reflects off the ripples in the water. In it, Gale sees him. There’s no avoiding it. No amount of polite eye level gaze can save him. Necessary pleasantries aside, Gale must reckon with the casual nudity that naught but him in this camp seem to be unaccustomed to.
For Halsin, it is as natural as breathing. For Gale, it has been since… the wizard’s academy? Worlds away from this little moment amongst the Sword Coast.
“Not at all! Early birds and—”
Oh.
Big oh.
Gale shouldn’t have turned around. It’s instinct. He loves to talk, and it's easy to lose himself in it. Now, he’s left with his mouth slightly ajar, as every thought in his brain flees at this very crucial moment. Except for one: cock.
Specifically, Halsin’s very large, girthy , monster of one.
It rests against his thigh, soft, and yet nearly as thick as Gale’s own wrist. A smooth sheath of foreskin covers the tip, grazing the water’s surface with each step. Dark auburn hair trails down the man’s body, leading to his cock and a hefty set of plump balls pulled upwards in the morning chill.
(Gale thinks to himself, briefly, that bear seems an apt transformation for the man.)
Rationally, it is to be expected. Halsin is a big man. Irrationally, it is the biggest dick Gale has seen in his life, and it isn’t even erect. A part of him— the one so subject to mortal curiosities— wonders what it would look like pumped full of blood, left swollen and dripping before his very eyes.
Gale closes his mouth. If Halsin notices the staring, he is too polite to point it out.
“We keep company with a nest of night owls. As entertaining as they prove to be, I find myself longing for a respite, now and then.”
“They are the lively bunch.”
Lively is kind. Astarion had called them a den of ‘weirdos’ . Aptly put and not inaccurate. It’s a ragtag group Tav has acquired, and Gale is just another one of those ‘weirdos’ bound by a common goal. Halsin, too.
The other man shakes with a deep chuckle. It washes over him, shockingly warm as it stirs a flutter in his gut. Gale blinks. The cold barely balms it, and he swears he can feel the orb throb in anticipation.
Anticipation of what, exactly? Nothing will happen here. It is delusional.
Gale pretends to scrub at his knuckles, rubbed red and raw from the mindless distraction, and then his hair, slinking into the depths of the stream. His mind is a curse, along with his recently unshackled libido. What does he expect? Some tawdry romance novel made reality? To be taken before all of nature by the archdruid himself?
It is heated arousal that coils at the base of his belly and makes his thighs press tightly together, desperate for any bit of friction. He is not so daring as to touch himself here, not with Halsin sharing the very same waters.
(But, he will. Later. With what little privacy he can gleam on the road.)
Eventually, he breaches the surface, and is taken by a stark chill of the air against his now soaked skin. A shiver runs along his spine, and he trembles with a trill.
“Cold! Cold!”
“You could use a bit more fur on you.”
If you ask Tara, he has far too much. Unkempt , is what she’d say. Halsin would disagree. As nature intended, or something along those lines. It’s punctuated by an enthusiastic pat, landing on the small of Gale’s back. The shock of cold floods out of his system, and he struggles to maintain his precious composure.
“Ah!”
Halsin’s hand spans the entire width of his lower back, and that realization, that little tidbit of knowledge, makes Gale throb. He bites into his fist. The second time it falls there, it doesn’t move. It stays. Halsin touches him . The heat leeching off his body, now impossibly close.
Hells, how did this end up happening? Gale just wanted to rid himself from days worth of goblins’ blood and fireball soot. He never anticipated— never thought— agh!
“Yes, it seems to be that time! I must be going if I am to have breakfast ready by the time everyone awakens. I would hate to disappoint—”
“Gale.”
He’s already half out of the water on his way to shore. Ass out in the middle of Faerun. Gods.
“Gale, there is no need to flee.”
He shakes with nervous laughter. “What do you mean? You know, how Karlach gets in the morning before she eats.”
Halsin sighs. The lies are so blatant. Who is he to think he can pull one over on a 350 year old elf of all people?
“This is not about Karlach. It is about you. If I have made you uncomfortable, you merely need to say so. However….” The pause he takes feels like eons, and Gale is ready for Avernus itself to gobble him up. He feels Halsin’s gaze. How it rakes over him, and in it, there is something he hasn’t felt in a long, long time.
Gale gulps.
“You are wet.”
It is stated as a simple observation, as though Halsin were no more commenting on the state of the weather or the color of his shirt. It is not the water to which he refers, but to the sticky slick matting down the dark hairs between his thighs.
“Huh?”
“Your scent— it is… overwhelming .”
Arousal. Pheromones. Damn, his lack of understanding for druidic magics.
“Great,” he mumbles. There’s no saving face now. “Have you always been able to…?”
Halsin answers without hesitation, “Yes.”
Oh.
Gale’s been less discreet with his, uh, nighttime activities than he once thought. Well, damn. His only saving grace is that he’s probably not the only one in camp muffling self-pleasure between thin tent walls.
“With the orb, I—” Gale’s lips press tight. How is he supposed to admit that he hasn’t cum without the fear of exploding, quite literally, hanging over his head in years ? He’s a little more on edge with this newfound freedom granted by Elminster, and by proxy Mystra herself. “Well, I couldn’t— it's….”
Been a while.
“I can be gentle, Gale, if that is what you need of me. That is— if my advances are not untoward.”
Gale buckles with a laugh. Untoward? Positively not. He is simply out of practice and a bit… ashamed. He has not been propositioned since he was a young man. Even then, it had been by fellow classmates, not an archdruid of such renown.
“You flatter me. Certainly, you are a handsome man yourself, and I, just a mere wizard.” Soft, he wants to say, sapped dry of his magic by the Netherese Orb inside his chest. He has so little to offer. Gale forces a smile, “Would your time not be better spent elsewhere?”
“You discredit yourself too swiftly. Allow me the opportunity to prove you wrong.”
Wrong? Gale does not grasp entirely what Halsin means. Perhaps, from his own willful naivety or lack of self worth. Desirable is not something he has felt in ages. It’s all so… new. Equal parts perplexing as it is exhilarating.
A hand curls over his leg, slowly guiding him back into the stream. The water laps at his calf. A meek sound escapes Gale, and when his thighs are gripped and spread by two massive hands, it twists into a shameful moan.
“ Beautiful,” Halsin reciprocates with purring approval. Gale doesn’t see much beauty in him scraping awkwardly at shoreline, but who is he to deny the man? “If you wish for me to stop, say the word, and I will heed you.”
Gods, no. Orb or not, Gale is on the precipice of combustion. It burns his cheeks fiery hot. He’s never been manhandled quite like this before. Never had the opportunity. Gale finds that he rather likes it. A bit too much, if the heat flooding south is anything to go by.
“You’re not helping with my, ah, wet predicament.”
Gale muffles the comment into the crook of his elbow, trying not to think about how Halsin breathes in the scent of him. His thighs press tight, or attempt to, before they are forced apart again, replaced now with the face of the druid himself. His cheeks are tugged apart, and a brief moment is given to marvel at the state of his holes. It’s indecent, surely. Electrifying? Yes. And, absolutely naughty in a way that makes his insides quiver.
And, without hesitation, Halsin licks him. Gale yelps, something unsightly.
Any complaint or shame filled prattling that Gale is oh-so-good at fails to overcome the breathy moans which fill the air alongside the trickle of the stream over rocks. His body settles, melting into complete acceptance, as tongue traces from furled rim to the heat of his sopping cunt.
Halsin moans, devouring him like a starved man. And, maybe, he is. Maybe, they both are. But there is one thing for certain, Halsin wastes not and licks his plates clean.
Two fingers pinch over Gale’s twitching cock, stroking it in time with his mouth. The hood is pulled back and Halsin flicks the exposed head with the flat of his hot tongue. Instinctually, Gale grinds back onto the man’s dripping chin. His knees tremble, threatening to give way, as he gnaws into the meat of his forearm.
Still, the druid does not stop. Even when Gale whines. Even when the stimulation reaches its peak and he begins to squirm away. The threat of orgasm, of pleasure and pain intermingled, singes at his nerves. His eyes flutter back. He’s never— never—
“Ah!”
A spurt of fluid suddenly slips between Halsin’s fingers, dribbling to the stone beneath. Gale’s legs collapse beneath him, only supported up by the elf’s arms. His heart hammers, and he thinks, if the orb were in its natural state, the coast would already be in cinders.
“Gods,” he murmurs, breathless.
“Not divinity, Gale.”
But, nature. Instincts and desires, as Halsin would say. It all seems much simpler in those terms.
Gale’s cheek presses to the cool stone. Behind him, the water splashes, and Haslin rumbles with a breathy groan. He is positive, that were he to look, he would see one of Halsin’s hands wrapped around his own cock.
Is it Gale’s doing? The thought alone makes his stomach flip, and curiosity gets the best of him. Gale dares a peek between his own legs, looking back and hoping for a glimpse. What he gets is so much more.
“Oh,” he mouths, soundlessly, struck by sudden awe and disbelief. “Fuck.”
Pre slips between thick fingers, as Halsin furiously tugs on his erection. And, my, what a sight it is to behold. It’s filled out considerably with arousal— arousal, Gale notes, from eating him out, from the promise of sex and pleasure, and all those carnal desires they’ve both refrained from. It leaves him dripping, just as wet as the wizard before him.
Halsin oozes with it. His cock kicks against his palm, each groan more desperate and broken than the last. The shaft throbs, veins pulsating. The head swells to a near purple. It makes Gale’s dry spell of a few years seem miniscule by comparison. And, if he thought it was large before…
Were he not naked and prostrate before the man himself, Gale would chuckle at the absurdity of it. That ? Inside him? A ludicrous thought. He may be in touch with the Weave, but there are some miracles even magic cannot touch.
Halsin grunts with a slick thrust. His eyes screw tightly shut, and his breath hitches in a pained heave.
“Are you… alright?” Gale ventures.
Alright is inadequate. Halsin looks as though he may burst. Sweat beads sickly at his brow, and his chest flushes dark, rising in a quick repetition. His jaw clenches down in a single minded focus, and it is then that his shaky hands fall to Gale’s waist.
“This is… more difficult than I remembered.” Halsin pants. The shaft of his great cock slides between Gale’s asscheeks. The sheer weight of it sends a shiver down his spine. “I need… Oak Father preserve me… allow me this, Gale. The tip is all it would take. Just the—“
Gale is sympathetic. He understands the isolation. The grip of sexual frustration which claws at them both. If he can alleviate this one thing…
There is so little time for consideration, as Gale’s mouth falls to a hapless gape. The rutting catches at his dripping entrance, sliding through the mess Halsin once made to kiss cock to hole. The slit leaks creamy pre between his thighs, coating them in a sheen of milky white.
A low rumble rises from Halsin’s chest— something heavy and primal. The hands which grip his waist tighten, and Gale gets the inkling of a premonition that he may be in over his head. Oh, he is most assuredly because it takes one fell swoop (and accurately timed thrust) for Halsin to enter him.
The man did not lie, only the blunt tip sinks into his cunt, but gods, it is enough. The stretch burns, and his body struggles to accommodate it, far larger than anything Gale has managed to conjure up in years if ever .
A hush whispers to the nape of his neck. Halsin envelops him completely, nosing at the sensitive skin of his throat. Gale trembles with a shaky breath when he tastes the new sweat which has formed there. After all is said and done, Gale thinks, he will be in dire need of yet another bath. One with significantly less… excitement.
Shallowly, Halsin thrusts into him. What does not fit of his great length is left pinned between his thighs. It makes Gale ache, his hole puffy and stretched raw over the obscene girth of the druid’s cock. Halsin mouths behind his ear, and it makes Gale crumble with a whine.
“You are—” Halsin shudders, the tethers of restraint growing slack. “ Perfect, Gale.”
The pride he feels deflates quickly when another inch sinks in. Then, a third. Gale’s eyes roll back. It is too much. It hurts. It stretches him too thin, threatening to break him apart completely in Halsin’s hands.
His nails dig bluntly into the streamside rock, and Gale gasps, “W—wait! I’m not—“
Halsin groans, his movements stuttering. “It is only a little more. To think I had forgotten… the heat of you enveloping me… the scent upon your skin… it drives me mad…”
And, Gale believes him.
Politeness and propriety are tossed aside. Gone as the instinct takes over, and Gale is left prone and pinned beneath the weight of the elf. His cock takes him completely. The shape of it bulging at the base of his stomach, cramming its way through Gale’s warm insides to bully the gate of his cervix.
There are no words, and little thought, that Gale can muster in his state. It conumes him. Halsin consumes him. With a near animalistic desire entirely unknown to him. The water sloshes around their buckling knees as the plap of wet skin rings in a furious new rhythm.
The immense pressure, after a time, grows bearable, and new moans slip wantonly between Gale’s fingers. There is little he can do to quiet himself. Again and again, Halsin takes him. His insides quiver, pulsing and tender wrapped around the heat of the cock buried inside him. Halsin mumurs into his nape, nose pressed into his sweat slick hair.
His hands scrabble over the softness of Gale’s sides, fingers digging notches, and nails biting red crescents into his skin. It feels as if Halsin wants to rend them both apart, to break Gale down, to have him melt into nothing in the wake of his heated desire.
To claim him, Gale thinks, in every way imaginable.
A groan pierces the air, and Gale is yanked back.
Wha—?
His eyes wrench open. What is that? The base of Halsin’s cock swells far past human (or, well, elven ) proportions. Gale thought he’d conquered the worst of it, and yet the man continues to surprise him. It grinds stubbornly at his entrance, unable to fit his tender hole.
It is then that Gale realzies exactly what it is: a knot . A side effect of Halsin’s wild shape, perhaps?
It pulses with a searing heat between Gale’s legs. Halsin holds him there, rolling his hips slowly as if willing it inside. He can’t. It is impossible, even Gale has his limits. Still, he does not relent. If anything, Halsin grows more desperate.
“Please,” he rasps, throat dry and voice shattered. “I must… I must have you, ah, completely. ”
The hunger calls to him. This innate desire to breed, and knot, and claim. It affords Halsin one final, sticky, thrust. His fat knot slaps against Gale. It throbs. His balls grow tense, and with a guttural growl, his cock unloads inside of him.
Gale sputters as load after load of hot seed floods him. It is never ending— decades worth of cum pumped into him as Halsin milks his cock dry into the trembling heat of the wizard. Gale writhes. His muscles twitch, and his nerves burn. He chokes on his own breath, as though the semen spent inside him reaches to his very lungs.
Finally, his cunt clamps down, and then…
Ah.
“Oh!”
The knot pops. In him. And, Gale is sure he will die.
It is a fullness he can scarcely imagine. His belly full of cum, plugged thick on cock and knot. Delirium sweeps him, and Gale stumbles. “ Hal—” he tries, only to fail when strong arms scoop him up, and the entire weight of the large elf engulfs him.
Teeth dig into the soft of his shoulder, and a whine rises form Gale’s lips as he is so shamelessly marked. Marked. Claimed. Scented. Halsin’s. He does not hate the thought, but who in camp will figure out just what transpired here today?
It takes very little time for Gale to learn: everyone. As just twenty feet away, the bushes rustle.
“Wouldn't have placed my bets on Gale being the first of us to, ah… intermingle.”
“Oh, Wyll, now who's caught your eye?”
“You know,” Astarion’s prying is effortlessly interrupted. “I don't think we're getting fed today.”
“Forget about breakfast, Karlach. Now, that is a meal.”