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So tell me now, all your perversions
Am I doing research in a mini skirt at the library in your hometown?
*
Shadowheart’s face flickers in the campfire’s light as she plaits her silvery hair, still wet after a dip in the nearby river. Astarion’s is also damp around his ears, but curling just how he likes it - not that he knows exactly how it looks, but he’s been told enough times that it’s beautiful, so he doesn’t give it too much thought.
His mind drifts, once again, to the last set of hands that had been threading through it, the brush of cropped beard against his pointed ear, a pleased voice telling him in far too many words that he’d like to suck his–
“If you’re going to start fantasising about Gale again, you can at least do it in the privacy of your own tent.” Shadowheart’s voice dances along the line of tease and taunt, as it always does, but there’s a lovely, cruel smile on her lips.
“Excuse me?” Astarion says, steepling his own fingertips against his chest, freshly changed into his camp shirt. “One, I was not fantasising, two, it certainly would not be about Gale if I was, and three, I know you’re still pining after Lae’zel. We can both play this game if you want, but you know I’ll win.” He grins, fangs and all, and Shadowheart rolls her eyes.
“Fine. We’ll be in Waterdeep soon enough, and whatever you’ve been dreaming up about Gale you can do to him in person.” She lifts a finger to silence Astarion as he starts speaking. “Don’t you dare tell me what it is. I don’t want to know.”
“Spoil sport.”
Shadowheart sticks her tongue out at him for a brief moment, finishing off her plait with nimble fingers and swinging it back over her shoulder. “I’ll feed the ponies, then take the first watch.”
They usually sleep during the day and travel by night, but Shadowheart had Selûnite contacts to meet in Daggerford today, leaving Astarion in a shadowy cave nearby, sharpening his daggers.
It’s been three tendays since they left Baldur’s Gate, heading for the House of the Moon in Waterdeep; three tendays since they parted ways with their friends after the fall of the Netherbrain. Karlach and Wyll had descended into the Hells, hand in hand. Lae’zel had left for another plane and Gale had instantly returned to Waterdeep to begin fixing the crown for Mystra, in exchange for dealing with the orb.
Shadowheart and Astarion had been left in the shadows, literal and otherwise, while their fleeting lovers had abandoned them in pursuit of nobler causes. They both knew it was the best thing for everyone, but they’re also both too proud to admit it aloud, and certainly not to one another.
Astarion retreats to his tent, though he’s not quite ready to trance yet, having managed to rest his eyes a little during the heat of the afternoon. Instead, his fingers find the Sending stone in his pocket, the magic resonating within as his hand curls around it.
Gale had given it to him on their last morning in Baldur’s Gate, the fragments of the broken crown tucked safely into a bag of holding. He’d wrapped Astarion’s fingers around the stone delicately, as if he might break; his fingers had been less tender during the night, pressing bruises into Astarion’s hips as he’d fucked him. “Please, keep in touch. I’ll let you know when I’ve fixed the crown, and once… well, once I’ve spoken to Mystra again. I’m sorry that I have to do this alone, but please know that I’ll miss you.”
Astarion had wanted to argue back, to ask to go with him, but he’d already seen the fresh grief in Shadowheart’s eyes as Lae’zel flew away, and he knew for a fact that his presence would only be a distraction. So he shut his mouth, promised Gale he’d be a perpetual bother through the stone, and pledged to help Shadowheart carve a new path in her life. His own hurt wasn’t important, if it meant Gale could get his life back, quite literally. Gale had helped with Cazador after all; he supposes it’s only fair.
Astarion and Gale had traded a few messages since. Astarion managed to make them flirty more often than not; on one occasion he’d been touching himself while thinking of Gale, accidentally Sending him a bunch of gibberish. Gale’s rather flustered reply was almost worth the embarrassment. Finally, three days ago, Gale sent him the only message so far that hasn’t been exactly 25 words.
It’s done. Mystra has the crown, and I no longer have the orb. Freedom at last.
Shadowheart and Astarion are now less than a tenday’s ride from Waterdeep, not that Gale’s aware of this; Astarion has been purposefully quiet on his adventuring, mostly because he really didn’t want Gale to fuck up his one chance at redemption. Tonight, he turns the stone over and over in his hand, warm in his palm, thinking of the one message he can send Gale today.
Maybe he was fantasising by the fire earlier, because he seems to be a little fixated on a nugget of information Gale had given him with yesterday’s reply, that he’s started a new position as a professor at Blackstaff’s School of Illusion now that the crown is in Mystra’s care. He continues the dangerous thread of conversation they’ve been weaving these last couple of days, trying to goad Gale into actually Sending him something sexual. He has needs, after all; needs that Gale suddenly awoke in him on their path towards the Absolute, after two hundred years of thinking he’d never have them. Who knew the wizard in their party would have such a marvellous sexual appetite?
Astarion smiles as he Sends his message.
Who needs fantasies when you can cast illusions? Oh please, tell me yours, darling. I bet they're delightfully perverted. Or maybe they're boring like you?
It’s a little cruel, but he’s horny and it’s been too long since Gale last took him apart. He’s picturing Gale at his desk, cheeks full of blood as he blushes at Astarion’s teasing tone. Astarion’s other hand is already drifting under the waistband of his trousers when Gale’s warm, amused voice speaks in his mind.
No illusion required for this: you, distracting me in the library, in a tease of a skirt. I'd pick you up and press you against--
Astarion groans aloud when the message abruptly ends, Gale having once again hit the limit of the Sending spell. What’s worse is that Astarion knows Gale could Send him whenever he likes, being a powerful wizard and all; he’s certain that Gale has crafted this one just to torment him.
Now the orb business is complete, he feels like Gale’s keeping him at arm’s reach like some kind of plaything: close enough to have fun with but far enough away to not be a temptation. Well. Two can play at that game.
*
Gale startles from his reading position, sitting up straight and rolling his aching shoulders. Beyond the glow of his lantern, he realises the bookshelves have been plunged into darkness, the glittering lights of Waterdeep visible through the huge windows. It’s one of his favourite things about the School of Illusion’s library, second only to watching the sunset through them - which, tonight, he has apparently missed. He’d remembered to eat before he’d come in this evening after class, which is something at least.
He stands from his reading desk, listening for the sound that had distracted him from his research in the first place. Had it been the clunk of the doors closing? The library isn’t supposed to be locked until at least deepnight, and even then, as a professor Gale has unrestricted access. Now he doesn’t have to worry about the orb or crown any longer, he intends to make the most of it.
“Hello?” he calls out tentatively.
“Shhh,” comes the hissed response.
Gale’s hair stands on end. He’d thought himself alone for the night; the students aren’t allowed in this section, and no other staff are quite so dedicated to their tenure to be in the library at this time of night. He picks up his lantern and carefully follows the source of the noise, his shoes clicking on the stone floor.
Caught in a moonbeam, he sees a shock of bright white hair over the top of a book with a very familiar cover.
“This really is fascinating,” the voice drawls, the same voice Gale’s been hearing in his head once a day for a month now. “You were right. They turned everything into an art. Conversation. Temptation. Seduction.”
“Astarion?” His voice comes out higher than he’d like it to. Gale swallows. “What are you doing here? How did you get in?”
Astarion lowers the book a little, and seeing his beautiful red eyes again makes Gale gasp. “Darling, do you really think a couple of arcane locks are too difficult for me?”
“They’re unpickable!” Gale splutters, otherwise lost for words. Astarion’s here?
The book’s lowered an inch further, so Gale can see the smirk that got him into trouble so many times this summer. “Never said I picked it. Your colleagues are delightfully chatty, by the way. They should probably be a bit more careful with the password. Now, will you let me continue?”
Gale’s frozen in the middle of the library. He wants to reach forward and touch Astarion, to check this isn’t a trick of some kind, but he’s also happily caught in the spell of Astarion’s magic, an illusion he doesn’t want to break.
Instead, he simply nods.
“Good.” Astarion leans against the arm of the chair, and Gale can see he’s wearing a shirt similar to the one he used to favour around camp. He lays the book on the table as he reads. “Where was I? Oh, yes. The art of temptation. Because what’s more tempting than your deepest, darkest desires? It’s a shame you never got around to telling me them. We could’ve done something about it, otherwise.”
With this, Astarion leans right back in the chair, lifting his feet and propping them on the desk.
Except his feet are bare, as are his legs, glowing in the moonlight and the light thrown by Gale’s lantern. Gale can’t see his hips, but he puts two and two together to get five.
“Are you naked?” he whispers, hearing his own scandalised tone.
Astarion gives him a delightful, airy giggle. “Please. A library is a place to be respected, isn’t it? What was it you once told me about a library? Oh, yes,” he says, snapping his fingers. “I don’t actually recall, because you were being a tease and purposefully didn’t finish your thought.”
Astarion pushes back his chair, making it squeal, and stands up. As he turns and reaches towards the top of the bookshelf behind him, Gale’s mouth drops open. He’s in a skirt, short enough that it barely covers his arse cheeks. It’s exactly how Gale pictured him in his fantasy, and his cock immediately takes an interest.
“Astarion,” Gale whispers.
Astarion lowers himself from his tiptoes, book in hand, before he makes a noise of mild annoyance and puts it back on the wrong shelf. He begins to walk away, the black silky material of his skirt swaying with every step.
Tossing him a coy look over his shoulder as he threatens to disappear around the end of a bookshelf, Astarion crooks his finger. “Well? Come and finish that thought, then.”
Gale doesn’t need telling twice. He sets the lantern down on the desk Astarion abandoned, chasing him into the darkness. A pale hand shoots out from behind the bookshelf, grabbing the front of Gale’s shirt, and he’s tugged forwards into a kiss.
Gale stumbles forwards, laughing against Astarion’s mouth, placing both hands against the shelves either side of Astarion’s head. “Hello,” he breathes, flattening his chest against Astarion’s, pinning him in place with his weight. He’d learnt Astarion liked this in camp one night, and the reaction is immediate; Astarion whimpers just so, and Gale’s trousers tighten. He reaches his hand down between their bodies, but Astarion’s deceptively strong fingers lock around this wrist and stop him in his tracks.
“Tell me how the rest of your fantasy looks, Professor,” Astarion whispers into Gale’s ear, making him groan. “Am I bouncing on your cock as you read a book to me? Or am I bent over the desk, being spanked for being naughty?” His voice catches on the last word, lips brushing the shell of Gale’s ear, and Gale knows he’s lost control when Astarion reverses their positions, flipping Gale and pressing him against the bookshelves. He grunts with discomfort, but Astarion’s still talking. “Or am I failing your classes, desperately trying to make up for my lacklustre verbal components with oral practice?”
Astarion drops to his knees, pressing his nose to Gale’s crotch, Gale’s hands flying to his hair. “Astarion,” he hisses again, tipping his head back as Astarion applies more pressure, mouthing at Gale’s erection through his trousers. “Don’t make me say it.”
“I will. You will,” Astarion promises, untying laces. When Gale looks down, all he can make out in the gloom is Astarion’s hair, like some kind of sordid halo.
“Get up,” Gale commands, and his voice must carry the authority he’d wished it to, for Astarion looks up at him and rises from the floor. They stare into each other’s eyes for a beat. “The first one,” Gale admits, and Astarion grins wolfishly. Gale is rewarded with a comparatively chaste peck on the lips. It’s unexpectedly sweet, and his insides turn a little mushy when he realises that after a long and frankly stressful month, Astarion is here, with Gale, out of all the other places in the world he could be.
Gale links their fingers together as he pulls them both out from around the shelf, back into the still-empty library. This is an utterly stupid idea; he’s only just gotten this job, and only just gotten back into Mystra’s good graces. To be caught here with Astarion would be foolish.
But it makes his heart beat even faster.
“This is really turning you on, isn’t it?” Astarion teases, Gale having temporarily forgotten that Astarion would be able to hear his excitement. He’d have to get used to that again, if Astarion is sticking around, but he pushes that thought from his mind for now.
Gale responds by sitting down in the chair Astarion recently vacated, tugging Astarion down with him. Astarion swings one leg over Gale’s hips and sits down in his lap, rocking himself forward to press his hard-on against Gale’s. “Fuck,” Gale breathes sharply, jolting at the contact. Astarion threads one hand through Gale’s hair, tugging his head back, the other touching his face, his beard. Gale feels loved when Astarion touches him like this. “Astarion. I missed you.”
Astarion’s face softens, even as he rolls his hips again, dragging a gasp from them both. His fingers dance down Gale’s neck to where his shirt ties lie open, the unblemished skin there. “You smell so good now,” Astarion murmurs, eyes dancing between Gale’s face and his neck.
Gale cants his hips, making Astarion sway in his lap. “I thought you wanted to be fucked, hmm?”
Astarion blinks before he smirks, deadly and decadent at the same time. “Fine. I suppose tasting your vintage can wait.”
Moving his hands from where they’d been clasping Astarion’s hips, Gale slides them down under his arse, fabric giving away to bare skin. “You’re not wearing– Gods, Astarion, you’ll be the death of me,” he groans, hands roaming to realise Astarion is completely naked underneath the skirt. His grip edges towards Astarion’s hole, and two things happen at once: Gale’s fingertips brush the base of a wooden plug, and Astarion lets out a delightful moan, right into Gale’s ear.
“Surprise,” Astarion murmurs, and Gale could come on the spot.
“You,” Gale starts, swallowing thickly. He’s broken out into a sweat, both from having Astarion writhing in his lap and the thought of getting caught. “Really have missed me, hmm?” Astarion doesn’t reply, which is answer enough. Gale can’t help but laugh; he’s the luckiest man in the world. “Give me the book, then.”
Astarion complies, for once, reaching to the desk behind him to give Gale The Art of the Night. He releases Astarion’s arse to take it, letting him sink down into his lap as he opens up a page.
Astarion, of course, takes this as a challenge, and as soon as the book is open he leans down to kiss Gale, effectively crushing it between their chests. “Professor,” Astarion whines, and Gale’s never going to be able to teach again after this. His hand goes to Astarion’s back, light against the scars tangible through his thin shirt, stopping him from toppling backwards. “Please. I’m so desperate, I’ll do anything to hear you read to me. You’re my favourite.”
Gale almost, almost, finishes the game there and then at Astarion’s words, honeyed as they are, but the time apart has made him into a stronger man, or so he’d like to think. He looks up into Astarion’s pleading eyes as Astarion leans back again, his hands now firm on Gale’s shoulders. Gale clears his throat, pretending to be unaffected - favourite favourite favourite - and turns the page in his book. “Anything, hmm?”
Astarion sits back on Gale’s knees, unlacing the crotch of Gale’s trousers. Apparently, this is anything, and as Gale’s cock is exposed to the cool air of the library, he sucks a breath in and begins reading from the page he’s selected at random. “On the seven hundredth and twenty-fourth night, the King and– oh, Gods,” he groans as Astarion wraps a sure hand around him.
“The Gods?” Astarion asks airily. “All of them? How ambitious.”
Gale looks up to meet his eyes, crinkled with mirth as he corkscrews Gale’s cock. “You’ll be the death of me.”
“Yes, yes, you’ve said that bit already,” Astarion smiles. Gale whimpers as Astarion fondles his balls, all while holding eye contact. “Read to me, before I find another professor who will.”
Gale lets out a noise that, until now, he didn’t believe himself capable of making. He looks down at the book again. “The King and the Queen chose this night to pretend they– oh, Astarion,” Gale moans as Astarion presses his thumb just below the head of Gale’s cock. “I want you so much.”
Gale drops the book, not caring if it damages the spine as it noisily falls to the floor. Astarion laughs, full of glee, until Gale reaches behind him and works the plug out quickly. “Gale,” he whines, loud and long, and Gale instinctively shushes him. “Make me.”
“I’d ask you to cast Silence,” Gale begins, dropping the plug to the floor alongside the book and easing a finger into Astarion. He’s wide open, so he summons some more oil and quickly adds another, Astarion writhing and moaning in his lap. “But then I’d miss the beautiful sounds you’re making.”
Astarion grabs Gale’s hair and pulls on it, his other hand tugging the skirt up, so their cocks finally slide against each other with no fabric in the way. They both groan, before Astarion leans forward to kiss Gale again, devouring each attempt at speech that leaves his lips. Gale’s heavy breathing is loud in the silence of the library, as are the sporadic pants Astarion lets out when Gale crooks his fingers. It feels so good to have Astarion’s arse around his fingers again, and he can’t think about his cock soon sharing the same pleasure lest he come too soon. “Please,” Gale begs against Astarion’s lips, pulling his fingers out, “I need to fuck you, Astarion. Please. I’ve been so patient.”
“Beg,” Astarion puffs against his cheekbone, but he’s already leaning forwards, allowing Gale access. Gale reaches between them to position the head of his cock against Astarion’s hole, looking up to take in Astarion’s slack features, his gorgeous red eyes, his fangs reflecting the lamp light. His cock throbs in his grasp but he savours the moment, capturing this memory with intent.
Astarion sinks down onto Gale’s cock with a groan, leaning his forehead against Gale’s, Gale’s sweating hands stuck fast on Astarion’s hips as he’s surrounded by Astarion’s tight body. “Gods,” Astarion breathes, eyelashes fluttering as he rocks his hips, getting used to the stretch. Gale swallows, trying desperately not to come, engulfed by all things Astarion. “I missed this.” He pauses for a beat, looking into Gale’s eyes. Gale swears that both his heart and his cock swell at the adoration there. “I missed you.”
Gale leans forward to kiss Astarion, setting them both a little off balance, a groan torn from Astarion’s chest as he bottoms out on Gale’s cock. Gale pushes his tongue into Astarion’s mouth as he bucks his hips up, rather unsuccessfully; this isn’t a position they’ve tried before, but Gale’s driven by a desire to fuck Astarion, to make him moan again and again.
Astarion pulls with the hand in Gale’s hair, tugging his head back. “Please let me,” he whispers against Gale’s neck, kissing the heated skin sloppily, and they don’t need the tadpole anymore for Astarion’s intention to be crystal clear.
It’s the easiest decision he’s ever made. “Yes.”
Gale moans loudly as Astarion’s fangs pierce his neck. Until this very moment, he didn’t realise quite how long he'd been waiting for this day. Maybe that’s why he couldn’t have Astarion around while he fixed the crown, because the icy-sharp sensation fading to a dull ache is a reward he would’ve put on par with having the orb removed, or having a goddess’ favour again. There’s something worshipful in that Astarion is taking what he needs from Gale, while his body provides Gale with everything he does in return, a heavy weight in his lap and a tight hole to fuck into.
He thrusts upwards again as best as he can, Astarion cradling the back of his head with one hand and pulling his shirt down with the other. Astarion moans as he feeds; Gale can feel blood running down his neck but he promptly stops caring when Astarion finally, finally, begins to rock his hips again. Gale reaches for Astarion’s cock, still rock hard between their bodies, and pumps it in time with every thrust, encouraging Astarion to speed his hips up.
“Star,” Gale prays. He can just about kiss Astarion’s ear from this angle, and he does so now. “I’m so close. Are you? Will you come with me? Together?” He sounds pathetic even to his own ears, but he doesn’t care. He wants it so badly that he’d move mountains to get it, if only he had the hands free for the somatic component required.
Astarion pulls off the bite with a groan of relief. “Gods,” he moans loudly, driving down into his thrusts now, blood coating his chin when he comes back into Gale’s line of sight. He looks glorious, and Gale grasps his stained chin with one hand. “Gale, I think I– yes, yes,” he says when Gale cants his hips just so, just the way he’d learned that Astarion likes it, and Astarion comes all up Gale’s shirt.
Gale drops his hands to Astarion’s hips, sliding over the fabric of the skirt hiked up around them. He drives Astarion’s body down onto his cock once, twice, before his own orgasm crashes over him, forcing Astarion’s name from his lips in a desperate cry as he comes inside him.
Silence descends upon them as Gale catches his breath, their foreheads pressed together once more. Astarion drops a kiss at the corner of Gale’s mouth before his head dips to the bite again, his tongue lapping at the blood. “Are you still hungry?” Gale asks, cupping the back of Astarion’s head, his soft curls. “You can feed again, if you like.”
Astarion snorts. “I’ve had my fill, I promise,” he murmurs. “Just helping it close.”
Gale lets his eyes flutter shut, perfectly content to hold Astarion in his lap, his cock beginning to soften. He can feel his own come pooling in his lap. “I think you need to move,” he says after a few more moments. With care, Astarion pulls himself off Gale’s cock, standing and leaning back against the desk. When he tugs his ruined, come-stained skirt down over his half-hard cock, Gale laughs louder than he meant to. “Shh,” Astarion says, grinning. “This is a library.”
Gale casts Prestidigitation on the two of them, lifting the bloodstains from his neck and cleaning his own shirt as well as Astarion’s skirt. He tucks himself back into his trousers and laces them up again, taking a moment to stand, ensuring his knees can hold his weight after a much more powerful orgasm than he expected. When he does so, he steps forward and wraps Astarion tight in his arms. Astarion is rigid for half a second before he softens, leaning his head against Gale’s shoulder.
“I missed you,” Gale says lowly. “I meant that, you know. You could’ve let me know you were coming.”
“I did, actually. I went, Gale, yes–”
“Astarion.”
“This way felt more fitting,” Astarion murmurs after a moment, before he pulls back enough to see Gale’s face. “And if someone had used the Sending stone responsibly, I could’ve told you I was on my way to Waterdeep.”
“Me?” Gale asks at volume, and when Astarion shushes his outburst again, he can’t help but roll his eyes. “You were the one trying to make the conversation lewd at every opportunity.”
“Nonsense. I was a paragon of emotional intelligence.”
“Careful, people will start calling you Gale Dekarios if you use big words like paragon,” Gale teases, kissing Astarion’s cheek when it’s his turn to roll his eyes. “How long are you here for?”
Something shifts in Astarion’s expression. “Not sure. Shadowheart’s visiting the House of the Moon, then wherever she needs to go next, so it’s her call.”
Gale recognises sadness in Astarion’s eyes; it’s the same sadness he’d left there when he abandoned Astarion at the Elfsong a month ago, in order to fulfil his own destiny. He releases his grip on Astarion to cup his clean face, stroking one cheekbone with his thumb. “There’s one fantasy I didn’t tell you about. It’s much more exciting to me than the one we just actualised, if I’m honest.”
Astarion’s ears visibly twitch upwards at this. “Yeah?”
Gale nods. “It’s you, staying here with me in Waterdeep. Forever, if you’ll have me.”
“Really?” Astarion breathes, his eyes searching Gale’s. There’s no sadness there now. “You mean it?”
“Only if you want–”
Gale’s response is cut off by Astarion throwing his arms around his neck and kissing him senseless, which he supposes must be a yes.