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Gale barely has the strength to look up from his hangover-relief spiked tea when Astarion strolls into his study.
“Tut. Well, you only have yourself to blame.”
“Thank you, I’m well aware of that.”
He takes another sip of the lukewarm concoction, careful not to upset his stomach any further, and sighs in relief when the potion lessens the pounding between his temples somewhat.
Astarion hmms and comes to lean against the desk. He pats Gale’s head like one would a particularly sad dog.
“Poor thing,” he mutters, amusement pouring off of him like springwater, “I suppose we can postpone our little bet until you’re looking a little less green. If you even still remember making it.”
And the thing is Gale does. Many parts of last night’s celebration are foggy, but this stands out in stark clarity. It starts simple enough. Arriving in Waterdeep, vampire spawn in tow. Reuniting with Tara and introductions. A tour of the tower for his guest, ending in front of the rack of wine bottles in the pantry. Things get considerably muddier after that, but one exchange of words is clear as day.
They’d eventually landed on the topic of sex, because of course they had.
Astarion had bragged that he didn’t even need to touch a lover’s cock to make them spill.
That had sounded like a tall tale to Gale, who had enjoyed the act of receiving often enough and had never come close to completion without a hand on himself. Astarion, who wasn’t half as affected by wine as Gale, had only smirked at him, when Gale had told him he’d believe it when he’d see it.
“What, like a bet?” Astarion had said and Gale had agreed. He’d been close to just climbing into his guest's lap then, but Astarion had stopped him with a firm hand on his shoulder.
“You’re plastered, darling. Why don’t we continue this conversation after you’ve slept off the wine?”
He’d guided him to his bedroom then, first ignoring Gale’s meek protest and then his timid suggestion to stay, for Gale’s bed had the nicest sheets in all the tower. One just had to experience the wonders of a thread count in the thousands!
He’d properly tucked Gale into bed, stuffing the edges of the blanket under the mattress and dropping a goodnight kiss on Gale’s forehead, and Gale had been out like a light before Astarion had even left the room. He’d woken to a mouth that tasted like death and immediate visceral regret.
“Awww, you do remember,” Astarion says, running a finger over Gale’s fire-hot cheeks.
Gale takes a slow breath through his nose. In and out. Trust him to fuck it up with his… roommate(?) in the first twelve hours of cohabitation.
“Regrettably, I do. I must apologise for my conduct last night. I have been most discourteous to you and I sincerely hope I have not offended you too deeply.”
“Oh, pish posh. Do you think you're the first drunkard to make an arse out of himself in front of me? Though. That apology was very droll.”
“I really am sorry, Astarion, I don’t know what came over me.”
“Oh, but I have an idea.” Astarion is leaning in, burgundy eyes piercing. For a second Gale thinks he’s been found out. For he does know very well what had driven him to practically throw himself at his friend(?) yesterday. Lust, longing and - worse still - soft affection all mangled together into an amalgamous blob Gale refuses to further examine or name. Astarion must have realised that his invitation to stay at his tower was not quite the friendly, selfless offer he’d disguised it as. And now he’s going to mock him for it. Or worse still, be kind in his rejection.
Then Astarion speaks on:
“Curiosity, of course!”
Gale hides his relief by draining his cup.
“Very understandable, my dear. I’m not one for false modesty, certainly not, and you are at heart a scholar. Of course, you’d be intrigued by my claims of pleasures you’ve thought impossible. That is to say, I am far from offended and, should you wish it, our bet still stands.”
Gale is glad that tea and potion have already made their way down his throat, otherwise he would have choked and sputtered.
“Astarion..”
“Don’t look so scandalised, dear, it’s just a friendly bet.”
A friendly bet. A friendly bet about Astarion fucking him so well that he comes on his cock alone.
“Only if you wish it. Perhaps it was just the wine talking…” Astarion shrugs.
“I suppose I am somewhat curious.” Gale hears himself say.
“Now that’s more like it, darling, I do so love a chance to show off!” The vampire lets out one of his giggles that never fail to make something in Gale’s chest chime like a bell and slaps a jar on the desk.
“Well, hop on!” Astarion pats the varnished wood invitingly.
“What, now? Here?” Gale protests, but for some reason gets up from his chair anyway.
“No time like the present!” The spawn shoves teacup, scrolls and books to the side, clearing a Gale-sized spot on his desk. “And I’ve fucked on furniture far less sturdy looking,” he tells him in a conspiratorial whisper.
“And maybe,” he says, still in that hushed, intimate tone, while stepping in close to Gale, crowding him against the desk, “Maybe I like the thought of you being reminded of losing your bet whenever you sit at your fancy desk. I wonder, are you going to have to get a new one? As not to be distracted from your wizarding by the memory of your defeat?”
“For that, I would have to lose first. And I still think you’re exaggerating wildly.” The finely carved edge of the tabletop is digging into the very top of his thighs. Gale realises, half-hysterical, that it has the perfect height for what they’re about to do.
“Oh, but you will, darling. Just you wait. Now, up you go and off with that.” Astarion promises and tugs at the loose hem of the worn shirt Gale had picked up off the floor of his bedroom not an hour ago.
Up he does go, obediently if gracelessly shimmying back onto the cool wood. Astarion makes a pleased little hum and tugs at his hem again, insistent. Gale briefly thinks about arguing, after all, they can settle the bet with his shirt remaining where it is, but the thought of baring only his bottom half feels even more humiliating, so he quickly drags the shirt over his head and leans back on his hands.
“That's a dear,” Astarion croons and immediately zeros in on what Gale was just thinking about hiding. His cold hands are on Gale’s hips in a blink, firmly grasping softness that even almost months of travel and skirmishes couldn’t quite eliminate. He doesn't seem bothered though, quite the opposite. He hums again, that hum he makes when he’s particularly pleased with a new development.
“Hmmm, look at you… If you aren’t in the habit of walking around your home shirtless, I must insist you start.” One hand stubbornly stays right on Gale’s hip while the other runs up the trail of hair on his stomach to palm a (again, softer than Gale would like) pectoral. For a moment Astarion’s index finger rests just about where the flush running down to his chest ends, then he lightly runs a fingertip over a nipple making Gale gasp softly.
He has to take a steadying breath before speaking and still, he stumbles over his words.
“I’m not, I- Remind me again what groping me has to do with our bet?”
Astarion laughs.
“My dear, it’s rather essential. As long as I’m not groping a particular appendage of yours, consider it all part of the demonstration.”
He steps in closer still, spreading Gale's thighs to accommodate him, and slides his hand up again to cup Gale’s jaw.
“I’d looked forward to trying a new method of shutting you up,” he said, stroking his thumb across Gale’s bottom lip, “But we can always get right down to business if you’re going to be impatient.”
Astarion caresses his mouth for just a moment longer before Gale is unceremoniously shoved onto his back. He goes easily if not without a little oof escaping him and once he’s reorientated himself Astarion has already made short work of the laces on his breaches.
“A little help, dear?” the spawn asks and tugs on the fabric demandingly.
With one hand splayed over his face in embarrassment, Gale plants his heels on the edge of the desk and lifts his hips so Astarion can drag the last shreds of his modesty over his hips and all the way down his legs.
“Hmmm, what a shame” Astarion says and Gale doesn't need to take the hand off his eyes to know what Astarion is looking at. “Quite lovely actually. Girthy. I’d like to get my hands on that eventually. Perhaps some other time.”
While Gale’s brain restarts after unceremoniously shutting down over the suggestion of there possibly being ‘Some other time’, Astarion drags the desk chair back over and gets comfortable. He pulls Gale further down by his hips until his ass is barely still on the desk and with firm hands pushes his thighs up towards his chest. Instinctively Gale hooks his arms around his thighs and suddenly he’s left holding himself open for Astarion’s eyes and presumably fingers and oh Gods, he’d agreed to let Astarion fuck him, right here on his desk, all under the thin veneer of a bet, what the hells was he do-
“Shh, darling, you’re thinking louder than some people shout,” Astarion says and strokes his hip reassuringly. “We can stop?”
Gale lifts his head to look down at Astarion’s head between his thighs, oh shit, oh fu- He lets his head drop back to the table with a thunk.
Somehow stopping now, when he’s already naked, when they’re already in the position they’re in, sounds even more mortifying than continuing. Stopping would include dropping the pretence that this is a normal thing to do. Just a normal bet between friends, nothing to see here, please do move along. Maybe the only way out of this with Gale’s dignity somewhat intact is through.
“N-no. Just a fff-friendly bet, right?” Gale says, resolutely keeping his eyes on the ceiling. Would you look at that, there are glass shards embedded in the panelling. Probably from that time, his alchemy experiment went prompt critical…
“Well, then,” Astarion says and licks a broad stripe over Gale’s hole. The moan it drags out of Gale’s voicebox is completely involuntary. Astarion’s tongue is cold and wet against his entrance and it’s such an unexpected, curious sensation, that Gale has to dig his teeth into his bottom lip harshly not to just keep being loud , as Astarion does it again and again, and then some more. With the way his tongue flutters lightly over Gale’s sensitive rim - And who would have thought he’d be that sensitive there? - Gale can do nothing about his heaving chest and the harsh puffs of breath that escape him.
It feels so… Naughty? For lack of a better term? Forbidden perhaps? Mystra had of course never done something like this with him, though she had fucked him on occasion. And even that had always been in the weave, where every sensation echoed like voices in a temple, always there but never truly close.
And this is the material plane where touch is direct and at times overwhelming. This is Astarion’s very material mouth on Gale’s very material hole. Perhaps more importantly, this is Astarion with all of his intensity and not the goddess, who, in all the ways she’d favoured him, had remained ethereally detached.
There is no detachment in the way Astarion is eating him out. It makes Gale’s head swim.
Astarion, apparently having had enough of lapping around Gale’s rim, pushes the tip of his tongue inside and Gale just about loses his mind. He’s fucking him already, fucking him with his tongue, oh Gods.
If the sensation had been indecent before, it is vulgar now. Gale feels dirty, feels decadent, can’t do much more than bite his lip and clutch his thighs and feel.
Finally, Astarion seems satisfied. With one last tender lick, he pulls back, leaving Gale’s hole covered in cold saliva.
“You know, I wondered why you were being so quiet, but you’re just cheating, huh?” he says, conversationally, like he hasn’t just been tongue-deep in Gale’s ass.
It takes Gale a second to figure out what he’s talking about.
“You never said I couldn’t.”
“It was implied.”
“Nu-uh,” Gale says and belatedly wonders where the eloquence he prides himself on has pissed off to.
“Oh, whatever. I’m saying it now: No lip biting, no tongue biting, no mouth covering, none of that, capiche?” Astarion instructs and spits directly on Gale’s hole.
“Guh,” Gale says.
“See that wasn’t so hard, now was it?” Astarion says, dragging a finger through his own saliva and pushing it inside.
“I, ugh, I don’t understand what me avoiding any unnecessary… exclamation has to do with the bet.”
“Oh, nothing, darling, that’s solely for my own personal enjoyment,” Astarion explains and grabs the jar he put on the desk earlier. “You do moan very prettily when you let yourself.”
“Uh, thank you, I suppose?”
“You’re welcome, love,” Astarion says and slides a freshly greased finger into Gale. He grunts. Astarion has long, elegant fingers and Gale may or may not have thought about what they would feel like inside him. The answer is: Invasive.
He should have expected this. He hasn’t had anything near his hole (at least in the material plane) since leaving Blackstaff, which had been more years ago than he likes to think about.
“Breath, you’ll be back to enjoying yourself in just a minute,” Astarion mutters and moves his finger in and out slowly. He’s right of course and Gale breathes deeply and tries his best to relax.
“That’s it, just like that,” Astarion croons, movements growing slightly faster. “Are you absolutely certain nobody’s ever made you come without touching your cock? You’re wonderfully responsive.”
“I would have hardly bet on it if someone had.”
“True,” Astarion says and pulls his finger out completely. Before Gale can protest - And when has this started to feel good? - he’s back inside him with a second finger added.
“It’s just odd, you seem so familiar with this. Holding yourself open for me so prettily… Either you’re letting all kinds of unskilled riff-raff fuck you or you’re just a natural slut.”
“I, ah, am not going to dignify this with a response,” Gale says, feeling his cheeks flush even more.
“Aww, don’t be like that.” Astarion scissored his fingers. “You’re awfully hard too. Let me rephrase it, then. Could it be possible that you have a predilection for being on the receiving end of penetration?”
“Let’s say, I’ve enjoyed this act in the past, and leave it at that,” Gale says.
“My poor darling, a natural bottom and nobody ever properly introduced you to your prostate,” Astarion says and does something inside of Gale that makes him throw his head can and keen. Astarion giggles. “Gale Dekarios meet your sweet spot. I’m sure the two of you will be friends in no time.”
It feels like pure tendrils of weave are running through Gale’s body as Astarion gently runs his fingers over that spot.
“Oh, gods,”
“It’s Astarion, actually,” Astarion says and Gale can hear the smirk in his voice.
“Doesn’t that feel good, love? Now think about being nice and full with my cock inside of you.”
Astarion must have some kind of innate bardic talent, with how just the velvety tone of his voice makes Gale follow his every direction. What will it feel like when Astarion is inside him?
“You like getting filled, hmm? Think about what it will be like when I get the angle just right…”
Gale hisses as Astarion presses just a little firmer down on his prostate. It’s not like he hasn’t been aware of this particular quirk in the male anatomy, it had just never really come to mind to go exploring so to say. He’d enjoyed getting fucked by the occasional fling during his Blackstaff days and then he’d dedicated himself to Mystra. It just hadn’t come up somehow.
But, dear Gods, he has been missing out, this feels incredible.
“Do you want my cock, love? Or another finger? It’ll be tight, but I think you’re the kind of slut that likes it that way.”
Gale moans and shakes his head silently.
“Now, that’s hardly a proper answer. Use your words.”
“Please fuck me,” Gale says before his brain can catch up with his mouth.
“That’s my polite dear. If you’re asking me so nicely…”
Gale feels Astarion’s lips press against the sensitive inside of his thigh in a gentle kiss. He hears the chair scraping over the parquet floor and suddenly Astarion is looming over him, still dressed and hair immaculate. The only evidence of what he’s been up to is the slight sheen of saliva on his mouth and chin.
He’s undoing the fastening of his trousers and Gale can’t help but stare as he pulls his cock out.
The realisation that he can’t possibly fit that inside him is immediately followed by the half-rabid urge to try anyway. Gods have mercy, he’s going to walk with a limp after this.
“Staring is rude, darling,” Astarion chastises and reaches for the jar. Whatever concoction he’s using on Gale and now himself, it’s barely solid and Gale can smell the faint aroma of chamomile. Astarion slathers it on his cock generously and Gale can’t help but watch how he slides his fist over himself.
“What did I just say?” Astarion asks and Gale’s eyes fly up to his face.
“Sorry,” he mutters, feeling silly.
“No hard feelings. Who doesn’t go a little empty-headed when faced with perfection.”
Gale feels like he should laugh, but Astarion does have an objectively beautiful cock. He’s long and elegant, like the rest of him, the tip flushed a delicate pink. Gale wonders what he would feel like in his mouth. Maybe he can come up with some other idiotic bet that involves him on his knees.
“You’re a much better conversationalist usually,” Astarion says and steps in closer to Gale again. This is actually happening. Oh mercy.
“My mind is a little preoccupied right now,” Gale defends himself half-heartedly.
“With my cock. I noticed.” Astarion’s smile doesn’t look mocking, not with the way it reaches his eyes. He’s still smiling that smile Gale can’t quite classify, when he guides Gale’s legs to his shoulders.
“Ready?”
Gale nods before he can change his mind and bolt.
Astarion’s eyes never leave his face as he guides himself to Gale’s entrance and pushes in slowly but steadily.
And this at least is familiar. Even if it’s been a long time or only in the weave, the sensation of being stretched and filled is not one you forget. Astarion’s long and the slow push into Gale’s body keeps going longer than he’s used to, but it’s nothing new. Even the sting is somehow reassuring. He knows how to breathe through it, to keep himself from clenching down. And Astarion had guessed correctly earlier: He does like it when it hurts a little.
Finally, Astarion is flush, his hips pressed against Gale’s buttocks. He’s positively stuffed.
For a moment, all they do is breathe in unison. A single bead of sweat is making its way down Astarion temple.
“Pain?” Astarion asks quietly, still watching Gale’s face intently. Gale shakes his head. Sure it’s a stretch, but the sting is already subsiding.
Astarion gives him another of these smiles he can’t place and pulls out until just the tip of his cock remains inside. The slide in is just as leisurely as the first one, but this time the angle is slightly different. Torturously slowly the head drags over his prostate, accentuated by a low quiet moan that Gale belatedly realises is coming from him.
“There we go,” Astarion says, more to himself than to Gale and starts snapping his hips in earnest.
For some reason, Gale had expected Astarion’s demonstration of his talent to be gentle. Making love in the weave had mostly been like that, a slow rocking towards completion that could go on for hours. What concept did an eternal being have of time anyway?
But Astarion’s fucking him like they have somewhere to be in an hour and they better make this count. Astarion is proving something and that’s exactly what it feels like.
It’s as dirty and animalistic as everything Astarion has done so far. He’s keeping the angle with an otherworldly accuracy, but other than that he’s pounding Gale’s hole without much finesse. Gale’s not behaving any better, gripping the edge of the desk over his head for stability and making noises that would get him arrested in public.
Gale loves it. It’s been so long since he’s been well and truly fucked. Gods, he’s missed this. And this time it’s not just the inherent eroticism of taking a cock, but the unrelenting stimulation of his sweet spot. It’s euphoric.
And, Hells, the visual of Astarion, dressed in his usual finery, with only his cock out and Gale’s legs over his shoulder… Gale tries his best to commit the view to memory with all its details.
The relentless battering of his hole stops as abruptly as it started.
Astarion’s shaking his head and pulling out.
“Wh- What? Why are you stopping?”
“Ah, it’s no use. This obviously isn’t going anywhere. I know when I’m defeated,” Astarion says and shrugs. “Congratulations, darling.”
He reaches for Gale’s ankles, but Gale crosses them behind his neck almost instinctively, pulling him in.
“What are you even talking about?” Gale asks.
“Our bet, sweetheart! You’ve won! I couldn’t make you come,” Astarion explains.
Oh, yes. The bet.
“But you- That hardly counts as trying!” Gale grouses, desperate for Astarion back inside him. “Don’t just forfeit! That’s- That’s poor sportsmanship!”
Astarion chortles.
“Why, poor sportsmanship! No, we can’t have that!” He says and blessedly plunges back inside Gale, making him gasp. “I shall have to give it a proper try then.”
Somehow he’s even more forceful than before, rutting into Gale like he’d paid him for the privilege. He’s leaning forward now, against Gale’s thighs, folding him in half. One hand gripping Gale’s hip, one digging into his waist, keeping him steady.
This is when it starts. A sensation, somehow both tingly and numbing, like every drop of blood in Gale’s body is thrumming with energy. First not louder than a whisper, but rapidly turning into a roar.
His cock, which he hasn’t paid any attention to in a while, is suddenly pulsing in the most inexplicable way. Startled, he realises he’s leaking. Little spurts of clear liquid, that dribble down his shaft to wet the curls at the base.
“My, would you look at that,” Astarion pants out between thrusts, sounding delighted. “You’re wet for me, darling!”
Gale keens at that, embarrassment and - oddly - happiness at having pleased Astarion mixing in his chest, making him feel even more light-headed.
The thrumming in his veins builds and builds to heights that feel unearthly. Astarion is playing his body like a skilled musician and he’s just along for the ride.
“Look at me, love,” Astarion commands and Gale does. He’s a vision above him, strands of hair falling into his face, sweat beading on his temple and neck. The smile he’s giving him is all fangs.
It’s the look in his eyes that makes Gale’s body finally snap. His blown pupils and all of his attention focused on Gale, it’s just too much. His orgasm, because this is what this is, keeps going and going. He’s coming all over himself harder than ever. The sensation isn’t just in his cock, Gale’s coming with his entire body, toes curling, legs twitching, muscles spasming and it just keeps going. Astarion fucks him through it, even as Gale clenches around his shaft with every wave of his orgasm, even as the pressure on his sweet spots starts to be almost overwhelming.
Finally, as the shaking starts to subside and the waves of ecstasy get smaller, Astarion slows down as well. He’s gasping for breath like he’s just run for his life, the slightest of pink on his cheeks. He’s still holding Gale firmly, nails digging into his skin, as he stills inside him, and it’s over.
Gale feels like he’s floating, head empty of any thought that isn’t Astarion.
Astarion licks his lips and pulls out achingly slowly, one last brush over Gale’s prostate, like a kiss goodbye. Then Astarion’s hand flies to his cock. He strokes himself, once, twice and comes with a shout, generous spurts of cum adding to the mess already on Gale’s belly and chest.
He’s thrown his head back and Gale watches the tendons in his neck work with detached fascination. He’d love to be allowed a bit of a nibble along there and up to the line of his jaw. Maybe a kiss too. (Definitely a kiss too.)
One last splash of cum hits Gale’s skin, directly onto his half-flaccid cock.
Astarion sighs contentedly and leans back, ducking out from under Gale’s legs. Gale just barely has the strength to keep them to his chest on his own.
The look Astarion gives him is dripping with smug satisfaction.
“Let’s hope you’re not a sore loser,” he quips, slaps Gale on the ass and flounces out of the study, not even bothering to tuck his cock away.
Gale keeps lying exactly where Astarion left him for another minute or two, while his brain reboots. Then he groans quietly. Astarion had been right earlier.
He’d have to buy a new desk.