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Chapter Text

The sky had gone dark outside the windows of his office in Wyrmrock about two hours prior, and Wyll had spent all of them thinking he was just going to be five more minutes and then leave. But the correspondence was unending, the missives exhaustive and Florrick had taken sick with some mysterious illness and, truly, it was all his fault for dedicating more time to the 'Shadow Council' as Jaheira sometimes called it, than to his duties to the actual Council of Four.

The problem, Wyll thought, was that their little Shadow Council of four, actually got things done, so it was very tempting to just call on the vast networks at the disposal of either Nine-Fingers, the Emperor, or Jaheira to solve trade disputes that were really all about some patriar lining his coffers.

Wyll felt conflicted over it. It seemed at the time like a pragmatic decision; keeping an eye on the criminal underbelly of the city by putting them to good use. The Harpers could be counted on to keep the other two factions in line, but now Wyll saw how often he resorted to either the Knights of the Shield or the Guild and it worried him.

"Don't you know that politics are all about getting your hands dirty, darling?" Astarion had told him when Wyll shared these concerns with him. "At least you're doing it for the good of the people rather than to promote yourself to a higher station."

He supposed his conscience was clean as long as that assessment remained true, and yet... 

But then, the official channels were cumbersome, bogged down by the constant whining of patriars and their multiple whims.

Just the previous tenday, they'd reached a standstill regarding the expansion plans for the grounds of one of the schools damaged during the Elderbrain attack, since the surrounding lots belonged to Patriar Eltan who had kicked up a fuss. He'd adamantly refused to part with the land, at first, and then demanded extortionate values from the city's treasury for the expropriation. 

After a 'conversation' with the Guild, he'd been convince to cede the lots for free. Instead, he would get a commemorative plaque in a public bench in appreciation for his generosity.

Wyll was sure that had been the right thing to do, and yet, the part of him that was still his father's son smarted at the deception of it all, the underhanded tactics, the secrecy and the intimidation.

That was why he hadn't gone home yet, he was hoping that by working harder he'd find, if not a way to get things done above board, at least a happy middle.

He was so absorbed in work that he didn't hear the door lock clicking open, or the soft footfalls that crossed the distance towards his desk.

"Darling, we're not even married yet and you're already leaving me home alone to look after your aging father?"

Wyll looked up from the paperwork to find Astarion sitting on the edge of the desk, inspecting a shipping manifest with a frown.

"I lost track of time," Wyll said, coming around the desk to place his hands on Astarion's knees. "Forgive me?"

Astarion was wearing a fine evening coat of peacock blue silk and brocade, with mother-of-pearl buttons and gold trimming. He looked stunning, he looked furious. Wyll itched to trail his hands up his thighs, to run his fingers over the exposed sliver of skin above the coat's tight collar, to take Astarion's hand and kiss his cold fingers, but he held himself back.

If he was reading his mood right, Astarion needed some cajoling, some gentle coaxing, before he allowed Wyll to touch him without hissing like an angry cat.

"Picture the scene," Astarion started, "the mahogany table in the dining room, me sitting at one end with a goblet of fresh pig's blood and your father sitting at the other, with the rest of the pig."

"Uh uh, I'm picturing it," Wyll said, trying not to smile.

Astarion cut him a glare. "Make sure you do. Vividly. Picture also, the absolute density of the atmosphere, the air so cold and still as that of a grave. This is dinner for him, but breakfast for me, I just fucking woke up, and this is the sight I'm greeted with: my scowling father-in-law instead of my handsome husband-to-be."

He ran a thumb over the scar on Wyll's chin, scratching the stubble with his blunt nail. "Imagine also, my disappointment at seeing this scene repeat itself for the past four days." He sighed deeply. "I'm calling off the wedding."

Wyll trapped Astarion's hand against his cheek and nuzzled into his palm. "I've been remiss, I understand if you want to call off the wedding." He pressed a kiss to Astarion's palm. "It's what I deserve for the negligence." He shot Astarion a rueful smile from under his lashes. "Unless you can think of another fitting punishment."

"No I'm calling off the wedding," he deadpanned.

Wyll loved nothing more than an uphill battle. Luckily for him, Astarion provided those in abundance. He made a space for himself between Astarion's legs, using his grip on his knees to spread them apart. "Please, my star, give me another chance." Wyll pleaded into Astarion's neck, nosing along the proud angle of his jawline. "I promise I'll never let work keep me away from you again."

That was a lie, of course, he could promise no such thing.

Astarion gripped his face in his hand, his fingers digging into Wyll's cheek. "Liar."

Wyll's answering grin was constrained by the cage of Astarion's fingers.

"But fortunately for you, I've poured too much time and effort into the wedding planning to call it off now." He let go of Wyll's face, replacing his grip with a pinch to the cheek. "You're also very attractive and I'm shallow."

"How magnanimous." Wyll said, chasing after Astarion's fingers even as they returned to his side.

Which was when Wyll noticed Astarion had brought a book with him. He recognized it at once from its deceptively plain cover.

"Where did you find this?" he asked, picking the book from the table and riffling through the well-thumbed pages.

"Your boyhood bedroom," Astarion said, "I was looking for something scandalous and I suppose I found it."

There was nothing scandalous about a book of raunchy smutty tales, except perhaps how well Wyll still remembered the contents of its pages seven years past last laying eyes on it. 

Previous to 'Vanir's Crossed Swords' he had only read more romantic fare; the kind with breathy kisses and flowery euphemisms for genitals. 'Vanir's' had been an education in more ways than one. It had sent young Wyll into a deep, all-consuming infatuation with its main character, the titular Vanir, a foppish elf bard who couldn't seem to stop talking himself into situations that could only be solved with sex.

Young Wyll had found Vanir witty and endearing, a relentless optimist who always took his predicaments in stride. Thinking back, his favourite sex scenes all happened between Vanir and Abelard, his sour human paladin friend who showed up on occasion to save Vanir from truly hairy situations, and to make love to him, in sharp contrast to all the fucking. Wyll had re-read those passages most of all.

He had a faint recollection of there being more volumes detailing Vanir's exploits, but Wyll had only read the first.

Astarion took the book from his hands, and riffled through the pages himself, his fine features twisted in a superior scowl. "I can't believe you like this tripe," he said, and then started reading, "Vanir's breath came in a breathless gasp as the troll wrapped one meaty hand around his waist and hefted him bodily down on his turgid rod until the fat mushroom head distended the skin of his abdomen, stretching his hungry hole to its limits."

Oh, that was graphic. Wyll had forgotten that, but he remembered the chapter. Vanir needed to cross a bridge guarded by a troll, and since he didn't have enough money for the toll an alternative payment method had been devised. Hence the turgid rod.

"I uh, appreciated Vanir's ingenuity," Wyll said, feeling like he had to somehow justify his youthful literary pursuits. "And you wouldn't know it from that paragraph, but he's also very funny."

Astarion narrowed his eyes at him, wholly unconvinced. "I bet. His 'hungry hole' sounds downright comedic."

This was a very silly discussion but Wyll was committed to his side of it now. He beckoned for the book back, and once Astarion handed it over, riffled through until he found a scene with Abelard.

"Abelard, the noble paladin of Tyr, was as stoic as ever even when confronted with Vanir's predicament. 'Your drink has been spiked with an aphrodisiac,' he observed, watching his friend wring the sheets between his fingers. 'Either that or pear juice makes me inexplicably horny.' Vanir tried to make light of the situation but the truth was that he felt as if a fire elemental had had its wicked way with him. 'Do you think, you could, ah, lend me a helping hand?' Abelard's expression softened, he started unlatching the clasps of his gauntlets. 'I don't think it's just a hand you need, but I will lend it anyway.'"

Wyll closed the book with a smile. He had always admired Abelard for his willingness to help Vanir even when the trouble he found himself in was wholly of his own making. He enjoyed their back-and-forth too; Abelard's dry wit paired with Vanir's teasing provocations made for good reading.

But when his eyes met Astarion's he found him still scowling. "My, a slutty bard and a gruff paladin. The world has never seen such a combination, truly, an erotic literary revolution."

"I think it's a refreshing take on a classic dynamic," Wyll said, smirking. "It was also my introduction to said dynamic, so it holds a special place in my heart."

"Right," Astarion said tightening his knees around Wyll's hips. He slid one hand down from Wyll's shoulder to his chest and lower; holding his gaze as he cupped him over his breeches. "Your, big, throbbing, heart."

Wyll made a bid to steal a kiss, but Astarion turned his face to the side at the last moment and his lips met only skin. "Is this to be my punishment?" He asked, punctuating the words with loud smacking kisses on Astarion's cheek. "To have my youthful pastimes viciously ridiculed by your sharp tongue?"

Astarion endured Wyll's kisses like an indignant cat did unwanted petting. Wyll found him irresistible when he was being difficult and temperamental, and he suspected Astarion knew it, despite how much Wyll tried to encourage good behaviour and the occasional social nicety when other people were present (often his father).

"Your punishment," Astarion started, stopping the kissing with an index finger in front of Wyll's lips. "Is knowing that if you had arrived home on time, you would have found me in our bed, wearing nothing but a blindfold like Vanir when he was 'gifted' to the leader of the smuggling ring on chapter 12."

Wyll's composure took a hit, his cock twitched in interest under Astarion's palm. "Oh, that's-, that's the chapter where the smuggler tells him to keep the blindfold on and to guess what he's going to do next?"

Astarion laced his fingers behind Wyll's neck, smiling almost beatifically. "The very same, and you could have done that to me, you know? I was willing to let you tease me for hours, like the smuggler did, I wouldn't even have minded the ice."

That was a long, sensual chapter, the smuggler was an attentive lover, despite how his first meeting with Vanir had gone. Wyll liked the focus on Vanir's feelings, his anticipation of what was going to happen next, and how having one of his senses removed heightening his pleasure.

However, "I wouldn't use ice on you," Wyll said, drawing circles with his thumb on Astarion's inner thigh, the brocade rough under his fingertips, disguising the softness of the skin beneath. "Wax, for you, it would have to be hot wax, dripped right from the lit candle onto your skin."

The hitch of Astarion's breath was almost imperceptible, but Wyll caught the flicker of his eyelashes, the subtle parting of his lips and the black spill over his red irises.  

"I guess we'll never know because it's never going to happen now," Astarion said, smothering the flicker of arousal and pouting theatrically. "And all you had to do was show up."

"Let me make it up to you," Wyll said, close to begging, his thumb was now approaching the seat of Astarion's pants, the apex of his thighs, where Wyll had spent some of the most pleasurable hours of his life.

"Because I'm so magnanimous, as you've said, I'll give you a second chance."

Wyll dove for Astarion's lips, envisioning taking him right there over the desk, but was stopped once again. 

"Tomorrow," Astarion said, his raised knee blocking Wyll's advance. "You can try again tomorrow."

Wyll hung his head, hiding his face between his palms. "Cruel and unusual punishment, to deny me the relief of your sweet kisses and the embrace of your arms."

"You'll survive," Astarion said, deigning at last to peck Wyll on the lips. "Now hurry up here and walk me home. Let's pretend the streets of Baldur's Gate still are what they used to be, before you ruined them, and that danger lurks in every corner."

There was more work to be done, and Wyll supposed he could take it home and finish it there, but spending an evening lavishing Astarion in attention to make up for his distraction the past few days seemed a much better use of his time. He opened a drawer and swept all the paperwork into it.

He held out his arm to Astarion who took it with a smirk. "See, that wasn't so hard."

"And which chapter can I look forward to, tomorrow?"

"That's a surprise," Astarion said, as they made their way through the empty corridors of Wyrmrock, his voice echoing. "Be home on time and you'll find out."

"Believe me, I will." He wanted to say something dramatic like a 'second Elderbrain attack couldn't take me away from you' but that would be a blatant lie, so Wyll simply hoped nothing would catastrophically collapse before he could find out what Astarion had planned for them.

Chapter Text

Some part of Wyll hadn't really believed that Astarion would be so strict with the rules of his own game. When they got home, after he had a late dinner under both Astarion's and his father's disapproving eyes, and retired back to their bedroom he thought he would be allowed something. Some mild groping, at least. Instead, Astarion evaded his touch and turned all his kisses into chaste pecks.

When Wyll finally got into bed to sleep, Astarion demurely kissed his temple before settling at his side with a book.

He really should have known better than to underestimate Astarion's stubbornness, which was why he was now grimacing at the Knight of Shield agent in front of him.

"The Emperor thinks the matter would be better addressed in a face-to-face meeting."

"Tomorrow?" Wyll volunteered, with an hopeful inflection in his tone.

"Today. Nine-Fingers and the High Harper already confirmed their presence."

Ah, the Emperor's true and tested strategy of getting everything organized beforehand and only informing Wyll at the last possible second, so he wouldn't want to inconvenience everyone by making them change their plans. It was a highly effective strategy, but Astarion's was better.

"Tell him I'm sick," Wyll said, finishing a dispatch while the agent stood rooted to the spot, incredulous.

"Your Grace doesn't look sick."

"I can feel it coming down." He smiled at the agent. "Send my apologies, and suggest --" he stopped to consider the most appropriate time. The afternoon was risky, Shadow Council meetings tended to drag, Nine-Fingers and Jaheira shouted at each other a lot. And the Emperor spent all that time complaining into Wyll's mind about wasting time and volatile mortal tempers. It usually gave him an headache. There was a chance Astarion would want to do this more than once, to ensure Wyll's compliance. Wyll wanted to comply "-- the morning, first thing. I'll make some excuse for my late arrival at Wyrmrock."

The agent left, disgruntled at having to return to the Emperor with an answer that wasn't 'I'll be there.'

Florrick entered his office just as the man was walking out of it.

"Not working late today?" She asked, watching Wyll tidy his desk, getting ready to leave.

"Not today."

"Who was that?" She pointed behind her shoulder. "I see a lot of people coming and going from your offices."

"Some patriar's page making demands on his behalf, don't worry about it." He shot her a grin and a mock salute. "Right, I'm off then, see you tomorrow. Oh, right, I'll come in late."

"Why?"

"I'll be sick, I can feel it coming down."

She made a face at his glib tone. "Wyll, I have to say, I thought you'd be more like your father. Don't think I haven't noticed that you disappear for hours, and then things that were giving us trouble are magically solved."

"Well, I am friends with a wizard." Florrick glared at him, and Wyll's grin widened. "Enjoy your afternoon!"

He arrived home earlier than he ever had before, and found his father alone, waiting for his dinner to be served in the dining room. "You're early," Ulder said, stretching a handkerchief over his lap. "I hope Astarion's complaints didn't persuade you to eschew your duties in favour of entertaining him. Council matters take precedence."

Wyll was juggling two, so he thought he was doing a fine job, all things considered. He wondered if Florrick shared her suspicions with Ulder, likely so. A bridge to cross at a later date.

"Speaking of, where is Astarion?" Wyll asked, looking around the dining room as if he could step behind from one of the curtains.

"I haven't seen him," Ulder said, tone dismissive. "He only seeks me out to pester me."

"That means he likes you," Wyll said, lying. "Well, enjoy your meal, father, I'm going to find him."

Ulder's glare froze him in his tracks. "You're not going to have dinner with me?"

"Ah, maybe tomorrow, I think I'm sick, I can feel something coming down."

He left before his father could question him about his nonexistent illness, taking the stairs two at a time to the upper floor. It was suspicious that Astarion hadn't shown himself yet, by now he had to know Wyll was home already; which meant his absence was likely part of the game.

Wyll softened his footfalls. Was there a chapter in which Vanir ambushed someone? No, it was usually the other way around. Still, he padded softly across the landing, and opened the door to their bedroom slowly, excited at the prospect of finding Astarion in the same state of undress as he had described the day before. But the bedroom was empty, the only thing out of place was a single arrow on top of the bed covers.

Wyll recognized the arrow as one of Astarion's, he twirled it between his fingers, looking for any writing or notched markings, but there was nothing. Just an arrow. Vanir was a bard, and he rarely used weapons beyond a slingshot Abelard had carved for him.

So this had nothing to do with him, and instead with the role Wyll was supposed to play.

That was hard, his memories of the book were vague. Vanir had had a lot of lovers, they sometimes ran into each other; and arrows were a common weapon, which only made things more difficult. But if Wyll didn't love a challenge he wouldn't have asked Astarion to marry him.

He tapped the sharp edge of the arrow against his chin as he walked in circles on the lambskin rug.  While combing his memories for anything significant, he suddenly recalled the time Vanir had ran afoul of a mercenary who was filing a contract for a patron who wanted a charlatan killed. The charlatan had borne an unfortunate resemblance to Vanir, and the mercenary had chased him all around the fictional town of Windhaven, until he'd managed to corner him in the pantry of a busy inn.

Wyll jumped into action. There were two ways inside the pantry of the Ravengard estate, either through the kitchen, at this hour, bound to be filled with cooks and more of his father's servants, or directly through the access door in the gardens.

His mind made, Wyll threw open the large bedroom windows and jumped down into the grounds below, landing on his feet in the grass, still gripping the arrow in his fist. From there, it was a short jog to the side access to the pantry.

He slipped inside the cramped space and closed the door behind him with a soft thud. The only light in the pantry came from the horizontal vents above the door, letting in some light and fresh air.

Something rustled behind a stack of crates, and Wyll caught sight of a strand of white hair, before it ducked behind them.

It was a game, just pretend, but Wyll's blood still sang with the thrill of the chase. He might be a Grand Duke now, but part of him would always be a hunter.

He stalked towards the crates, holding the arrow in his fist like a dagger. He had cornered Astarion before he'd had the chance to move, trapping him against the stone wall with a leg pushed between his thighs and a hand fisted on the front of his undershirt.

"Caught you," he grinned, watching Astarion's red eyes spark in the dark. He didn't remember what the mercenary had called Vanir, so he said instead, "you're all out of hiding holes, little star."

Astarion's gaze was level, somehow Wyll couldn't imagine him playing Vanir's role straight. "As slow as you are dumb, how many times do I have to tell you, I'm not who you're looking for?"

They were improvising, then. Wyll struggled not to smile, that had sounded nothing like Vanir's exaggerated simpering flattery; it was all Astarion.

"I don't know, I think you have the look of someone who tricks honest people out of their money for a living," Wyll said, taking liberties with his role as well. "I think you look like bad news."

He pushed Astarion against the wall, his knee keeping his legs spread apart. Wyll brought their faces closer, leaning on the forearm planted above Astarion's head, the arrow flattened against stone like a promise. "If I kill you now I'd be doing the world a favor and getting payed on top of it."

Wyll's breath ghosted over Astarion's lips, he watched as a pink tongue came out to wet them.

There was something nasty about the whole set up, and it sent a frisson of guilty delight down Wyll's back. He had never been a mercenary, he'd never chased and killed monsters for money, but did that make any difference, when they were cornered and helpless? Was a sense of moral righteousness really so more forgivable than greed?

In another life, Wyll could have had Astarion backed into a corner just like this. The gleam in Astarion's eyes told him he was thinking much the same thing.

Did he like it as much as Wyll? Did it scare him too?

It was a good thing they weren't Astarion and Wyll right now, or he'd have been tempted to put a stop to everything.

Astarion let all his weight drop onto Wyll's knee, he was getting hard from the friction. He smirked, and tilted his head to side, "I don't know, I think there's something else you might want."

Wyll's grip on his shirt tightened. "I'm sure you're imagining things."

Astarion's hand shot out to cup him over his breeches, the heel of his palm digging into his trapped erection. "Are you sure? Or does killing all your targets make you hard?"

Wyll allowed himself a moment to enjoy his touch before answering. "And what do you propose?"

Now blatantly rubbing himself on his knee, Astarion smirked and looped his arms about Wyll's nape. "Tell you what, if you make me cum first you can kill me and collect your bounty as planned, but if I can make you cum before me, you have to let me go."

"There's an inn full of people behind that door," Wyll said, "how do you plan we do that? Don't think I trust you enough to follow you somewhere else."

"We'll just have to be very quiet," Astarion said, whispering the words against Wyll's lips before kissing him.

They didn't kiss like two people who had just met, Wyll couldn't help letting the arrow clatter to floor and cupping Astarion's skull, pouring all his tender feelings into the meeting of their lips, as apology for the mercenary's rough words, and his own excitement at saying them to Astarion. He could feel Astarion's smirk against his lips, and then the sharp sting of a fang piercing his bottom lip.

Astarion had his little drink from Wyll's lips while his hands untucked his shirt and loosened his breeches. Wyll himself got his hands on his waist, pulling him up his knee and against his crotch, panting open-mouthed into his bloody mouth.

"You can fuck me between the thighs," Astarion said, licking a hot strip over Wyll's neck. His hands joined Wyll's on his waist, as he pulled his breeches and underwear under his ass.

Wyll dropped his knee and Astarion turned around, holding his right wrist in his left fist above his head and against the wall. Somehow, the sight of him mostly dressed with only his firm ass exposed, was more erotic than if he had gotten fully naked. Wyll ran a reverent hand over a cheek, spreading it to watch Astarion clench.

"Enjoying the sight?" Astarion shot him a knowing look over the shoulder. "Your chances of holding out don't seem good."

Wyll fished his cock out from his underwear, spitting on his palm and slicking it down the shaft. He banded one arm around Astarion's middle and kicked his feet apart, making room for himself. Astarion let out a shuddering moan when Wyll's cock slid between his thighs, cockhead rubbing against the back of his smooth sac. Wyll's other hand wrapped Astarion's hard cock in a tight fist, thumb teasing at the slit.

"I don't know, I like my chances," he said, and punctuated his words with a roll of his hips.

They had never done it like this before; half dressed, with only a door between them and half a dozen people. There was never any need to, they'd never been in a hurry, never so desperate for each other that they couldn't wait to be alone. Now, Wyll was thinking what a shame that was, because what he felt for Astarion deserved a little carelessness, a little madness, a recklessness that matched his need to feel him close and know he was safe.

He buried his face into the back of Astarion's neck and inhaled deeply, the fine hair tickling his nose. Astarion was letting out short, muffled gasps, his cock dribbled slick all down Wyll's fist, soaking the cuff of his coat. The warm, wet space between Astarion's thighs was growing wetter with Wyll's precum, each thrust issued a dirty, wet squelch that made Wyll's cheeks burn for fear that the people outside could hear it and know exactly what they were doing.

"What is it?" Astarion asked, his voice rough and overwhelmed. "Afraid someone might walk in and catch you taking advantage of me?"

Wyll's breath stuttered on his throat, nearly choking him. His cock slipped between Astarion's thighs now as easily as if they'd used oil, he was so close to coming that his head swam.

He tightened his fist on Astarion's cock, squeezing on the upstroke until he whined. "Is that what you wish I was doing?" Wyll asked, open mouthed against Astarion's sweaty neck. "Do you want me to take advantage?"

Astarion came with an alarmed shout, splattering the rough stone wall with cum, at the same time Wyll's cock slipped from between his thighs and slotted up the cleft of his ass, rubbing right over his hole. Wyll cursed under his breath, and only had time to let go of Astarion's waist to spread his cheeks so he could come pushed up against his rim, cockhead almost slipping inside. Cum spurted around the tip of his cock, making an even bigger mess of Astarion's thighs. He had half a mind to drop to his knees and lick him clean.

"I'd call that a tie," Astarion said, catching his breath with his head against the wall.

Wyll pressed a tired laugh into the back of his neck, feeling light-headed. "Yes, it would be a shame to kill you. Have you eaten?"

Astarion shook his head.

"Let's fix that."

---

They lounged in the bath, Astarion suckled on Wyll's neck leisurely, taking small sips, worrying at the skin with his blunt lower teeth. Wyll rubbed the back of his head, stroking over his wet curls, so relaxed he felt in danger of falling asleep. He didn't know when the sharp initial pain of being bitten had disappeared, but he wagered that by now being fed on felt as good to him as it did for Astarion.

To Wyll this illicit symbiosis was just another way in which they were perfect for each other. Meant to be like in all the best fairy tales. Pity there had been none written about people such as them.

Astarion finally pulled away with a delighted lip smack. "That's how all my nights should start."

"I'll endeavor to wake you with kisses tomorrow," Wyll said, chasing the taste of his own blood from Astarion's bloody lips.

"Don't make promises you can't keep, darling," Astarion said, pinching his thigh teasingly under the water. "But I trust that I've made my point."

A sudden thought struck Wyll with worry. "I hope you don't think you have to play these games to keep my interest, I lov--"

Astarion silenced him with a hand over his lips, changing positions to sit astride Wyll's lap. "You love me, I know. I'm not insecure, darling, I don't need your reassurances."

Wyll opened his mouth under Astarion's palm, but was silenced again. "I don't need your concern either." His expression shifted, taking on a thoughtful cast. "I know what you're going to say, but I liked it. It was freeing, to say all those things while pretending to be your stupid book's main character."

Wyll pulled Astarion's hand away by the wrist. "Then I'm glad. I enjoyed it too." More than he had thought he would, more than he was comfortable admitting.

"Oh, I could tell," Astarion's grin was all fangs, he ran one hand down Wyll's chest, teasing a nipple. "And I think you'll like tomorrow's chapter even more."

"I've already told everyone I was going to get sick, I might as well skip work and stay home."

"Darling, there's nothing I'd want more."

Chapter Text

In the end, Wyll managed to send word to Wyrmrock that he was feeling under the weather along with a request to cancel all appointments. He did not manage to get out from under the Shadow Council meeting, but it was early morning, Astarion was sleeping, Wyll wagered he would be back before he even noticed, thus keeping his promise of staying home.

He was not above technicalities.

Jaheira's was the first face he saw when he made it to the Kinght's of Shield's hideout. "This isn't like you, your Grace," she said, her lips twisted in amusement. "You don't usually make us dance to your tune."

"No, that's the Emperor," Wyll said, shooting the ilithid himself a wave. "Next time it's your turn to abruptly cancel the meeting."

"Why not me?" Nine-Fingers said, crossing her ankles above all of the Emperor's nicely organized paperwork. "She shouldn't get special treatment just because she's elderly."

"No one is canceling anything," the Emperor said, his rumbling baritone heavy with exasperation. "Don't you think it's too conspicuous for you to leave your offices during the day?"

"I'm not going to work today, I sent word ahead that I was sick."

The excited twitch of one of his tentacles didn't bode well. "Good, that means we have the whole day free to plan our next moves concerning the tuber import tax evasion."

Nine-Fingers let out a disgusted grunt. "Don't fucking remind me. I should kill all of you for what you've turned me into."

Jaheira crossed her arms in front of her chest. "This isn't how I imagined my twilight years either, but you talk as if we're keeping you from a life of luxury instead of considerably raising the life expectancy of Guild members."

Wyll rubbed his temples. "We have two hours, at most, and then I have to leave."

It took three hours, but Wyll managed to leave before Jaheira could start drawing strategic outlines on the chalkboard, at which point hells only knew when she'd be done.

He thought his little outing would go unnoticed, but when he returned to the bedroom, he found Astarion sitting up in bed with a book, a single lit candle on the sidetable the only light in the gloom.

"Oh, you're up early in the day."

"I don't need to rest as long as you do," Astarion said, closing the book with a thud. "Trancing is far more restorative than sleep." He smirked at Wyll, his teeth glinting in the gloom. "I do love watching you sleep, though."

Wyll took off his coat and hung it by the door, toeing off his boots as well. "That sounds ominous." He padded barefooted towards the bed, climbing over the covers and settling himself on top of Astarion, bracing his chin on top of his folded arms. "Don't you get bored, though? You can get up."

"I like it, sometimes I kiss you," Astarion said, scratching under Wyll's chin as if he were a cat. "Rub my face all over your stubble, too."

"You can do that when I'm awake," Wyll said, but he was smiling at the mental picture of Astarion stealing kisses while he slept.

"It's something selfish, just for me," Astarion admitted with a shrug. "I can pretend that you're all mine."

"I am, I'm all yours," Wyll said, kissing the back of Astarion's hand.

"Mine, your father's, the entire city's, and two council's."

"I'm sorry, I know, I've been busy." He regretted spending time away from Astarion, but he couldn't avoid his obligations as a Duke and his duty to the people of Baldur's Gate, nor would he want to. And a small, petty, part of him enjoyed being missed.

"I'm not unreasonable," Astarion started, drawing shapes on Wyll's forehead with a fingertip, "but you humans live such short lives, how is it fair that you spend so much of them working?"

Wyll kissed his charming pout before answering, "I haven't really thought about it in that way, but I'm really young, still, maybe when I'm my father's age--"

"You will keep all your hair," Astarion interrupted, tracing along the side of Wyll's shorn side. "Don't worry darling, I've looked into it, there are a lot of potions and poultices. And you will retire much earlier than he did, certainly, and you won't leave your post in a cloud of infamy."

Wyll chuckled. "You've given the future a lot of thought, uh?"

"Of course, you have to understand, it was all I ever had." His expression shifted, his eyes growing clouded. "The hope of better days, as faint as it was, kept me from losing my mind."

"You have the present now," Wyll said, and dropped another kiss to the back of Astarion's hand.

"And I'm thankful to you for giving it to me, I am." And yet he sounded anxious. "But, it's so... fleeting."

He evaded Wyll's gaze, as he sometimes did when he felt too vulnerable; over the months he'd grown more comfortable letting his guard down around Wyll, but some subjects were still sensitive. Wyll hadn't known this was one of them.

"That's how it's supposed to be," Wyll said, and lowering his pitch as if he were telling him a secret, added, "it's the only way it can become the past."

Astarion shot him an unamused look. "Well, I never had one of those either. I suppose I do now," he made a face, uncertain how he felt about it. "I don't like it, though, the uncertainty."

"How come?"

"Well," he sighed in exasperation, "I'm happy, but is that it? Is that all? I feel like someone's playing a trick on me."

There was worry notched between his brows, Wyll smoothed it away with his thumb. "There's no trick, little star, you just have to trust it and let yourself be happy, don't borrow misery from tomorrow, we have today."

A rueful smile played at Astarion's lips. "And tomorrow?"

"Today again."

Astarion let out a groan and pulled Wyll up so he could reach his lips and kiss him fully. Wyll smiled into the kiss, enjoying Astarion's exasperated little nips, falling just short of proper bites.

"Insufferable man," Astarion said when he pulled away, his red eyes so filled with sweetness they looked almost pink. "You should have never let a vampire in, I'm never going to leave now. I stole you and I'm keeping you."

"That's alright," Wyll said, rubbing their noses together. "I know a Duke, I'll put in a good word, he'll throw the Fist off your scent."

"And could this Duke be persuaded to release you from work when you're 'sick' at the very least?"

"This time it wasn't the Duke's fault, it was his shadowy twin the Underduke, who kept me away."

Astarion rolled his eyes at him. "That mindflayer is in love with you, stop giving it attention."

"I can't even begin to tell you how much that isn't the case, he's just...intense about all aspects of city administration."

"You know what you should do?" His lips split in a devious grin. "You should sic Gale on him. He's all the way back in Waterdeep in his stuffy tower, bemoaning not becoming a god or whatever, make the two write to each other. Their arrogance should be evenly matched."

There was merit to the thought, maybe if the Emperor had a friend he'd stop calling Council meetings over every little thing. "Would they get along, do you reckon?"

"Equal chances of that and lifelong hatred, however, the battle of egos is sure to keep them occupied."

"Wise assessment," Wyll said, already thinking about how he could breach the subject with both of them.

It hadn't failed Wyll's notice that Astarion hadn't made any mention of the day's chapter even once during their conversation. Perhaps they would just spend the day together, enjoying each other's company. But when he chanced a sideways glance at the book Astarion had been reading, sure enough, it was 'Vanir's Crossed Swords'.

Astarion caught his inquisitive glance. "Something you want to say, darling?"

"No, nothing at all." Well... "Just wondering how you're liking the book."

"It's growing on me, I think I see why you were so taken with it," Astarion said, and maddeningly didn't elaborate.

Two could play at that game, so Wyll just hummed in acknowledgment and changed the subject.

Being home when he should be at work made Wyll feel somewhat truant, as he had on the rare occasion a friend had managed to talk him into skipping school so they could play. From the start, his relationship with Astarion had given him that same thrill, an almost childlike glee in breaking the rules. Wyll couldn’t say what those rules were, and perhaps they existed only in his mind, but breaking them felt good all the same.

After a quick breakfast of cold cuts and bread for Wyll and a pint of lamb’s blood for Astarion, they retired to the library to go over wedding preparations. To hear Astarion talk about it one would think he hated everything about it, but Wyll knew him well, the most important thing for Astarion was complaining to an audience and Wyll found him entertaining no matter what he was saying.

Neither of them brought up the book, although Wyll had more trouble acting nonchalant as the day went on.

But it wasn’t until they were having lunch that he broke. Astarion remarked that it would be hard to send out wedding invitations to Lae’zel and Shadowheart who were looking for the githzerai in the hopes of joining whatever revolution they were cooking.

“Carrier pigeons won’t find them outside the material plane, if that’s where they are, you know?”

“Maybe we can ask Gale. Good excuse, too, to get him talking with the Emperor, like we mentioned,” he cleared his throat, “speaking of which, when you said the book was growing on you, what did you mean exactly?”

Astarion grinned over his goblet like he’d won something. “That’s some segue, has that been on your mind the whole day, darling?”

Wyll cut his lamb into even smaller chunks. “Not at all, your comment just popped into my head, that’s all”

“Well, since you’ve asked, I mean Abelard. He’s not at all the stick-in-the-mud I thought at first. He’s very charming, if a little dry.”

Before Wyll could say anything, he added, “Of course the little twerp that had the young Blade at the ready is still insufferable. Luckily your taste improved with the years.”

“I enjoy our disagreements,” Wyll said, carefully skewering the lamb on two of the fork’s thines. “But you haven’t told me what chapter I can expect today. Is it to be another treasure hunt?”

“It won’t change anything if I tell you.”

“Can I have a clue, at least?” Wyll turned his most winsome smile on Astarion, but he was met only with a level stare.

“Impatient, aren’t you?”

“No, something much worse, curious.”

Astarion of course knew this, which was why he started all his long-winded tales with “you won’t believe what happened.” Wyll loved a story, he needed to know what was going to happen next. And, well, in a way, Astarion was weaving this tale, telling a story through sex, much like the novel. Wyll couldn’t resist, neither him nor the narrative.

They returned to the library, ostensibly to continue with the wedding planning, but in reality they were dancing around each other. Wyll was the better dancer, though, and he moved before Astarion could react, forcing him to follow; he cornered him against the table with a hand on his hip, backed him against the shelves to reach an address book high above his head, leaned over him to inspect fabric samples with a thumb over the uppermost vertebra of his spine.

“Why don’t you just fuck me on top of the wedding invitations?” Astarion finally snapped, his cheeks flushed from Wyll’s unrelenting teasing.

Wyll hummed thoughtfully. “Is that a clue? I don’t think there was a chapter involving weddings.”

Astarion’s expressive face was arranged in the prelude to a snide comment when a sudden realization, made him shoot Wyll an accessing glance instead “You know, there isn’t, but there’s something of a conjugal night, isn’t there?”

Still holding Wyll’s gaze, he got up from the chair, and made his way to the door. “Join me in the bedroom when you have it, darling, I won’t open the door unless you’ve guessed right.”

“How? You gave me nothing to go on.”

Astarion smirked. “Think about it. First nights, some people get a say.”

He was still smiling when he left the room, but the way he said that sentence sat with Wyll heavily. It hinted at something they rarely discussed, for how much pain it caused them both. There was nothing quite like that in the novel, and Wyll paced the library for some time until the meaning of the first half of the sentence became clear.

Wyll took the stairs two at a time, rushing to their bedroom. He knocked, but Astarion opened it only a sliver, a single red eye visible and the rest of him cast in shadow.

“Well?” he asked.

“Abelard’s first time with Vanir, I mean, the flashback to their first time.”

Astarion grinned. “See, darling, you were going on and on about the day’s chapter, but the truth was that it was more like an interlude within a chapter, that should have given you a hint too.” He was smug, but he threw the door open, allowing Wyll to see him dressed in nothing but underwear, just as Vanir had been when Abelard, wearing full plate, had knocked on his door and told him he had given the matter some thought and wanted to spend his first time with him.

“It’s my first time, I’ll have to follow your lead.” Wyll wrapped his hands around Astarion’s head and kissed him, walking him backwards towards the bed.

Astarion was the first to break the kiss, breathing shallowly even though he didn’t need to at all, the red ring around his pupils almost swallowed up. “Don’t worry, darling, I know what to do.”

They weren’t exactly sticking to the novel’s dialogue, which Wyll could only half remember to begin with, but as Astarion undressed him, taking each article of clothing off just as if it were armour, he thought Abelard might have felt just as he did. Apprehensive and excited, trusting that he could be vulnerable and inexperienced and no harm would come to him.

Once he was naked, Astarion mapped the contours of his body, lingering over all his favourite spots, but he surprised Wyll with a soft bite to the curve of a shoulder, a pinch to the underside of his elbow. Odd little detours he had never taken, which Wyll wondered if the book had inspired him or the scene itself. Wyll returned Astarion’s gentle exploration, thumbing over a nipple until it stiffened, teasing him until he hardened, making him gasp into next pass of Wyll’s tongue over his throat.

“How do you want me?” he asked, his teeth almost grazing the lobe of Wyll’s ear. “We can do it however you like.”

If he was getting a fresh start, Wyll wanted to completely erase his real first time, the wrong one.

“On your back,” Wyll said, “so I can kiss you.”

Astarion took him by the hand and led him up onto the bed, letting go only to lay himself against the pillows, his legs spread like an offering. Wyll climbed between them and kissed him, trailing kisses down his chest until he reached his heaving abdomen and his dripping cock.

He gasped when Wyll took him into his mouth, hands jerking towards his head as usual, before he caught himself and held on to he pillows, instead. Mindful of Wyll’s inexperience. The gesture made him smile, he met Astarion’s eyes as he took more of him into his throat, choking a little to really sell it.

Astarion hid his grin in his palm, pretending instead to be stifling a moan.

He could have been Wyll’s first in this, perhaps, but he had been so desperate to erase the memory of Mizora’s touch from his mind that he’d tried to find oblivion in another body. The poor man had done his best, and perhaps the experience could have been pleasant, if Wyll hadn’t been so distraught still. He remembered his name, Lucas, and hoped he was well.

After that, Wyll decided to hold out for love, and had been rewarded with someone whose crooked touch was the right fit for his skewed heart.

“Stop, stop,” Astarion begged, pushing at Wyll’s shoulder. “I want to come with you inside me.”

Wyll let go of him with one last lingering pull around the crown. His own balls were tight with pent up need, but he was fine with waiting, he wanted the moment to last. This first he wanted to commit to memory.

“Do you want to get me ready?” Astarion asked, getting the oil vial from beneath one of the pillows.

They both preferred spit and a tighter fit, but that wasn’t very virginal. “I want to watch you do it,” Wyll said, sitting back and gripping his cock in a loose fist.

Astarion didn’t make a production of it, but the act was erotic all the same. Wyll loved the way he sucked his bottom lip between his teeth, how he craned his neck to try and get a good look down his body, one hand sinking two fingers into his hole, while the other held his sac and cock out of the way. He could play his body like a fine instrument, but for a long time the chords had been dissonant. Now he was like a pianist relearning everything after a fracture, but the music was more beautiful than it had ever been.

“Alright, I’m ready,” Astarion said, pulling out his fingers with a ragged whine.

Wyll was so hard it made him wince just to coat his own cock in oil. He was settling himself between Astarion’s legs when he remembered: “Can you help me? I don’t want to hurt you.” He smiled sheepishly up at Astarion, who returned it with a smirk, and placed one hand on Wyll’s hip and wrapped the other around his cock to guide it home.

Wyll pushed into him slowly, savoring the sweet give of Astarion’s hole, his body warmed up from the friction.

Once he bottomed out, Astarion wrapped both hands around his neck and kissed him, his eyes bright and feverish. “That’s it, you’re inside me, good boy.”

Wyll whined in the back of his throat, almost losing his grip on the headboard. “I don’t know if I can last long.” And he wasn’t even lying.

“That’s fine, we can go again.” Astarion slid one hand between their bodies and wrapped it around his weeping cock.

“As long as it’s good for you,” Wyll said, and rolled his hips into Astarion dragging a moan from his throat.

“You know it is,” Astarion said, eyelids fluttering, he caught himself in time to add, “you’re a natural.”

It was natural with him, from their first time together to all the others that followed. There was no shame between them, no bad memories that could touch them. Wyll sunk into Astarion’s body with abandon, drinking his pleasured cries, and drawing more with each thrust. There was no sight more arousing than Astarion yielding to pleasure, letting it consume him without fear of being burned.

One day they should give him a new first too. He had told Wyll that he was sure it couldn’t have been Cazador, but that was the one he remembered. Wyll ached to wipe it away like a bad dream, to replace two-hundread years of misery with two-hundread of happiness, but time was not on his side. So all he could do was love Astarion enough for two centuries in the eighty years he had left, and hope it was enough.

“I love you,” he said, “you’re the first love of my life. Little star, I think you’ll be the last.”

Astarion gasped, his eyes wet with unshed tears. Wyll doubled the speed of his thrusts, drawing more high pitched whines from him. When Astarion’s hole squeezed around his cock in the telltale sign of impending orgasm, Wyll knocked his hand away and replaced it with his, taking him in his fist.

It took only two strokes to have Astarion coming with a shout, spurting cum between their chests. His seizing hole milked the orgasm from Wyll, who spilled inside him with a shudder while Astarion petted the back of his neck, his own breathing still uneven.

They both winced when Wyll pulled out, but Astarion yelped when Wyll thumbed at his hole, watching his cum leak out.

“I suppose it’s normal for virgins to be curious,” he said, watching Wyll with an amused half-smile.

“Do you think it would be unlikely for a virgin to eat you out now?”

Astarion chuckled. “A very adventurous virgin, perhaps.”

Wyll hummed, considering; for now he kept gently fingering the cum back into Astarion. “There’s always the next chapter, I suppose.”

“Yes, I’m really glad that we’re letting our sex life be decided by a man who fucked a troll to cross a bridge.”

“It was your idea.”

“Well,” he sighed in exasperation, “I’m good at having bad ideas.”

“Not this time,” Wyll said, kissing the top of Astarion’s head, who threw one arm across his shoulders and settled into the crook of his neck.

“We’ll see if you’re still saying that when we reach the chapter with the bees.”

“The bees?”

“Oh, you’ll see.”

Chapter Text

Returning to work after a break in the middle of the week was somehow worse, time was sticky as molasses and just as slow. Wyll looked at the correspondence addressed to ‘His Grace, Grand Duke Wyll Ravengard’ and wanted to set it on fire.

It wasn’t as if he hadn’t expected to have a hard time adapting to a fixed schedule and the repetitive routine of a work week after seven years on the road, but what truly bothered him was the inefficiency of the whole thing. Everything was wrapped in layers of protocol, holdovers from centuries ago which no one could tell him why they were still following.

Before he found the man some less insulting work, there had been a secretary whose role was to open Wyll’s correspondence for him and read it aloud if he asked.

The Shadow council meetings could get long-winded but at least no one stood on ceremony.

Florrick walked into his office to find him absorbed in the task of writing to Gale, carefully springing the trap that would hopefully have him keeping the Emperor occupied for months.

She chanced a sideways glance at the pile of unopened letters. “Aren’t you going to answer your petitioners?”

“Why bother? They sent letters with monogrammed wax seals, so I know they’re upper city folk. From the tone of the one letter I did read, I can guess the contents of all others: ‘no beggars in the upper city’.”

Florrick sighed. “They are your constituents too, you don’t get to be precious.”

“Are they? Who elected me?”

She made a face.

“That’s right, no one, same as you.” Wyll signed his letter for Gale and folded it closed. “If Duke Portyr can push legislation in favour of all his cronies and whoever will grease his palms, I can do the opposite and make their lives a little harder.”

“You aren’t a boy any longer, this idealism doesn’t suit you.”

Wyll got up from his chair with a sigh, he figured it was about time he returned home. “Florrick, I’ve always admired your commitment to the city, but there are some games I won’t play. It’s not about dirtying my hands, I have done that plenty, but I won’t do it on behalf of people whose only concern is getting richer.”

In the months since he got infected with the tadpole Wyll had learned harsh lessons, harshest among all that there was no hero who couldn’t fall. He sat across Balduran every day, whose ambition had delivered him into a mindflayer colony, Ansur who’d rather kill his lover than accept who he’d become, his own father who had allowed corruption to spread through the Fist and the city like a cancer…

Florrick was a career politician, he held her no ill-will, but she was part of the reason why he needed the Shadow Council to begin with.

He wasn’t an idealist, for the first time in his life, Wyll was being pragmatic and unromantic about what must be done, staring the ugly truth right in the face and bracing to meet it. He supposed to some that looked a lot like idealism.

“Why do you always seem to be on your way out when I want to speak with you?”

Wyll folded the letter for Gale into his pocket, and winked at her. “Next time don’t leave me for last on your busy schedule.”

---

He stopped only by the post office to mail Gale’s letter and then went straight home. In his excitement to see Astarion he almost ran down his father who was coming down the perron.

“Watch where you’re going, boy.” Ulder wasn’t angry, but he chided Wyll as if he was still the young boy who ran through the foyer tracking mud. “The house is exactly as you left it.” He paused, considering who Wyll had actually been rushing towards. “I haven’t seen Astarion all day, but I assume he’s where you left him as well.”

Wyll winced. “He’s giving you space.”

Ulder didn’t look convinced. “I can be civil, whether he gives me space or not. I wish the same could be said of him.” His flippant tone grated on Wyll. It reminded him of Florrick, he realized suddenly. When they spoke there was always an implied ‘I know more than you’, that Wyll didn’t appreciate.

“That’s all I ask for,” Wyll said, “otherwise we can always find a place for ourselves, and give each other all the space we need.”

That earned him a glare. “I have been nothing but courteous.”

“You called him a creature on no less than two occasions.”

“What else is one supposed to call a vampire?”

“Astarion.”

He climbed the stairs without waiting to hear what his father had to say to that. The condescension was unbearable, and now that he thought about it, Wyll didn’t think he'd deserved it, even when he was a boy. Having his concerns and opinions dismissed on the grounds of his young age had done nothing but make him feel helpless.

There was no point in bringing that up with his father now, whenever Wyll tried to have a conversation about the past, Ulder’s face turned to stone and he said only “I did the best I could with what I had, it’s not easy being a single parent”, and the issue died there.

Astarion had many, colourful opinions about Ulder’s parenting, which Wyll didn’t necessarily agree with, but it was hard not to find Astarion’s temper charming when he was angry on his behalf.

There was no sign of him on the lower floor, as expected, and no visible clues as to what the day’s chapter might entail, so Wyll went up to the bedroom expecting to find them there.

Instead, he found Astarion curled up on his side on the bed, apparently asleep.

Wyll approached the bed gingerly, confused about the whole thing until he noticed the unstoppered potion bottle on the side-table. Even without reading the label, Wyll would have recognized it as Angelic Slumber. Astarion had taken it before.

But there was no reason for him to take the potion now, so it must be related to their game. Wyll circled the bed, looking for clues, watching Astarion’s still chest for any signs that he was only feigning.

Halfway hidden under a pillow he found the book; he pulled it out and read over the first paragraph, understanding dawning on him at once.

“Fenris watched the elf’s sleeping body in awe. He was as good as his word, lost to the world in the grip of true sleep, completely at Fenris’ mercy, as he’d promised he would be. The possibilities burned trough him, making his cock harden and his breeches tighten almost painfully. He could do what he wanted to Vanir, fuck him with as little or as much care for his comfort as he wanted, make all the shameful, guttural noises he always feared would reveal too much of his orcish nature and frighten his partners. He could be a beast or a gentleman, and either way, no one would accuse him of playing a role.”

Wyll closed the book and set it aside, his breathing having grown erratic from reading the words alone. The chapter itself was kind of forgettable, one of his least favourites. Fenris was an orc Vanir had met throughout the book, quiet and a little shy. They had ran into each other at a tavern after one of Vanir’s prolonged absences from the city, and the drink got Fenris talking, and eventually admitting that sexual encounters were uncomfortable for him because people either expected him to be aggressive and domineering, or instead wanted him to be very careful or otherwise they’d get scared.

In the middle of it all, Fenris felt like he hadn’t discovered what he liked, because whenever he had sex it was about the other person exclusively. Which was when Vanir had come up with his plan, of being asleep while Fenris fucked him.

While the premise was exciting the execution of the chapter left a little to be desired, because unfortunately for Fenris, Wyll had been reading the book mostly for Vanir.

“Astarion, say something if you are awake,” Wyll said, half-expecting Astarion to jump up in bed with a theatrical ‘Ah-ha!’ But there was nothing, his preternatural stillness remained undisturbed.

Even though he didn’t need to, Astarion always breathed. So naturally that Wyll didn’t think he was aware of it, but now, sleeping soundly, his chest didn’t move.

It was dizzying.

Wyll climbed over the bed, taking off his doublet as he went. He didn’t have any of Fenris hangups, but he did always have Astarion’s pleasure at the forefront of his mind. How could he not, considering all that had happened to him? Wyll couldn’t help being attuned to Astarion’s body, reading his expressions for any discomfort, watching out for any signs that he was putting up with something he didn’t want to just to please Wyll.

Now, nearly a year into their relationship, Astarion had learned to trust his own instincts for what he could or could no take. Wyll couldn’t recall the last time he’d asked him “are you sure?” but perhaps Astarion still felt like he was holding back.

Or perhaps Wyll was reading too much into it.

He caressed Astarion’s face, stroking the high arc of a cheekbone with his thumb, his skin was faintly warmed by a recent meal, but Wyll knew he could make him much warmer.

Wyll had often wondered if in the past Astarion had found it a cruel joke, that only sex could heat up his body as if he had never died at all, or that draining a life could temporarily breathe his own back into him.

It was a question he knew he would never ask, but he bent over Astarion and kissed his cheek, begging a silent apology for thinking it. He let his hands roam, unlacing Astarion’s shirt as he palmed his chest, kneading the little fat there greedily, thumbing at his nipple until it stiffened. Astarion remained asleep, but there was a hitch that kickstarted his breathing which meant his body recognized what was being done to it.

That minuscule reaction jumped Wyll’s arousal into a fever pitch. He undressed himself with one hand and Astarion with the other, loath to stop touching him, eager to feel his body come alive under his touch.

Undressing himself was much easier, and he was naked in seconds, but Astarion needed readjusting. He was heavier than he looked, his limber grace made him almost weightless whenever Wyll picked him up. Now, he had to navigate every limb as he divested him of clothing, putting real effort into it.

It made the act all the more lurid, to have Astarion so completely unaware as he was undressed. Wyll felt as if he was taking advantage, and the conflicting desire and guilt battled inside him in ways that only fueled his arousal.

Just the day before Astarion had told him he enjoyed watching Wyll sleep, that he considered it a selfish stolen moment. Was he trying to show Wyll what he enjoyed about it, did he think about touching Wyll’s body like this while he slept?

Wyll hoped so.

He had seen Astarion naked thousands of times, but the sight never lost his novelty. He allowed himself to explore the body on offer, taking his time now that he could touch at his leisure without worrying about Astarion's impatience. He lifted one of his arms and arranged it above his head, exposing a smooth armpit. Wyll rubbed a thumb over the velvety hollow, pondering the marked difference between shaved skin and skin where no hair had ever grown.

Astarion never hid his fascination with Wyll’s body hair, and Wyll was always happy to indulge his curiosity, but he had never taken his time to return the interest. Which was a shame, Astarion’s body pleased him in every way and deserved the worship. He lowered his face into Astarion’s armpit and inhaled deeply. His skin didn’t smell of sweat as any man’s might, instead, there was the fragrant scent of Astarion’s jasmine baths, and just below it the sickly sweet tang of rotten fruit.

Even death smelt good on him. Wyll flattened his tongue against his skin and licked a broad stripe, issuing a flutter from Astarion’s parted lips and a crease in his brow. Ticklish. Wyll did it again, this time rubbing the stubble of his cheeks on the cool skin, sensitizing it.

When he pulled away, Astarion’s armpit was left red with friction burns. Saliva pooled in his tongue, Wyll swallowed, and continued on his path down Astarion’s body; kissing and nipping, biting more forcefully than he would normally have, kissing the blood to the surface and leaving bruises in his wake. He reached Astarion’s navel and dipped his tongue inside, half-amused at the silliness of the gesture.

If Astarion had been awake he would be teasing Wyll, offering commentary on every little thing.

As much as everything about this scenario was provocative, Wyll missed hearing him. He missed his moans, the caught exhalations, the startled gasps and hisses. His hands were rougher in compensation, hoping to raise in Astarion’s skin the excitement he couldn’t voice.

Astarion’s cock was half-hard when Wyll reached it, a comfortable mouthful that he sucked to full hardness before moving on to his balls. He rolled each one around in his mouth, a palm down over Astarion’s abdomen to feel the muscles there jump in arousal.

He worked the tight rim of Astarion’s hole with his thumb while he tongued under his balls, over the sensitive skin of his perineum. It didn’t take long for sleepy, kittenish moans to leave Astarion’s lips, his limbs twitching in growing awareness.

True sleep held him fast, but Wyll was nothing if not determined. As he fingered Astarion open with the oil from the day before, he considered the possibility of Astarion waking up while Wyll was fucking him, his eyes going wide with shock, mouth falling open in a silent gasp.

The mental image made heat coil in his middle, he couldn’t hold back any longer. He slicked himself and held up Astarion’s legs below the knees in one hand while he guided his cock into his his tight hole with the other.

He bottomed out with a gasp, letting Astarion’s legs drop to the bed so he could caress his sleeping face instead. He looked so peaceful, almost innocent, while Wyll ravaged him. The sight would be burned into his mind forever.

“Little star, look what you do to me,” Wyll said, rolling his hips into Astarion, pushing him up the bed. Astarion’s eyelids fluttered, threatening to open, but sleep still clung to him, even as the pace of Wyll’s thrusts increased.

It was a terribly humbling thing, to be given this much power over Astarion, it was hopelessly arousing too. Wyll loved him to the point of madness, he was sure of it. It scared him, sometimes, the intensity of the feeling. As much as he had always dreamed of an all-consuming love, he hadn’t been prepared for the reality.

No one could love this much without being selfish, and Wyll had grown covetous. He was never full, his hunger was permanent and only Astarion could sate it, even if only for a time. They were the same in this regard.

Wyll held on to Astarion’s waist as he fucked him, thumbs digging into his skin as he lifted him up for a better angle. His body swayed limply with the strength of each thrust, his head swiveled loosely, shoulders flat against the mattress even with his hips raised in Wyll’s grip.

“Did you know that I would miss you? My love, your body is lovely, but I wouldn’t love it half as much without you inside it. I wouldn’t spare it a second glance if I saw it on someone else. It is your heart I want to reach when I fuck you.”

The words spilled out of Wyll like cheap poetry; he had said much worse, but never during sex. Astarion winced if he called it ‘making love’, Wyll had adapted; pouring his love into the worst expletives and delighting in how they made Astarion pinken with shame and arousal both.

Astarion still struggled with sincerity, but Wyll didn’t mind. He didn’t need words to show his love, when he made it plain with his every gesture; with every annoyed scowl when Wyll was inconvenienced, with every curse lobbed with equal frequency at Mizora and his father, with the way he gave himself over and trusted Wyll to do him no harm.

“Won’t you wake up?” Wyll asked, his voice rough with the strain of holding himself back. He wanted to cum, but he wanted Astarion’s eyes on him when he did it.

He wrapped one hand around Astarion’s hard cock, stroking him tightly, twisting softly on the upstroke just as he liked.

Astarion whined, Wyll fucked him harder in response, aiming for his prostate with every thrust, until all of Astarion’s body was twitching, his hole clinging and sweetly squeezing with his growing awareness.

“Wy-- what?” Astarion’s eyelids finally fluttered open, his red eyes hazy with sleep.

“Welcome back, thank you for letting me make use of your body in your absence.” Wyll punctuated the words with a mean thrust, punching a startled whine out of Astarion.

“Oh, you, that feels…” He wrapped his arms around Wyll’s neck while he tried to get his bearings, his body struggling to make sense of everything happening to it. “Fuck, fuck, it’s…”

“What is it? Tell me?” Wyll nosed along Astarion’s jaw, kissing his skin, making it wet with his warm breath.

“It’s so sudden, I’m- I’m almost coming.” His eyes were wide and wild as he looked up at Wyll. “How long have you been fucking me?”

“Days,” Wyll said, grinning when the word made Astarion’s eyes roll back in his head and his mouth fall open on a tortured whine. “I’ve been at it for days, feeding you more potion with kisses to keep you under. All mine to do what I want with.”

“What- what have you done to me?” Astarion’s hips rose to meet Wyll’s thrusts, his bottom lip caught between his teeth.

“Whatever I wanted, wasn’t that the point? I’ve had you in every position, all over the room. I’ve left my cock inside you, just to keep it there, because you’re mine to do as I please with, isn’t that, so?”

Astarion nodded, on the verge of tears. Wyll didn’t think he believed him, but the fantasy was enough.

Wyll couldn’t resist kissing him, he’d been holding himself back long enough. Astarion sighed into the kiss, and came on the next thrust, almost by surprise, his body giving into the prolonged stimulation like a string snapping. He moaned into the kiss, clinging to Wyll’s neck almost viciously. The violent squeeze of his hole sent Wyll hurtling along with him, cumming so hard that it nearly sapped him of strength.

Astarion kept kissing every sliver of skin he could reach, running one hand over Wyll’s back while he cupped the side of his cheek with the other.

It was a struggle for Wyll to catch his breath, he felt as if he had run a marathon, the minute tremors of Astarion’s body were torture on his overstimulated cock. He pulled out with a wince, and fell on top of Astarion like a puppet with its strings cut loose.

“Grand Duke Wyll Ravengard works hard for the people and at home.”

Wyll’s laughter was muffled into the crook of Astarion’s neck. He lifted his head enough to kiss his cheek. “Thankfully, the people of Baldur’s Gate don’t work me half as hard as you.”

Astarion preened. “And if any of them ever want to, I will kill them.”

“Didn’t take you for the jealous type.”

Astarion shrugged, insouciant. “I’m not, but I’d rather not share a sentimental fool like you.”

Wyll kissed him deeply, grabbing the back of his hair. “I am, very jealous, so don’t get any ideas.”

Mischief sparkled in Astarion’s eyes. “Really, what would you do if you caught me cheating?”

“I’d lock you up,” Wyll said, coming up with the answer on the spot, but allowing it to take hold, “in a room, which only I’d have the key to.”

Astarion’s breath hitched, his leg wrapped around Wyll’s own, sliding against his sweaty skin. “I’d be at your mercy.” His red tongue wet his lower lip. “Maybe, I should cheat on you.”

“Is that what I have to look forward to in the next chapter?” Wyll asked, nipping his chin.

Astarion rolled his eyes. “Hardly, who would Vanir even cheat with? He’s already sleeping with everyone he comes across.”

“I’m still curious about the bees. I can’t remember that at all.”

“Patience, darling, we’ll get to the bees.” Astarion played with the cropped hair at the bottom of Wyll’s neck, distractedly. “Did you get a chance to write to Gale?”

“I posted it on the way home.”

“Good, that means that soon the Emperor will be too busy to bother with you. We’ll need time, if we want to get to the bees.”

Wyll sighed in resignation and kissed Astarion who grinned into the kiss, delighting as always, in having gotten his way.

Chapter Text

For once, Wyll was the first to arrive in the Knights of Shield hideout. He found it, as usual, deserted of actual knights, the Emperor was the single lone figure sitting at the circular table, his attention focused on a letter.

Wyll’s curiosity prickled. “Who wrote to you?”

“Your wizard,” he answered, his gaze still scanning the paper. “He posed the most fascinating question regarding inter-planar communication.”

Gale was faster to engage the Emperor than Wyll could have possibly hoped, he hid his smile behind a cough and took his seat to wait for the others.

When Jaheira and Nine-Fingers arrived they found Wyll doodling on a spare piece of parchment and the Emperor levitating a quill to write his reply to Gale, deep in concentration. They took their seats with twin looks of confusion, Wyll greeted them with a smile and took things from there. 

He went over the first and second order of business with nary an interruption. Jaheira's keen gaze kept drifting towards the Emperor, who only stopped his writing to steeple his fingers together and hum in deep thought. She shot Wyll meaningful glances as if she expected him to confirm with a nod that he'd been the one to cast the odd spell on the ilithid. 

"That's all, then, right?" Nine-Fingers asked, slightly disbelieving that they'd managed to plan out their activities for the next tenday in less than two hours.

Amazing, the things that could be achieved when the Emperor didn't interrupt every five minutes to ask them to consider and plan around the remote possibility of all their plans being laid to waste due to the city's rat population, a stray fisherman walking in on an ongoing shipping crate sabotage, all of their operatives suddenly turning coat and betraying them, and whatever other unlikely scenarios his busy mind conjured.

"Meet up again in three days? All in agreement?" Wyll asked, already raising to his feet.

Both Jaheira and Nine-Fingers said their ayes. The three of them turned expectantly towards the Emperor, who got up from his seat and levitated to the blackboard, ignoring them all in favour of jotting down complex mathematical equations.

"I think he agrees," Wyll said, ready to leave before the Emperor said otherwise.

---

An unusual sight greeted him when he got home. His father and Astarion sat across from each other in the sitting room, apparently waiting for Wyll's arrival.

"There's something we need to discuss." Ulder was talking to Wyll but his gaze never left Astarion. "It's about the wedding."

Wyll crossed the room to stand by Astarion's chair, an arm resting casually over the back of it. "What about the wedding?"

His father didn't fail to notice that Wyll had already picked a side, even without hearing his argument. "The guest list; it's sparse to say the least, you're already going against tradition by getting married in the evening, to...Astarion, whose nature some people are aware of, you can't risk snubbing half the city's patriars."

"Why should we have to suffer the presence of insufferable buffoons at our wedding?" Astarion snapped, his fingers dug into the chair's upholstery in a way that revealed that he and Ulder had been at this for some time.

"As Wyll's partner and future Duke Consort, it's your duty to ensure your conduct is beyond reproach as to not reflect poorly on him. You'll simply have to leave your feelings aside. I know for a fact that you're the one making changes to the guest lists I submit."

This was the first Wyll was hearing of his father trying to interfere in the wedding preparations. Astarion had kept it from him. He avoided Wyll's gaze now, face blazing with humiliation.

"Astarion is right, father, it's our wedding, we decide who attends."

Ulder scoffed. "Don't you mean he decides? If you as much as glanced at the guest list I'll eat my hat."

Wyll shifted his arm from the back of the chair to Astarion's shoulders. "We are in agreement, in this and in everything."

He could feel Astarion's shoulders straightening under his arm, his neck tilting backwards as he met Ulder's gaze head on. 

Ulder wasn't the kind of man to gracefully accept defeat. "You can't just do whatever you want to please your pampered--"

"Father!" Wyll snapped, raising his voice. "Be very careful with your next words."

Astarion had gone tense again under Wyll's hand, but his gaze didn't waver. Faced with the united front they presented, Ulder was forced to back down. He dismissed the conversation with a gruff wave. "Fine, have it your way, boy. Don't say I didn't warn you later, when you're trying to get some policy approved and half the upper city has some bone to pick."

"I have them well under hand," Wyll said, catching the tail end of Astarion's smug smirk. "My love, would you excuse us?"

Astarion rose from the chair in a single fluid movement. He trailed his hand down Wyll's arm, who took hold of his fingers and brought them to his lips before letting him go. He waited until he could hear Astarion's footsteps on the staircase before turning towards his father. 

"Father, I would thank you not to meddle in my private life."

"I'm just looking out for you, son." He shook his head, as if this was an obvious truth Wyll was willfully ignoring. "You want to make Astarion happy, I understand, but you have to be reasonable. A Duke's wedding is not a private ceremony, you have your image to consider."

"My image?"

Ulder had the decency to look ashamed. "I know I haven't done right by you, I know..."

"You can start making amends by respecting me and Astarion."

"He has a snake's tongue, he's trying to turn you against me."

"With all due respect, father, you have managed to do that on your own."

At that, Ulder fell silent, his lips pressed into a tense line. For the first time, Wyll noticed that his father was getting old, there were deep lines carved around his mouth and etched into the corners of his eyes. The man Wyll had spent his entire life looking up at was shorter than him, the conviction he had so admired now seemed to him like bullheadedness. Wyll saw in his father the picture of someone who had caved in, traded in his principles for comfort and a quiet life.

Perhaps that was why he couldn’t meet Wyll’s eyes now.

“Don’t antagonize Astarion,” Wyll said, walking towards the doorway and out of the room. “You won’t like the result if you attempt to make me choose between you and him.”

---

Wyll didn’t know what to expect when he walked into the bedroom. There was a good chance Astarion would be upset. He hated showing it, but he was sensitive, his pride was as tender as pressed flowers. Brittle to the touch. Ulder had a particular way of getting under his skin, to look at Astarion as if he were somehow unworthy of walking instead of crawling.

The thought that his father might have been casting those looks at people all his life and Wyll had never noticed because that gaze had never fallen on someone he loved was corrosive. It left him sick to his stomach to think of his own complicity.

He couldn’t see Astarion, the room looked empty, but he heard noise coming from the adjoining bathroom and followed it.

“Astarion?” He called out to him, giving him time to compose himself if he needed to.

“Come in, darling.”

Wyll opened the door to find Astarion sprawling on the bathroom settee wearing only a silk sleeping robe.

That wasn’t an usual sight, something was afoot. “Did I come at a bad time?” He was fairly sure Astarion was supposed to be Vanir, but Vanir was only ever seductive by pure happenstance.

“Duke Wyll Ravengard, in my humble parlor?” Astarion flashed him a practiced toothy smile. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

What chapter was this? Wyll struggled to come up with something to say, distracted by the sight of the slinky robe slipping off Astarion’s shoulder and exposing a pale nipple. Vanir really didn’t have the ingenuity to seduce anyone, he simply stumbled into people who wanted to have sex with him.

This was too deliberate, Wyll tried to buy himself some time. “I came to see you, naturally.”

Astarion raised an amused eyebrow at him. “Oh, so my reputation precedes me?”

That didn’t give Wyll the slightest clue about what was going on, but Astarion decided to take pity on him by adding, “either that or the Madam said I was free, when your Grace came in looking for company, and now you’re just being polite.”

Oh, that chapter! The ‘pretend to be a prostitute to get information from a client’ chapter! No wonder Wyll didn’t remember it, Vanir had taken to the role with the subtlety of an anvil being dropped from a great height.

If Wyll’s memory served him, this was a chapter in which an old acquaintance of Vanir’s made a passing remark regarding a new big fish in the city cropping up suddenly and undercutting the local smith’s guild with much cheaper goods of dubious provenance. Naturally, Vanir wanted to help, but his solution upon hearing the man was a regular patron of the local brothels was calling in a favor and going undercover as a worker. It made as much sense as all of Vanir’s other plans.

Young Wyll had been so charmed by Vanir’s willingness to help that he hadn’t noticed how contrived the situations he found himself in were. The smith guild celebratory gangbang that followed Vanir’s successful heist, really shouldn’t have come as a surprise, but Wyll had been very naive about the book’s literary merits.

Astarion was giving him an expectant look, so Wyll did what he’d been doing the whole time, and improvised:

“Your reputation does no justice to the real thing.” He walked towards Astarion, stopping a few feet short of his spread knee.

Astarion’s gaze burned into him, red and hot, he shifted on the settee, sat upright and patted the newly empty spot at his side. Wyll took a seat, rubbing his hands down his thighs. Would he be nervous in a situation like this? He had never considered the possibility, even before Astarion, it felt far too impersonal to pay for company.

“You know, all manner of important people frequent our establishment, other Dukes included, but never you.” His gaze was inquisitive, distracting Wyll even has his hand trailed up his thigh. “What made you change your mind?”

Wyll cleared his throat. “I saw you on the street, and I just had to meet you,” Wyll said, stumbling over the words as he built his own tale. “I asked around and was told I could find you here. Apologies, if that was presumptuous of me.”

“Weren’t you disappointed?” Astarion asked, the question awfully laden. “That can’t be what you imagined when you saw me.”

“My only regret was that I couldn’t meet you sooner,” Wyll said, and when his eyes met Astarion’s he knew he understood.

“Well, there’s nothing like now to make up for lost time.” He grinned and got up to his feet, but didn’t go far. He walked between Wyll’s spread legs and crouched unceremoniously on the ground.

Wyll’s breath hitched when Astarion’s fingers tugged at the lacing of his breeches. He had them open in seconds and his cock out in his fist.

“That was…,” Wyll struggled to come up with words as Astarion stroked him while rubbing his cheek against his cock. The gesture was at once unspeakably erotic and incongruously sweet, as if he was doing it simply because he loved the feeling of it against his skin. “Efficient,” Wyll added, hissing when Astarion’s thumb teased at the crown.

“The Grand Duke is paying by the hour, I’m merely being considerate of his hard won gold.”

Wyll tangled his right hand into Astarion’s hair, the silken strands slipped between his fingers as he adjusted his grip. “Take your time, you’re worth it.”

Astarion’s lips split in a delighted grin, his tongue poked out to lave at the side of Wyll’s shaft. His teasing eyes never left Wyll’s, as he kept stroking him. “Maybe I want to get rid of you quickly, I have other clients to see.”

Wyll’s grip on his hair tightened. “You’re worth my gold and I’m worth your time.” He grinned when that had Astarion’s fist tightening around his cock and his eyes blowing wide with lust. He angled Wyll’s cock towards his mouth and suckled on the head, his drunken gaze flooded with red.

“That’s some view.” Wyll reached towards Astarion’s upper lip with his free hand and raised it in a sneer, exposing a canine. “Dangerous too.”

Astarion grinned, and opened wide, giving Wyll a good view of his fangs as he took him into his mouth, dripping saliva down his shaft. His slick, cool mouth was delicious, like plunging into a cool lake after a hot day’s work. But the heat of Wyll’s cock would soon warm him up, leeching off heat until Astarion was a furnace.

Wyll let himself roll his hips upwards lazily, thrusting into Astarion’s throat and voicing his pleasure as his clever tongue worked on him.

Astarion pulled way with a wet sucking pop, giving Wyll’s piss slit a last prodding flick of his tongue. “Now, if you were just any regular costumer I’d get you off with my mouth and save myself the trouble of getting fucked.” His hand was once again working the length of Wyll’s cock, messy and dripping with saliva.

“Good thing you didn’t, it would just be more work for you” Wyll said, “I’d be hard for you again in seconds.”

“They all say that.” Astarion’s eyes were half-lidded, betraying how affected he was. “But you I believe.”

He got up from between Wyll’s legs, walking backwards and beckoning with a finger. Wyll rose after him, losing his clothes as he went, leaving them like a trail of breadcrumbs as Astarion led them back to the bedroom, but curiously, not the bed.

He walked past it, and made his way to the oriel window. He turned towards the curtains and threw them wide open. Wyll stood transfixed as Astarion let the sleeping robe drop to the floor, where it pooled at his feet in a slippery tangle. Astarion stepped out of it and took a seat on the nook’s cushions, his naked back against the glass windows, knees up and legs spread in invitation, hard cock dripping slick onto his navel.

“I hope I can live up to His Grace’s expectations.” Astarion ran one hand down his chest, tugging a nipple, moaning for show and unsubtly raising his eyes to check if that was enough to make Wyll break character.

“You already are.”

Giving as good as he got, Wyll wrapped a hand around himself, stroking slowly while he watched Astarion, who let go of his nipple to slide a hand down on his abdomen and tug at his own cock. They locked eyes while they touched themselves, a prolonged tease where neither of them moved, acting upon the fantasy that just looking was enough, that they might leave it at that.

They had, on a number of occasions, but that wasn’t the game today.

Wyll wondered who would break first. Would he flatten Astarion against the glass and climb over and into his body? Perhaps, animated by some inexplicable impulse, he’d throw open the windows and fuck Astarion across the windowsill, his chest hanging in the air, incredulous moans spilling out of his slack lips for all the upper city to hear. That would give their detestable neighbors something worthwhile to gossip about, for once.

Or maybe Astarion would be the first to concede defeat, dropping all pretense and making genuine needy noises, artless and rough, overwhelmed by his own fantasies, so vivid now that he was finally free to indulge them.

In the end they moved at the same time. Wyll took a step forward just as Astarion sunk two fingers coated in his own precum into his hole.

Wyll froze, watching as Astarion’s neck dropped onto his shoulder, and the muscles in his abdomen jumped. His gaze was split between the sight of Astarion’s fingers disappearing into his own body, and the lip caught between his teeth. When he finally moved again, it was to cross the distance between them and drop to his knees between Astarion’s legs, reversing their earlier positions.

Astarion let out a startled yelp the moment Wyll’s tongue lapped between his fingers, poking alongside them into his quivering hole. He held Astarion in place with a hand under his knee and another on his waist, eating him out sloppily and noisily in the way he knew both delighted and embarrassed him.

“Ah, Your Grace, you shouldn’t, I should service you,” Astarion said, his breath uneven. But when Wyll looked up at him from between his thighs he found him smirking, a flush high on his cheeks and his pale lips red from being bitten.

Which was why Wyll pulled away with one last, smacking kiss to his hole, and got up to his feet. “You’re right,” he said, pulling Astarion’s fingers out by the wrist and positioning the tip of his cock at his entrance.

Astarion held his breath as Wyll sunk into him slowly. With spit alone the stretch was inexorable for them both, raw and just on the verge of too much. It required them to be perfectly in tune with each other’s bodies – which was why they both preferred it.

Wyll bottomed out with a grateful sigh, overwhelmed by pleasure from the tight grip of Astarion’s insides alone. On the verge of cumming just from hearing the torrent of expletives dripping from Astarion’s lips like honey. He kissed him to drink them them all from the source; all the drawn out ‘fucks’ heavy on the fricative, all the ‘godsdamned’ replacing piety with desire.

Astarion returned the kiss with the same intensity with which he cursed, delving into Wyll’s mouth ravenously, trying to bite him like a cat who upon being petted too much turned to aggression.

“Worth your time?” Wyll asked, nipping at the edge of Astarion’s jaw as he rolled his hips into him, drawing out a strangled whine.

Astarion clawed at his back, head bumping against the window with each thrust. “Yes, yes! Worth your gold?”

“So much, that I think I’m going to keep you,” Wyll said, gripping Astarion’s dripping cock in his fist, squeezing tightly. “I’ll take you away and make you mine.”

Astarion’s eyes were wide and pleading, his hips rose to meet Wyll’s thrusts. “They won’t let you.” His tone was painfully earnest. “I’m no good.”

“You are,” Wyll said, running his free hand through Astarion’s sweaty hair. “No one could ever love me as well as you, isn’t that right, little star?”

Overcome, Astarion nodded, his grip on Wyll’s shoulders growing slack.

“You’re so sweet, but you’ll only ever show it to me.” Wyll’s own vision was swimming, his hips stuttering with an impending orgasm. “It’s fine, my love, I’ll keep your secrets and you’ll keep mine.”

Wyll tightened his fist around Astarion’s cock, stripping it in tandem with his thrusts. Astarion was a vision in the grip of pleasure, his eyes wild and his mouth slack, his speech slurred and his mind slow and sweet, unable to do anything but enjoy what was being done to him.

Astarion loved telling Wyll he was the most gorgeous man he’d ever been with, the most capable and considerate lover, but Wyll believed him most of all because there was no love that could make him fake the startled reactions of his body, the shocked widening of his eyes and the maddening pull of his insides, as if he wanted to keep Wyll in him forever.

For Wyll, there was nothing more erotic than pouring his love into Astarion and watching his body light up with pleasure, as full of him as his heart.

On a particularly vicious thrust, Astarion’s whole body seized, one of his hands slamming against the window in an involuntary spasm. “I’m – Wyll, Wyll!”

Wyll knew what he needed, he thumbed under the crown of his cock, squeezing his hand on the downstroke and Astarion came with a shout, spraying thick ropes of cum up his chest. Wyll couldn’t hold off any longer and chased his own orgasm. He thrust into Astarion as he twitched beneath him, the rhythmic contractions of his hole making them both groan from overstimulation. Wyll came with a muffled shout into the crook of Astarion’s neck, almost pained by the intensity and relief of his pleasure.

Never, not in his sweetest dreams or wildest fantasies, could he have imagined sex would make him feel this way. He didn’t know where he ended and Astarion began.

His awareness returned with the soft petting of Astarion’s fingers on the back of his neck. “Where did you disappear to?”

“Somewhere wonderful.” Wyll raised his chin to kiss Astarion’s lips. “Was I gone for long?”

“A few minutes, your eyes were open but no one was home.” He grinned. “It was a great look on you.”

Wyll hummed in contentment, utterly relaxed, uncaring of the mess cooling between their stomachs.

After a moment of silence, Astarion said, “You really would, wouldn’t you?”

“Uh?”

“Take me from a brothel to your house, not caring what people would say.”

Wyll shot him an amused look. “I would have taken you with me from wherever I found you, or stayed with you, if you couldn’t go.”

Astarion’s smile was a tender, fragile thing. He linked his fingers behind Wyll’s head. “My sweet fool. I would follow you to the hells and back.”

Wyll made a face and tightened his arms around Astarion’s waist. “I don’t think they’re very nice at this time of the year. I’d rather stay right here.” He exhaled, enjoying the lingering warmth of Astarion’s body, before it fully cooled. Which reminded him: “Do you want to eat?”

“In a minute, I want to stay right here a little while longer.”

Wyll kissed him again and made himself comfortable against his chest. Cradled in Astarion's arms nothing could touch him, and all of his worries melted off of him like snowflakes in the spring.

Chapter Text

Wyll was starting to entertain the idea of finishing his day and going back home when one of the Wyrmrock’s clerks burst into his office.

“Your Grace, a missive from your estate, you’re required back posthaste.”

The man handed him a folded piece of parchment with a single word scratched in Astarion’s familiar scrawl: “Emergency!!!!”

That number of exclamation marks meant business. Wyll hurried back home with a tight knot of apprehension twisting in his middle.

He rushed up the perron, his mind was running through an array of equally catastrophic scenarios and how best to solve each one, when the door flung open, revealing a disheveled Astarion.

“Darling, we have a guest.”

“A guest? You said an emergency, I—”

A mousy head of hair popped over Astarion’s shoulder, waving enthusiastically. “Wyll, marvelous to see you! We didn’t expect you home so soon.” He turned towards Astarion for confirmation, who merely gritted his teeth. “Astarion here was just telling me how awfully busy you’ve been. He insisted you were much too busy to entertain guests, but here you are!”

He spread his arms with a chuckle, as if the very heavens had conspired to bring Wyll home sooner, and not Astarion’s desperation at realizing none of his excuses would be enough to send Gale packing.

“Yes, very fortuitous.” He exchanged a glance with Astarion whose eyes were looking from side to side like a cat looking for the fastest exit. “But what brings you to Baldur’s Gate, Gale?” He wrapped an arm across Gale’s shoulders to lead him back inside the house, best to avoid giving their terrible neighbours even more reason to speculate.

“It’s a funny, story,” Astarion chuckled, on the verge of a mental-breakdown. “Tell him, Gale, tell him the hilarious reason why you decided to drop by completely unannounced on our doorstep.”

Gale shook his head sheepishly. “You’ll laugh at me. Astarion did.”

“I absolutely did. But Wyll won’t, because he’s a far better person.”

This whole situation was so overwhelmingly tense that Wyll couldn’t in good conscience promise anything. There was a muscle twitching in Astarion’s cheek that made him look as if he was on the verge of tears. Wyll wanted to hug him and let him know everything would be alright, but that would be a pretty big clue to Gale that things were in fact not alright.

“Well, uh, I was just so fascinated by the Emperor’s reply to my queries and hypothesis regarding inter-planar communication that I just had to speak with him in person.”

“He just had to speak with him!” Astarion echoed, his eyes wide and frantic.

Another good-natured chuckle. “I know it must seem excessive, but I got started on a reply letter and then realized four pages in that I wouldn’t be able to express myself properly unless we talked in person.”

“Well, you won’t find the Emperor here,” Wyll said, joking to distract himself from his extreme confusion as to how that could possibly be related to Gale’s presence in their home, a few short months before he was due to visit anyway for their wedding.

Gale chuckled. “Of course, I know, but I couldn’t just drop in on the man – well, ilithid – out of the blue.”

“But you could drop in on us,” Astarion said, with a little deranged giggle.

“We’re hardly close, me and him.” Gale scratched the bridge of his nose, and a terrible, awful realization started to dawn in on Wyll. “And however close we might end up being, I’d rather not impose on him just yet.”

“You’re so considerate of the Emperor’s private life,” Astarion said. “One has to wonder what he did to deserve it.”

“Well, in any case, I don’t expect I’ll be staying longer than a tenday at the most, so I shan’t impose on your hospitality for long.”

“A tenday!” Astarion clapped his hands together with a dissonant smack and turned on his heel to face Wyll. “He’s going to be staying a tenday, darling!”

“I hope I haven’t come at a bad time,” Gale said, and cast Wyll a sheepish, apologetic look. Over his shoulder, Astarion was gesturing silently but wildly in the direction of the door, his intentions clear.

Wyll opened his mouth, intent on saying that it was a bad time, he had been busy, they did have a wedding to plan, they were in the middle of a very exciting sex game that he absolutely didn’t want to pause, and yet what he ended up saying was: “Of course not, there’s always room and time for a friend.”

Astarion smacked the heel of his hand into his forehead. Gale beamed. “Wonderful! Well, I’ll just take my things upstairs, I’ll be on the guest bedroom down the hall from the two of you.”

Wyll and Astarion watched Gale climb the stairs in silence, his luggage floating orderly behind him as he hummed some cheerful tune to himself.

As soon as he was out of sight, Astarion turned the full force of his glare on Wyll. “Thank you, darling, for waltzing in and saving the day.”

Wyll sighed. “I couldn’t turn him away! He came all the way from Waterdeep.”

“Surely he hasn’t forgotten where to find the Elfsong Inn.”

“It’s a huge house, there’s no reason for him not to stay here.”

Astarion’s expression took on a more melancholic tilt. “That’s just the thing, it’s such a huge house, but there’s always so many people underfoot.” He leaned against the paneled wall, looking up at the grand staircaise and upper floor’s balustrade. “I wish I could fire all of your father’s servants, get rid of him while I was at it too, so that it would only be the two of us.”

There was a lot of Astarion’s usual brand of callousness in the sentiment, but Wyll couldn’t help being just a little enamored with the idea. “I told you, we can find a house just for us.”

Astarion made a face. “But I want this one! I can’t go out during the day, I deserve a big place to roam around.”

That made some sense, Wyll spent a large chunk of his time at home sleeping; he could just as well do that in a two-bedroom house as he could in his father’s estate. Things were different for Astarion, Wyll didn’t want him to feel cooped up. “You’re right, I’m sorry.”

“You need to stop apologizing for things that are not your fault,” Astarion said, turning towards Wyll, reaching out to touch his cheek. “I get maudlin sometimes.”

“I haven’t given up on a cure,” Wyll said, leaning into Astarion’s touch. “So don’t you, either.”

A corner of Astarion’s lips twitched upwards, his gaze softening. “Right now, I just want you all to myself.”

“You have me, always.”

Astarion’s thumb rubbed over Wyll’s sharp cheekbone, his red eyes roaming across his face, taking all of him in. “Sweet fool, I’m a bad person, I’ll never be satisfied until I’m the only thing on your mind.”

Wyll took his hand between both of his and kissed his smooth knuckles. “I’m afraid I can’t promise that, but you have all of my heart.”

“I’ll just have to keep trying, then.” He smirked, slipping his fingers free of Wyll’s grip. “Let’s see how long your heroic act can hold out against my nefarious antics.”

“Oh, a few decades, at the least.”

Astarion leaned in towards Wyll, coming away from the wall, their lips a hairsbreadth apart. “Darling, I have nothing but time.”

Before Wyll could close the distance between them, a voice traveled down from the balustrade.

“Sorry to interrupt, but I can’t seem to find the bathroom.”

Astarion grunted and pushed Wyll away with a hand on his shoulder. “You let him stay, you go and show him.”

Wyll watched him go with that petulant tilt to his shoulders and wanted nothing more than to push him down into the sofa and fuck the sass right out of him. Which of course was Astarion’s intention.

But Wyll was too familiar with his games, so instead he ignored him and smiled up at Gale. “I’ll be right there.”

---

Dinner was an interesting affair, Gale was very polite and conversational through it all, praising the food, thanking his father’s servants profusely for everything, and just overall being very agreeable company.

Not that anyone would be able to tell from Astarion’s and Ulder’s behaviour.

“Tell me, ‘Gale’, is it common for people in Waterdeep to show up unannounced at each other’s houses for prolonged stays?” His father asked, slicing into his rabbit with such cutting precision it almost made Wyll flinch.

Gale chuckled into his wine. “Certainly, we are a very informal bunch. My mother goes around all her friend’s houses for afternoon tea. Why, when I was a child I had to beg her to allow me to return home to my tomes. She teases me now, that in my old age, I have become more like her.”

“You do look like you have more grey in your hair,” Astarion added, passing Ulder the basket of bread without him even asking.

“And you’re still living with your mother, at your age?” His father’s right eyebrow climbed up over the shiny expanse of his forehead.

That threw Gale for a loop. “Well, yes, much like Wyll is still living with you…”

Ulder scoffed. “Wyll is engaged to be married.”

Astarion nodded in quick agreement. “If anything, Ulder is living with us.”

His father glared at him out of the corner of his eye, but in this brief moment in time they were uneasy allies against a greater foe.

“I’m sure Gale loves the company,” Wyll said loudly, hopefully putting an end to any more cutting remarks. “I remember how often you mentioned your mother, I trust she’s doing well.”

“Oh, she’s doing splendidly,” Gale beamed at Wyll and launched into a meticulous account of his mother’s herb garden.

Wyll tried to pay attention, which proved difficult, because Astarion sitting across from him, kept rubbing his bare ankle against Wyll’s calf. There was the tiniest smirk at the corner of his lips, but otherwise he gave no sign of what he was doing under the table.

Wyll was thinking about their game, he couldn’t avoid it. He wondered if Gale’s presence had ruined Astarion’s plans for the day’s chapter. It was likely that that was partly to blame for his sour mood, but it had given Wyll an idea.

There was a particular chapter he liked for how funny it was, but now he was thinking about the scenario itself. Maybe for once, he should be the one to surprise Astarion.

It was amusing to ignore Astarion’s provocations all through dinner, and reply to his pointed declarations of ‘being tired’ and ‘wanting to retire upstairs’ with a, “go ahead, my love, I’ll keep Gale company a little longer.”

Astarion left after shooting him a scathing glare. His dad followed right after, wishing Gale a good night curtly, and reminding Wyll to be respectful with the person he wished to marry – his face arranged itself in a complicated configuration, as he realized, halfway through, that he was indeed defending Astarion.

Wyll shared some brandy with Gale and reminisced over their months on the road, before Gale too announced he was ready to retire. Wyll waited for him to go to his own bedroom and then went upstairs to his room, unbuttoning his doublet before even opening the door.

Astarion was laying back against the headboard, completely dressed, reading a book that was definitely not ‘Vanir’s Crossed Swords’. He had no reaction to Wyll’s presence beyond a stiffening of his shoulders.

“I’m so glad I can finally get you alone,” Wyll said, throwing his doubled to the floor and approaching the bed in shirtsleeves.

A flash of indignation crossed Astarion’s features, but he had committed to being stoic and wasn’t moving a centimeter, his grip on the book made his bony knuckles stand out starkly.

Wyll wasn’t deterred, he climbed onto the bed, uncuffing his shirt. “Now that your husband is asleep, I can finally have you all to myself.”

He had finally said something Astarion couldn’t ignore. He turned to Wyll with a knot between his brows and his mouth open in the prelude to a question, but a sudden flash of recognition had it snapping closed with an audible click.

For Wyll's money, the funniest chapter in ‘Vanir’s Crossed Swords’ was the one in which a wealthy woman approached Vanir to go with her husband in her stead to an event two city’s over, as his ‘spouse’ since her health prevented her from attending. According to the woman her husband was a lech of the worst quality, and she had only married him for his money anyway, but he at least wasn’t interested in men. She wanted Vanir to accompany him, keep an eye on him, and not sleep with him.

The man was happy with Vanir’s good looks, and extremely disappointed that he couldn’t muster even a flicker of attraction. Throughout the journey he had tried extensively to talk himself into being sexually attracted to Vanir, because he couldn’t bear to ‘waste’ such a golden opportunity, but it was all in vain – to Vanir’s great amusement.

Once at the distant relations’ estate, they played the part of enamoured spouses, and the man preened every time someone praised his young husbands’ beauty. The first night, when they returned to their quarters, one of the host’s single sons, slipped into Vanir’s room, very apologetic about the ‘love at first sight’ that had overwhelmed him.

Vanir amused himself with pretending to be of two-minds about cheating on his husband, but of course he ended up sleeping with the man. While they had sex, he told the man all the ways in which he was better than his lazy, incompetent, husband.

The next morning, Vanir’s ‘husband’ confessed he had heard everything, and the verbal humiliation had made him so excited that he’d had one of the best orgasms of his life. He thanked Vanir for introducing him to the pleasures of cuckoldry, and a few months later, so did his actual wife.

Wyll took the book from Astarion’s hands and set it off to the side. “The way you were looking at me all through dinner, I know you felt it too.”

Astarion raised his chin at him. “I have no idea what you mean, I’m a married man, and I’m faithful to my husband.”

Wyll crawled over him on the bed and nuzzled into his neck, inhaling his perfumed scent with a desperation that wasn’t entirely theatrical. “He ignored you, I saw, how could he do that, to one so beautiful?”

“I’m sure you’re imagining things.”

Wyll’s hand drifted between Astarion’s legs, cupping his hardening cock firmly. “Am I imagining this?”

Astarion let out a strained gasp. “I was thinking about my husband.”

“Tell me to leave, then,” Wyll said, whispering the words into Astarion’s ear. “One word, and I’ll be gone.”

He could feel Astarion’s shuddering breath against his cheek and his cock growing harder under his fingers. Wyll was unsure if he was talking about poor Gale as Astarion’s hypothetical husband, or the version of him that had ignored him all through dinner. Either way, the idea of Astarion cheating with him was making him unseasonably hot.

“If my husband finds out…,” Astarion’s breath hitched when Wyll’s fingers unlaced his breeches and crawled inside his underwear, taking his erection in his fist.

“He won’t,” Wyll kissed the side of his neck, “I slipped something into his drink, he won’t wake up no matter how much you scream, and you will.”

With a groan, Astarion threw his arms over Wyll’s neck and pulled him down into a kiss, licking into his mouth with eager desperation, raising his hips up to fuck up into the tight tunnel of Wyll’s fist. “I shouldn’t, I shouldn’t….” His eyes were closed, and his eyebrows drawn in consternation. “He’ll... he’ll punish me.”

Wyll’s other hand traveled up under Astarion’s shirt to flick one of his nipples, pinching it between thumb and forefinger. “I won’t let him, I’ll steal you away. Do you want that?”

Astarion went liquid under Wyll’s hands, all the tension draining out of him. “Yes, take me away.”

Wyll was overcome with a sudden wave of pained tenderness, he divested Astarion of his clothing slowly, kissing each limb as it was revealed. Astarion returned the gesture, mapping the span of Wyll’s newly bared skin carefully, committing it to memory through touch alone. They kissed languidly on the bed, the scene briefly forgotten. Astarion’s thumbs smoothed down the velvety skin of Wyll’s eyelids, making him smile into each kiss.

To Wyll, Astarion was like one of those prickly fruits whose purpose was to discourage anyone from reaching their sweet, juicy middle, but Wyll always found that great efforts merited great rewards.

Once they were both naked, Astarion toppled Wyll backwards against the nest of decorative pillows and climbed onto his lap. His kisses trailed fire from Wyll’s lips to his neck, his eager fingers teased his nipples into hardened peaks, making Wyll arch up into the touch and Astarion grin against his skin.

“Come on darling, if you want me to leave my husband, you better give me a good reason,” he said, breath slick on Wyll’s earlobe. “Or are you all bark and no bite?”

Wyll bit him on the chin, squeezing his ass with both palms. “The other way around.”

He slicked up Astarion with two wet fingers, using copious amounts of spit, just the way Astarion liked, because it made him feel filthy and virgin-tight when Wyll finally slipped inside of him.

“Bite me, then, leave your mark,” Astarion’s voice stuttered when Wyll bottomed out, his eyelids fluttering in pleasure. “So when I go home to him I have something to remember you by.”

Wyll worried at the skin on Astarion’s neck, one hand on his back over his scar, another hooked on his hipbone, keeping him steady to fuck into. Astarion listed towards Wyll’s lips, his arms tightening over his shoulders, hips rising and falling to meet Wyll’s thrusts.

“I told you I was going to keep you,” Wyll said, his breath ragged, he sucked at the skin, pulling the blood – his blood – to the surface. “But I’ll mark you all the same.” He sunk his teeth into the unblemished side of Astarion’s neck, biting until he heard Astarion’s yelp, followed by a delighted gasp and a curse.

He didn’t want to break the skin, but the desire to do so thrummed under his breast, almost irresistible. He wondered if it was the call of the blood animating Astarion and flushing up his cheeks, making his eyes bright and alert, calling on to Wyll to partake of what he had freely given.

“Do it,” Astarion hissed, eyes still closed, mouth slack with delight. His hard cock was drooling precum all over Wyll’s abdomen, soaking into his pubes and slicking down his thighs. “I want you to bite me.”

Wyll tightened his hold on Astarion, pulling him down hard on his cock at the same time his teeth pierced his skin and a slow trickle of blood burst into his mouth. Astarion went vicious tight and tense around him, his nails scoring crescent moons into Wyll’s back. Wyll lapped at the blood, resuming a slow thrusting motion, almost rocking Astarion in his arms.

He didn’t have the discerning vampiric senses that allowed him to taste the flavours of Astarion’s blood, it just tasted coppery and unexpectedly cool to him. But Wyll drank it down, incensed by the knowledge that he was tasting a combination of both of them.

In a reversal of the first time Astarion ever drank from him, he was the one to tell Wyll to stop, to push his head away so he could look into his hazy eyes and bloodstained lips.

“How do I taste?”

Wyll swallowed, throat clicking. He was having trouble focusing, he was so close to coming, and Astarion was so tight around him, it was hard to form words when the only thing he wanted was to hold him in place and fill him up with cum the same way Astarion had filled him with blood.

“Delicious,” he said, hissing when Astarion rolled his hips down onto him, his lips curled in a pleased smirk.

“Liar, that’s dead blood, bad blood.”

“I’ll take it, and you’ll take me,” Wyll said, thrusting up into his hole, setting a demanding pace that had Astarion’s hair bouncing wildly and their skin rippling where it met.

“It’s no hardship for me.” Astarion’s smile was blissful. “You taste divine.”

Wyll pulled him by the back of the neck into a kiss, sharing his blood with Astarion, in the same way they had often done with his own. He wrapped one hand around Astarion’s slick cock, and chased his own orgasm, pumping into him with abandon, fucking out punched out gasps from Astarion that spilled sweetly into his own mouth, to be swallowed down together with all the spit and blood.

“Now you bite me,” Wyll said, “you feed me, I feed you.”

Wyll came with a shout the moment Astarion’s fangs sank into him, Astarion came a moment later with a gurgling yelp, just as blood started flooding into his mouth, and Wyll twisted his fist on the downstroke around his cock.

Astarion let out tiny, kittenish moans as he fed, growing pliant and loose in Wyll’s arms, melting further into him as blood filled him up. Wyll grew soft inside of him quickly from the blood loss, immediately drowsy and slow. Astarion cupped the back of his neck and lowered him softly against the pillows, following him down until he was laying over Wyll like a blanket.

He pulled away with a contented sigh, pressing soft kisses against the puncture wounds on Wyll’s skin. “Well, I should cheat on my husband more often.”

Wyll chuckled tiredly, kissing Astarion’s chin, which was about the only spot he could reach without moving. “You’re not married yet, and don’t think I missed how eager you were to do it.”

Astarion’s eyes sparked with poorly disguised delight “Are you jealous of yourself?”

“Terribly jealous,” Wyll said, trying to sound grave. “You broke my heart.”

“How can I fix it?”

Wyll pretended to think it over. “You could tell me about the chapter with the bees.”

“Funny you should ask, because, you were going to learn all about it tomorrow.” He pouted theatrically. “I was going to steal you away from the city over the weekend, but Gale’s sudden arrival threw a wrench into my plans, didn't it?”

Wyll rose up on his elbows. “Not at all, he and my father can keep each other company. Where are we going?”

“Just somewhere we can be on our own,” he tapped the tip of Wyll’s nose with a fingertip, “fuck in the kitchen if we feel like it, maybe discuss our own wedding without any prying ears around...” His tone was still light, but Wyll picked up on a hint of trepidation at the trailing end of that sentence.

“I can’t wait, consider me stolen.”

Astarion chuckled, and pulled himself up on all fours to reach Wyll’s lips. “Darling, I’m a great thief, I stole you a long time ago.”

Wyll smiled into the kiss. “Now you have to keep me.”

Chapter Text

They left the house before dawn, when the sky was at its darkest. Wyll left a note for Gale warning him they would be gone for the whole weekend, and that if Ulder’s company became grating Jaheira was staying at her home, and would surely be happy to see him. He ignored Astarion’s grumbling that he had it coming for showing up uninvited.

The carriage Astarion had hired carried them outside the city’s gates, away from Rivington and into the large fields that surrounded it. Wyll held back the curtains with a finger to peek out at the rushing scenery, taking advantage of the late hour to see the stillness of the roads, deserted even of wildlife. If he hadn’t become a Duke, and had taken Astarion adventuring as he had initially considered this would be a familiar sight. A world that stirred only for them.

He found the notion romantic, the two of them and the open road. Wyll remembered his years as the Blade fondly, they could only have been improved by Astarion’s presence.

Their destination was a little cottage overlooking a vineyard, the coachman dropped them and their luggage off with a promise to come pick them up in two days around the same hour.

“Where did you find this?” Wyll asked, carrying one bag across the doorway.

“Asking around, I’m not a recluse you know. I go out after sunset, I talk with people.” Astarion dumped his own bag at the foot of the wooden table and looked around. “It’s...quaint,” he said, in his best diplomatic tone.

“I think it’s lovely.” Wyll left his own bag and went into the kitchen to inspect it. There was a basket of neatly stacked chopped logs by the wrought-iron oven that made him want to bake a pie. “Do you know how to bake a pie?”

Astarion frowned. “Of course not.”

“We’ll figure it out.” Wyll opened the cupboards to see what the owners had left behind and was surprised to find it stacked with fresh produce. The pantry was likewise stocked, and the icebox was nearly bursting with fresh meat and fish.

He turned to Astarion with a frown. “Who owns this place?”

Astarion was all the way across the house, inspecting the bedroom. His voice sounded distant, “Oh, some couple I met at the ‘Blushing Mermaid’, I was asking around for properties outside the city that I could rent and they said they had a country cottage empty.”

“They left plenty of food,” Wyll said, his voice trailing off.

Despite Astarion’s rumblings over the small space and the sun-bleached curtains, the cottage was picture-perfect; almost as if it had stepped out of an illustrated children’s book.

He heard an annoyed grown from the bathroom adjacent to the bedroom and went inside to inspect. He found Astarion looking hatefully at the wooden tub next to the privy.

“We’ll have to carry water in buckets from the well outside.”

Wyll crouched next to the tub to inspect the firepit below its stone basin. “I think we have enough wood for the oven and to heat the water. Our hosts were very considerate.”

“Honestly they seemed glad that the house wouldn’t stay empty during their absence. Maybe there are a lot of burglaries around this area.”

Outside the bathroom’s window, Wyll could see vineyards and further out, pear orchards, stretching out as far as the eye could see. “That seems unlikely.”

Astarion’s expression took on a mischievous cast. “Do you think they’re hiding something? Should we investigate?”

Wyll got up to his feet with a start. “Astarion, we can’t go through these people’s things.”

Astarion clicked his tongue. “We absolutely can, there is nothing but your morals to stop us.” He sighed and reached for the back of Wyll’s nape, scratching the warm skin softly. “But we’ll do as you say.”

Wyll kissed his cheek. “So agreeable, it must be rain.”

Astarion put on a frown for appearances sake and left to handle their luggage. Wyll went around the cottage pulling all the checkered curtains closed, to ensure that when dawn broke the only sunlight that reached Astarion was harmlessly filtered.

They met in the small living room, Astarion pulled him into a kiss and toppled him onto the narrow sofa, climbing astride him. “Alone, at last.”

Wyll ran his hands from the back of Astarion’s thighs to his shoulders, detouring on his ass to squeeze two generous handfuls. “If we put our minds to it I’m sure we can come up with something to keep my father occupied and out the house.”

“Well he is a disgraced politician, they’re usually in high demand.”

“Yes, I maybe wouldn’t use the word ‘disgraced’ to his face…”

Astarion ignored him and barreled on. “I was thinking we could push him back to the Flaming Fist, you know. Have him teach, I don’t know, sword-fight,” he gestured vaguely, his pointy elbow digging into Wyll’s chest, “table manners, overwrought adjectives, and superior glares.”

“The basics.”

“Exactly.”

“I’ll bring it up to him. After extensive editorializing.”

“You don’t support my creative vision?”

“No.”

Astarion let out a dramatic breath and folded his arms over Wyll’s chest, his index finger slipping into the gap between his collar to play with his chest hair. “Speaking of, editorializing, so to speak,” he giggled nervously, “I’ve taken another run at your father’s proposed guest list, and I have, again, removed more than half of his suggestions.”

“That’s fine. I’ll have another talk with him, we’ll have whoever we want at our wedding and no one else.”

Astarion lowered his eyes, maudlin. “You can ask me why, you know?”

“I’m sure you would tell me –“

“That’s just the thing, darling, sometimes I want you to ask.” He sounded fondly exasperated, and sad. It was an old sadness, all its edges sanded off by time, like the rocks at the bottom of a riverbed.

“Does that make it easier to talk about?”

For Wyll things often remained buried until they surprised him by breaking through the soft soil of his subconscious like weeds. He remembered when he was eating a dish with olives and while Astarion talked about their nosy neighbours trying to strike up conversations with his father’s staff, Wyll rolled the olives around in his plate with a feeling of growing nausea. Until he had to get up from the table and rush to the toilet to vomit.

It was only when he returned to the table, and Astarion asked him what had happened, that Wyll realized the olives reminded him of his eye. Of the day he had lost it, and seen it, sickly, outside his own body.

He felt relieved to have said it, to admit that years later the event still disturbed him. But he never sought out these moments. They crept up on him, and Wyll accepted their presence; and their consequences. Every time he ate a dish with olives he was reminded of the episode, but somehow, not eating the olives was worse. Like admitting defeat.

“I’ll still think about it, whether I say anything or not,” Astarion said. “I just...can’t start the conversation, you know? It’s terribly humiliating.”

Wyll took Astarion’s hand in his, smoothing his thumb over the jut of his knuckles. “I know.” The humiliation was a constant companion. Admitting something terrible had happened to you could make you as vulnerable as the thing itself. “Tell me about the guest list.”

Astarion smiled wanly. “I told you about Cazador’s parties, he needed to keep Baldur’s Gate high society entertained and oblivious. Willing to close their eyes at least. Every once in a while he’d throw these lavish parties and he wouldn’t even kill anyone, we would all be on our best behaviour.” His eyes drifted to the corner of the room. “We had to, seeing as we were the entertainment.”

Wyll brushed kissed against Astarion’s knuckles, while trying to catch his gaze. It was easy to infer that many of the guests in his father’s guest list had been guests themselves at these parties.

Astarion pulled at the back of his own hair with an annoyed sigh, which morphed into an anxious chuckle. “I mean, it’s probably inevitable that people wonder ‘why is Duke Wyll Ravengard marrying a whore?’ I would just prefer it if they didn’t think it during the actual ceremony.”

Wyll’s middle tightened painfully, his fingers stilled over Astarion’s hand. “Do you want them dead?”

He meant it. With the Guild and the Knights of Shield at his command, nothing would be easier. Wyll could even envision himself coming up with excuses to justify why they suddenly needed several politicians and noblemen dead – the Emperor would most likely question the tactical merit of large scale assassinations, but Nine-Fingers would be delighted. Jaheira would perhaps have to be told the truth before agreeing, but Wyll knew she had a soft-spot for Astarion.

When Wyll became a duke, he made a commitment that while he might resort to a manner of underhanded tactics, he would always do them in the best interests of the city’s people. As long as he didn’t lose sight of that, he could remain at peace with himself.

But there was no turning away from the fact that what he was suggesting now was entirely self-serving. And yet he would do it, if it brought Astarion even a shred of peace he would do it.

Astarion’s eyes finally met his. His gaze was tender, almost wounded. He ran his thumb over Wyll’s upper lip. “I think that would hurt you more than it would ever help me, darling.” He smiled, his eyelashes fluttered with emotion. “I wouldn’t ask that of you, but it’s enough that you’ve offered.” He sighed, making himself more comfortable over Wyll’s body and bumping their noses together. “Besides, would it change anything? It wasn’t as if they knew I wasn’t there of my own free will. It is humiliating, to be sure, to be recognized by people who saw me in that state, but…” His expression hardened. “Somehow it’s worse if I let it affect me to that level.”

Wyll understood, and was filled with relief that he would not have to test the strength of his convictions against his love.

Better than many, he also understood that sometimes it was better to force down the olives. There was a kind of power in pushing through discomfort and coming out the other side the master of your own body once again.

“We won’t have them at our wedding, in any case. “Wyll said. “My father will have to make his peace with our wedding being a private ceremony and not a public event.”

Worry darted across Astarion’s eyes like an arrow. “Is that wise?” He chewed on his bottom lip. “You are already controversial, about, well, everything. You’ve been Duke for less than a year and have made plenty of waves. This is a relatively easy way to stick to protocol.”

“I don’t think protocol has ever done either of us any good.”

Astarion kissed him in lieu of an answer. Wyll wanted to revisit the conversation before they returned home, but for now they had time. It really was a luxury to be alone with Astarion with no pressing responsibilities crowding his mind; without an ear out for the sound of a voice calling him downstairs.

Their kisses grew heated, and Wyll’s hands started wandering down Astarion’s back. But when he attempted to slip them under his breeches, Astarion got up at once, eyeing the erection tenting Wyll’s trousers with a smirk.

“Not yet,” he said. “Let’s wait for sunset. I promised you bees.”

Wyll picked up one of the sofa’s crocheted pillows and smothered his own face with a frustrated groan. When he took it away Astarion was laughing at him. “You still don’t remember, do you?”

He didn’t. Try as he might he couldn’t remember a single chapter where bees were involved. If Astarion weren’t taking so much pleasure in knowing something he didn’t, Wyll would think he was making the whole thing up.

“It’s such a memorable chapter,” Astarion said, “I have no idea how you could have forgotten it.”

“Maybe you could give me more hints?” Wyll shot him one of his exclusive winsome smiles, but Astarion had seen it so many times he had developed an immunity.

“No, you’ll just have to wait,” he said, and then left.

Part of Wyll was convinced this was payback for springing the previous day’s chapter on him, and not getting rid of Gale.

He did his best to keep himself occupied, he’d brought a book he’d been trying to finish for weeks, but he kept shooting Astarion curious glances out of the corner of his eye. For his part, Astarion was completely enthralled by his latest project, which consisted of embroidering their initials on towels and handkerchiefs. He either didn’t see Wyll’s beseeching looks, or grew adept at ignoring them.

Wyll stopped his half-hearted reading to eat some of the food they’d brought from home, since they hadn’t expected the cottage to be so well supplied. He sat at the table eating cured meats wrapped around cheese slices, all the while wondering how long the cottage could have been empty for, if the fruit still looked so fresh in the basket.

“How long was this cottage empty?” He asked, looking over at the spice rack next to the window, noting the absence of dust.

Astarion looked up from his embroidery. “They told me they’d moved for the city for work a month ago, and then gave me the cottage’s key after I paid them.”

“Someone else must have stayed here in the meantime,” Wyll said. “It’s too clean.”

“Maybe they came up here to clean up?” He shrugged. “I don’t think they would have given me the only key.”

That was perfectly reasonable, but Wyll couldn’t shake off the impression that there was something off about the cottage’s storybook coziness.

After his meal, Wyll took a nap, he wanted to make the most of the night. When he woke up the sun had already set, and Astarion was looking outside the window at the small garden in front of the cottage. He heard the rustle of Wyll moving and turned to him with a smirk. “Oh, I was thinking I’d have to wake you.”

He walked over to Wyll and extended him a hand. “Follow me, darling.”

Wyll took his hand and allowed himself to be led outside. The stars were out, scattered over the firmament like sprinkled sugar. The night was mild and the air hummed with cicadas’ song. But:

“No bees,” Wyll said, turning to Astarion with a grin.

Astarion sighed, long-suffering, and started taking off his clothes. Wyll watched him with interest. The moon’s faint glow limned the sleek angles of his body in silver and threw the planes of his chest in stark relief. Wyll’s eyes roamed freely, taking in the elegant lines of Astarion’s calves as he worked out of his breeches and socks, stepping over the clothes as they fell below him.

Once completely naked, he looked behind his shoulder at the apple tree at the edge of the garden, overlooking the vineyard below. “Do you think it’s sturdy enough?”

Before Wyll could answer, Astarion walked over to push his full weight against the tree’s trunk. “It will hold.” To Wyll he said: “Come now, darling, you too.”

Wyll undressed quickly and without finesse, but Astarion’s heated gaze still roamed over every measure of bared skin with keen interest. When Wyll joined him by the tree, Astarion wrapped his leg around his waist, rubbing their erections together.

“Don’t you remember the chapter with the druid?” Astarion asked, trailing his fingers down Wyll’s nape. “Vanir found him injured in a fox trap, while in wildshape, and of course the man wanted to repay his kindness with sex.”

“Oh,” Wyll said. He stretched out one arm to balance himself against the tree and held up Astarion’s thigh with the other, palming his ass. “I skipped that chapter.”

Astarion gave him a curious look, coloured by the rising flush of arousal climbing his cheeks. “Why would you do that?”

Wyll thrust against him, driving his cock against Astarion’s and into the divot of his hip. A lazy tease that was meant to prolong the moment rather than to build up intensity. “Well, I could guess where it was going. I have nothing against it, but sex in wildshape does nothing for me.”

Astarion threw his head against the tree with a sudden laugh. “Darling, your mind went much more adventurous places than the book.”

That was somehow disappointing to learn. “Oh, that must have upset some people.”

Astarion nipped at his jaw with an amused smirk. “Are you disappointed on behalf of people who wanted to read wildshape sex?”

“I couldn’t have been the only one with that expectation.”

“Well, if you’d kept reading maybe you would have been pleasantly surprised.”

Wyll’s inquisitive “Oh?” turned into a long moan when Astarion wrapped his fist around both their cocks. His touch was perfunctory, but his hungry gaze was fixed on Wyll’s. He gathered precum from both their cocks on his fingers and brought them around. His breath hitched when his own fingers breached his hole. Wyll wished he could see, but Astarion had planed all of this and Wyll was letting him take the lead.

“The Druid wasn’t that predictable, rather than wildshape sex, he got off on his partners pretending to be animals. Vanir was a very, very, good puppy for him.”

Wyll listed against the tree, hiding his face into Astarion’s curls, overcome with a sudden rush of arousal so strong it nearly toppled him.

Astarion chuckled into his skin. “Woof.”

Wyll gripped him by the back of the neck to kiss him, and taking advantage of his distraction turned him around against the tree. He replaced Astarion’s fingers with his own, pushing inside his softened hole roughly, just to hear the catch in his breath. “Good boy,” Wyll said, curling his fingers towards Astarion’s navel. “You’re taking it so well.”

Astarion keened, pushing his ass out against Wyll’s fingers, his spine arched fetchingly. Wyll replaced his fingers with his cock and fucked into him in a single stroke, holding him steady by the waist. Astarion’s mouth fell open in a prolonged moan, he wanted to say something, but caught himself just at the last moment and let out a pitiful, puppyish, whine instead.

Wyll’s head was syrupy with arousal. Somehow this was the filthiest thing they had ever done. He had no playbook, he hadn’t read the chapter and Astarion wasn’t speaking with him. Wyll could only go off the signs of Astarion’s body to confirm he was pleasing him. He reached below Astarion’s waist and found him hard and wet, he stroked his cock only once, before shifting his grip to the inside of his knee and lifting his right leg in the air.

Astarion let out a startled yelp and held on the tree with both hands. He was unsteady, only Wyll’s grip prevented him from losing his footing. “That’s a good puppy,” Wyll said, rasping the words against the back of Astarion’s neck with a grin. “You’re badly behaved, but it’s all for attention, isn’t it?”

He got no reply beyond the fucked out little gasps leaving Astarion’s slack mouth, and the slap of skin on skin, loud in the quiet night. But Wyll felt him go vice-like tight around his cock, his knuckles stark on the tree bark. “You need to misbehave so you can be praised for doing it right. But you’re always my good boy, even when you’re bad.”

Astarion whined again. Wyll wished he could see his face, he bet there were tears gathering at the corners of his eyes. His own hands were growing slippery on Astarion’s skin, he was so hot, blazing from within as if the sun were licking up his back. Wyll lost himself in the delicious squeeze of his body, but his mind was rushing ahead of him, feeding him filthy images of Astarion walking around their bedroom on all fours, tongue lolling out of his mouth playfully. Wyll’s hands stroking his soft hair with casual familiarity, asking him if he wanted to go for a walk.

He hated, hated, when Mizora called him a pup, or mentioned the leash of his pact, then why…

He had no answers, but shame and guilt only fed his arousal. All Wyll could do was trail kisses from Astarion’s neck to the top of his scar in silent apology. His pace grew more intense, Astarion met his thrusts with lilting howls. Wyll wanted him to speak, he wanted him to keep barking.

The noises coming out of Astarion were sharper now, breathless and punched out, signaling an impending orgasm. Wyll felt the telltale contractions of his hole around his cock, and marveled that Astarion was going to cum without as much a hand on him. Wyll kept holding his leg up, so that Astarion came with a sharp, startled, groan, stripping the tree white, marking his territory.

Perhaps there was nothing more to it than sometimes it felt good to be a dog, howling at the moon.

Wyll shed his humanity and slammed into him, once, twice, and then came with a howl of his own, panting wetly against the back of Astarion’s neck, licking over his skin as he filled him up, marking his territory too.

They caught their breaths only for a moment before Wyll let go of Astarion’s leg and pulled out of him. His gaze followed the trickle of cum that slipped out of the reddened hole, almost daring him to chase it up with his mouth. But Astarion’s legs were trembling from the strain of holding himself up, and Wyll missed his voice.

He laid down on the grass and pulled Astarion by the hand, who fell to his knees and crawled over him before settling on his chest.

“That was my favorite chapter,” Astarion admitted, his voice rough. “I wanted it to be outside. That’s why it took some planing.”

Wyll carded his fingers through Astarion’s hair. “I had no idea.”

Astarion sighed, nuzzling Wyll’s neck. “It’s such a relief, to be a dog instead of just called one.”

His logic startled a laugh out of Wyll. “I suppose so. A dog on your own terms.”

Astarion hummed, his eyes half-lidded and drowsy. “With an open air kennel. Much better.”

Wyll tipped Astarion’s chip upwards to reach his lips. “And no one holding the leash.”

They traded lazy, sloppy kisses, open-mouthed and wet. Some dog still in them, demanding indulgence and artless pleasure. Wyll was so comfortable that he was entertaining the idea of sleeping outside, completely naked. As his mind started to drift off a sudden thought startled him awake.

“Wait, where were the bees?”

Astarion chuckled into his chest, and with the sole of a raised foot kicked the tree trunk, making some apples fall around them. One only missed Wyll’s head by a slim margin. “In the book, Vanir and the druid’s vigorous fucking made a beehive fall from the branches. They were attacked, and had to run into the nearby river. That of course led to fucking in the water.”

Wyll clicked his tongue. “No river.”

“No bees either, but it’s the thought that counts.”

Wyll reached out for one of the apples, intending to take a bite, but his fingers sunk in through the soft peel. When he turned to look at the apple, what seconds ago had been red and crispy now looked rotten. A chill ran up Wyll’s spine. He sat up, all sleep gone.

“Star, how much did you pay to rent this house?”

Astarion gave him a smug look. “Nothing at all. Didn’t I tell you, darling? They told me we’d be doing them a favor and that they couldn't possibly accept payment."

Slowly, Wyll turned to look back at the cottage. With the illusion shattered it now resembled a derelict shack.

At least he could be glad they'd had sex outside.