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Astarion had a plan. He had a nice, simple plan. And one he thought was going rather well so far—better than even he anticipated. One that the bloody monk (pun intended) was too thick-skulled to ever catch onto. Men like him were not especially complex creatures: they liked to feel in charge, their party’s dear monastic brute even more so due to losing his memories and, well… certain proclivities “beyond his control”. And if there was one thing Astarion could provide, it was the illusion of being under one’s command. Their arrangement was simple, unspoken, and mutually beneficial: Finn got to feel like he wasn’t spiraling out entirely, and Astarion, well, his place in the party was mostly cemented and secured. He thinks. He hopes. He never could quite get a read on the inner workings of the monk’s mind—all that meditating, or something—but he could tell how he made him feel, and that was really the best he could hope for at the present moment. As long as Astarion’s gaze could cause the other’s to glaze over, he would have one foot in the door. And their arrangement wasn’t exactly unenjoyable either. Their chemistry, while orchestrated masterfully by Astarion, was, surprisingly, not faked in the slightest. Though his intentions might’ve been questionable, he was pleased to discover that his actions never felt forced. He looked at Finn across their camp now, the sleeves of his shirt rolled up past his forearms, those oh so broad shoulders as he bent down to arrange his sleeping roll on the hard, cracked cement ground of the least haunted-looking ruins they could find in this part of the Shadow-cursed Lands. Three, no, two and a half brick walls around them, with a fire between their tents and the exposed surroundings, and the moon lantern propped into the dirt to illuminate their camp. Still, they had arranged a watch system once they ventured out from the protective veil shielding the Last Light Inn—though Finn was exempt from doing so alone after the whole bard situation. Naturally, Astarion had volunteered to take his shift with the monk—less work for him and far more entertainment—quickly waving off a protest from Karlach who rolled her eyes knowingly but huffed in resignation as she marched off to her tent, too tired to put up much of a fight. As the rest slept soundly, Finn sat near the fire, staring into its crackling flames, orange light illuminating the dark waves of hair falling around his sharp features. His posture was tense, shoulders hunched inwards, brooding sighs escaping the man every few minutes. Astarion watched him from his perch outside his own tent, tsked to himself as he watched him sigh again. Decidedly over the melodramatic display, he stands and brushes the dirt off his pants and makes his way over to the other man.
“And what murderous thoughts are plaguing our dear leader tonight?” he asks, slight smirk on his face as he sits on the roll next to Finn.
“Astarion,” he states flatly in response. Finn’s eyes stay trained on the fire, his voice gruff after not using it for the better part of the evening. Their last fight had drained all of them quite a bit, everyone forgoing dinner to rest up instead. Astarion’s own body ached with bruises not yet formed and phantom cuts quickly healed by their resident cleric.
Astarion studies Finn’s face, the crease between his brows, full lips dragged downwards in a frown much too serious for such lovely features, the faintest freckles dotting over high cheekbones.
“Really, darling, we ought to go hunt down something for you to carve up if you’re feeling that morose,” Astarion suggests with a flippant wave of his hand, only half-teasing. “A lone Harper, perhaps. Maybe a Flaming Fist lost in the dark?”
Finn looks at him then, finally, Astarion thinks, but his expression is one of annoyance. His green eyes glare at him, but there’s little malice in them, only frustration with himself, it appears.
“That’s not funny, Astarion. You know I can’t control it,” he scoffs. Such a drama queen.
“Right, right, I forget it’s entirely different from my feeding on the blood of innocents. There’s absolutely no pleasure for you to be had in these gruesome affairs of yours,” Astarion shoots back with a leveling stare, one eyebrow raised. “My dear, you forget with whom you’re conversing. I know hunger when I see it.”
Flames dance off his eyes, reflecting the fire burning only a few feet away, now burning into Astarion. And that, that he can work with. Astarion places a measured, reassuring hand on the man’s thigh, acting out a too well-rehearsed attempt to placate the flames, both of them knowing he’s truly stoking them. Finn’s glare blazes hot as his hand darts out to grab him around the wrist and snatch Astarion’s hand away.
Astarion thinks that had he a pulse, he’s sure it would be picking up speed right about now. He swallows down the rush, excitement and decidedly not nervousness, that’s threatening to crash over him.
“Maybe if you hadn’t missed your shot, that Shadow-cursed mut wouldn’t have bitten our only cook and we might’ve gotten something to eat tonight,” he stabs back.
Astarion scoffs offendedly, holding a hand to his chest in faux pain.
“Well maybe if a certain blood-thirsty monk hadn’t been pummeling a possessed half-orc so attractively, I wouldn’t have been distracted,” Astarion humphs, yanking his wrist out of Finn’s grasp and crossing his arms, looking at the fire like a pouting child.
“The things that twisted brain of yours finds attractive,” Finn mutters, shaking his head as he turns back to the fire. “You concern me, you really do.”
As long as you’re still paying attention to me, Astarion thinks before he can catch himself. He freezes up a bit in response to the thought, half-concerned he’d actually said the words aloud. Pull yourself together, you fool.
Finn, infuriatingly never as dense as Astarion pegs him as, of course somehow notices this faint, barely perceptible change in demeanor, seems to try to say something that would almost certainly break this careful dance, snap them both out of it, make things far too real for Astarion to maintain any grip of control over. He quickly straightens up, masking whatever that was with a facade, turns the charms up several degrees.
“Do you want to hear more about what this twisted brain of mine finds attractive?” Astarion purrs in his ear, leaning in with half-lidded eyes and a smirk painted on his face.
Finn exhales, the slightest shake to his breath. He turns his head, one eye glancing at Astarion, swallows as Astarion’s eyes track the movement of his throat. His gaze traces back up, slowly, stopping only for the sweetest, brief moment at the other’s lips, then meets green eyes again, pupils the slightest bit dilated.
Finn pauses for a moment, eyes scanning Astarion’s, dropping down, back to the fire, seemingly needing a moment of contemplation but Astarion thinks no, don’t stop looking at me. Only look at me. A sudden desperation overcomes him as he grabs onto Finn’s face a bit more frantically than he meant to with pale hands, turns his head back to him, eyes suddenly wide and he can feel his mask slipping, expression giving far too much away. He tries to play it off, again, what is wrong with me tonight? tries to paint over it with an unconvincing look of simple desire, of something, anything other than the rising anxiety he feels, but Finn seems to have caught on, his eyes steady with recognition and it burns into him, Astarion's hands faltering and dropping down to his lap, the vampire quickly averting his gaze. He feels that same wave of embarrassment, unable to be quelled this time, crash over him. Swallows it down, tries to catch the breath he doesn’t even need trapped in his chest. He feels ridiculous, completely caught off guard by his own, what even was it, bashfulness? Shame? Feelings, god forbid? He can hardly remember the last time he felt shame, or at least the last time he admitted it. He slowly looks up at the other man, movements still in front of him. Oh gods. Finn looks at him like a small creature caught in a trap. He hates it, he hates that look, goes to clear his throat and stand up, refusing to further debase himself, but the monk catches his arm again with much-too quick reflexes, yanks him down harshly from his half-standing position. The other man’s face is being twisted into something piercing and not the smallest amount evil, a wide smirk spreading across his face normally only reserved for his unfortunate victims—one of which Astarion is certainly starting to feel like—when his mind is clouded by those violent, deadly little urges of his.
“Careful, pet,” the word comes out almost venomously, one of Astarion’s own terms of endearment thrown back at him in a cruel twist of fate.
“You’re normally so careful with that mask of yours. Is something causing it to slip?” Finn taunts, intruding his space, hot breath hitting his cold skin in a way that sends shivers down his spine. Astarion is frozen, can almost feel a phantom heart beating erratically out of his chest as Finn leans closer, too close, his arm still caught in his firm grasp. He leans back for space, air, something, but Finn follows, chases him until Astarion is half-lying on the ground, knees bent over uneven, broken cobblestone and hardened dirt, legs splayed out awkwardly as the other man hovers above him looking far too amused.
Astarion wracks his brain for something to say, stammers out a pathetic “w-whatever do you mean?” that he knows neither of them buy into. He gulps nervously, fake laughter dying on his lips. Try as he might, he can’t seem to tear his eyes away from the green ones boring into his, hypnotized like prey lured in by a predator. Finn leans in closer, crawling over him and pinning both his arms down, and lowers his face past Astarion’s, breathing him in and nosing at his neck. Astarion can’t tell if he’s relieved to finally not have those eyes searing into him or if he needs them back on him right this second. He lets out an exhale as Finn traces a line with his lips from where his pulse point would be all the way up to the junction between his jaw and ear, slowly, tauntingly, and Astarion can still feel the psychotic grin on the bastard’s face.
“Maybe you’re right, hunting does always stir something in me,” he smiles into the shell of Astarion’s ear and the vampire shivers beneath him.
“Especially when they don’t know they’re being hunted,” he presses a kiss to his ear, chaste, almost sweet, before biting at his earlobe sharply, pressing the thin skin between his teeth so hard Astarion thinks he feels it draw blood. Astarion hisses as one of his arms automatically tries to reach off the ground, held down stubbornly in place by Finn’s own. He decidedly ignores the heat stirring in his stomach in response.
“Y-you, your-” he tries to get out but the words fail him. All this time Astarion thought he was the one setting the terms of the game, the other knew and was simply playing along. For what exactly, Astarion wasn’t sure. His amusement, without a doubt, but was there something else? He felt something else there, growing under the surface, twisting its way into his own mind, wrapping itself around his thoughts, consuming him. And gods be damned if he wasn’t tempted to let it.
“So sweet getting all tongue tied for me, Astarion,” Finn murmurs into his cheek, emphasizing every syllable of his name, infusing it with something saccharine and dizzying. “Tell me, do you plan on missing all of your shots in the future when I’m around? Maybe we should just keep you here in camp, you can keep the other pets company.”
Astarion exhales in a short, quick laugh. A twist of fate indeed. Finn’s eyes meet his own again, something dark swimming around in them that almost makes Astarion wonder if he’s actually been taken over by the urge again, but there’s something else there too. Something softer that makes Astarion’s stomach do little flips inside him. Feeling unraveled by those piercing green eyes, Astarion caves, lets his mask fall to the side without resistance, just for tonight, he tells himself, unable to keep the same godforsaken softness from finding its way onto his own face and taking over his expression. Finn’s hands subtly move from wrists to Astarion’s own, entangling them together as he leans in and, seemingly almost as a reward, finally, finally kisses him. Astarion kisses back with a passion, sighs in relief at finally letting that thread pulled so tightly between them snap. He squeezes his hands against Finn’s and feels the other squeeze back in return, pulling away to smile down at him, previous signs of mania now subdued and replaced with clear affection. It’s a bit jarring, to be honest—part of Astarion still wants to crawl away, but the other, much larger part is so much more interested to see what happens if he continues to let the man above him unravel him.
“Maybe you can put on that invisibility hood of yours so I can look somewhere else for a change, hm?” Astarion smiles against the other man’s lips.
“Ah, now that would make sneaking up on you even easier. A fine idea, indeed,” the other says lightly before joining their lips together with unmistakable heat this time, the sweetness blending and swirling into something more pointed as Astarion shifts on the hard ground, Finn snaking a hand underneath his back placing a barrier between him and the uncomfortable brick digging into his spine. Astarion smiles and uses the opportunity to bury his now free hand into raven black hair, deepening their kiss as tongues dance around each other, dueling for dominance for just a moment before Astarion happily surrenders and lets the other man ravish him, submitting to his fate.
Finn’s other hand drops to Astarion’s neck as he kisses bruises into his lips, tongue wrapping around his own insistently, almost forcefully, only to flit away right as Astarion leaned into it, the tease. Gods how Astarion wanted him. It’d been weeks in these damned shadows, no fresh blood other than their “off limit” allies, every moment waking or not being on the lookout for ambushes from whatever horrors were lurking in the dark. Amidst all the chaos, Astarion hadn’t realized just how much he missed this, how much he enjoyed this. It wasn’t as though he wasn’t well-versed in the art of pleasure, but this, Finn, was… different. Present moment especially, though he couldn’t quite think about why that was right now lest he runs away from the party in the dead of night only to wind up being taken by the shadows. Previously he had thought he was the one convincing the other man he was in control, but now he finds himself completely ready to throw any real semblance of control he might’ve once had into the steady hands gripping his hip, cushioning him from the hard ground beneath them. He snaps back to the present and lets out a moan against Finn’s lips as the other man grinds his hips into his. He wants this too, kisses Astarion like he means it, not like he’s just another body. Astarion wraps his arm around the other’s neck and pulls him closer, needs him closer and finally stops refusing to admit it, both to himself and the other man. Finn runs his hand up his side until he’s cradling his face, cheek cupped in his calloused hand. Breathless, they pull apart and look at each other, eyes blown wide, a small smile on Finn’s face that Astarion can feel his own mirroring.
“Tent,” Finn says between breaths, “now.”
“Yes,” Astarion exhales as he lets the other pull him up, happily abandoning their cold, dark station without so much as a second thought, thank you, as he’s led back to his own tent.
He lights a candle with the strike of a match as he hears the sound of fabric drop behind him, turning around to see the warm glow of the flame cast shadows on the sculpted form of the monk, chest bare and heartbreakingly lacking in markings. Astarion intends to change that, lest someone else rake their eyes over that absurd exposed stretch of skin his armor foolishly shows off and get the wrong idea. He’s seen it before, seen the way even their fellow travel companions look at him, but no one else gets to see him like this. Only me, Astarion thinks as he closes the distance between them, hungrily reels him in deeper into the tent, lowering himself down onto the pillows scattering the ground and pulling the other on top of him. The heat reignites quickly again, builds, threatens to burn down the thin canvas surrounding them, to engulf Astarion along with it. Finn clearly feels it too as he nearly rips Astarion’s shirt apart in how hastily he tries to remove the garment. Their chests crash together as Finn kisses him into the pillows, hand sneaking down his waist inching closer and closer to exactly where he desperately needs it to go. A moan escapes his lips as Finn palms him through his tented trousers, already hard and writhing needily beneath the other man.
“Please,” he pants in the other’s ear.
“Mm, please what?” Finn coos, fiddling teasingly with the drawstring of his pants. Pressing small, much too chaste kisses against his lips one, two, three times.
“Please anything,” Astarion leans up, seeking out more contact. “Anything if it’s you,” he says quietly.
Finn’s eyes widen, some strange emotion overtaking them for a moment, before he squeezes them shut. He rests his forehead against Astarion’s and exhales shakily before crushing their lips together again with fervor. His hand finally crosses the barrier and reaches inside Astarion’s much too tight trousers, gripping his length firmly and sliding a calloused hand up, thumb gliding over the tip. Astarion moans, feels his hips chase the movement as Finn peppers kisses along his jaw. He can feel Finn’s own hardness pressing against his leg, angles it upwards to feel the other man grind down on him, hot breath sharply exhaling against his cheek as he the other man strokes him with just a bit too much intensity in a way that was so characteristically Finn. The other man wasn’t that much taller than Astarion, but his presence was just so much more imposing. Years of slithering around dark corners and alleyways to lure victims in—not to mention the dreadful excuse for a life he lived inside Cazador's manor—made Astarion selective with the space he took up, preferring to make himself small to ensure a quicker escape should the need arise, but Finn was just bold. Moved like he had every right to take up as much space as he damn well pleased, but rather than feeling encroached on, it actually made Astarion want to do the same. He slides his hand down his muscular back, grabs a handful of the other’s ass greedily, using the movement to grind Finn down onto him and winning a frustrated groan from the younger man.
“Too many clothes,” Astarion complains with a huff, tugging at the band of Finn’s pants. “Please—want to touch you.”
Finn’s hand speeds up its pace around him, angling his hand deliciously in a way that makes Astarion’s stomach coil.
“I thought I could do anything I wanted with you,” the other smirks, “isn’t that what you said?” He smiles with feigned innocence as Astarion’s brows furrow in a mix of frustration and pleasure before leaning back and removing his hand from Astarion for a moment, taking advantage of the other’s temporary distraction to slide off his pants and undergarments in one smooth movement. Finn’s eyes rake over the pale expanse of skin under him, taking in every detail as if he was trying to commit each freckle and each scar to his memory. Much too impatient this far into things, Astarion grabs him and pulls him down to him again, snaking a hand into the back of his pants and tugging them down over the curve of his ass.
“I meant yours,” he grumbles against the man’s lips, kissing them begrudgingly. Finn laughs and pulls his trousers down to his mid-thigh, pressing his still-clothed cock against Astarion’s, gaze dropping down between them to the vampire’s hardness caged against his stomach, precum beading on the tip. His fingers dance over him teasingly, mere whispers of the firm grip he had on him just moments before. Astarion groans and tilts his hips upwards, chasing whatever sort of relief he can find. Finn lets him, watches him writhe beneath him like a god taking pity on a mortal, Astarion’s self control and integrity having been entirely tossed out the window by now.
“My, my. So pretty for me, Astarion. So eager,” Finn murmurs, his voice revealing his own state with the rough velvety edge to it. “Maybe I’ll just play with you all night—what do you think?”
Astarion glares up at him through half-lidded eyes, trying to hold himself back from outright begging. “I think if you don’t fuck me soon, I’m going to start missing my shots intentionally the next time we find ourselves in a fight.”
Finn chuckles at that, “and so impatient, too.” Nevertheless he finally discards his hideous brown trousers, throwing them off to the side to be found later. Or not. In fact, maybe they’ll go mysteriously missing, Astarion schemes to himself. And just as Astarion thinks he’s finally going to get his hands on the other man, rather than resuming his place above him, Finn grabs onto Astarion’s thighs and pulls them apart abruptly, sinking down in between them with a glint in his eye. Astarion feels heat flush over his pale face, completely illogical and almost definitely not actually happening, but he feels it nonetheless, goes so far as to bring a palm up to cover it from the other’s knowing smirk. He doesn’t think he could get a grip right now even if he tried. Gods, how ridiculous.
“Oh please, since when are you bashful?” Finn says as if reading his mind, resting his cheek against Astarion’s thigh and trailing a finger around his length, playing with the silver hair curling at the base. His eyes are searching, waiting for permission spoken or otherwise.
“Since when do you get off on tormenting me? Was there some after effect from your sadistic little lesson with Loviatar that was laying dormant until now?” Astarion quips, trying not to focus on the way Finn’s tongue glides over his lips as his eyes fall on Astarion’s cock then continue trailing downward.
“Weren’t you the one trying to tell me all about the ‘pleasure I get from the macabre’? Besides, torment is such a strong word choice for what I want to do to you,” he says, pressing kisses into his thigh, kisses that travel up and up as his arms pry apart Astarion’s legs further until he’s spread out entirely on display for the other. His pupils are blown out so much they look almost entirely black and Astarion can’t help the shiver that runs down his back looking at the man.
“And what,” Astarion swallows thickly, “might that be?”
“I want to fuck you with my tongue,” Finn states matter of factly, eyes staring right into his like he was just making a suggestion for dinner. In a way, technically, he supposes he was. Astarion chokes a bit, cock twitching undeniably against his stomach. Finn’s eyes take on an ever so amused hue, but he holds eye contact, waiting for Astarion’s response.
“Oh you’re definitely trying to kill me,” he responds. Finn smiles and wraps a hand back around him, stroking him lightly again and kissing at the junction of his thigh and groin.
“Told you already, I can’t control it,” he grins, all too pleased with himself. Astarion thinks with postured annoyance barely covering up his fondness that he looks like he might just be the happiest man in the world in between his legs, and his stupid, cold, dead heart lunges in his chest a bit at the sight.
“And I told you, anything,” Astarion says with a tone too serious to only be about their current situation.
Finn rises up from his position and kisses him with abrupt need, passion and fire and a plethora of unspoken emotion pouring into it and Astarion can’t remember the last time he let foreplay drag on this long, but gods is he fine with it. If anything, he feels relief as waves of the other man’s feelings crash over him with every press of his lips. He almost misses the feeling when Finn lowers himself again, gripping at the fat of his leg possessively as he makes his way down between them.
Astarion feels hot breath on him, feels his stomach swirl in anticipation as Finn presses a kiss to his entrance, then a light, flickering lick against him. He moans at the sensation, feels his legs spread wider of their own accord. Finn’s tongue swirls around his entrance teasingly, licking more sounds out of Astarion. He presses the tip in just the slightest bit and Astarion clenches around him, long fingers burying themselves in his hair, gripping at it in encouragement. Astarion’s brain is a jumbled mess of wet and more and he’s lost focus on just how much of that he’s letting leave his mouth as he feels his back arch and his eyelashes flutter closed as Finn works his way in and out with his tongue, going deeper and deeper each time. His hands grip at Astarion’s ass as he opens him up so sweetly, so perfectly, it’s all Astarion can do to hold on. Finn’s hand sneaks back up to Astarion’s cock and slides greedily over it, pulling out every noise he can from the other and licking them all down.
“Fuck,” Astarion exhales, “feels so good,” he says, raking his fingers through Finn’s hair. Finn moans into him and his stomach clenches, the sound vibrating against his walls as Finn’s hand quickens its pace. He feels himself fucking himself onto the other’s tongue, chasing the sensation and babbling nonsensically for more, please, yes. With his other, unoccupied hand, Finn sneaks in a finger with the next thrust of his tongue and Astarion lets out a loud moan, too lost in a haze of pleasure to worry about anyone overhearing them. Let them, he thinks, as Finn scissors another finger in while driving his tongue in and out, swirling around and licking up his walls as Astarion grinds himself onto him.
“Need you, please,” he begs, voice coming out breathless and needy. “Want to come with you inside me.”
Finn groans at that, arching his fingers up and rubbing them against the spot he’d been searching for and filling Astarion’s vision with stars. Astarion feels his back arch again, vision starts to white out as he loses himself in the feeling, but before he can let go completely he feels a hand grip tightly around his base, pull him back to reality. He blinks his eyes down at Finn in confusion, the other man pulling his tongue out of him slowly while looking right into his eyes. Astarion’s breath is coming out erratically, one of those involuntary responses that serves no real function but he simply can’t help it when the other is looking at him like that, licking his lips and wiping a trail of drool from his chin.
He sits back up and Astarion’s eyes dart down to the straining, thick length pressing against his underwear. He feels his mouth water at the sight, and Finn slides them off with ease, hardened cock springing out and finally on display for Astarion to see, and reaches over to the small chest in the corner of Astarion’s tent for the bottle he knows he keeps in there. Finding what he was looking for, Finn pops open the cap but as he goes to pour its contents onto his hand, Astarion finds himself reaching out, stopping him. Finn looks at him with a confused brow, but stops his movements, scanning the other’s face for any signs of hesitation and waiting for him to speak.
“Let me—you really will kill me if you don’t let me touch you,” Astarion explains, snatching the bottle quickly with characteristically rogue-like dexterity.
Finn nods in understanding, repositions himself until he’s kneeling in front of Astarion. Astarion dumps the oil onto his hand and rubs it together until it’s warm, reaching out and finally getting his hands on the other man. He grips him tightly, rubs the oil down his thick length, swallowing heavily thinking about just how thick it looks with his own thin fingers wrapped around it. Finn sighs with pleasure as Astarion works him up and down with a practiced hand, needing to have his own way with the other man a bit before they lose themselves completely.
“Astarion,” Finn groans, “I’m really not going to last long if you keep at it,” he says between breaths, jaw muscles flexing with concentration. It makes the animal part of Astarion’s brain possessive, and part of him wants to send him over the edge right now, but he’s already been brought so close to the edge himself he truly doesn’t think he can wait a moment longer, so he pulls them both down again with legs wrapping around Finn’s back as he props himself up on his elbows against the pillows. Finn lines himself up, rubbing small circles into Astarion’s hip bone.
“Yes?” he asks, stubbornly refusing to go any further without more confirmation.
“Darling, I want you to fuck me until I scream,” Astarion whispers back, infusing his voice with sweetness and placing a reassuring hand on the other’s cheek. Finn groans at that, pressing a hot kiss against Astarion’s palm, and pushes his slicked length into the warm, wet heat of Astarion slowly, with ease. Much more slowly than he needs to after more than adequate preparation. Astarion impatiently huffs and, with a hand on the other’s hip, guides Finn deeper into him as he feels himself being filled up. A whine escapes his lips as he welcomes in the sensation, feels Finn’s legs shake as he tries to keep himself from fucking into him with the intensity Astarion knows he wants to, wants him to. He grinds his hips downwards onto his cock and moans unashamedly loudly in the way he knows affects the other man and bites back a smile as the man responds immediately with a sharp snap of his hips. Large hands grab one of his legs and pull it up onto Finn’s shoulder, opening him up as the man thrusts into him deeply, stretching him out and making the stars return to his vision dizzyingly quickly. Astarion’s heads drops back with a groan as he bares his throat to the other, feels his arms losing their ability to hold himself up with every thrust.
Finn bends down to mouth at his neck and Astarion feels his leg burn pleasantly with the stretch. He’s wound too tightly from all the man’s prior teasing, can’t possibly last long with the thick cock fucking him at just the right pace. One particularly deep thrust and his arms give out under him, head flopping down onto the pillows as he tightens and clenches around Finn’s length, tries to keep the movements of his hips in time with Finn’s but losing any part of his brain that can focus on anything other than the feeling of the other man driving into him. Finn drops his leg down and lets Astarion wrap them both around his back in an effort to pull him in closer. He obeys and leans down to press sloppy kisses against his face, cheek, jaw, barely able to find his mouth as he loses himself more and more in Astarion’s heat.
“So beautiful, so perfect for me,” Finn mutters in between kisses. “Love seeing you like this, all for me.”
Astarion grips his hair as Finn kisses into his neck, overwhelmed by the shocking amount of emotion he’s let himself feel tonight, threatening to drown him. Of course, Astarion prided himself on knowing how to pleasure others, but his own pleasure was never a priority, and certainly never something he yearned to share with another. Not like this. But Finn—Finn had clearly been paying close attention, knowing all the right ways to drive Astarion completely mad, making him completely fall apart in his arms until he was nothing but a squirming, melting mess for him to have his way with. The worst part is that he trusts him. Or maybe that's the best part. Finn curves his hips and fucks into him at just the right angle, hitting that sweet spot over and over again and Astarion feels the shaky breath fall out of him as pleasure wracks its way through his body, and it’s all too much, the emotions, the body on top of his, the sweet kisses being pressed into his neck like he’s something cherishable. Finn arches his neck towards Astarion’s mouth, uses a gentle hand to guide him down to it in an unspoken offer and it’s all Astarion can do to not eat him alive. He sinks his teeth into the other’s neck, fangs poking into the soft meat like icy daggers as the other man groans, pain mixing with pleasure. The rush of blood, dark and oaky with the faintest taste of cinnamon, courses through him as he drinks him in and feels the wave of white hot pleasure crash over him as he lets himself go, vision blacking out around the corners, moaning unabashedly and pulling almost violently hard on Finn’s hair, feeling the other’s hips stutter into him with a few more thrusts before he finally reaches his climax as well. Astarion feels himself being filled up as he comes down from his high, eyes finding focus again and breath coming out in pants mixed in with the other man’s creating a symphony of bliss. Finn pants into his neck, his cock still twitching inside of him as he lets the afterglow wash over them both.
They sit, wrapped up in each other for several moments before Finn pulls out of him slowly, Astarion wincing slightly at the overstimulating sensation, before proceeding to collapse back onto him. Astarion’s mind faintly registers the feeling of warm blood running down the side of his face still pressed into Finn’s neck and licks it up, hemostatic saliva immediately causing the blood flow to stop. Finn sighs contentedly and nuzzles his face into Astarion’s curls like some ridiculous oversized dog and Astarion chuckles at the mental image, hand tangled in his black locks petting him as such.
“What’re you laughing at?” Finn mumbles into his hair with a slurred voice, almost drunk sounding.
“Nothing, my pet,” Astarion giggles, giving him a pat on the head. He feels Finn’s lips turn up in a smile against him and as much as he knows he’s gone way too far, shown his true feelings far too much, dropped the mask somewhere that might possibly be out of reach when he inevitably needs to put it back on, he can’t quite bring himself to care yet. His hand massages Finn’s scalp and the man practically melts in his arms—it’s nice, Astarion doesn’t think he’s ever seen him quite so relaxed. Actually, come to think of it, he’s not sure if he’s ever seen him relaxed at all outside of his meditations—and even then, his browline was usually still heavy with tension. He decides he likes it.
“Astarion,” Finn sighs, assumedly half-asleep and useless on top of him.
“Yes?” he responds.
“Can you help me keep control? I don’t—I can’t let myself lose control, I don’t know what will happen if I do,” he admits, still and tone sober. His vulnerability shocks Astarion underneath him, jolts him out of his daydream-like state back to their harsh reality. He feels the arms of the man tighten around him and remembers just how young the other is. Still older than most humans who look his age thanks to his half-elven heritage, but boyish in his… innocence. Not a word Astarion thought he would ever assign to someone like Finn, but he can’t think of any other word for it. His stomach churns as he thinks of all the ways Cazador would love to try to destroy it and he feels his arms tighten around him as well.
“I’ll help you, you sweet thing,” he whispers, placing a chaste kiss on his neck. Finn tightens his hold even more at that, but the tension in his back relaxes, and he sighs, apparently satisfied with Astarion’s answer.
They lie there in silence, Astarion playing gently with Finn’s hair, soft breaths synchronizing. Astarion distantly thinks that they really ought to clean up a bit, but he can’t really be bothered to tear himself away from the cuddling—it’s not really something they’ve done before, and Astarion thinks it might almost be worth a bit of vulnerability. He’s about to fall asleep, fairly certain the other man already has, when suddenly a loud crash shocks him out of his position, sitting bolt upright at the same time as Finn who looks at him with equally wide eyes.
“What the hells was that?” he hisses out, both of them quietening down to hear better as Finn reaches for his shirt from his seated position.
Another crash and suddenly they hear scrambling as a voice that sounds like Karlach’s shouts for everyone to wake up.
“I knew it, you slags!” Karlach shouts as they hear her run out of her tent to find the lookout abandoned, the sound of metal clashing as a horrifying screech echoes across the camp.
They look at each other for a moment, horror dawning on them, and scramble to find their clothes.
“Shit, my knife—where is my knife?!” Astarion shouts frantically, practically tripping as he pulls his trousers back on with haste.
“Where the hells are my pants?!” Finn shouts.