Archive of Our Own

They'd been on the road to Baldur's Gate for a week, the rest of their little convoy having already split away from them, and had settled into an abandoned farm for the evening when Astarion approached. Weston was drawing water from the farm's well, getting enough to fill a washbasin, and the rest were all either cooking, waiting for the cooking to be finished, or otherwise getting ready to turn in for the night.

But this wasn't the north, so even this late in the year the hour was just creeping towards twilight. The last vestiges of daylight cast a warm glow on Astarion's features as he came forward, the sleeves of the comfortable shirt Weston had bought him falling over his hands as he fidgeted nervously.

"I..." He glanced around, as if to make sure no one else was present. "I wanted to ask something of you."

Weston lofted a brow, bringing the latest bucket up and setting it down next to the well so he could lower another. "Yes, my dear?"

Astarion bit his lip. Through the warding bond, Weston could feel the sharp pain of it. "I wanted... heh." He smiled bitterly with a wince, averting his eyes. "Gods, I'd thought this would be easier."

Though it was easy enough to see where this could be going, Weston knew better than to goad him. "Take all the time you need, starlight."

"Well, that's just it, isn't it? I've taken all the time I--ugh." He ran a hand through his hair, exasperated. "I've spent most of my life perfecting the art of seduction, why is it so difficult to ask you if we can have sex?"

"Is that what you want?"

"Dear, sweet Weston, if I didn't want to at least try, I wouldn't have even said anything." He still wasn't making eye contact. "Besides, it... I need to take back control of that part of myself again. Whatever I can manage to get. I want to be able to take pleasure in it for its own sake."

It had been a frustrating few weeks without, Weston could tell. Not for himself, he was old and largely content. But apart from that single moment of you're not dead! Please stop almost dying! desperation they'd had, they really hadn't done much of anything. Astarion had tried, but usually he couldn't get over the hurdle of his own past. 

So, Weston pulled up the last bucket, and set it down in favor of settling his hands on Astarion's shoulders, rubbing at the younger man's arms as he sighed and shrank in on himself. The vampire pouted out of habit, disliking being coddled on principle, but the way he leaned into the contact told Weston it was far from unwanted. If Astarion didn't want to be touched, it would've been obvious. 

"After dinner," Weston told him, smiling as it brought that brilliant red gaze of his back up again and away from their shoes, "and after we have both had a chance to bathe... would you care to join me for an attempt? Under the stars, enjoying what little warmth the year has left to offer?"

"Out in the fields?" Astarion's brows lifted, and he managed a smirk of his own. "Why not in a bed?"

The warrior scoffed. "I cannot say I relish the thought of being anywhere near the bard and Halsin tonight. And you know Gale and Lucian have already claimed whichever bed is softest."

"Hah. Alright. I suppose in that case I prefer the fields over the barn."

"Karlach and the others have claimed the barn. Along with the dog." 

That got Astarion to squint up at him in suspicion. "You planned on sleeping out in the fields anyway, didn't you?"

"Possibly."

"Hah! Ridiculous. You silly old fool." There was fondness even in the teasing, warmth in those blood-red eyes as the suspicion gave way to affection. "Then I might as well steal us some blankets."

"And oil," Weston said. "The good sort that Halsin keeps." 

The distance made a brief return, Astarion looking like he was a thousand miles away for a moment. Then he glanced up at Weston and he was back again, smiling tentatively. "Mm. Of course, darling." 

Softening somewhat, Weston squeezed his shoulders reassuringly. Astarion met the warrior's eyes and offered the faintest nod, relaxing under his hands. It was wordless, a mutual understanding. Love and care communicated through a glance, a touch. It would be alright; they had each other. Even if this didn't work out, it wouldn't break them. Astarion even stole a final kiss before they parted, standing nearly en pointe to manage the height disparity without Weston being forced to bend down. It was sweet. There was just a hint of teeth, grazing without biting down. 

He couldn't wait to see what the younger man might be planning.

---

Dinner came and went. They bathed - separately, to avoid distraction - and Weston found a spot out in the fields that was fallow enough to roll out an acceptable amount of bedding. Of course, he was certain Astarion would bring more, given that they had very different definitions of what an acceptable amount of bedding was, but that was part of the fun. 

Sated and comfortable, the warrior settled down atop the nest he'd made, staring up at the stars. Out there in the middle of nowhere they were less like isolated dots and more like a bright smear across the sky. In Luskan the city was often lit by witchlights at night, enchanted lamps maintained by the Arcane Brotherhood and their ilk, so he wasn't used to the stars being so clear. 

"There you are," that smooth, familiar voice said. By the time Weston looked up, a thick blanket was already being draped over him, followed by a heap of pillows falling next to his head. "Honestly, what would you even be doing without me? You'd probably think sleeping on a bed of rocks was perfectly acceptable."

Weston chuckled softly, allowing the vampire to drop down to his knees and start positioning pillows and bedding as he wished. "'Tis nothing I've not endured in the past."

"And people think I'm the beast of this relationship." Astarion flashed a smile, genuine in a way that was almost shy beneath the teasing. Even after the bath, he'd still gone back to his comfort shirt; he made sure to tuck an extra pillow beneath Weston's head for good measure, cold fingers brushing the warrior's cheek. 

Would catching his wrist be a step too far? Uncertainty stayed Weston's hands as he told himself he was content to watch for the time being. "You shall have ample time to tame me then, I think," he said. 

Astarion blinked, then let out a huff of a laugh, pulling the blanket over himself and settling so that his head was resting on the older elf's chest. "I... I wanted something rather different tonight, actually." He pressed himself close, as if doing so would help him to leech more of Weston's warmth. "Foolish as it is."

"If there is aught you need of me, then you need only ask," Weston told him. One arm lifted enough to settle over his shoulders, to tuck a few errant strands of white hair behind the delicate point of an ear. 

A furrow formed in the vampire's brow. Slowly, he pushed himself up onto his hands, fingers bunching in the bedding of their little nest; Weston let his arm fall away to allow for it, hitting the soft surface with a quiet thump as Astarion peered down at him. 

There was just as much uncertainty in the vampire's gaze as Weston felt about touching him. 

"Then..." He trailed off, ducking his head. "Then I want to get to know you. I feel as if I've only scratched the surface."

"You know me better than most."

Astarion scoffed. "I don't even know you as well as Jaheira does." He shifted his weight onto one hand so that the other could cup Weston's scarred cheek, running his thumb over the harsh lines that had been cut into the warrior's face. "What caused this, for example? You offered an overview, but not the whole story, I'm sure."

"'Twas a dragon, as I've said. Ugly old bastard by the name of Klauth." Weston answered. 

"Yes, yes, the ancient red one you felled." So Astarion had listened. "But what really happened?"

"He was stealing the eggs of other dragons. Accellerating their growth that they might reach their full vitality without the intelligence or experience required to best him, then sapping them of that vitality to fuel his own." The warrior shrugged. "So I kicked the magical device he was using to do it until it shattered, and he flew into a rage and attacked me. Nearly tore half my face off in the process."

"There. Was that so hard?" The vampire chuckled, pulling himself up to kiss that scar, before trailing his lips down to meet Weston's own. "I do like what the dragon's done with it, I must say. Makes for a delightfully rugged, dreadfully intimidating visage."

"If ever we find ourselves in the same part of the hells as that old beast and his five-headed goddess, then I'll be sure to point him out so you can tell him so," Weston replied, amused. 

"Hmm..." Cool fingers skittered downwards to his neck, finding the shallow old garrote scars there. "And this--an assassination attempt, you said?"

"One of many, and part of why I left for Waterdeep besides. The fall of Undrentide earned me the ire of many a would-be treasure hunter and power-hungry mage, as I cared little for the city's riches 'ere I let them be reclaimed by the sands. Some were convinced that I must have brought something with me, and sought to claim whatever phantom trinket from my corpse; one such magus happened to be a red wizard of Thay whom I had met previously, and was offended I did not share the supposedly vast wealth of knowledge with him."

Astarion's fingers paused in their wanderings as he blinked. "You survived an attack by a Thayan wizard?"

"By an assassin sent by a Thayan wizard," Weston corrected. "Red wizards themselves rarely fight using stealth; they much prefer to monologue you half to death before dropping a building on you."

That got the vampire to laugh, warm and bright; his head thumped down against Weston's broad chest as his shoulders shook with it. "Gods, you're ridiculous." 

Weston couldn't help his smile. "You would have me no other way."

"Oh, certainly not." Astarion's head lifted to offer up a smirk, and his hand left the warrior's neck to wander down, down... It stopped just short of going anywhere indecent, slipping under Weston's shirt instead to find a scar along his ribs that had him sucking in a hissing breath. "And this?"

"A fight with a Sharran yuan-ti cleric," he explained, sounding ever so slightly strained. That was one of the nastier ones, old but sensitive at the edges. "She was raising the dead in service to a greater master. I was thoroughly surrounded and had little chance to parry."

Astarion hummed again, tracing the edges of the scar with a slow nod. Soon he was shifting his weight again, sneaking his other hand under Weston's shirt along with the first just to find some of the pocked scarring near his collar. "Here?" he asked, smirking as the warrior sighed into the touch.

"Acid burns," came the low, rumbled reply. "From a trap I triggered. Not all scars are accompanied by fantastical tales."

"Is that how you dealt with traps before you met me?" Astarion wondered, a gleam in his eyes. "You simply let them blow up in your face?"

"Rarely were they anything more than a mild deterrence."

The vampire bubbled up with a light, airy laugh. "And what about locked doors? Chests?"

"Generally speaking, I would hit them until they were no longer a hindrance."

"You're delightfully unsubtle, has anyone ever told you that?"

"I have heard several variations of such a statement, yes."

Astarion sighed, laying his head back down against the warrior's chest with a sad smile. "And yet so many more are from our time together," he murmured. "For all its faults, the warding bond has certainly made me more aware of when you bleed."

"It is not a fault that it leads us both to be more careful," Weston noted. He lifted an arm so that he could run his fingers through the vampire's soft, clean hair. "In truth, I would have many more scars than I already do were it not for Gwenael's intervention. The blame lies less with carelessness or age than it does with a lack of dedicated healing. He was the one who stitched my face back together, in fact."

"Then I shall have to thank this Gwenael when I meet him." Astarion went quiet for a moment after that, simply soaking in the touches as he closed his eyes. He seemed distant again, drawing away to a place where Weston couldn't reach him as he became lost in his own thoughts. Weston had to wonder how dark they were, how grim. The warrior doubted that any amount of effort on his part could change the fact that the walls of Astarion's deepest mental sanctums were soaked in old blood.

But Weston would not force the matter. No matter how much he wanted to hold the younger man tight and never let go. Regardless of how he wanted to bury his nose in that soft hair and murmur a thousand apologies and reassurances and gentle affirmations. He would not break that trust. Not again. If Astarion wanted to let him in, then that was another matter, but there were some parts of the vampire's psyche that Weston didn't dare breach on his own.

"Darling," the younger elf said eventually, drawling out the syllables, "do... Do you trust me?"

The answer was immediate. "Of course." Weston frowned, shifting enough to peer at the vampire curiously. Astarion had dug his teeth into his lip, but not enough to break the skin.

"Then do you also trust me to know my own limits?" he asked, little more than a whisper.

Weston blinked. His instinct was to ask why, but he had a feeling that wasn't what Astarion needed. "I do." 

Slowly, Astarion pushed himself up again, staring down at the older man with those ruby-red eyes of his. "I don't know if I trust myself," he admitted. "But you're waiting for me to ask, aren't you?"

"Always," Weston breathed.

"You have so much faith in me, love. It's daunting. The belief you have is of a sort that most reserve for their gods." The vampire winced slightly. "I'll never understand it myself, of course, but..."

One of Weston's hands touched his cheek, just the faintest brush of scarred old knuckles against soft, cool skin. It was still enough for Astarion to lean into, sighing and closing his eyes. He seemed to savor every touch, these days. The stars overhead were beautiful, but Weston had long since stopped looking at them, arrested by the sight of the elf draped over him.

"...but if you can trust me that much then I suppose I can set some aside for myself as well," Astarion said. "And maybe even trust that asking for what I want isn't going to end in misery and guilt for the both of us."

That longing came crashing back, but Weston steeled himself against it so that all that came out of him was a slow, measured breath, maybe a slight shift in expression. Profound as his yearning could be, he would not let Astarion bear the weight of it. Even that little was enough for the vampire to see through him, however, hands slipping away to take hold of his wrist and gently guide it so Astarion could kiss his palm.

"You're always holding back for my sake," the younger man said, "aren't you?"

Weston drew his teeth over his lower lip and nodded, opening his hand enough to cradle the vampire's face. "I cannot bear the thought of--"

"I know, darling," Astarion soothed quickly. "You couldn't stand to hurt me. And you're a wonder for being that sort of man. But this isn't about that, not really. It's about me knowing what I want."

The warrior managed to relax. "Anything," he said. This, at least, was familiar. "Ask me anything, starlight."

Shimmying up to look Weston in the eye, Astarion offered a smile. Not sharp, not predatory. It was something real, something vulnerable. "What I want," the vampire began, "is to know what I'm missing out on. From you. I want to know every instinct you hold back on, feel everything that you would do to me if you but had the chance." He put a finger to Weston's lips before there could be any protest. "Without so much as a word about how it will be too much."

"Astarion--"

"I want it to be too much, Weston." There was a pained furrow in the younger man's brow, then. "I want it to be so overwhelming that I can't hope to contain it. Not for one night, not for a thousand such nights. Show me the sort of devotion that can bear the weight of centuries. I need to know it isn't all just so many empty words, that I can hand you my heart and you won't ever even think to cast it aside, because the closer we get to Baldur's Gate, the more I--"

He choked on his words, shuddering. 

"I'm afraid," he rasped. "And if your love is all that stands between me and a return to my own personal hell then I need to know just how much there is to work with."

It smacked of a justification. What waited for them in Baldur's Gate was more than simple fear--there was also temptation. The promise of power, if Astarion were willing to reach out for it. But Weston had begged him not to. Pleaded. Shaken to his core, he'd poured his fears out for Astarion to see, and the vampire had backed down from taking up the dreaded ritual in his master's stead. In that context, the request made far more sense: he wanted to know that his decision, weighted as it was, had meaning behind it. That there was love behind it, not simply fear. Enough love to conquer any obstacle and overcome any hardship. 

And that, Weston could do for him. Admittedly the warrior probably would have regardless, since Astarion was actually asking for something for once, but it helped to know that the reason was something more than a desire to please him.

With the utmost care, he moved one hand to Astarion's shoulder and the other to his hip, giving the vampire ample opportunity to squirm away before reversing their positions. He didn't. He gasped, tensed a little, but there was trust there. 

"Whatever you do," Astarion whispered, "don't stop on my account."

Weston shook his head. "If you ask, I will."

Had that been a test? Either way, Astarion was able to relax again, sighing and bringing his arms up to drape around the warrior's neck and shoulders. "I doubt you'll do anything to warrant my asking, darling. ...But I'll keep it in mind, all the same. At the very least, don't stop until I ask, alright?"

"Very well." Care would be required. Care and time. Astarion probably wouldn't appreciate that second part, impatient as he was, so Weston would have to make it good. Good enough to punch through the inherent numbness of undeath.

Because one other thing he'd learned in their time together was that Astarion didn't feel things nearly as acutely as he did. The vampire required effort to please. Effort that Weston was happy to put in, true, and it was certainly a relief that his rough hands and often-bruising grip were appreciated, but effort nonetheless. It wasn't just a lack of sensitivity borne from experience, or a high tolerance, it was cold, half-dead nerves not quite registering things the way they ought to. 

Would that he could breathe life into the heart of the man beneath him. His hands slid down, past the hem of that overlarge shirt so they could slip underneath it, and Astarion arched into the contact with a soft sigh. Weston parted from him then, just long enough to tug the shirt off, only to pull the blanket over the both of them as it was tossed aside so the chill wouldn't have a chance to settle in. By contrast, it was almost too warm beneath said blanket, but Weston knew the warmth was what Astarion preferred. What he needed.

Then the warrior was upon him, hands and lips and tongue and teeth. Exploring, staking a claim. Marking him for any to see. Astarion gasped quietly when Weston dragged blunt teeth over his collarbones, stroking the larger man's hair, but his grip turned painful as those teeth moved lower and latched onto a nipple, pulling a keening whine out of him. 

It was still a little too practiced for Weston's liking, however. He wanted Astarion to be driven senseless by the end of this. 'Twas a delicate dance, but he was familiar with the steps by then. 

He paused in his efforts to leave Astarion's chest a mess of bruises to spit into his hand, sliding it down the front of the vampire's trousers and giving his cock a few careful strokes to test the waters. This earned another sigh, a roll of his hips, fingers in Weston's hair moving to trace his ears. Astarion was cold in his hand, or at the very least colder than most, but some witchery allowed him to get hard still, and he was already halfway there; a promising response, considering some of their other encounters.

A squeeze, just this side of too tight. A thumb pressed to his slit, teasing at it with the blunt edge of a nail. When Astarion jerked, and whimpered, and twitched in Weston's grasp, grip digging into his shoulder and the back of his neck, that was when he knew he was on the right track. The little frustrated sigh he got when he pulled his hand free to disrobe the man the rest of the way--that was real. 

The startled shout he earned after they were out of the way and he took Astarion's cock in his mouth was real, too. He slid his hands over the vampire's hips gently before he took them in his grip, letting his strength be felt as he held the younger man forcibly still, which led to blunt nails raking over his back and shoulders and a bitten-back growl.

It was then that the cursing and praise began.

"Nngh, fuck, you're good at that," the vampire gasped. "Whoever taught you how to - hahhh - suck cock deserves a fffffucking medal, gods above--"

Weston wondered with some amusement if he should reveal that there probably weren't any gods involved at all given that he'd learned how somewhere between the Underdark and the Hells; it was probably for the best that his mouth was busy, his tongue too occupied with earning more of that barely-coherent babbling. He loved feeling and listening to Astarion coming undone beneath him, from the shocked gasps he'd get when he took the whole thing down his throat and swallowed around it, to the squirming and desperate whines when he pulled back to suck on the tip and toy with the skin around it with his tongue. 

He didn't stop. No amount of pawing could shift him or change his pace, and he held those slim hips steady so Astarion couldn't find relief; there was nothing for him to do but take it and hope Weston gave him what he wanted, which was sort of the point of the exercise to begin with. He was finding power in powerlessness by trusting in Weston's devotion to his wants and needs. 

Astarion didn't have to wait too long, though. Weston couldn't bring himself to be that cruel. He could tell when the vampire was close, feeling it in the shivers that wracked his frame, in the way his balls tightened and his muscles went taut. 

"M'close," he warned, breathless, only to jerk and gasp again when all that prompted was his cock being swallowed down to the hilt. "Weston--!"

Was it too much for Weston to hope that none of it would hit his tongue this time? Eh, probably. 

He held Astarion down through his orgasm, every twitch and spasm sending more of it down the warrior's throat. Then for a bit longer just for good measure, pulling back halfway to suck on it for the sake of hearing his shivery little overstimulated whines; a mistake, as it turned out, because it meant some of his spend did end up in Weston's mouth, and he had to pull back then if only to keep from gagging on it. 

With anyone else, it wouldn't be a problem. But with Astarion, it was painfully obvious that he was bedding a corpse. No wonder the man wasn't used to being on the receiving end of such things when the taste alone was a dead fucking giveaway.

Beneath him, Astarion bubbled up with a fit of light, wheezy laughter, shaky hands lifting to pet his face. "Oh, darling, your face," he teased. "If you hate it that much, you don't have to partake, you know."

Weston hmph'd. "I have had worse." What he didn't say - and what Astarion probably knew - was that this was true of a lot of things and therefore it wasn't saying much. "Did you bring any oil?"

"No, I forgot it entirely, I was too busy fawning over myself in a mirror." The vampire rolled his eyes, already twisting to reach into the pocket of his discarded trousers and fish out a bottle. "Here. Halsin's various alchemicals don't have labels, but I was able to discern the purpose of most of the things in his stash."

Weston raised a brow as he rose onto his elbows to take the bottle and inspect it. It had already been opened; he could imagine Astarion pouring a bit of each bottle's contents onto his fingers to test them, and the mental image was enough to twist his lips into a smirk. "With a method like that, Halsin is almost certainly going to find out that someone was going through his things, you realize."

"Yes, yes, and he's going to think it was the bard and he probably won't even be wrong about it, because Aureus steals things nearly as much as I do." Astarion waved it off, moving to roll over onto his front, but was stopped by Weston's hand on his shoulder. He looked up in confusion, blinking, but something in the warrior's expression made his breath catch in his chest. 

He'd clearly thought Weston was just going to fuck him after that. "Not yet," the warrior said. "You will stay where I put you."

Astarion went stiff, sucking in a breath; he swallowed thickly and nodded, letting his hands fall back to their nest of stolen bedding as his eyes darted away. "I--yes, of course."

Oh. He'd taken it as a command. That... that wasn't the correct response at all. Setting the bottle down, Weston crawled up the length of the vampire's body to kiss that sharp jawline, his arms wrapping around the smaller man's slim waist. He kept dusting feather-light kisses down Astarion's neck and back up again, careful and sweet, until he felt the vampire relax with a slow, shuddering exhale.

"I didn't tell you to stop," Astarion mumbled.

Weston nuzzled into his neck. "Do you want to keep going?"

Another unsteady sigh. "...Yes. But don't--"

"Don't give you orders," the warrior guessed. Astarion nodded against him, cool hands back returning to their idle wanderings. Those hands were never quite still whenever the vampire was relaxed, always touching. They were one of Astarion's more reliable tells.

But he could also tell the younger man was still deep in his own head, so it seemed more reasonable to Weston that he should stay where he was just so Astarion would have stable to anchor onto; instead of continuing to use his mouth like he'd intended, he slid his hands down to pull Astarion's legs up around his waist so his fingers would have room to explore a bit lower. It was less practical, but more intimate than simply folding the younger man in half, and intimacy was what Astarion seemed to need at that point.

True to his word, the contents of the bottle Astarion had procured were slick and even a little warm on Weston's fingers, either through some enchantment or an alchemical reaction. When he rubbed his fingers together, there was even a very, very faint tingling that had him wondering just what in the sweet hells Halsin might secretly be into, but he shoved that thought away as quickly as it came because it meant imagining what the bard might be into, and he'd rather not think about that ever again. 

He went to rub two slick fingers against Astarion's tight entrance, and those legs immediately tightened around his waist, forcing him to pause once more.

"Astarion?"

"Sorry, sorry, it's just--" A nervous laugh dragged its way out of the younger man. "This's the longest it's been since I've done this in a very long while--"

Weston scoffed. Again, it wasn't a demand that he stop, so he didn't. His fingers massaged the area until Astarion was able to relax, patience unwavering. "I will do my best to not think about the implications of such given that it's only been two weeks," he said, smiling to himself.

Astarion's head thumped back against their stolen bedding, fingers tangling in Weston's short hair as he hiked a leg up higher to make room. "I don't really care to think about it at all," he admitted. "About anything, really. I'd much rather leave that up to you at the moment."

The warrior kissed his neck, pressing a finger inside and feeling the sharp pain of Astarion biting the inside of his own lip through their bond. "Then I shall do my level best to not ask any more thoughts of you, save for one," Weston breathed against his ear.

Another chuckle. "Yes, darling...?"

"How much do you think you can take?"

This time, Astarion bit down on his own lip hard enough to draw blood just to muffle a groan; Weston could taste it in his own mouth. "More than you'd think," the vampire ground out. "Do your worst, hero of Neverwinter~"

Weston growled, shoving another finger in, relishing the choked gasp he earned when he curled both at once. "Brat."

"Well you are going a bit slow, and I--oh--" Astarion's voice cracked with that last little moan, his hips rocking as if it would help push him further onto the long fingers massaging his insides. "Fuck, it's actually--mmh--!"

"Isn't it just?" Weston could feel the tingling warmth through his fingertips. It would be downright heavenly to feel it all the way down the length of himself later when he finally buried his cock into the silken tightness his hand currently occupied. He would have to thank Halsin later. "Too much?"

The vampire let out a laugh that sounded almost like a sob. "Gods, no. Keep going. Don't stop, don't..." A shudder tore up his spine when a third finger was added. "...don't you dare fucking stop, I'll rip out your fucking throat--"

"You wouldn't." Twisting, spreading, curling again. For once the warding bond was useful, letting Weston feel the burn of it, allowing him to know exactly when Astarion had relaxed enough for more. Enchantments like that didn't exactly discriminate between being run through with a sword and getting fisted. Weston was half-tempted to use the tadpoles to link their minds, just to share in it, but he knew for a fact he that he wouldn't last if he did that.

So he contented himself with Astarion's reactions for the time being, drinking in the way the vampire arched with another shout when three fingers became four, working in past his knuckles. He'd done this much with Astarion before, with the vampire trembling on top of him then, wracked with shivers and nearly sobbing with unexpected pleasure. But after a while Astarion had grown distant, numb. Weston hadn't known it at the time, but he'd come to understand later that people wringing orgasms out of the man just to hear him beg was probably nothing new.

What was new, was having kindness go hand-in-hand with it. "You're doing well, starlight," Weston murmured, earning a whimper and a painful grip in his hair. He chuckled, kissing the younger man's face as he pressed his knuckles right against where Astarion was most sensitive. "Absolutely perfect, my dear, that's it..."

"Oh, gods..." Soon Astarion was clinging to him, locking narrow legs around him as tightly as possible, all while practically riding his hand. Both their backs were going to be a mess of scratches from the warding bond tomorrow. "Weston..."

Weston shifted his weight enough to take the vampire's cock in hand, squeezing at the same time that he massaged Astarion with his knuckles deep inside. "Go on."

Astarion wailed. His muscles clenched, his body jerked, and he sobbed through his second peak, his hips twisting like he wasn't sure which sensation he wanted to push himself towards or get away from. His hands were everywhere, pawing, scrambling, grasping wherever they could find purchase as Weston worked him through it until he wrung dry and whimpering. 

Just like it was Weston who eased him down from his peak, lips tracing the contours of his face, hands slipping away to end up planted in the bedding to either side of the man. "Alright?" the warrior breathed.

"Mmmhm...~" came the shaky reply, followed by an airy giggle. "I'm shocked there haven't been any poems or sonnets written about your hands by now, darling...~"

"If there have been, I've not paid attention." He mouthed along Astarion's cheek, following the line of it to a delicate ear; there was a non-zero chance that the vampire would go after his ears after - with fangs, at that - but it was worth it for the soft, pleased sigh he earned by nibbling there. "Can you manage one more?"

"Hah!" Astarion's fingers found his hair again, tangling themselves up in the short strands. "Are you trying to kill me?"

He pulled back to look the younger man; Astarion was relaxed, smiling. The happiest and most sated he'd looked in weeks. If this was it, then it would be more than enough. "You don't have to."

The vampire hummed, head falling back. "What would you do if I agreed to it?"

"I would tie our thoughts together, as before," Weston said, "and I would take you. Slowly, and with great care. So that we would both be lost in the heat of it, and in each other, until we consumed each other's every last waking thought."

"Gods... Usually when someone talks dirty to me, they just tell me how much they want my cock. Either that or they're decidedly overestimating their talent with their own." Astarion's expression went soft, fingers toying with the warrior's hair. "Go on then, love. Let's see your words put to the proof, hm?"

Weston grinned at that, and leaned down to steal a brief, sharp sort of kiss before pulling back. "Roll over for me?" 

It was a question this time, not a command. But Astarion chuckled and moved to obey regardless, as Weston reared up to start peeling off the last of his own clothes. "You really want to see just how deep you can get this time, don't you?"

"If you would rather we do something else--"

"Oh, don't mistake me, darling, I'm all for it. Less strain on the both of us." Astarion arched his spine in such a way that it made it look like he was presenting himself, and he let out a pleased hum when Weston's somewhat cleaner hand settled on the curve of his lower back, thumb pressed to a divot near the base of his spine. His scars shone faintly in the moonlight. and once Weston had properly disrobed, he bent to kiss them reverently while the vampire rocked into his grip. 

He poured a bit more of the oil over his length and had to bite back a groan as it settled over his skin with that tingling warmth, giving himself a few strokes just to spread it evenly after he'd set the bottle down. "Ready?"

Astarion closed his eyes, bowing his head with a steadying breath. "A moment, darling. You forgot something." Weston paused, squeezing his hip as a sort of silent confirmation. It soon became obvious what he was doing when a squirming feeling began in the warrior's skull, causing him to briefly wince. Astarion's consciousness always seemed to grasp in the dark for a moment at first before Weston acknowledged it, but soon enough they'd latched onto each other, pulling each other in until--

Weston gasped, falling forward to bury his face in Astarion's neck. The set of senses overlaid on top of his own made it feel like every point of content was magnified, doubled, feverishly hot compared to the vampire's much colder baseline. Most of Astarion's other senses were dulled - even his arousal was more of a simmer, muted in contrast to what Weston knew - but the warmth of life was something he felt acutely. It was surreal, knowing that it was Weston's own heart the vampire was listening to, blood thrumming through his veins, but comforting to know Astarion paid attention to it so closely, even then.

And it was little better for Astarion, so unused to the myriad sensations of living, to be so immersed in them in turn. It created a feedback loop of pure want between them, a need to feel each other. Before he had even processed it, Weston had wrapped his arm around Astarion's chest from behind, pulling him close with a firm grip on the lean muscle of his shoulder, while Astarion pressed back almost unconsciously with a quiet whimper. 

Hells, they hadn't even gotten started yet.

"Then we'd best be about it," Astarion grit out, rocking back. It wasn't even a shock that he'd responded to an unspoken thought aloud. "Stop thinking about it and fuck me."

The first push inside nearly undid Weston on the spot. His other hand smacked against the bedding, clenching against the fabric as he fought to keep himself upright through the dual feeling of slick, tight, tingling warmth and burning, stretching fullness. He heard a moan but wasn't entirely sure whose lungs it'd been dragged from. For all the struggles the tadpoles had put them through, this was more than worth it.

Astarion wheezed a laugh. "Isn't it just...?" His voice was more of a purr than anything, low and rasping. He rocked back and Weston bit his lip to stay silent as a few more inches sank in. "You really do love this..."

Weston nodded quickly, beginning to move his hips in a slow, deliberate grind that sent shivers through both of them. All the smart quips and teasing fled Astarion's mind as he was briefly lost in the feedback loop of it; Weston had no idea how he'd been able to withstand it for even that long. If their positions were reversed then the warrior might very well have been begging. 

But he didn't need to beg when he was the one in charge, so instead he pushed deeper, easing a little more in with every surge forward. For Astarion it was a searing heat deep inside that kept forcing its way in further, splitting him open in a way few had ever managed, and for Weston that feeling blended with every inch of him being squeezed by muscles soft as silk. It left him panting against Astarion's shoulder by the time he'd worked his way in to the hilt, clinging to the younger man tightly and pressed flush against him. 

Astarion shivered as he adjusted, and Weston felt it rattle its way through the entirety of his lean frame. He was panting, letting out soft little sighs with each breath, and his thoughts were scattered, fleeting things. Even when the frantic, overwhelmed cadence of those thoughts eased and they managed to be more coherent than hot and full, Weston was warmed by the wonder radiating from them, and how unused to it all Astarion was. Not the sex itself, but the differences between this and what he knew before that he clung to most tightly. 

The things Astarion marvelled at told Weston a great deal about just how poorly he'd been treated up to this point. Perhaps more than the vampire meant to reveal. Even so, Weston trailed kisses over his shoulder, over the side of his neck, soothing him.

"Good?" the warrior breathed against that cool skin once they'd both settled.

Astarion nodded. He twisted enough in Weston's grasp to press his lips to the older elf's jaw, letting his teeth graze over the skin there; Weston managed to catch a fleeting thought tinged with amusement delighting at his patience and restraint. It was the sort of thing Astarion would never casually say out loud. A sweet little aside that was far too fond to get to see the light of day. "And you?"

Weston huffed a laugh. "Even better." He started rolling his hips in a deep, slow grind, and would've been tickled by how quickly it managed to shatter Astarion's ability to think if it hadn't done the same for him. Gods, this wouldn't take long at all. Not when he could feel every sharp, oversensitive twinge that Astarion could. Not when chasing down his partner's looming peak meant the same thing that seeking out his own did. 

He wasn't consciously aware of speeding up. It didn't even occur to him that some of the broken, fucked-out moans he was hearing were his own. Their connection blurred the lines between them, mixed their thoughts together, their very selves. He only barely registered that his grip on Astarion had turned bruisingly tight when he felt the ache of it through the vampire's own nerves. 

Yes, their merged selves thought, yes, more, just like that, harder--

Both of them cried out in unison, each feeling the other's orgasm roll through them, drawn out even longer as the pulsing waves of one fed into the continued spasms and twitches of the other. It was Astarion who cut the connection between them with a sob, just as Weston had been able to feel the beginnings of a wet sort of burning in the vampire's eyes; it was so abrupt that the warrior gasped, disoriented, having to take a moment to gather his wits even if he ignored how his lungs burned from lack of air.

Another downside of vampirism: whenever they melded together like that, Weston had a tendency to forget that he needed to breathe.

In his arms, Astarion was shaking. Even pulling out of him earned an overstimulated whimper, a cold hand briefly fumbling for Weston's nearest wrist to squeeze it; the warrior shushed him, soothing him through the aftershocks with soft kisses and blanketing him with the solid warmth of simple body heat while pulling the blanket back over the both of them. Weston's sweat was quickly cooling on his skin, and he imagined it must be much worse for someone who already ran a bit cold.

"'ve got you, starlight," he murmured. He felt Astarion relax, and took the opportunity to shift them both to lay more comfortably on their sides. He had the distinct impression that few people ever bothered to care for the vampire in the vulnerable moments afterward, before this. 

Once they'd settled, they spent what could've been seconds or minutes or close to an hour just... Laying there. Catching their breath. Clinging to each other. Who knew when they'd get another chance? Baldur's Gate was on the horizon, mere days away, and therein lay demons the likes of which even Weston had little experience with. Cults devoted to false gods using powerful men like pawns and Netherese magic were one thing - even an elder brain wasn't anything new - but combining it all? Even depressingly familiar as all the individual elements were to an old adventurer like him, he didn't relish the thought of facing everything that awaited him at once.

After a while he was pulled out of his thoughts by the feeling of Astarion shifting in his arms, twisting to better use his arm as a pillow and curl against his chest. He couldn't help his smile at that, bending just enough to kiss the vampire's soft hair in turn. "Comfortable?"

"Mm," came Astarion's response, followed by a sigh as he closed his eyes. As loose-limbed and contented as Weston had ever seen him. "A bit sore and sticky in places, but I'll live."

Weston chuckled. "I take it my performance was adequate then."

"More than adequate, darling." Cold, delicate fingers found his jaw and tipped his head down further so that Astarion could steal a fleeting kiss. No fangs, no blood. Just a brush of lips so soft and tender that it nearly felt illicit in itself. Too sweet to be allowed by half, under any other circumstances. "Though, perhaps a bit much to be something we engage in with any regularity."

"Then we shall have to settle for declaring our affections for each other in more mundane ways," the warrior replied, low and rumbling.

Astarion grinned in an utterly un-self-conscious display of sharp fangs. His hands were wandering again, fingers thoughtlessly dancing along Weston's skin. "What a terrible burden."

"Yes, however will we cope," Weston deadpanned. He found himself grinning too when his words earned a bright, airy laugh. How anyone could bring themselves to hurt the beautiful creature in his arms was beyond him.

"I'd say it's certainly worse for one of us, but I know how much you adore hearing it," the vampire said. There was a softness in his eyes when he looked up again. "I do love you, you know."

Warmth bloomed in Weston's ribs, and he found himself clinging that much tighter, moving to bury his face in Astarion's hair. "...just once more."

The younger man huffed a laugh. "I love you."

Weston closed his eyes, letting out a slow, shaking breath. Those cold hands were grazing his sides by then, petting him comfortingly. If that alone had been all he'd gotten out of the night, it would've been enough. "You are far too good to me, my dear."

"The feeling's mutual," Astarion teased. Then, more softly, "...I don't think I could bear treating you poorly, these days."

"So long as you do not treat yourself poorly in your attempts to avoid it."

"Hah. Oh, my sweet old fool..." He tucked himself in closer. "I doubt you'd let me get away with that anymore."

The warrior smiled. "Not easily, no. I love you far too much for that."

"I know, darling." Wandering hands returned to their gentle petting long enough to soothe. "I know."