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"Minsc," Astarion growled, his voice dripping with disdain, "Do you seriously mean to tell me that you came down to the Underdark with not a single health potion on you?"
Minsc smiled. "Why would Minsc need to bring a health potion when he is so strong, my friend?"
“Oh, I don’t know,” Astarion clenched his jaw and hissed a long, seething breath from between his teeth. "Perhaps," he glowered, "to help an ally with a broken leg!"
Minsc’s rodent tittered. Minsc sighed. "Yes, Boo. Astarion does have a point." Then he shook his head, not allowing any sense of reflection to stew in his simple mind. "But Minsc cannot change the past! Astarion, show us to your lair, and we shall heal you there!"
"For the last time, Minsc, it's not a lair —" Astarion yelped in a combination of surprise and pain as Minsc hoisted him up into his arms. In an effort to make some purchase, he looped his arms around the brute’s thick neck, steadying himself in the man’s fumbling hold. "Watch the leg," Astarion snapped, wincing as Minsc readjusted his grip. Searing pain shot up his side.
Astarion had found solace in the Underdark shortly after the Netherbrain fell. With the tadpole protecting him from the sun nullified, it was his only immediate option for some semblance of freedom, away from the light of day. Here, he didn't have to hole himself up somewhere during waking hours — though, he mused, he was holing himself up in a different way — and could wander in the glow of the fungi without fear of burning. While it was the most logical of any options Astarion had at his disposal, it was by no means optimal.
Firstly, the Myconid didn't have much blood. The Duergar were easy enough to feed off of, but after a while the taste of Dwarf had gotten old, and the slavers began to adapt new methods to defend themselves from him and the rest of the vampire spawn. Eventually, Dwarf blood seemed more effort than it was worth, and people cared too much if Astarion turned his gaze to the Gnomes instead. It turned out, much to Astarion’s benefit, that people didn’t mind murder so much if the people he killed were evil anyways.
Secondly, though the area was hauntingly beautiful, there was only so much gloom and fungus and mud Astarion could take before everything started to look the same. He was a lavish creature, meant for luxury and draperies and golden, glittering furniture, not a life of roughing it among the rocks and dirt. He longed for expensive parties, for decadence, for excess, for days and nights of obscene, classless debauchery, and the Underdark could provide none of that.
Third, and perhaps most importantly, Astarion was incredibly lonely. It wounded his pride to admit it out loud, so he simply didn't.
The vampire spawn around him were understandably uninterested in his presence, and he felt the same way about them. They’d all been through the same treatment, there was nothing to discuss. And besides, many of the spawn he shared the Underdark with held a lingering sense of resentment — after all, he’d been the one who led them to their fates. Astarion supposed he couldn’t blame them for that. He didn’t want to be reminded of that either.
It wasn't that his party members — his friends, as he was shocked to call them — were cold or uncaring, but they were busy with their own lives, not capable of spending every living second tending to Astarion's admittedly high social needs. After months of traveling with people he’d somehow grown quite fond of, being by himself was a new feeling, not one he relished.
A letter from Gale every now and then wasn't the same as seeing the chatty wizard in the flesh and listening to his endless prattle.
A scrying message of twenty-five words from the Hells from Karlach and the newly-titled Blade of Avernus wasn't the same as a boisterous, drunken romp between the three of them.
A moonbeam that pierced through the cracks of the earth above wasn't the same as Shadowheart's condescension and sass, not the same as a good old-fashioned gossip session as the two of them sipped wine from their goblets.
And Lae'zel — well, she was busy with monumental, society-changing matters. Astarion didn't expect her to stay in contact at all, but was pleasantly surprised when he found a Githyanki-forged dagger by his bedroll one night, and a short note that said "Stay Alive - L" placed next to it. In her case, Astarion was thankful he hadn’t seen her — the Astral light from her portal would have set him aflame.
And yet, of all the companions Astarion desired to see in the flesh, Minsc was very much not one of them. And, of course, that meant Minsc was the one that made a consistent effort to visit.
Much to Astarion's displeasure.
Astarion hadn't been particularly fond of the oaf during their travels together. The man was as bright as a lump of charcoal, he spoke constantly with a rodent (which Astarion still wasn’t convinced could actually speak), and he had as much subtlety as a billboard advertising virility potions for aging, flagging men. He was loud, boisterous, easily-manipulated, and incredibly dull.
It was with a wincing sense of complete certainty that Astarion acknowledged he would have picked Minsc for his target, had the man been part of their party from the beginning. The idiot was strong, that was no doubt. And, most importantly, once he had an idea in the echoing cavern of his skull, it was incredibly hard to change his mind. As long as Jahiera hadn’t killed him first, Astarion could have wrapped him around his little finger, could have had the man following his directions like a hired hand to help him take down Cazador.
But Cazador was dead now. Astarion had made sure of that himself. There was no need to manipulate anyone anymore, no need to use his body as currency, no need to get on his back and spread his legs just to stay safe and alive — he could spread his legs whenever he liked, thank-you-very-much, however he liked, and he could choose to keep them closed too.
And yet, trawling the city at night looking for someone to lay with brought up too many bad memories. The other spawn in the Underdark alongside him posed the same issue. And so, Astarion had become embarrassingly celibate once he had finally become free enough to make his own decisions about sex — it wasn't out of a desire to stay untouched, but a lack of partners he was willing to consider.
So he'd made do. Bitterly. With his own hand. Almost every night .
See, once Astarion had become a free man, he'd realized his natural libido was absolutely insatiable. It was like he was young again, going through a new change, finally realizing the allure of release and searching for it wherever and whenever he could. Sensuality was a part of who he was, even under the layers he’d been peeling away. After years of detachment from legitimate passion and sexuality, once it came back to him, it crashed over him like a tidal wave.
And really, Minsc’s arms were very strong. And large. And warm.
Astarion shook his head, whisking the idea away. There was no denying that Minsc would be a legendary lay — all muscle and strength and instinct, something perfect and hard without pesky strings of attachment, really — but Astarion wasn’t sure his reputation could live it down.
“Is something the matter, my friend?” Minsc adjusted his hold, shifting Astarion in his arms.
Astarion huffed, a loud, dramatic sigh. “Oh, only my leg is broken and someone didn’t have the foresight to bring anything that could heal it.”
“Peace, Astarion,” Minsc replied. “Minsc could tell you many a story, to make the time pass faster. Your healing is still but a few hours away!”
“Gods, no,” Astarion groaned, hanging his head limp from his neck. His forehead pressed against Minsc’s shoulder, bouncing with each sure-footed step the berserker took. The human’s warmth radiated into him through the contact. “Don’t remind me.”
“Minsc has encountered many vampires in his travels across the lands. Each and every one of them hid their fangs behind false smiles. But you, my friend, shine brighter than the sun!” Minsc beamed.
“Spare me the compliments. I’m suffering enough as it is,” Astarion whined. “Just tell me I’m beautiful and get it over with.” The pain in his leg had softened to a dull throb at this point, though every now and then a particularly hard step would send another arrow of hurt up his spine.
Minsc laughed. “Is that not what Minsc said? The most beautiful vampire in all of the lands. And with the purest of hearts.” Boo chattered from somewhere within the folds of Minsc’s clothing, and Minsc shook his head. “No, Boo, Minsc is not exaggerating! When have you ever met a vampire as kind and charming as our dear Astarion?”
Astarion balked. “Me? Kind? ” He clicked his tongue. “Now you’re just being preposterous. You should listen to the rodent.”
Minsc shrugged his shoulders, and Astarion startled with the movement. “It is true. Not only did you stop the vampire’s evil ritual, you are there to pick up the pieces when Minsc charges blindly ahead!” He faltered for a moment. “Well, most of the time.”
In truth, Astarion was the one who had been careless. A beholder, slimy and unsettling, blasting its attack radius with beams of psychic energy and paralysis spells and Gods know what else, had attacked them.
At the time, Astarion had been trying to lose Minsc from his trail. Minsc had a way of finding him in the strangest of places, no matter how many times Astarion moved his camp. He was walking faster than he should have when he’d stepped on a loose rock and awoken the beast from its slumber. They’d defeated the beholder, of course — after the Elder Brain, falling in battle to a mere beholder would have been absolutely embarrassing. But, as it fell, the beholder knocked a stalactite loose from the cavernous ceiling of the Underdark and the pillar of stone had shattered Astarion’s shin. A stream of curses, in both Common and Elven, had erupted from his lips, and Minsc had covered Boo’s little ears in horror.
In any other occasion, Astarion would have had a health potion available, but he’d already used the damned thing earlier in the day after a particularly rough skirmish with a minotaur. And, of course, Minsc didn’t have any on him. Astarion had made the mental note to bring two next time.
The Underdark passed in shades of grey, purple, and green.
Minsc commented on many things as they walked — the smell of the fungus, the way they glowed into the darkness, stories of times he had encountered rogue Myconid colonies in faraway lands, tales of traveling with Jaheira. He spoke of long nights arguing with Boo, of the different vampires he’d fought along the way, of the ways the sunset lit up the scenery, and where to find the best fish, both in the Sword Coast and beyond. Astarion had begun to zone out, the steady, neverending drone of Minsc’s deep voice exhausting him, the rhythm of his steps lulling him into a trance.
The scenery passed by, an endless show of rocks and fungi and haze. Eventually, their surroundings became more familiar as Minsc approached the lakeside Myconid colony Astarion and the party had investigated so many moons before.
“Over there,” he said, the entrance to his current campsite flicking past his vision as Minsc trudged ever forward. “ Turn, you oaf —” he motioned back as Minsc swiveled around, Astarion’s useless leg flopping with the motion and a jolt of pain coursing through his nerves. Astarion whacked the back of Minsc’s head with the palm of his hand. “ Careful, ” he hissed, gritting his teeth, pain wracking his system. “I’ve set up my things over in that ravine.”
“Your vampire’s lair!” Minsc exclaimed, turning slower this time. “You will have to tell Minsc the next time you move camp, my friend. It takes Minsc ages to find you down here.”
“That’s rather on purpose,” Astarion muttered, though Minsc seemed not to hear.
The climb down to Astarion’s site had the vampire biting his lip not to groan, each step downwards sending a new jolt of pain through his shattered bones. Inwardly, he cursed himself for setting up so far down — though, such a secluded place was the perfect place to keep out of sight.
His camp was as lavish a setup as he could support — deep maroon fabrics draped from the ravine walls, shielding his tent from the view of anyone who might peer down the crevice. Stools and tables held stacks of books and papers and candles and scrolls. The stone floor was covered in rugs he’d stolen from old Zhent hideouts, and countless plush pillows were piled in separate areas of his living space. There were old, emptied bottles of blood strewn about, and goblets he’d need to clean were stacked haphazardly on a round table off to the side. A mirror, useless as ever, sat outside of his tent, catching the flickering candlelight around it.
“Ah, Astarion,” Minsc smiled, “This is the warmest vampire’s lair Minsc has ever seen. How lovely the candles are.”
“Yes, yes, I’m aware my decorating skills leave nothing to be desired,” Astarion preened. “Now, bring me over to my tent — there’s a chest in there with health potions inside.”
“Of course, my friend. Minsc will bring you there right away!”
Astarion languished on his collection of pillows and cushions as he directed Minsc through the chest. “Not that one — the red bottle, it’s right under your nose, you can’t possibly miss it —”
“What is this, Astarion?” Minsc held up a notebook, its worn pages folded and tagged with strips of colorful ribbon.
“A spot of research,” Astarion grimaced, “Not that I’m getting particularly far with it.”
“What is it about? Perhaps Minsc can help.”
“Minsc can help,” Astarion snapped, “By fetching me that healing potion, it’s right under your Gods-damned fingers.”
Minsc finally — finally — grasped the healing potion and handed it to Astarion. Never before had any weight felt sweeter in his hands.
“The research is on how I might walk in the sun again,” Astarion relented, now that Minsc had finally given him what he needed. “There is talk of a ring that might grant me solace. I might also be able to spend time in the far north during winter, when the sun is below the horizon for months at a time.”
“Ah,” Minsc smiled. “Minsc knows the far north quite well.”
The pain of the broken leg had dulled over time, but Astarion didn’t relish how it would feel to ready his leg for the potion. Drinking a health potion had a general effect, but for localized wounds, they became more potent when poured directly onto the injury. He grimaced and gently unlaced his shoe.
“Minsc has never seen a vampire bruise so deeply! Minsc wonders, does the blood in your body come from the blood you drink?”
Astarion narrowed his eyes. Deep purple bruises covered his calf and shin, mottled yellow festering around the edges. It was a ghastly sight, his leg swollen and misshapen.
“Of course it does, Minsc,” Astarion sighed. “Where else would it come from?”
Astarion uncorked the bottle and poured it over his leg. The magic within shimmered and glowed a soft red light into the dim interior of Astarion’s tent. Astarion grit his teeth as he felt the flesh and bone of his leg knit itself back together, snapping and grinding and twisting until it looked as good as new, though the soreness would remain for a few hours still.
Astarion sighed, relieved. It was a feeling he was used to, a lingering memory of the adventures he’d shared with his party, a bittersweet sting that would fade with time. The worst of the pain was over, just a tingling left over in his calf.
But Minsc was still in his tent.
“Well,” Astarion said, clapping his hands. “I must say, it was lovely , ah, seeing you, but I am a terribly busy man.”
“It is no matter! Minsc can help with whatever Astarion needs.”
Astarion grimaced. “Truly,” he said, “It is bad manners for a host to ask his, um. Guest to work for him.”
“Minsc does not mind.”
Astarion sighed. “Let me rephrase this. Minsc, please leave.”
Minsc frowned. “But Astarion, you have just been through a great deal of pain. And besides, Minsc is perfect company!”
“You don’t need to worry about me, Minsc,” Astarion huffed, his ears pinned back in annoyance. “I’m perfectly fine. You can leave me alone, now.”
“And you are absolutely sure there is nothing Minsc can help you with?”
The pain of his broken leg jolting with each of Minsc’s barbaric steps had been enough to distract Astarion from how close they’d been on the journey back. But now that Astarion’s leg was mended, now that Astarion found himself lounging back on his pliant, plush pillows with Minsc’s hulking form hunched so nearby, that itching sense of loneliness began to creep back into his mind.
He thought of how Minsc’s arms had felt wrapped around his back and his thighs. He thought about how warm his chest was, pressed against Astarion’s side. He thought about the way it had felt to hang off of his neck, arms looped around thick muscle. He thought about the way Minsc’s breath came in pants as he walked up the sloped terrain, the rhythm as they’d walked downhill, the feel of Minsc’s skin shifting against his own. He thought about Minsc’s silhouette, strong, solid muscle, his glittering gold earrings in the light. The curve of his waist, the sturdy build of his shoulders, the way how, despite everything, he still smelled clean.
Minsc was an idiot, that was for certain. He was a simpleton in many ways — frozen in stone for a century, tricked easily by a false Jaheira after his escape, falling victim to the Illithid parasite and playing along as a True Soul for Gods know how long, believing a blasted rodent could speak to him without the use of Speak with Animals — and Astarion had little patience for men like him.
And yet, Minsc showed him a strange kindness he hadn’t experienced often, refusing to give up and leave Astarion to mope in his solitude. And in his loneliness, Astarion experienced what he might later call a moment of weakness.
“Well,” Astarion began, hesitant. “There is… one thing you might be able to help me with.” He paused. “Just — tell the rodent to go on a walk, first.”
Astarion had been right — Minsc ran extremely warm.
Astarion relished the feeling of warm lips against his own, moving and pressing and insisting. Minsc was a surprisingly good kisser. Though he was sloppy and fumbled with his lips, his motions were not without care nor experience. Astarion had the human lying on his back, shoulders pressed against the cushions of his tent. He loomed above Minsc, his whole body moving with each kiss, pressing his chest against Minsc’s, rotating his hips just so.
Minsc ran his hands along Astarion’s waist, across his hips, palming at his ass through Astarion’s leather chaps and leggings. His hands were coarse and rough, and though they were insistent, they were gentle and kind. There was an innocent sort of glee about his movements, something pure and happy.
Astarion felt like a teenager again, his body racing with adrenaline and hormones and anticipation. After two centuries of torment and an endless, depressing track record of disassociation, he hadn’t imagined a universe where kissing and sloppy fumbling through clothes would ever get him this worked up. The throbbing pulse between his legs was almost embarrassing, excitement far beyond what the situation called for. And yet, as he pressed his lips against Minsc once more, he couldn’t find it within himself to care.
Kissing him was intoxicating. For the first time since his freedom, he was kissing because he wanted to, exploring someone else for fun, with no ulterior motive besides pleasure and release. Minsc was by no means as seasoned a professional as Astarion, but he was fun , an adventure to be had, exactly what Astarion was looking for. Astarion bit at Minsc’s bottom lip, worried it with his teeth, caught it with a fang and listened to the human’s breath hitch.
“My friend,” Minsc said, his voice breaking through between Astarion’s ravenous, frantic kisses, “You kiss like you are fighting in battle. Relax!”
“I don’t know how long it’s been for you, my dear,” Astarion crooned, pressing a kiss to the side of Minsc’s face, down his jaw, pressing his tongue against his ear, trailing it across Minsc’s earring, “But I’ve been needing something like this for far too long.”
“The faster you go,” Minsc said, “the less fun we will have.”
Astarion leaned back, his legs straddling Minsc’s waist. He could feel Minsc stirring against the curve of his ass, seated directly on his crotch. “Mm,” he began, tilting his hips, rubbing himself against Minsc, “I can think of a lot of ways we could have fun,” he purred.
“And Minsc can think of many, too.” Minsc reached forward and placed his palms against Astraion’s thighs, rubbing his broad thumbs over the leather of his pants. “If Astarion is so eager, he can have his pleasure first, if he likes. As many times as he needs, before Minsc has his.”
Astarion felt his face flush in response — it shouldn’t have been so effective, it was a sentiment he’d heard many times before. But it had been so long, see, and Astarion wasn’t quite used to having someone prioritize his pleasure first. He couldn’t recall if anyone ever actually had.
“And how would you give me my pleasure, Minsc?” Astarion asked.
Minsc smiled, his eyes eager. “However you like, my friend.”
Astarion was embarrassingly wet. He hadn’t even been touched yet, and there was arousal dripping between his legs, caught underneath his pants, lubricating his lips, sliding across his thighs. He could feel it beading from his entrance, his clit pulsing alongside his heartbeat. And to think, it was all because of Minsc, that idiotic hunk of muscle who did nothing but get on his nerves and trail after him like a lost puppy.
Astarion leaned back on his palms and let Minsc slide out from beneath him. The human leaned forward and pressed a kiss to Astarion’s bare chest.
Minsc was unlacing Astarion’s pants, pulling down his chaps, then the leggings beneath, then the blue briefs he’d so lovingly embroidered — not that Minsc had the mind to read them, anyway. Astarion felt his legs twitching in anticipation, Minsc’s strong hands sending a jolt of excitement through his stomach as they brushed against his skin.
“Amazing!” Minsc proclaimed, his lips stretching into a pure, beaming grin. He looked up at Astarion’s eyes. “Astarion, I did not know you hid such a beautiful thing between your legs!” His voice was so excited, so genuine. The man didn’t have it in him to flatter just for flattery’s sake.
Astarion’s face burned. The praise went right to his clit, twitching hungrily into the air. “Minsc, could you please, kindly, shut your Gods-damned mouth?”
“You must let Minsc admire what he sees, Astarion,” Minsc said, paying Astarion’s snip no mind. He laid down on his stomach and hooked one hand around Astarion’s thigh, pulling him closer. “It is not every day that Minsc meets something so enticing.” With one thumb, Minsc reached forward and pulled one of Astarion's lips to the side, smiling at what he saw.
“Would you just get on with it already?” Astarion snapped. His clit was throbbing, arousal glistening across the surface of his lips. Being stared at like that, desired and admired so fully, appreciated for every piece of what he was — it was a new feeling. He liked it, quite a lot.
“Ah, but where is the fun in that?” Minsc teased, gripping Astarion's thigh with strong fingers. “You must let Minsc savor his meal.”
Minsc breathed in deep through his nose, exhaled a long, enthusiastic sigh, and then pressed the flat of his tongue against Astarion's lips, dragging it up to press against the underside of his clit.
“How delicious!” Minsc exclaimed, his eyes upturned in a smile. “It is not every day that a vampire allows himself to be tasted. Normally it is the other way around.”
Astarion leaned back and covered his face with his hands. “Minsc,” he said, voice muffled, “I do wonder what it is that goes through that mind of yours.”
The man was incredibly vocal, voicing his happiness in such a way that it made Astarion want to crawl into a hole and die from embarrassment. And yet, despite how flustered Minsc's enthusiasm made him feel, there was no denying how much the praise affected him. He would deny until the end of time that Minsc's praise would be so undoing, but that night, in Astarion’s tent, in the candlelight of the ravine, Astarion groaned his response freely into the dusty air.
Minsc licked again, and again, and again. His tongue was hot and wet and pressed against the folds of Astarion's vulva with vigor, his lips closed around Astarions clit and sucked, his saliva mixed with Astarion’s arousal and slicked his entrance. The noises Minsc made were positively erotic.
Astarion was no stranger to eroticism — in fact, he’d call himself a bit of an expert. He’d keened and wailed and purred in all sorts of ways over the centuries, painting pictures of all kinds for those he'd entertained, but Minsc may have been the loudest partner he'd heard so far. If nothing else, Minsc was surely the most enthusiastic.
The man grunted as he worked, moaning and groaning as if he were tasting the most delectable meal he'd had in his life. His tongue made wet, obscene noises as it explored Astarion's lips, circled his raging clit, dipped into his entrance to taste the slick from its source. Minsc’s breath was loud and heavy and unapologetic. He ate as though he was starving, with little manners and little restraint.
Astarion could feel his desire building, an insistent urge pushing in the pit of his stomach, throbbing out into his clit and his entrance, which twitched and pulsated against Minsc’s tongue. It was relentless, a cascade of sensation that barreled over him like he was being tackled and hadn’t hit the ground yet.
“Gods,” Astarion panted, his hands still covering his face. His back arched, his abdomen twitched, his body squirmed in response to Minsc’s mouth as it sucked and licked and teethed at him. “You said —” his breath hitched, “You said you wanted to take your time,” Astarion breathed, his voice coming out high-pitched.
Minsc sucked hard at Astarion’s clit, then pulled off with a pornographic pop . “Ah, my friend, it seems now you are the one asking Minsc to slow down. How things have changed!” He laughed, breathless. “I seem to recall some saying about a table that turns.”
Astarion grit his teeth. What an absolute moron.
Yet, Minsc’s idiotic comments did little to affect the mounting pressure that was building in Astarion’s abdomen, some energy pooling there, flickering there, sparking out through his limbs and into his bloodstream. He wanted release, but not yet — he would never say it out loud, especially not to the oaf, but Minsc had been right. The anticipation added to the release, and Asatrion didn’t want to squander his first orgasm so quickly.
If Minsc kept going at this pace, he'd surely come far too soon.
“Let’s try something different,” Astarion said, wanting to take control of the pace. He propped himself up on his elbows, looking down at Minsc. The fool raised his head from between Astarion’s legs, his cheeks and lips glistening with Astarion’s arousal. The sight filled Astarion’s chest with a fluttering burst of endorphins, and he felt his entrance squeeze closed in excitement.
“Lie on your back,” Astarion commanded, and Minsc listened. Astarion straddled Minsc's face, his knees on either side of the man's head, and Minsc's eyes lit up with joy.
“Ah,” Minsc said, reaching his arms up to hook around Astarion's thighs, “You want to ride Minsc's face like he is a stallion.”
Astarion placed his hands on Minsc's chest, angling his clit so it brushed against the man's bottom lip. Minsc darted out his tongue, eager. And then, Astarion thrust his hips.
Minsc didn't seem to mind Astarion clamping his legs around his head. He didnt seem to mind Astarion grinding against his mouth, his tongue, his nose. In fact, when Astarion relented, knowing the human had to breathe, Minsc grabbed Astarion's legs tighter and pulled him back down.
From Astarion's vantage point, he could clearly see just how much Minsc was enjoying himself. If the vigorous grunts and groans weren't enough, if the aggressive, deafening slurping didn't indicate his enthusiasm, then the tenting of his pants was a sure sign that Minsc was having the time of his life.
Astarion thrust against Minsc's face, Minsc sucking hard against his clit, and that feeling continued to build. It was a hot, tingling surge, a ball of tension that grew in his stomach, a desperate need for release. His clit throbbed and jumped as he moved, his entrance pulsing, feeling empty. He wanted to be filled, to feel the sweet stretch of someone burying himself deep inside him. That, he thought, eyeing Minsc’s tented pants, Will come later.
Aatarion moved faster now, Minsc’s lips and tongue probing at him, that insistent feeling pulsating through his body. He ground against Minsc’s face, pushing with all his might. Minsc held on tighter, pulling him down as he alternated between flicking his tongue from side to side and pressing the flat of it all against Astarion’s vulva.
“Hells,” Astarion breathed, and though his lungs had no real use he found himself panting all the same. “Minsc, if you keep this up, I’m going to —”
Minsc wrapped his lips around Astarion’s clit, ran his tongue along the underside, and sucked. The tension Astarion had felt building in his abdomen released like a dam splintering under the weight of a reservoir.
“ Fuck! ” The word wrenched out from deep within his chest. All these months with only himself for company seemed to tumble out of him in a wave of ecstasy, Astarion thrusting with abandon against Minsc’s face as a new surge of arousal wept from his entrance, spasming without purchase as he came. Minsc continued to suck, greedy, as Astarion rode out his orgasm, lapping his tongue against his twitching clit, making loud, enthusiastic groans that were muffled between Astarion’s thighs.
With each suck, Astarion felt his body clench and unclench, his insides searching for something to squeeze around, woefully empty. A low keen pulled from his throat as his legs shook. He leaned forward onto his elbows, moving to pull away from Minsc’s mouth, to give the human some air.
But Minsc held on strong. He continued to suck, to worry Astarion’s clit against his tongue, to vibrate deep, fervent, shameless sounds against his sex. Astarion cursed with each breath, a steady string of profanity trailing from his lips, his first orgasm beginning to ebb into a new sensation, a giddy, overwhelming feeling that buzzed through him. It was a rising tide that grew and grew until he saw stars bursting behind his eyelids.
A second orgasm hit him like a stalactite to the head. It was more forceful than the first, his entire body locking up as it coursed through him. His muscles clenched so hard he was certain he might pull something, but in the foggy euphoria of a second wave of pleasure, he couldn’t find it within himself to care.
“Fuck! Minsc!”
His muscles shook, legs closing around Minsc’s head. Minsc’s fingers dug into his thighs, holding him there as his sucking eventually ceased, as the flicking of his tongue turned to lazy, broad licks. The aftershocks of Astarion’s second orgasm pulsed through him, lazy and languished as his body unlocked and relaxed. Astarion collapsed across Minsc’s abdomen and breathed, utterly exhausted, his clit twitching every few seconds as he recovered.
He began to laugh, his head feeling light. “Gods, Minsc,” he panted between chuckles, “Where the Hells did you learn to do all that?”
Minsc released Astarion’s thighs from his broad grip and spoke. “Minsc has traveled many lands, my friend. A man will learn many things.”
Minsc reached his arms around and ran his hands over Astarion’s sides, rubbing his waist, reaching up to trail his fingers across the vampire’s back.
For years, the scars had been bitterly sore as they healed. Eventually, the pain numbed, and only the raised, angry skin remained. Even then, Astarion hated being touched on his back, maneuvering his many, many partners away in gentle, skillful touches, lying facing upwards to keep hands away. It had seared, during the ritual. Pain he’d sealed away in his mind came roaring back to the surface, and it was only with the support of his party that he’d rejected the infernal power, that he’d killed his Master and cast his wretched past behind him.
He found, as Minsc traced the old wounds with a broad finger, with Cazador gone, he didn’t quite mind the feeling anymore.
“The marks of a true hero,” Minsc declared, rousing Astarion from his worn-out trance. “To forswear the strength of seven thousand souls — that is an act of true strength! Brave, powerful, puny Astarion!”
Astarion pressed his forehead against Minsc’s abs and shook his head, snorting out a laugh. “My dear,” he said, “ ‘Puny’ isn’t really much of a compliment, you know.”
Minsc shrugged his shoulders. “It is a gift to be so strong yet so small.”
Astarion clicked his tongue. “I’m rather tall for an elf, thank you very much. You’re just…” Astarion rolled off of Minsc and onto a cushion. “Remarkably large.”
“Minsc has heard this many times before.”
“Really, you’re like a wall of muscle. A talking slab of meat.” From where Astarion laid on his back, he eyed the tented fabric of Minsc’s pants. Though he was still recovering from the orgasms Minsc had coaxed from him, overstimulated and exhausted, the idea of what Minsc had to offer — and the idea of a round-two — made Astarion salivate. “It makes me wonder,” he began, batting his eyelashes at Minsc, “How large you are beneath those pants.”
Minsc smiled.
Astarion quite liked the feeling of fingers in his hair. Though he hadn’t seen his hair in the past two centuries and likely never would again, his white curls were something he took great pride in, spending more minutes of the day than he liked to admit tending to them. He had a routine, see — washing, conditioning, oiling, styling, brushing, making sure not a single strand was out of place.
Though, his particularity was different when someone else had their hands in it. He could forgive a little mussing in the act — after all, there was something particularly alluring about post-sex hairstyles. Astarion was well aware of the effect his tousled hair had on others.
Minsc’s hands were as vigorous and zealous as the rest of him. He ran his fingers through Astarion’s curls, palming at his skull, making loud, happy comments as Astarion swallowed Minsc’s cock down to the base, his gag reflex all but nonexistent after so many years of practice. He bobbed his head to a steady rhythm, slowing down every so often to suck hard at the tip, flicking his ruby red eyes up to look into Minsc’s blissful face.
“Astarion,” Minsc said, “You taste Minsc like a true champion!”
Astarion ignored his comment and continued to suck, running his tongue along the human's shaft, feeling the veins that textured its sides. Say what you want about the man's intellect, Astarion thought, but his body is really something else. Like his ears, the man’s nipples held golden rings, and the tip of his cock as well.
“Some may think you can unhinge your jaw like a snake!”
Astarion winced, pulling off Minsc's cock and pumping it with his hand in his mouth's absence. It dawned upon him that leaving Minsc's mouth unoccupied might have been a mistake.
“Minsc, would you please shut your Gods-damned mouth?”
“Ah, but my friend, there is no one around to hear!”
“You are saying the most idiotic things.” Astarion punctuated his words with each pump of his hand. He turned and flicked his wrist every time he reached the top, teasing the tip, playing with the ring.
“There is no need to be so rude, Astarion. Could it be that you are embarrassed?”
Astarion rolled his eyes. “Hardly.”
“Ah, then, you like it! And you worry you will finish from my words alone.”
Astarion blinked. “ Sure, ” he sighed, giving up. “Whatever you want to believe, Minsc.” He ground his thumb against the slit of Minsc's cock, smearing it with pre.
The man's cock was very responsive. Long, thick, angled slightly to the right, it was a proud, unapologetic thing. It flushed a dusty red with blood, the tip dark and shining, and thick veins coursed up the sides and around the base. It twitched and jumped when left untouched, and beads of precum leaked steadily from the slit, escaping around the glittering gold ring. His testicles hung heavy beneath his cock, swaying with the movement as Astarion took him back into his mouth.
He reached up with one hand to cup them as his head bobbed. He felt Minsc’s cock brushing the back of his throat, and he sucked hard.
There was little in the world as satisfying as the feeling of a well-endowed man in his mouth. The taste of blood would always be the highest thing on his list, of course, but Astarion was a very oral person. He wasn't completely sure whether it was a side-effect of his vampirism or if he'd been as clever and eager with his mouth before he'd been turned, but regardless of the reason, the feeling of Minsc’s cock filling his mouth, pressing against his tongue, hitting the back of his throat, pulling wet, obscene sounds of movement from Astarion’s vocal cords was making Astarion begin to stir once more.
Minsc still laced his fingers through Astarion's hair as he worked. His hands cradled Astarion's skull, not pressing him or guiding his head anywhere, just giving reassuring contact. Astarion supposed it was pleasant that Minsc was letting Astarion have free reign over how he sucked his cock, but the faster he bobbed his head, the more he wished the gentle fingers in his hair would close around the locks and pull, the more he wished they would grab his head and thrust with wild abandon.
Astarion looked up at Minsc through painted-black eyelashes, drawing back and freeing his lips.
“I want you to fuck my mouth,” he said, his voice sultry and low. He pumped Minsc’s cock with his hand, slow, twisting his wrist skillfully around the tip. “It won't hurt me, I don’t need to breathe. Do your worst.”
And fuck his mouth Minsc did.
The noises the both of them were making were absolutely obscene. Though Astarion's gag reflex had no use anymore, the motion of Minsc's cock against the back of his throat forced awkward noises out of him — wet, voiced sounds, the sound of suction, the sound of effort. Minsc breathed hard, grunting and groaning and voicing strange, excited phrases of praise into the air.
Drool dripped from Astarion's lips, pulled out from his mouth with each backward movement Minsc made, and it swung from his chin as he moved. Minsc held Astarion’s head in place as he pistoned back and forth.
Astarion reached down and slid his fingers across his swollen clit. He was still incredibly slick from his last two orgasms, the lubrication he’d released remaining between his lips. The remnants there made it easy to rub his slowly-awakening arousal. That fluttering feeling began in his abdomen again, a building excitement. He groaned, eyes rolling back into his skull as the dual sensation of his own fingers against his clit and the rhythmic pounding of Minsc’s cock against the back of his throat washed over him.
“Ah,” Minsc said, drawing Astarion out of his trance. “Minsc can see that Astarion is enjoying himself!”
Astarion’s eyes snapped open and he looked back up at Minsc, who was slowing his pace. He rubbed at his clit, hips moving against his hand, canting forward.
“My friend, you are very good at what you do,” Minsc said, still making shallow thrusts into the back of Astarion’s throat, “But Minsc would like to hear that voice of yours. It is ever so lovely to hear, you see.”
Minsc drew his cock — long, thick, hard — out of Astarion’s mouth. Astarion coughed a few times, massaging his throat, wiping the spit from his lips and chin.
“My dear,” Astarion said, his voice condescending. “I can’t suck your cock and talk at the same time.”
“No, my friend, but you can ride it — like a stallion, just as you rode Minsc’s mouth!”
Astarion’s clit twitched.
He probably could have taken Minsc without any preparation, his body already loosened and eager to be filled after his first two orgasms, but Astarion was glad Minsc had the foresight to stretch him out with his fingers first. They were thick and forceful — Minsc currently had three buried inside of him while his thumb circled around his clit, rubbing the underside and slipping around the folds of his lips.
The wet sounds of his hand moving and his palm coming to slap against his pelvis were truly, completely obscene. Astarion arched his back and squirmed, hovering above Minsc's lap and holding onto the man's shoulders for stability, moving his hips to match the rhythm of Minsc's arm.
“You are warming up,” Minsc noted, curling his fingers, scissoring them apart inside of him. The flesh of Astarion's sex was swollen and soft.
“Yes, well,” Astarion said, his voice only slightly labored, “That is how physics works, my dear. Friction — ah — creates heat.”
“The faster Minsc goes, the warmer Astarion will become!”
“I — yes, Minsc.”
“This is good to know.”
Astarion jolted forward as Minsc suddenly changed speed, moving his hand at a rapid pace, digging into him and pressing hard against his walls. He could feel a pressure building with an alarming speed, more frantic than before.
“Hells, Minsc!” Astarion yelped, wrapping his arms around Minsc’s shoulders and clenching his abdomen in response. It wasn't an orgasm that hit him, but a wave of release dripped from him all the same, soaking Minsc's lap.
“Fantastic!” Minsc exclaimed, Astarion's face burning as realized what Minsc had drawn from him. The oaf had gotten him to squirt, something not a single partner in two centuries had been able to achieve.
And he still hadn’t come yet. His entire groin throbbed with want, and he bucked his hips forward, searching for more. Minsc thrusted his fingers at a slow pace.
Minsc chuckled at Astarion's release. “My friend, Minsc has only known vampires to drain a body of its liquids, not expel them himself. You are quite the strange vampire!”
“Minsc,” Astarion hissed through clenched teeth, his voice as sharp as a knife, “If you don't shut your mouth and put your fucking cock inside me right now, I am going to wring your neck.”
Minsc obliged.
Astarion sighed as he sank down on Minsc's cock. Even after Minsc's thorough, three-fingered preparation, it still stretched as he sat down to the base.
He hadn't needed any lubrication, his entrance already slicked from his arousal. Minsc had just slid in, his gold-ringed tip breaching him without any effort.
Astarion felt full. Happy. The sweet ache of being stretched, of every inch of his walls being pressed against, of being able to clench down around something and feel it push back, made his eyes flutter closed.
And then Astarion rocked his hips. The motion felt absolutely sublime. Friction deep within him, Minsc’s cock rubbing against his walls, the bliss of being filled. Astarion thrust himself back and forth, leaning forward and placing his hands on Minsc’s legs to stabilize himself as he moved. He could feel his arousal slicking Minsc’s thighs, dripping down and lubricating his hips, spreading everywhere. The more he rocked, the more the feeling of Minsc’s pubic hair rubbing against his slick lips stimulated him, the more his clit throbbed into the empty air.
Astarion rode him hard, rode him fast. Minsc thrust up every now and then, shallow and unexpected, drawing surprised grunts from the vampire's throat. The speed was intoxicating — Astarion felt fuzzy, warm, an urgent feeling building inside of him.
“You ride Minsc like he is a wild, bucking dragon,” Minsc said, reaching out and grabbing Astarion’s hips. Astarion leaned back, balancing his palms against Minsc's chest. “You have done a good job, my friend! Minsc has never felt a man so tight!”
Astarion shook his head, incredulous. Minsc was generous with his praise, ridiculous phrases spilling from his lips without a second thought. I wonder if he even has a first one, Astarion mused, but the notion was cut short as Minsc thrusted into him with all of his might.
A loud, embarrassing squawk of surprise wrenched from Astarion's lips. His palms slipped and he fell backwards onto Minsc’s chest. Minsc continued to thrust up into him as he wrapped his arms around Astarion's chest and held him there.
“This is good, yes?”
Astarion felt absolutely delirious. His hamstrings burned from the stretch of the pose he was in, but he didn't care. Minsc wrapping those thick, strong, sweaty arms around him and fucking him with brutal earnest was the only thing on his mind right now.
“Fucking —” Astarion huffed, sweat beading on his brow, “Don't you fucking stop, Minsc.”
“Do not worry, my friend. Minsc would not dare.”
Minsc fucked with a reckless sort of abandon. He pistoned up into Astarion with vigor, his testicles swaying with the effort and smacking up against Astarion's hips. The sound of skin slapping against skin was absolutely filthy, filling the tent and echoing off the walls of the surrounding ravine as well.
Part of Astarion hoped any myconids in the area were staying far away from his secluded ravine lest they overhear, but another part of him couldn't seem to care less. Let him and Minsc make whatever sounds they like — who cares if a mushroom overhears?
Still rutting up into him, Minsc began to shift his potion.
“Astarion, Minsc would like to try another angle,” he said, beginning to sit up. Minsc kept one arm wrapped around Astarion's chest while he used the other to push himself into a seated position. His cock still remained buried deep inside, grinding hard against Astarion’s walls.
Minsc moved to his knees, then placed Astarion down to lie on his stomach. Minsc loomed over him, his weight pressing down onto his back. The feeling was absolutely incredible.
Minsc lifted himself up onto his arms, grinding his dick down as deep into Astarion as he could go. Astarion groaned, his voice cracking.
Minsc pressed his lips against the junction between Astarion’s neck and shoulders, a sweet, gentle kiss, and began to move.
This angle was incredible. Minsc could reach deeper, pound harder, fuck the absolute daylights out of Astarion from this vantage point. With each thrust, the force of it sparked stars behind Astarion’s eyelids.
And the sounds they were making. The slapping of Minsc against the flesh Astarion's ass, the wet noise of his cock plunging into his glistening entrance, the grunts and groans and strange, enthusiastic phrases that spilled from Minsc's mouth as he bucked against him — and the low, guttural noises that the motions drew from Astarion. He couldn't find it within himself to be embarrassed, letting the sounds come as they may.
Bliss rolled over him. After everything, this was the first time he felt like he could roll over and trust someone else to fuck him, to pleasure him, to have some reckless, exhilarating fun with without some sort of ulterior motive, from him or his partner alike. This is freedom, Astarion thought, smiling, eyes heavy and lidded, waves of pleasure coursing through him. No victims, no transactions, no expectations, just a hard, hot, heavy fuck.
The thought excited him even more. He canted his hips forward and ground his clit against the cushion beneath him, not caring about whatever mess he might make over the fabric. Minsc was hitting every part of him he should, thrusting over and over and over again. That relentless ball of energy tightened in Astarion’s abdomen, and he squeezed tight around Minsc's cock.
“Minsc,” he panted, his body bouncing and jolting with every thrust, “Minsc, don't stop.”
Minsc chuckled and continued his pace. Astarion could feel drops of the man's sweat landing on the small of his back.
“You take Minsc's manhood with such ease,” he praised, staring down as Astarion spread beneath him. “Like a true hero!”
“Minsc,” Astarion panted, face burning. “Would you please shut the fuck up?”
Minsc laughed and pressed his lips to Astarion's shoulder blade. “Minsc will never quiet himself in times of such pleasure. And not when he is with such a bright soul!”
Astarion grit his teeth and ground his clit against the cushion once more. Despite how cheesy and ridiculous and absolutely idiotic the things coming out of Minsc’s mouth were, Astarion was getting absolutely fucked out of his mind. Minsc could call him a whimsical dancing pixie and Astarion would still keen and groan and wiggle his hips back against him to feel more of that sweet stretching pressure against his walls.
And, though he'd never admit that praise from Minsc of all people was flattering to him, the words did go right to his clit. The tension pooling in his gut was about to burst.
“Minsc, I’m close,” Astarion groaned, a string of curses following his words. Minsc sped his pace, a deep laugh resonating from his chest.
“Do not hold back, puny Astarion!”
“For the last time, Minsc, ‘puny’ is not a compliment — ”
Minsc hit that spot inside of him once more and Astarion came with a savage fierceness that ripped through his body like an electric shock. Astarion pressed his forehead to the ground, drew his shoulders close to his ears, clenched his entire body as waves of pleasure throbbed through him. His clit pulsed against the ground, his legs shook, his walls squeezed and milked against Minsc’s cock as it pounded relentlessly into him.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck!”
Lost in a pool of delirious bliss, Astarion almost didn't register Minsc's grunt of pleasure and the stutter of the man's hips as he reached his release too, his cock twitching as he spilled deep inside of him. Warm come spurted into him, and Astarion wailed, voice breaking, loud, long, completely shameless.
For a few moments, the only thing that existed in the world was the pulse of Astarion's orgasm against the wet, twitching shape of Minsc's spent cock, the slow drip of hot come finding its way to freedom through his lips.
Then, as the shocks faded, Minsc slowly, sadly, pulled himself out.
Astarion felt the man's hands reach under his legs, pressing up against his stomach, lifting his hips up into the air. He brought his knees underneath to stabilize himself as Minsc hummed a happy, low note.
“Minsc,” Astarion panted, the aftershocks of his orgasm still contracting his walls and twitching his swollen clit every now and then, “I cannot believe,” he breathed, “That you came inside of me like that.” Astarion left out the fact that nothing could have made him happier.
“Ah, my friend,” Minsc said, admiring his handiwork, “You told Minsc to fill you. Did you not hear your own words in your pleasure?”
Ah, Astarion thought, his mind fuzzy. Minsc brushed his swollen lips with his thumb, drawing lazy circles around his exhausted clit. I might have said that.
Minsc spread Astarion’s lips. “A marvelous sight!”
Astarion felt Minsc's seed begin to drip out of him, a cooling warmth. Though his insides ached from the manhandling he’d just endured, he already missed the feeling of being so full. Minsc rubbed his entrance, digging his own come out of Astarion. He leaned forward and lapped up what remained.
“Gods, Minsc,” Astarion whispered. Minsc was absolutely filthy.
The two of them sat in a comfortable warmth, Minsc humming as he wiped Astarion off and maneuvered him into a reclined lounge on his mounds of pillows, and Astarion relishing the absolute satisfaction of finally having his needs met after all this time.
Perhaps Minsc coming to visit isn't such an annoying thing after all, Astarion mused.
“Ah!” After pulling his briefs and pants back on, Minsc's eyes lit up. He turned and grabbed his pack, rummaging through it with vigor. All sorts of bizarre objects flashed before Astarion's eyes — a wooden pipe, a bag of seeds, a ball of twine, a box of colorful pencils — before Minsc pulled out a bruised and wilted sunflower. “For you, Astarion! Banished by the sun itself for fear your spawnish soul might outshine it.”
Astarion might have been touched by the motion, of being offered a flower that represented what he'd lost, of the thought behind the gesture and what it truly meant. He might have felt gratitude towards Minsc and Jahiera both for the care and devotion they'd sent his way after the fall of the Elder Brain. He might have smiled and choked out a gracious “thank you,” letting a shred of vulnerability and truth slip through his snarky and sarcastic demeanor.
But instead, Astarion saw a blinding, raging red behind his eyes and a barrage of insults spewed forth from his lips as, from Minsc’s ridiculous, disorganized pack, a single forgotten health potion tumbled quietly to the ground.