Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

Gale of Waterdeep was used to finding trouble.

Or, rather, trouble often found him. Perhaps they were drawn to one another; like two astral bodies bound to eventually collide. Despite Gale being used to the circumstances, he was rather disappointed his companion had been dragged into it with him. The vampire spawn next to him was always tighter than a wire in combat, and Gale notices this state doesn’t cease upon being tossed in the grimy cage they currently reside in.

He is beginning to wish he paid better attention in his classes on Ghukliak at Blackstaff academy as he listens to the Goblins bicker. He is certain he can make out the words "human" and "elf," something having to do with deciding an order (for what he does not know), then everything after that point is a jumbled mess, especially because they begin shouting at one another.

Gale spares a peek at his companion, hoping to see him finding a way to pick the lock to the cage they were currently stuck in or perhaps planning something. Gale's satchel had been taken, and the token of Mystra he used as an arcane focus with it as well. The last fight had also led to a couple broken fingers, no thanks to the Goblin with the mace currently guarding their cage. Damn it all.

Astarion rests with his hands crossed against his narrow chest, one foot tapping irritably against the cobblestones. He’s got his head thrown back, posture feigning an easy nonchalance. The details, however, told a different story; the way his hands gripped just a tad too rigidly, the tension in his shoulder and jawline suggested hidden anxiety. Like a spring wound too tightly, he was tensed to lash out at any moment.

Astarion doesn’t understand a lick of what the goblins are saying, but it feels easy enough to assume. Something something, hostages. Torture or murder. Goblins had no sense of creativity, really.

“Well, I must say this certainly wasn’t where I was hoping to spend the night.” His smile is too sharp, all fangs and curled lip. There’s no use trying to unlock the cage; their cage is surrounded by very nearly a dozen goblins and other riffraff. “I don’t suppose you have any way to spell us out of here, my illustrious friend?”

Gale's brow furrows, "I'm afraid not. They took my spell components."

Gale looks to a high ledge away from the rest of the camp, perhaps he could... no that wouldn't work , he wouldn't be able to take Astarion with him if he misty stepped away. With how bad his knees are, he isn't for certain he could make a run for it to find help either. Besides, he couldn't bring himself to abandon Astarion.

"Currently, I only have 7 working fingers," Gale winces, tearing off part of his robe to tie his broken fingers to more stable ones, "unfortunately, you need all 10."

"Those goblins are arguing about an order of some sort," Gale mutters, trying to listen again, "I can't for the life of me tell what the order is for though. We need to come up with a plan before they finish their argument, I get the feeling we won't like what they're arguing about."

Astarion gives Gale’s fingers a sharp glare, as if they were responsible for the predicament the two had found themselves in. Truth be told, Astarion hadn’t even known there was a finger requirement to casting - which honestly opened up fascinating implications, but he didn’t have the luxury to consider such things now.

“The lock on this cage is rudimentary. I could probably pick it easily enough… but we’re surrounded by guards. We’d never make it through.” Astarion breathes out through his nose sharply, one fang nervously biting at his lower lip. “Really, they ought to realize we’re useless as hostages. The vampire spawn and the explosive wizard. Hardly worth trading for a bottle of cheap wine.”

Astarion snorts, kicking at a rock near his shoe. Though he tries his best to remain appearing unbothered, there’s a nervous restlessness to his person.

“If I’m honest, darling, I think our best option is to do as they say for now.”

 “Perhaps you’re right,” Gale secedes, flustering at the nickname that Astarion had been too fond of using around him. Gale knows he uses it with everyone, and it’s never that he expressed distaste for the term.

Actually… it was rather the opposite . Hearing how naturally it rolls off Astarion’s tongue makes Gale feel something. Something that he isn’t sure he has felt since he last beheld Mystra in her realm. It’s foolish to indulge the thought, especially because Gale has heard him using it on others… but part of him wants to believe, especially since their relationship had begun to take a turn for the intimate in recent days.

Finally, another goblin approaches their cage and begins to speak in common. “Oi, you two,” it spits, Gale remembers from the conversation this one’s name is Bibble, “either give us a show or we’re gonna take the pretty one and use ‘im.” 

The goblin points a gnarly finger to Astarion.

Gale’s heart begins to race instantly. The order, the words he didn’t quite understand, the conversation now. The goblins mean to watch them use one another or to use Astarion for their own pleasure. Gale feels bile rise to the back of his throat. What a foul choice to be stuck with.

Astarion’s poised to make another sarcastic reply when the goblin approaches their cage. His posture goes ram-rod straight, chin tilted up to glare down his sharp nose at the miserable little creature. Not that it’s necessary, he’s much taller than the infuriating things, but he’s used to being smaller than his tormentors.

The horrible thing speaks, and a grim smile spreads across Astarion’s face. It’s more of a bearing of fangs than anything else, really. Well wasn’t this this just fucking typical .

“A bit cliche,” Astarion manages to spit out, his chest and throat feeling painfully tight. “But not wholly unexpected. I suppose I can’t blame them for seeing my charms.”

He pushes off the wall of the cage on which he’d been leaning, sauntering towards the door with hips swinging. If one ignored the tension in his shoulders or the slight tremor in his hands, he looked every inch the unbothered seductress. The goblins and their ilk hoot and holler, wolf whistling as he approaches.

It doesn’t even occur to him that there’s a choice here - it wouldn’t make any sense for Gale to be involved willingly. The goblin camp had declared interest in Astarion, why would Gale put himself in the line of fire?

“Choose.” The goblin who seems to be in charge grunts to Gale, completely ignoring Astarion. It was clear in Bibble’s mind that Astarion must be some sort of bedslave—how could he not be, looking like that and smelling so sweetly of sex?—and thus was not worth negotiating with directly. “Or we choose for you.”

Gale feels the acid in Astarion's words and sees the change in his posture. Bitterly, Gale wishes the circumstances would have been different. He would have liked to give Astarion a reassuring word or a comforting squeeze to the shoulder, but these vile creatures are watching their every move as if they're displayed at a zoo.

Instead, Gale settles for the tadpole connection to send a rush of warmth to his cellmate, not unlike the first sip of stew broth or the comfort of a large scarf when the leaves begin to change.

The stares directed at his cellmate are foul. These lowly creatures see Astarion as an object to be used, not as a living breathing being with thoughts and emotions of his own. Since Gale has a say in Astarion's unfortunate fate, the least he feels he can do is save him from being used as this encampment's cum dump.

"Oh that won't be necessary," Gale's surprised at the hint of vinegar in his own tone, "keep your hands to yourselves."

We just have to distract them until the others find us , Gale soothes through the connection, sending a comforting glance Astarion's way.

Rather than comforting him, the brush against Astarion’s mind only has him tensing further. He did not want Gale in his brain ever, and especially not now. His mind was the only place Astarion truly had to himself, under Cazador, and the fact that it was now so easily permeated rankled him to no end.

Get out of my mind, wizard .

Still, he turns with a look of genuine surprise and confusion on his face when Gale speaks. His brows knit together, mouth opening slightly as if about to speak.

He gathers his composure quickly, mouth closing with a quiet click of his fangs. Well, he supposes it makes sense Gale would take this opportunity to fuck him. He’s not blind, he’s seen how the older man looks at him—had even played into it, over the last few days. He liked Gale, pretentious and long-winded as he was. Still, he hadn’t wanted Gale to see him like this.

Gale speaks again in his mind, and Astarion calms slightly. Right. Gale thinks they will be rescued. Utterly delusional as it is, Astarion still nods at him in confirmation. Buying time was good—and if Astarion could do anything, it was perform.

He’s about to do as such when the swarm of goblins press forward, one of them unlocking the cage.

“Who said anything about keeping our hands off it?” The Goblin smirks, and they descend upon the pale elf.

“Now hold on, this is hardly necessary-“ A swift hit with the pommel of a weapon and he’s down. The goblins rip and tear at his clothing, one producing a length of rope.

Gale is not expecting Astarion's initial harshness. Every time they had talked about the tadpoles previously, he had voiced his support, although Gale supposes they had never gone too into specifics. Both of them enjoyed them for the potential presented. Perhaps the finer details such as thought intrusions had been lost somewhere in the mix of talking about their power.

Apparently the universe had more surprises in store for Gale because what happened next had not been what he agreed to. A few goblins hold Gale back from the scene unfolding in their cage. The hands roam over Astarion and rip the padded armor Gale noticed was already so carefully mended, making Gale’s stomach churn. Although Gale doesn't really know what he could do, he still struggles against their grip, "DAMN IT ALL, STOP IT!"

The goblins tie Astarion's bare form to the bars in an incredibly lewd position. Gale would be lying if he said it doesn’t turn him on, but he feels shame burn his chest and cheeks regardless. To look upon the man he was starting to feel something for in such a demeaning position and have such disgusting thoughts makes him feel lower than the creatures holding him back.

Hot tears prick the corners of his eyes, a low growl of frustration escaping his throat. If only there was something more he could do to save Astarion. Gale doesn't dare invoke Mystra's name at this moment. She doesn't need to see him pathetic and floundering like this, especially not with someone else he is beginning to feel for.

Astarion is jostled between the goblins as they tear the fabric from his body, hands eagerly groping and fondling at each newly bared patch of skin. When he’s been completely stripped, his wrists are forced together and tied so tightly the tips of his fingers tingle. His bound arms are forced above his head and fastened to one of the top bars of the cage, forcing him to stand on the balls of his feet.

Throughout it all, he fights perfunctorily - more of a performance of resistance than the actual thing itself, never giving the goblins reason enough to hurt him. It’s for his own pride’s sake, as much as Gale’s - there was no reason for him to know being stripped by a mob was a fairly typical Sunday afternoon activity for Astarion.

The goblins give his body a few last hungry touches before retreating, leaving him to grimace at Gale. Really, the man had no sense of self preservation. Making this much of a fuss when he wasn’t even being hurt was ridiculous.

“And I liked that doublet, too.” He sighs, as if its shredding were nothing more than a vague inconvenience. He shivers slightly, shifting his weight back and forth between his feet. He can feel the gazes of their captors on his ass and cunt, though Gale looks decidedly anywhere else.

“Well, let’s get on with it then. Not the best circumstances, I’ll admit that darling, but there’s no reason not to enjoy ourselves.”

He twists his wrists, cocking out his hip and angling his head to the side in a way he knows is appealing. This is… he knows this, it’s familiar, and that at least is comforting. It’s easy to slip into old patterns, let the muscle memory take over.

After all, there’s no thudding of his heart in his chest to betray his panic. It’s practically second nature to let that part of himself float away, and school all fear from his angular features.

Gale finally looks up at Astarion and his throat goes dry, Gods above .  This isn't what he was expecting, but it is a welcome surprise for sure. Where Gale had been expecting a cock, Astarion instead has a mouthwatering pussy. How Gale had never noticed, he isn’t sure. Then again, who is he to talk. Astarion passes well, as does he.

"I'm afraid our Goblins here aren't going to get the show they expected," Gale chuckles. Having been released from the group behind him, he begins to strip as well.

Although a little self-conscious about his appearance typically, given the circumstances, Gale doesn't have much time to think about it. He discards his robes and undergarments, running his fingers down to the bushy mound between his thighs.

"Lucky for them, I know how to cast this spell without my fingers," he gasps, practically moaning the incantation.

With a burst of weave, where his pussy once was, a small but thick cock takes its place. The thought of his first time with Astarion being here is certainly less than ideal...

Still, Gale moves to meet the pale elf on the other side of the cage, pressing a tender hand to his thigh in apology.

“What a pair we make. We’re both just full of surprises.” Astarion hisses, eyeing Gale hungrily. As if the man were stripping for his sake, and not at the behest of a growing crowd of cheering monsters. He knows how to feign casual arousal easily; letting his eyes go half lidded and soft as he takes in the hairy softness of Gale’s body. He is quite handsome, Astarion supposes, but that’s really besides the point.

“Oh, love, you look practically delicious .” He makes a show of licking his lips, not missing the way nearly every goblin hones in on the swipe of his tongue. Astarion had known Gale was also an invert , as Cazador had put it, since nearly the first day he met him. It’s part of why he’d started to come on to him at all; it seemed safer than seducing a party member who might be surprised by the bounty between Astarion’s legs. “…but I’m not entirely sure how we- oh!”

He makes a small noise of surprise and delight as a cock springs into being between Gale’s legs. Now that was a trick he’d have to have the wizard teach him after this was all over. If they made it through this in one piece, that was.

A tremor runs through Astarion’s body at Gale’s touch, even as he shifts to lean into it. He focuses on keeping his breathing even, his stance firm.

“Like what you see?” His voice is playful as he presses his chest to Gale’s, but the smile on his face doesn’t meet his eyes.

“You are exquisite,” Gale’s eyes melt into Astarion’s, his thumb rubbing circles into his thigh.

Gale takes in how Astarion has grown in strength since they’ve met. What was once a malnourished form had filled out considerably since Gale decided to feed him nightly. His dark circles weren’t quite as dark, his muscles had a healthy layer of fat on them, and Gale even occasionally got to see his cheeks flush when he laughed. What a difference a month of proper nutrition made.

Timidly, he leans forward, eyes fluttering shut as his lips meet the vampire’s.

“Get on with it!” One of the goblins yells. 

Pulling away from the small moment of vulnerability, Gale gives an apologetic look to Astarion again. He hopes their companions are looking for them.

Getting to his knees, Gale takes one of Astarion’s legs over his shoulder and presses his mouth into the warm heat between his thighs. Ever the romantic, Gale starts with an open-mouthed kiss to Astarion’s folds before laving the whole mound with his flat tongue.

“Aren’t I just.” Astarion flushes just the slightest bit, the tips of his ears and cheeks dusting light pink. He’s slightly flustered by the earnestness in Gale’s voice, the kiss—it was all tender and intimate in a way he wasn’t quite used to. He’s not sure anyone’s looked at him naked quite the way Gale does now; admiring, yes, but almost reverent . It makes him squirm.

“Yes do get on with- Gale !” His breath hiccups, hips jerking to meet the man’s mouth. He throws his head back, a genuinely pinched noise escaping him. He had not been expecting this—had expected Gale to just fuck him like countless other men had—and he’s far from ready.

Hells , when was the last time he has been touched like this? He’s already embarrassingly aroused, dick perking to attention and peeking out from between his folds.

“Ah- you don’t have to…”

Gale hums in appreciation at how wet Astarion's becoming. A string of saliva and sticky sweetness from Astarion's folds connect Gale's lips to them as he moves away to take in the new object of his interest.

Gently parting and moving Astarion's hood with his thumbs, Gale dives back in to voraciously suck on his budding cock. The tang and scent of Astarion's most private parts are enough to make Gale's dick painfully hard.

Taking a set of fingers that aren't as badly battered, Gale lightly circles Astarion's entrance and gathers some of his wetness before slowly pressing a single finger inside.

If they weren't surrounded by people watching them right now, Gale would have called the moment perfect and everything he had imagined it to be. Hearing and feeling Astarion react invoked a sense of euphoria that Gale hadn't felt in quite some time.

Gale’s hot mouth settles in around the nub of his clit, and Astarion writhes. He doesn’t even need to pretend to be the salacious Baldurian magistrate who would enjoy this; so unused to direct stimulation that went beyond simple penetration as he is that he keens like a virgin. How utterly embarrassing.

Worse still are the eyes he can still feel burning against his skin, the slick noises as Goblins jerked themselves off to the free show.

Astarion doesn’t like being handled so gently like this. It was too similar to the way Cazador would lavish him after a particularly harsh punishment. It was a reminder of the way that real paramours were treated; something Astarion did not deserve. 

“Just fuck me already, wizard.” He eventually manages to bite out, doing his best to hide a moan as a finger slips into him. “Don’t bother being nice about it. I’d rather just get this over with, if it’s all the same to you.”

Gale removes himself from Astarion, looking up into his red eyes from his bent position—he didn't have the confidence that he could get up from his knees that quick.

"Is that what you want?" Gale's words drip with concern, he could still keep stalling if need be. Surely Lae'zel, Shadowheart, and Wyll were coming up with an escape plan somewhere nearby.

He didn't want to subject Astarion to anymore than he had to... and dare he say that Astarion seemed a little pleased by the extra attention in this particular area. Gale had his suspicions that the vampire spawn liked him as well, but he didn't think he would have him squirming under his touch like this. He figured it would be the opposite, actually.

“ What I want .” Astarion scoffs, tossing his head to both escape Gale’s peering gaze and to clear the curls which had fallen in front of his eyes. “I know I’m rather promiscuous Gale, but getting fingered by you in the middle of a god’s-be-damned goblin fort was not exactly on my to-do list for the day! What I want is for this to be over.”

Perhaps Gale really did think him that much of a whore. Astarion supposes he can’t blame him, with the way he acts. Cazador had always told him he just couldn’t help but put out that vibe, and it rings true.

There’s a harsh fierceness to Astarion’s snarl that hadn't been present since their first days knowing each other. His eyes flash, a hint of the dangerous predator that was his vampiric nature bubbling to the surface. He was every inch a monster, as much as the goblins who jeered for them to hurry on with it. Gale just didn’t know that.

“If you can’t get it up like this,” Astarion bites, unaware of Gale’s erection due to looking just about anywhere but at him, “simply moan and pretend so we all might move on with our evening.”

Gale scrambles to his feet, cursing how bad his knees are on the way up. Still, he cannot help but feel pangs of guilt in his chest where the netherese orb also thrums. If he would have just thought of a better spell, maybe they wouldn't be spending their evening like this.

He supposes the least he can do is get this over with in as painless a manner as possible. It was his fault he and Astarion were stuck here, after all.

Grabbing each of Astarion's thighs in his hands, Gale encourages him to wrap his legs around his hips. Finding the point where the spongy head of his cock lines up and notches with the entrance to Astarion's cunt, Gale whispers an apology.

Gale doesn't know what he was expecting, but he is surprised to find a fair amount of warmth still in Astarion's pussy, even if he's undead. He pushes in slowly, moaning as his forehead falls to touch Astarion's shoulder.

Astarion throws his head back, grunting as Gale breaches him. It’s a familiar pleasure-pain, his hole barely prepped by Gale’s mouth and fingers. Still, he’s dripping an embarrassing amount, so it’s without too much struggle that Gale is able to sink deep into him.

It’s just been so long since anyone touched him, and his body had been craving it. Going from nearly daily fuckings to consummate celibacy had been… interesting , to say the least. Still, he refused to touch himself even when he woke up with his dick throbbing and holes clenching around nothing. Cazador may have trained his body, but Astarion was stubborn in his control of his own mind.

Astarion links his heels around Gale’s middle, content to lie back and grimace and let the other man do all of the work. He’d lie still until it was done, float away like he always did. Easy enough.

Except all of sudden, there are clawed hands grabbing at his ass through the bars. Some goblin, impatient with their pace, had decided to take matters (if one were to define matters as Astarion’s ample asscheeks) into its own hands.

Astarion yelps in surprise, as the fingers spread and knead at his flesh, before harshly pushing forward on his hips. His pelvis is shoved flush with Gale’s, the other man’s summoned cock filling him to the hilt.

“Ng-“ Astarion bites down on his lip to keep crying out, memories of thousands of similar rough penetrations passing before his eyes.

Gods, he's so tight. Feeling Astarion's pelvis smack against his own, Gale couldn't help the reflex to move his hips back against him. Gale groans from how tightly his conjured dick is gripped. Surely, Astarion had sex before? He is older than him isn't he?

Shame and guilt washes hot over Gale as he forgets about the circumstances—forgets about the goblin holding Astarion from behind—and moves his hips again. He feels awful for indulging this part of himself that wants to keep going, but he needs to, has to.

After all, their companions need a good distraction to deal with their captors, don’t they? He tells himself this more as comfort, knowing it isn't the truth.

Gale moves his hands up along Astarion's sides, setting a steady pace in his hips. The way his hands and hips move are exceptionally practiced. When Gale looks down at the pale flesh he's caressing, he cannot help but be reminded of the last person he caressed in this way.

It had been so long since then though. He dare not entertain such thoughts of Mystra. He shouldn't.

Astarion meets each thrust of Gale’s with a roll of his hips, stubbornly doing his best to bring the wizard to completion as quickly as possible. His movements are rote and as practiced as Gale’s, though the memories he associates with them are nowhere near as tender.

“Just-“ Astarion grunts, “fucking… come already-!” Each grind of his hips is almost aggressive, completely disregarding his own pleasure and comfort in the service of prying an orgasm from the other man. With every exploratory hand that begins to wind its way around his body, his hysteria grows. His mind becomes a familiar blank mantra - just make him come just make him come it’s over once he comes - the single-minded desire to bring his torment to a close overtaking him.

A bugbear, braver than his compatriots, reaches through the bars to tweak one of Astarion’s pink nipples. He gasps wetly, cunt fluttering around Gale as his stomach plummets.

Cold dread laces its way through his body, and for a second Gale’s hands feel awfully too close to Cazador’s for comfort. But no, they’re larger, more coarse.

He isn’t here. Astarion is fine. He just needs to make Gale come.

Gale’s guilt increases with Astarion’s shout. This shouldn’t have gone this way. He never wanted this to happen this way.

Gale would have much rather shared dinner with him and held him close by a fire before partaking in pleasures such as these. Gritting his teeth, Gale increases his pace to match Astarion's, feeling sick to his stomach when he takes immense pleasure in his gasps from the bugbear’s groping.

Then, Gale feels the telltale nails against the chalkboard feeling of the tadpole connection linking; their bodies and minds become one in the most horrendous way possible, nearly doubling Gale over. The feeling behind Gale's eyes and in his skull is something he would be sooner to liken to a migraine. However, since their excursion on the nautoloid, Gale was more than aware this feeling was their intruder clawing at the walls of his brain.

Visions of the last time he did this with Mystra rise to the surface. His hesitancy to please her once more for further knowledge of the weave mingling and becoming the same sensations as his hands on Astarion and his cock buried inside of him. No, damn it all. This wasn't the same.

Gale’s face swims in Astarion’s vision, becoming Cazador’s briefly before morphing into something wholly different. Purple light and soft curves, the feeling of soft breasts in his hands—well, these certainly weren’t Astarion’s memories. The mysterious woman’s face twists and melts and spins, melding with Cazador’s into a smiling, laughing specter that fucked into him with wonton abandon.

“I said, get out of my head! ” Astarion jostles Gale, kicking his back with one foot. He recognizes that glassy, indistinct look in Gale’s eyes. He hasn’t seen his face in centuries, but he’s pretty sure he wears the same expression most often when he’s fucked.

“Gale! I need you to stay with me.” He growls in the wizard’s ear, voice harsh but not without warmth. “In me, whatever. Focus.”

The goblins are getting restless. Astarion can sense it in the way fingers prod at the furl of his ass, getting more aggressive and exploratory. The murmurs in goblin are meaningless to him, but he can imagine what they might be saying.

Gale's vision swims with a mixture of Mystra's beauty and another man who so clearly isn't from his memories. Warmth and tenderness in the form of his beloved versus the cold and calculating hunger of a man who could hardly be called such anymore. This man does things that Mystra never would have done to him, or at least he thinks she wouldn't have. It's becoming harder and harder to separate the new vampire in his mind with the sublime visage of Mystra.

A gentle touch from Mystra would blur with a hit from this other person, both touches eventually becoming one and the same. " You are mine ," the two's voices echo in his skull.

As if submerging in cold water, Gale returns back to the grimy cell to Astarion's yelling, the goblin occupants becoming more restless with their performance. Focus , he had said. That's right, he is doing this to keep Astarion safe, and he is doing a pretty bang up job of it right now.

A new determination entering him, Gale swats a few goblin hands away and grabs at Astarion's ass. He needed to do this, whether it was ideal or not. The clap of skin on skin rings against the metal bars and stone walls of the chamber as Gale not only quickens his pace, but also fucks with a new vigor into Astarion's tight cunt.

What Gale did not expect was the wet warmth on his cheeks. Tears. Why did the tadpole vision elicit this reaction?

“What a gentleman.” Astarion purrs, relieved to see the man come back to himself. The pale elf was adept at reaching climax while far from his body, but somehow he doubted Gale had cultivated this particular skill set.

Right. Well. He takes a shaky breath to steady himself. If Gale can’t be an adult about this whole ordeal, Astarion will have to take things into his own hands.

“Gale, you need - what, are you crying?” His voice is incredulous, briefly completely without calculated charm. That was… surprising. Unsettling. Was this so terrible to be worth crying over? Astarion doesn’t know who it speaks worse of, him or Gale, that he finds the thought absurd.

But that was not the matter at hand. Astarion needed to stay present. Though he must say, with Gale’s renewed pace, that was becoming significantly more difficult. Even if the man didn’t always sport a cock, he sure knew how to use it.

“Darling, yes , like that.” He moans, languid and deep. Practiced and completely artificial. “Please, Gale, you’re doing so good for me. Sweet Gale, my good boy…”

He’s taking a wild stab here, based on what he’d seen in the memories. Hopefully, he’s on the money. He usually is. Astarion seems to have a sense for these things.

Gasping wetly between his tears and a moan bubbling in his throat, Gale looks down at Astarion. Were these his feelings or Astarion's? It was hard to tell after being shoved out of the tadpole connection, but it certainly didn't make them feel any less real.

Gale's dick pulses at the saccharine praise from Astarion, hips stuttering as his breath hitches. "I- Gods- I," Gale looks at the vampire, "Astarion, I'm going to-"

 Biting his lip, Gale steels himself to do something that the person he saw in the tadpole connection would never do for Astarion.

Gale reaches a hand between Astarion's legs to assertively rub his clit as he fucks him. Through his tears, through his confused feelings, Gale is determined for Astarion to get something out of this.

"Please let this not be our last time," Gale whines, knees going weak, the feeling of euphoria settling deep in his gut. His hips slow, sinking his cock as deep as it can go in Astarion's cunt, and he feels his pelvic muscles spasm. Still, his fingers do not still.

Astarion preens internally a little, not unlike a smug cat who’d caught its prey. You can take the whore out of the whorehouse, but apparently he still has the knack for reading customers. Isn’t that comforting.

…it’s not, really, it actually makes disgust roil in his stomach as sure as his building arousal, but since when have those ever been two distinct sensations to Astarion? He certainly couldn’t remember.

He means to continue whispering praise in Gale’s ear, but the hand on his cock has him whining through his fangs instead. He wishes Gale weren’t so insistent on coaxing an orgasm from him as well—one that he can reluctantly feel getting closer by the second. He doesn’t particularly want to be enjoying this, but the sensation of rope cutting into his wrists and hands on his thighs are all too familiar, activating parts of his brain he’d let lie dormant until this particular cruel twist in their journey.

“F-fuck, I’m-“ A goblin’s finger slips inside him next to Gale, and he whites out, head ripping back to rest against the bars of the cage. He feels Gale reach his climax as well, and hopes that this marked the end of this particularly unfortunate turn of events.

Gale whimpers, Astarion's cunt fluttering around him once more from cumming due to the new intrusion, but Gale likes to think he helped.

Groaning as he removes his dick from the wet heat of their joining, Gale looks into Astarion's eyes. Although heavy with tiredness, Gale sees how glazed over they are. It's as if Astarion isn't here.

Gale's heart sinks lower into the pit of his stomach. This shouldn't have had to happen like this. Again, Gale feels the bitterness of the post sex come down. This time though... something feels different about it. As if he isn't supposed to feel this way after sex. The thought makes him shiver.

The goblins continue to mutter and argue back and forth in Ghukliak. Gale cannot help but tense as they untie Astarion's wrists. Something isn't right. The goblins haven't left them alone yet.

 The familiar self-disgust and shame wash over Astarion as his orgasm fades, leaning bonelessly against Gale as he lets his feet once again find the floor.

“Right,” Astarion tries to sound bright and frank, as if he were commenting on the weather rather than his own rape. He hisses as Gale pulls out, over sensitive and shivering at the feeling of his spend following after. “Well, you have a lovely penis darling, but let’s get those clothes back on and-“

He’s shoved to the ground by a goblin. His hands are left bound at the wrist, and he scrambles naked on the ground.

"Move outta the way, wizard!" A more assertive bugbear finally speaks in common, pushing Gale to the side, "what kinda show was that? Cryin' and blitherin'. Lemme show you how it's done."

Gale realizes he's being held back again as the bugbear pushes Astarion's legs apart once more. "No! This wasn't the agreement," Gale hisses, "get your hands off him!"

“Gale!” Astarion’s yelled his name before he realizes, rough hands jostling him into a new position. His face burns. “Just… turn around and put your hands in your ears, alright darling? I know how to handle a little fun.”

His laugh is empty as he arches his back, shifting in the bugbear’s hands to give them easier access. There was no need to get himself hurt.

Panic rises in Gale's throat at the sound of his name shouted so desperately. Struggling against the goblins tying him to the bars behind them, Gale curses his inability to cast something, anything, to help.

"Astarion!" Gale cries, watching the goblins begin to line up, prepared to take turns with his friend's alluring form.

Gale struggles against his bindings, yelling at his tormentors who have joined the line. "Please! Let me try again!" His voice crumbles, and he realizes tears have started flowing again, "Don't do this!"

The bugbear who had grabbed Astarion after Gale didn't even give him a chance to recover. He immediately shoves his cock into Astarion's cunt, still sopping wet with the mixture of he and Gale's fluids.

"You should learn from this 'un," the bugbear moans toward Gale, smacking one of Astarion's asscheeks, "he puts on a pretty show."

“Don’t hurt yourself, Gale. I’ll be fine.” Astarion’s voice is quiet and calm, devoid of any emotion. He looks down and away as Gale yells, jaw set in a strangely determined line.  Hells, if there aren’t a lot of goblins suddenly.

Well. It’s not as if he hasn’t taken more.

The thought somehow does nothing to settle the gaping maw that seems to have opened in his stomach. He feels very sick, suddenly.

Nevertheless, he starts jerking off a goblin with one hand, bracing himself on the ground with the other. His grunt of pain when he’s entered again for the second time tonight is audible across the camp.

He jerks forward, nearly falling onto a goblin in front of him as his ass is spanked. Astarion makes a wordless noise of indignance, though it’s cut off by a goblin sticking its fingers down his throat. He retches, wet ugly noises that resonate around the smacking of skin on skin.

Gale watches in awe and horror as Astarion adapts too well to his predicament. How many times had he been taken like this to have such experience with satisfying this many prospects at once?

Gale could not tear his eyes away, watching in horror at how rough the bugbear and goblins were with Astarion. They spared no harshness, pulling at his hair, grabbing at parts of him they found attractive, and using him for their pleasure.

Shame crawled again into Gale’s chest and cheeks, burning hot. He was getting hard again . He was getting hard watching Astarion be fucked so harshly. The thought was almost too much to bear.

He needed to pull his eyes away, needed to maintain some dignity. So he did. Putting his gaze to the floor, tears spilling over his cheeks again. Gods damn it all.

The bugbear grunts in a way that sounds like he’s finishing, although Gale can’t be for certain without looking. It’s only when he makes out the Ghukliak words for “me” and “now,” from another voice, that he knows he did indeed finish. The taste in his mouth is bitter, knowing they swapped without a thought toward Astarion’s physical wellbeing.

The goblin which Astarion has nearly fallen onto grabs great fistfuls of his hair, thrusting down his throat in one rough motion. Astarion visibly tenses and gags, the wet motion of his throat only encouraging the monster to fuck into him with a bruising pace.

Astarion takes his hand from the cock he was jerking off to try and push some space between himself and the thrusting bastard’s hips, but it’s quickly snatched and returned to its rightful place as a masturbation aid.

By the time the time there’s a third bugbear lining itself up to fuck his come-dripping cunt, his legs are wobbly and his body sways. He’s mostly being held up by the hands around his waist and throat, the dicks inside of him.

He was absolutely surrounded by cocks; rubbing against each inch of his skin, making the milky white surface of it shine with their precum. With a cry, a goblin which has been rubbing itself against his cheek bone reaches its climax. It’s come, thick and stinking, marks his face in ropes and Astarion flinches.

It’s the first real crack in his mask.

The goblins, however, are delighted. Their lovely new sex slave had tightened up so deliciously, and they instantly resolve to motivate him to react thusly again.

The bugbear that had lined up to fuck Astarion's cunt apparently did not plan to use it for very long, merely using the sticky, sopping folds to wet his cock.

He smacks the spongy head of his dick against his true prize, the tight ring of muscle that is Astarion's asshole. Giving Astarion no time to prepare, the bugbear pushes in moaning in satisfaction at how tight Astarion's walls hug him.

He sets a brutal pace, holding Astarion's hips so tight that he will likely have bruises in the shape of fingerprints in the coming hours.

One of the goblins, seeing an opportunity, decides to slide underneath Astarion and the bugbear above accommodates him by shoving Astarion down until his legs make contact with the stone bricks of the floor. Eagerly, the goblin shoves into Astarion's cunt, happy to take what the bugbear had deemed uninteresting.

Their paces unmatched and sizes completely different, they couldn't have made a more mediocre duo.

Gale shuts his eyes tighter, wishing he could block out the sounds of skin-on-skin and the squelch of fluids overflowing from Astarion's entrances. The wet sound of Astarion's throat wrapped around the goblin's dick was near enough to make Gale's throat sputter in sympathy.

The yell of alarmed pain Astarion makes as his ass is breached is muffled by the Goblin enthusiastically humping his face. He thrashes, but is unable to do anything as he’s manhandled and repositioned to make the plundering of his body easier. He jerks wildly in their bruising grips several times before going limp once more, trying to force his body to relax. Everything would be easier, less painful, if he could just relax.

It’s easier said than done.

Noticing Gale’s closed eyes, one particularly clever goblin giggles to himself as he grabs the man’s head and forces it to face his companion.

“Oi!” The horrid thing yells in his ear, “Watch your slut get treated right, yeah? We show you how to properly breed a bitch!”

There’s resounding whoops and cheers throughout the crowd, several more Goblins coming on Astarion’s face just to see him whimper and shake again.

His eyes are glassy and unseeing; not entirely here nor there. In his mind, he’s bent over a velvet couch, an endless parade of noblemen using his holes as he begs them sweetly for more.

It’s not a pleasant memory to revisit in his current state.

Gale yells in shock at having his head turned in the direction of Astarion, taking in the full damage that the goblins and bugbears are inflicting on him. The elf’s skin glistens with sweat and cum, and Gale finds it concerning that he cannot tell how many Goblins it took to make the smattering painting the canvas of his skin.

"He's not a bitch," Gale growled, struggling again against his bindings, "and he's no one's possession, certainly not mine."

Furtively, the human wishes he could do something, anything to help. He wants to reach out through the tadpole connection, but he doesn't dare after the initial apprehension. His bones ache with the urge to reach out and comfort, but he is stuck tied to the bars of the cage with a filthy goblin holding his face in an angle where he's forced to watch Astarion be fucked by a goblin and bugbear at the same time.    

The goblins just laugh at Gale, mocking him in their own language for being so soft to a sex slave. A rowdy cry of "Bitch! Bitch! Bitch!!" went up around the camp, the vile creatures cackling at their own jokes.

"Maybe the wizard's just a bitch." One goblin sneers, elbowing another.

"Nah," the other laughs. "He's a bitch's bitch. Even worse!" That brings even more taunting and laughter.

Astarion's tadpole, concerned for its host, reflexively reaches for its twin. At first there's nothing; an overwhelming sense of emptiness. Astarion floats in and out of memories; all similar to the current situation, most worse.

Someone comes down his throat, and Astarion swallows it reflexively, the extra dribbling down his chin. He spits into the dirt, face cross. As if he had stepped in something particularly nasty, not had his throat raped. It looks as if he's considering saying something, but he gets no chance. His mouth is filled as surely as his other holes within seconds of being vacant.

The splitting migraine feelings nearly fell Gale again as flashes of images pass between he and Astarion's tadpole connection. What Gale sees this time is worse than before, the mocking laughter and swears of the goblins becoming a wash behind the static fry of the connection.

Gale sees Astarion chained up to a floor, not unlike the one they're currently on, the light of the moon illuminating his pale skin, almost making it glow. Gale would be willing to call the image sublime, if it weren't for the other spawn surrounding Astarion and using him in similar, if not worse ways.

Gale retches, realizing that the way Astarion is chained to the floor isn't cuffs. Spikes are run through his ankles, connected to the chains keeping him trapped and pliant under the other spawn.

Suddenly, light comes from the other side of the room, causing the spawn to scatter like mice back into the edges of shadow still left in the cell. The click of boots against the ground, and the sound of a familiar voice is all Gale needs to know that this man has more than ill intentions with Astarion.

Gale has seen this man before. Long black hair, deep red eyes, high cheekbones, and an unsettling smile to match the venom he speaks. This was the man who muddled with his memories of Mystra in the last bridging of he and Astarion's tadpoles.

” M-master…. ” Astarion voice is hoarse and broken, throat fucked so hard it had nearly obliterated his ability to speak at all. Come drips from his lips, his holes, and he looks perfectly pathetic and demure. “I c-can’t… please?”

 His eyes are so round and vulnerable, shining and earnest in a way Gale had never seen. He’s begging, and it’s not a performance. Cazador approaches, petting Astarion’s hair, and he nuzzles into it like an affectionate cat even as the movement strained and pulled at the chains driven through his flesh. 

“Hells, please …” A choked, wet sob escapes him, and his body shakes. Is he crying? He thinks he might be.

Someone is thrusting in him again - two at a time, joy of joys - and he laughs brokenly around the cock in his mouth. Was this truly to be his eternal fate? Whoever, whatever is fucking him hits the back of his throat hard and Astarion gags. His whole body wracks with heaves as he tries not to puke, the bugbear currently inside of him cheering at the way he tightens.

“Bitch likes it rough! Bitch squeezes our cocks!” There’s more tittering, more cheers. Astarion is exhausted. How much longer could this possibly go on?

Gale shivers at the vision combining with reality, the weight of the situation hitting him. Astarion has experienced this before. And not only had he experienced this before, he was forced into it.

Seeing the foul creatures using Astarion and howling about how good he is at it made Gale's stomach lurch. Bile rose to the back of his throat, wondering how anyone could use a person in this way. The man in Astarion's visions was somehow even worse than these goblins and bugbears currently molesting their party’s rogue.. He was fouler than any abyssal pit beast that Gale had encountered. Not only did he make Astarion break and behave in a way so completely uncharacteristic to his personality, he also made the people in the visions torture him as well.

To be crawling lower than the refuse that was the goblins and bugbears using Astarion now was certainly an accomplishment. Gale thinks he might have to title an award for it at a later point.

"Oi, move outta the way," a towering red hobgoblin enters the room, pushing the other beasts out of the way, "my turn."

Gale swears this hobgoblin's cock looks more like a torture device than a pleasurable appendage, given the large amount of rings and studs embedded in the skin. A dull horror fills the man as he realizes that thing was about to be shoved inside his friend. 

Astarion is dropped roughly, goblins and bugbears fading back to give their leader berth. He collapses into a pile of shaking limbs and sticky come, shuddering slightly. He pulls himself up slowly and carefully, one hand moving to wipe the crusted spend from his eyes, from the corners of his lips.

... fuck . He had drifted again. That wasn't good; was dangerous, even. He needed to be planning, scheming. Winning over their captors and trying to find some way of escape. Unlike Gale, Astarion had no illusions of any rescue missions being sent after them.

Still doing his best to ignore the wizard in question, Astarion looks up from his position on the ground at his newest assailant. His face twists as he takes the giant man in, the implement of destruction he was passing off as a cock. A mirthless, ironic laugh escapes the elf, his voice nearly as broken as it had been in the memory.

"Well, someone certainly likes to decorate." He coughs, a thick blob of come burbling past his lips. Disgusting . Astarion's self-revulsion is palpable through he and Gale's connection, the high walls he normally kept around his mind slowly crumbling.

Gale shudders with him, noticing every inch of discomfort on Astarion’s body. From the soreness of his throat to the bruises forming on his knees, he viscerally feels his disgust with the cum leaking from every orifice the goblins and bugbears had seen fit to fill.

Still, Gale cannot help but find Astarion's perseverance and grace in this moment admirable. If it were him in those circumstances, he wouldn't be able to keep cracking jokes like Astarion currently was. Even covered in filth and grime from the bugbears and goblins that have used him as an object, he still has a soft beauty to him that no painting or sculpture could ever hope to replicate.

Gale feels a shiver run up Astarion's spine through the tadpole connection after seeing the new person enter his field of view. Gale remembers his name, Dror Ragzlin. The bastard had a whole party in his honor out front of the encampment. Rather pompous for a hobgoblin if you ask Gale, but he supposes there can be outliers of mental vacancy and conceitedness in every race.

Perhaps that would explain the absurd amount of jewelry on this hobgoblin's nether regions, Gale muses with a disconnected hysteria. He's practically prouder than a peacock in how he struts around their cage.

Dror looks Astarion up and down with something between  revulsion and pure carnal lust. It’s a look Astarion is used to getting. He sighs, shifting back onto his aching knees. There were slight smudges of blood on the ground from where the skin of his knees had been ripped by the brutal back and forth motion of the earlier gangbang.

“How shall we do this, darling? I can-“ He’s interrupted as Dror completely ignores his words, bending down to lift the lithe elf into the air as if he weighed nothing. Astarion makes a startled, squeaking noise as the hobgoblin’s hands encircle his waist easily. He’s flipped roughly, a wordless noise of fury escaping him, as Dror prods between his legs.

“Thought ‘ya said there was a bitch out here, boys.” He sniffs dismissively, leveling the goblins with a disapproving stare. “This ain’t no bitch.”

“But it is boss!” One of the bugbears cries indignantly.

“Well, sure is now. You sure bitched him properly.” Dror huffs a laugh, the tip of his finger fucking in and out of Astarion’s cunt experimentally,  watching cum drip down into the dirt with mild amusement. “Look how sloppy this hole is.”

“But no, boys, this here is a faggot . Let this True Soul teach you how to properly fuck a fag.”

Astarion, who’d been hanging limp yet tense, startles. His face had been drawn in a tight grimace, as if he was trying to block out the words said about his body. As if he were used to being referred to in such a way. Now, a slight flicker of alarm crosses their face. No way was the hobgoblin’s practically bedazzled cock was fitting in his ass, as things stood.

“Durable as I may be, darling, I don’t think you’ll be able to-“

Dror Ragzlin decides then is a perfect time to pull Astarion up by the hair to meet his cock.  Shoving in to the hilt, Dror thrusts a few times before harshly pulling out. Astarion coughs at the rough treatment of his throat, tears burning in the corners of his eyes.

Although he didn’t need to breathe, it still hurt to have your throat assaulted by such a large dick, especially when it was covered in so many piercings. Dror inspects his cock and decides it’s wet enough for the job, moving his hand grasping Astarion’s hair to join the other around Astarion’s waist.

Gale notices that their heights are not well matched for this encounter. That is until he sees Dror’s arms flex to lift Astarion onto his cock, treating him as if he were one of the sex toys the wizards at Sharess’ Caress had concocted rather than a sex partner.

Something about it is sickening, seeing Astarion become completely limp and docile. The way he lets Dror pull him on and off his cock over and over again makes Gale wonder if this is perhaps the best attempt at playing opossum he’s seen yet in these affairs. The piercings harshly dragging in and out of his asshole are enough to pull the occasional groan of pain from Astarion’s lips. All the while the hobgoblin pants with effort, an animalistic moan escaping his lips.

“He’s broke in real nice,” Dror praises, slamming him down onto his hips again, “whoever owned this hole previously made sure he knew his place.”

Even though Astarion is no stranger to disassociating during rape and torture, Dror's comment on his Master's accomplished disintegration of his ego was enough to make him visibly tense. What Cazador did was more than an assertion of his dominance and superiority over his spawn. It was a shattering of everything Astarion knew about his life before, to be replaced by his life now. A life owned completely, body and soul, by his Master.

Still, Astarion returns to his subtle routine, whimpering and arching his back in the way he learned to be more pleasing. Two centuries of enslavement had a way of teaching a person to bend into the proper position and moan like the whore they were always meant to be. Dror pulls Astarion on and off his cock at a blistering pace, eliciting wet squelches from Astarion’s hole with each brutal thrust. The cum from the bugbear that last came in Astarion’s ass leaks out around Dror’s cock, lewdly oozing on the ground and joining the mix of fluids slowly congealing on the stones below.

The head of the hobgoblin’s dick slams again and again into Astarion’s ass, the hard drag of the piercings causing the walls of his hole to clench in protest. Dror howls in pleasure, his dick twitching before his hips slam harshly another time into Astarion. The hobgoblin smacks his hips in Astarion slower, until finally hilting himself completely in him as thick spurts of cum filled Astarion. Dror loosens his grip on the pale elf, leaving him balancing on his tiptoes to not fall over.

Moaning in satisfaction, Dror pulls Astarion off his dick and wipes himself on his no-longer-as-neatly-manicured white curls.

Astarion’s face is carefully, painfully neutral. Blank, empty, and utterly emotionless as he dropped to his knees in front of Dror, forced to arch his back and bare his neck by the hand gripping his skull. The hobgoblin wipes a foul mixture of Astarion’s stolen blood and the semen of what seemed to be at least half of the goblin camp’s male population across his face. It smears heavily in his hair; dripping down to string across his pale lashes, his angular nose. Though Astarion was largely facing away from Gale, the tensing of his shoulders and frantic blinking of eyes as the horrifying nothing-ness was replaced by carefully hidden panic was obvious in his profile.

The reaction to the goblins coming on his face hadn’t been a one off, then. A few of the more enterprising and sadistic of the goblin camp take note.

Kneeling as he is, Astarion’s mess of a lower half is on clear display to Gale, a stark compliment to the testimony of his past of use and abuse carved across his back. Both of his holes are gaped slightly, fluttering desperately as if to invite further cocks to invade, sticky and dripping a nearly insane amount of spend. It was ridiculous, really, and if Astarion had half a mind to do anything at all he might have made some witty remark on the topic.

Instead, he hangs limp and allows himself to be dragged by the hand in his hair back toward the cage. He thinks the hobgoblin might be saying something, but he’s too far from his body to process much of any of that. However, when his face is forced roughly against the bars of the cage, he forces himself to pay slightly more attention to the finer details of his current rape.

Gale’s heart sinks seeing the scar etched into Astarion's back. Although Gale cannot read it, he knows the characters are some sort of Abyssal or Infernal. Gale has the unfortunate feeling that he's already met the person who did this, though inadvertently through the tadpole connection. How anyone could be so cruel as to carve something into another person's back, Gale does not know.

The barbarism of the goblin camp being on full display with the gaping holes of Astarion's lower half makes Gale's cock twitch. His stomach lurches at how horrendously turned on the sight of his vampire companion's fucked out holes makes him.

“Wizard.” Dror is crooning, his breath hot and heavy against Astarion’s jaw. He mouths his way down the pale elf’s neck to the shell of his ear, leering and possessive. mocking . The shaking, wounded noise Astarion makes at the familiar feeling of fangs against throat is pathetic even to his own ears.

“This pretty little fairy belongs to you, doesn’t it?“

Gale shivers in disgust at Dror's foul treatment of Astarion, his heart aching at the way his companion whimpers. Struggling once more against his bindings, wanting to reach out and comfort Astarion more than ever, Gale almost doesn't hear Dror's question.

"Apologies," Gale hisses, acid burning his mouth as he glares at the hobgoblin, "he doesn't belong to me. He doesn't belong to anyone. He's not some possession."

“Gale.” Astarion hisses, voice quiet but surprisingly sharp. Only Gale of fucking Waterdeep would apologize in a moment like this. His insistence on asserting Astarion’s autonomy was only putting them both in danger - foolishly endearing as it was,  he was wrong, and making the whole situation worse for both of them. He fixes the other man with a hard glare, lips pressed together in a hard grimace as he shakes his head once. He just needed to play along. Why couldn’t Gale understand that?

“No?” Dror tilts his head, smiling wider; far too delighted to have desired any other answer. “Unclaimed, then? In that case, there’ll be no problem if I take it as my own. I’ll keep it tied all pretty in the main hall, so that all my men might use it for their pleasure.”

Gale’s heart races, the weight of Dror’s words slamming into him like a full grown owlbear. Astarion’s words and gaze feel like an icy blade being shoved into his abdomen, the severity of the situation hitting him.

“No, no that won’t be necessary,” Gale steels himself, trying to hide how sickened and nervous this conversation really made him feel.

“He’s mine,” Gale’s honey brown eyes soften as he looks Astarion in the eyes, “and only mine.”

Dror laughs at Gale’s panic, watching the full meaning of his words wash over the man as he squirms. The little magic man clearly thought himself smarter than the monsters that had captured him; Dror was taking pleasure in proving that wrong.

“If you’re sure.” The hobgoblin chuckles, running his fingers through Astarion’s hair as if he were a fine pelt to be appraised, rather than a man. “At this point it seems better suited to free use than a single owner. We’ll see if you still want it by the time we’re done.”

Astarion’s eyes slide away from Gale’s as the two talk, refusing to return his soft stare. Exhausted completely, he allows himself to be pushed back into the cage without a further fight.

Dror turns, waving to his underlings to return to their posts.

“Let the prisoners rest, for now. I’ll call for them when we have want of further…. entertainment.”

The goblin on the other side of the cage unties Gale's bindings, freeing his wrists finally. And with a final snicker, the two are alone. He scrambles over to Astarion's side, grabbing his robe from where it had been discarded on the ground and wrapping it around the vampire's shoulders.

Gale glares at Dror's back before turning his gaze, softer now, back to Astarion. "Rest now," Gale soothes, pouring healing magic through his hands as best he could. Pins and needles spark through his broken fingers, biting his lower lip he continues channeling despite this.

Astarion was worse for wear than he was, he needs his magic more than his fingers need a break.

“Don’t touch me.” Astarion hisses, and the brittleness of his voice reveals just how thoroughly his throat had been wrecked by the proceedings. The edges of his lips are cracked, chin still wet with semen and his own drool. He pulls the cloak around him, hiding from Gale’s eyes the worst of the damage to his person. “I’m fine.”

The words sound shaken and disingenuous, even to Astarion’s own ears. Gods, he ought to be better at lying than this - he’s walked off much worse without a second thought. It’s just the way Gale is staring at him, so earnest and full of concern, makes him want to curl up on himself and shrivel away until nothing remains.

“I don’t need your magic.” Or your pity, Astarion adds internally. “Save it for getting us out of here. A rough fuck or two and a little fun isn’t enough to injure me seriously.”

Gale’s hands instinctively pull away at Astarion’s tone as if he has touched a hot stove and just been burned. “ Gods , I’m just trying to help you!” Gale’s voice shakes with tears threatening to spill over.

“You certainly didn’t look like you were having fun,” Gale spits the word bitterly, eyes staring at the ground beneath him, unable to look Astarion in the eye and own what he said. Why was talking to people so incredibly hard for Gale? It seemed like every social situation was another field of landmines for the wizard. And he knew he messed up.

Perhaps he is blunt, but that didn’t mean he was incorrect. Astarion looks much worse for wear, Gale wants nothing more than to soothe him with a caress. Although Gale doesn’t think touch is what Astarion needs right now. 

“Oh, I think I’ve had more than enough of your help for one night.” Astarion’s lips curl into a sneer, pulling back to reveal a single, pointed fang. Subtly, he leans back against the bars of the cage, trying to steady his shivering and swaying corpse. “I doubt you could get it up again anyways. It’s no wonder your goddess left to find a new human boytoy, you clearly had no concept of a good time.”

He’s being horrible, and he knows it. Gale doesn’t deserve this, doesn’t deserve him. It’s only a testimony to the wizard’s bad luck that he would be dragged into the spiral of misery that seemed to be Astarion’s unlife. Cazador had always said he brought out these urges in people, and perhaps he was right; people did seem to be drawn to hurting him. And yet here was Gale, infuriatingly lovely Gale, forcing himself to be kind to the monster and whore—and now, apparently, whore for monsters, Astarion shudders—he’d been forced to share a cell with.

If guilt were a thing Astarion was capable of, he surely would have apologized then. Backed down, soothing the wizard’s hurt pride with his silver tongue. As it is, he simply curls in on himself, turning away from Gale and pulling the cloak tighter around himself. There’s still come dripping down the front of his face, and he blinks rapidly to try and clear it from his eyelids. Every part of him seems to ache, from his bruising throat to the mess between his legs. The feeling of semen - his own and that of his assailants - drying on his skin is a tacky, revoltingly familiar sensation. Faintly, he realizes he’s still shaking.

Fuck.

“That’s not why Mystra left me and you know it,” Gale growls in frustration, tears finally spilling over his cheeks. Still, Gale cannot stand to see Astarion so uncomfortable and covered in the spend of others. With a wave of the hand, it’s as if a warm breeze rushes through the cage, the scent of old books and ink lingering as the prestidigitation spell removes the uncomfortable fluids from Astarion.

“You’re allowed to feel what you need to feel, you know,” Gale finally looks at Astarion again. “You’re a person, not just some object to be used.”

“It seems I managed to delude you more thoroughly than the goblins.” Astarion barks out a quick, mirthless laugh. It’s closer to a sob than comfortable. “No, Gale. I’m not. No matter how much I’ve pretended to be one. It was… nice. At least while it lasted, I suppose.”

Gale aches in a way he never expected to ache before. Mystra would have no doubt teased him by now if she had been here. She would have commented on that look he gets when lost in thought. His brain was screeching to a halt, unable to come up with a logical solution. There was no rational way to deal with Astarion’s problem.

“You’ve done nothing to delude me,” Gale’s chest throbs as more tears wet his beard. “I could never see you as something you aren’t… I care about you.”

“Oh, don’t cry.” Astarion snaps, even as his eyes soften slightly. “No one even touched you . And as I’ve said, this is perfectly within my…. my expertise .”

His stomach rolls as he finishes the sentence, bile rising in his throat. Some days, even when he had been starved enough he knew there was nothing left in him to hurl, it felt as if he was so full of self-hatred that if he coughed too hard it might pour out of him like drool. Right now, he knows if he were to throw up, the blood would be flecked with semen, and he does not intend to see how Gale would deal with that.

Astarion barely knows how to handle the sobbing man as is. He feels… awkward, and oddly anxious. The urge to comfort the other man is a foreign one, and Astarion has no idea what to do with it. He’s trapped between annoyance, willful balefulness, and oddly enough - sympathy. Eugh .

He blames the urge on the fact that Gale had the decency to spell him clean. It was stupid - hadn’t Astarion just told him to save his energy? - but the sentiment was touching, at least. Especially if it made Gale feel better enough about himself to stop fucking crying.

“ You truly are a fool .” Astarion snorts, shifting as he tries to better keep the weight of his body off his bruising ass. “Don’t you know love never saves the pretty, elven prostitute? This is me, more than the fiction you’ve been traveling with.”

"You shouldn't have needed to develop that expertise in the first place, let alone use it here," Gale looks up from the stone bricks at his companion, "I saw what he did, you know."

Gale feels the tension in the silence after referring to the tadpole connection, and knows that it likely wasn't appropriate to talk about it. Still, he feels he better understands Astarion now and can almost empathize with him. Although Gale isn't for certain he would be able to formulate a proper response to convey such empathy.

"I've read enough fiction to know that none of it looks anything like what you've been through," Gale says delicately, amending to scoot closer to Astarion, still not touching him, "sure, some of it may have fragments here and there, but never to that extent.

"And if you think I see you as some pretty elven prostitute to save," Gale continues, "you're sorely mistaken. You're much too cross to be one of the blushing bachelors in my novels."

“You saw nothing.” Astarion sniffs, and he means it. Anything Gale had seen had been but a drop in the bucket which had been Astarion’s life under Cazador, and he intended to keep it that way. “It does not esteem you to speak of things you don’t understand, Wizard.”

And as suspicious as Astarion was of this goddess who’d appeared in their shared visions, he knew he spoke the truth. Gale knew nothing of his old life. It was the only way he was able to be so sickeningly, disgustingly kind - he had deluded himself into believing this was some sort of fairy tale. Well, Astarion knew the fate of creatures like him in such fables. Murderous whores didn’t tend to be extended the happiest of endings.

“I have every right to be cross. ” Astarion turns away, face twisting. He feels like a petulant child; how does Gale always manage to have this effect on him? “You should have saved your magic to aid in our rescue. But… I suppose I cannot begrudge you wanting to see me clean.”

It’s as close to an apology as Gale is going to get. Astarion's face twists as he looks away, blinking hard. Trying very pointedly to not think about the fact that Gale was one of the very few men he’d met in centuries who hadn’t preferred him thoroughly ravished.

“I suppose you’ll be wanting your cloak back. Not much you haven’t seen of me at this point, anyhow.”

Fat tears spill over the wizard's cheeks again as he too curls in on himself, trying to hide his naked form. "No, please keep it," Gale mumbles, "you need it more than I do." Looking away from Astarion somehow makes him more aware of the vampire's presence right next to him.

"And maybe I don't fully know what I'm talking about," Gale mutters, "but I know enough to know you didn't actually enjoy what was happening." Gale isn't explicit on whether he means the tadpole connection memories or the foul use of his body by the members of the goblin camp. Gale doesn't think the distinction is necessary. He means both.

Drying his eyes, Gale hugs his knees to his chest. "Using magic to make you more comfortable isn't a waste, we don't know when the others will come for us. Besides, I'm no more useful than a trinket or bauble right now."

Gale feels useless now in a way he hadn't since he combined with that fraction of the weave from the Tome of Gateways. Gale runs a hand instinctively over where the orb resides in his chest, even though it doesn't ache right now.

He didn't know how to convince Astarion that he was no threat to him. He didn't know how to get them out of this cage. He didn't have the magic to fix this either. Gale Dekarios had butchered his chances again. And this time, it wasn't just for himself. Another unfortunate soul had been dragged into the mess and was currently dealing with much worse than him. Covering his eyes, Gale groans in frustration.

“If you insist.” Astarion shrugs, tossing his head in a futile attempt to shake his hair back into its normal carefully styled look. As baffling as the human’s chivalry was, he couldn’t help but feel secretly relieved. He didn’t want to be naked right now. His own eyes and Gale’s were mortifying enough, but even now he could see goblins sneaking glances in his direction as they patrolled past the cage where the two were being kept prisoner. Astarion shudders despite himself. He’s always despised being ogled. It made him sick with impatience, for the leering eyes to just get on with it and have their way with him already.

It’s not a feeling Astarion particularly enjoys.

“And if I didn’t, if I didn’t enjoy it,” Astarion bristles, nostrils flaring as he finally turns back to face his fellow captive. His eyes, somewhere between the colors of blood and wine, flash dangerously as he draws himself up to his full seated height, bony shoulders drawn up to his pointy ears defensively.

“What difference would that make, in the end? I don’t… it-“ He cuts himself off, huffing in frustration. “It doesn’t matter what I want or don’t. I’m not…”

He doesn’t know how to finish that sentence. His own person? Something worthy of that consideration, that got to have a say in its own use? Someone like Gale?

“…either way, it happened.” He finishes instead, mouth set in a grim line.

“I doubt anyone is coming for us, though I admire your faith. Look at us, Gale. A vampiric whore - don’t make that face, you know it’s true - and a broken wizard with a bomb in his hairy chest. Save your strength, my friend. As I see it, you’re our main hope of escape.”

Gale feels a heavy weight enter the cage, practically suffocating him. Although Gale had the tendency to stumble through conversations and step into worse situations with his speaking difficulties, he knew the conversation had gone far enough.

Trying to find something to talk about, anything, Gale looks around the cage before settling back on himself. That's when he remembers that Astarion and he shared something he wasn't aware of before this encounter.

Gale clears his throat, trying to dispel the tension. "So," Gale began cautiously, "you hid your trans-ness better than your vampirism."

It did genuinely come as a surprise to Gale. He hadn't been expecting Astarion to have a pussy like him.

Astarion’s eyebrows draw together, his expression bordering on incredulous. After how guarded he had remained throughout this ordeal, seeing earnest emotion on his face which wasn’t fear or pain was almost comical. Astarion wasn’t over dramatic merely as part of an act, after all; the melodrama comes naturally to him. At least, he thinks it does, as best he can remember.

“I… that’s what you comment on, of all things?” Was the wizard truly that uncomfortable with silence that he would bring up any inane topic to avoid it? 

“It isn’t as if I was hiding it.” His face twitches, and he scrunches his nose. “It’s not as if it’s particularly uncommon, at least among elves. You have nothing to blame but your own bad taste that you’d yet to see me naked. Unlike some of us, I don’t hang my soiled undergarments out to spread the smell of old blood everywhere.”

Gale flushed bright red at the last comment, "I- Listen, I need to dry things after I wash them. What else would you have me do?" Gale should have expected this outcome, but again he waltzed right into this awkward conversation.

"I was just commenting on it," Gale staggers through his words, "I mean- that is to say that you're good at passing. Far better than I am."

Gale cannot help but think about Astarion's comment about nudity as well. "And I would have liked to figure that out on my own terms," Gale continued, "it's not that I had bad taste... just- was waiting for the right time."

Gale stares down at his hands that are clasped together so hard now that his broken fingers are beginning to sting again, the flush from his cheeks traveling to his ears.

“Well what a pity for both of us, that some goblins decided to force the moment.” Astarion says breezily, waving his hand airily as if that might absolve him of how much he truly means the statement. He ignores the pang of loss in his chest. It was better things had gone this way; it would have ended here regardless. Eventually, Gale would figure out Astarion was hardly good for more than a particularly deadly one night stand. He wasn’t meant to be romanced.

Gale stares down at his hands that are clasped together so hard now that his broken fingers are beginning to sting again, the flush from his cheeks traveling to his ears.

Astarion shifts uncomfortably, one still-shaking hand slipping out from inside the cloak to pull it tighter around himself. Now that he isn’t actively panicking, he takes a moment to size up the other man. Crying, scared, a little bruised - but largely intact.

Still, that face. It makes something uncomfortable twist in his stomach, and Astarion finds himself desperate to relieve the strange tension inside of himself.

“Are you…. Are you alright yourself?” The question feels awkward and lame on his tongue. Hells, what did he even think he was doing, comforting Gale, He wasn’t fit for that. Gods, he was embarrassing himself by even trying. “I know you aren’t… used to this. In the ways I am.”

“No,” Gale croaks. He spreads his palms to face up, looking at them. It wasn’t about what happened to Gale. This is about Astarion. Gale is worried sick about him, though he doesn’t think Astarion is going to talk to him about how he feels anyway. 

…Perhaps this is a little about Gale. About how Mystra treated him under her tutelage. Gale didn’t realize how similar his situation was to Astarion’s, and how completely different it was too.

The stars were falling to earth as far as Gale Dekarios was concerned. Mystra had taken advantage of him. But no, no she couldn’t have taken advantage of him. He was serving his goddess. He loved his goddess. Then why did he shiver upon realizing the similarities between the man in Astarion’s visions and her?

Gale feels like he’s going to be sick, but he keeps down whatever is burning at the back of his throat.

“Breathe.” Astarion says sharply, the harsh tone of his voice attempting to reach through Gale’s panic. The wizard is pathetically emotive; his face and posture always practically screaming out his mental state. Astarion can’t imagine ever being that earnest—leaving himself so vulnerable. Even if he wanted to open himself so completely, he was almost certain he would be incapable of it. “Unless you’ve been keeping some other nasty secrets, I dare say it’s necessary for you to remain living. And with that orb in your chest, I’d rather you refrain from offing yourself in the same cell as me, my dear.”

Astarion huffs, still looking away. He sways back, testing his legs to see if standing was an option yet. Sure, he could force it—he had long ago learned how to best hide a limp in conditions far worse than this—but he didn’t feel the particular need now.

“You should sleep, if you think you’ll be able.” He adjusts the cloak around himself, the difference in his own almost emaciated form and Gale’s robust human-ness meaning there was plenty of extra fabric to drown himself in, until the contours of his body were all but hidden in the folds of cloth. “As it stands, you’re still our best chance of escape. The sooner you recover your strength, the less likely… well. It’s only a matter of time before they decide to indulge in a second taste, if you will.”

Astarion's voice cuts through the raging storm of Gale's thoughts, prompting him to take a deep breath. 

"You're right," Gale secedes, searching the cage for his undergarments. At least if he is clothed with something he won't feel so exposed. So seen. Not even in just the physical sense, but also in the metaphysical capacity.

Astarion was exposed to a part of Gale that he didn't often share. Gale isn't usually this disorganized and skittish. At the very least he has some plan and can appear confident. Pulling on his now found undergarments, Gale curls up on the opposite side of the cage, attempting to make himself comfortable on the cold stone.

"I will get us out of here," Gale says from his spot on the floor, tenderly looking at Astarion's slight figure in the pool of fabric that is his cloak, "I'll find a way."

His words are meant to be a comforting balm, a source of hope for everything that happened today. Although Gale isn't sure he believes himself that much. Perhaps if he says it out loud though, he'll begin to believe it.

Astarion simply hums in response, a dismissal of the man’s words if he’d ever heard one. It’s clear both of them are forcing themselves to have faith in the man’s word, trying to stave off panic.

Whatever. This was still better than Cazador, Astarion reassured himself. No matter what these horrific creatures did to him, they would never be able to match his sire in cunning and cruelty.

He could take a couple dozen monster cocks. He already had, even. This was nothing. He could survive this. He could .

Even in Astarion’s own mind, his rationalizations feel flimsy. He turns away from Gale, focusing on the sound of the man’s heart beating in his chest to attempt to calm himself. It’s a comforting, familiar rhythm -  other than for the fact it reminds him he’s trapped here without a food source. Lovely thoughts.

Well, again, it’s not as if he hadn’t held himself together through worse, or starved longer. He’s gotten so soft in his time in the sun. Really, it’s all the more reason to escape as quickly as the two can muster.

He waits until he hears the telltale slowing of Gale’s breathing to let the panic he’s been keeping so well locked away come crashing over him like a wave. The slight tremors that had wracked his body since Dror released him escalate to full on shudders, horrible little gasping noises escaping him as he panted heavily, trying to keep his quiet hyperventilation from becoming full on sobs.

Gale tosses and turns from his side to his back a few times before finally settling to his side. He sleeps better on his side anyway. The discomfort of the events earlier really was to blame for his discomfort finding a more suitable sleeping position this evening. Slowing his breathing, Gale reaches the edges of sleep before he hears it. Astarion is breathing faster than he was before.

Gale's heart pangs. This was all his fault. If he had been more careful. If he had protected his hands better. If he had kept his arcane focus closer to himself than in his satchel. Gods damn it .

At least he and Astarion had something in common. Under immense amounts of pressure, they were both terrible liars.

Gale wants to reach out the extra few feet between them and comfort his companion, but he decides against this. It's better to let him feel what he needs to feel right now.

The hiccuping, heavy wheezing of Astarion dampened sobs brings the foul taste of goblin spend back to his mouth, and he nearly chokes on it. The trembling elf is nearly overcome with the sensation of disgust, of near immolating self hatred. Frantically, he jams long fingers into his mouth, trying to purge himself of the pit he could feel nearly searing its way through his gut.

Even with his reduced gag reflex, it isn’t hard to get himself to throw up. It’s the way his vampiric body deals with any non bloody materials when they enter his stomach, anyways. There’s wet, ugly retching noises, and before long a small puddle of bile and semen decorates the floor just outside their cage. No need to dirty the living area, after all.

Wiping his mouth, Astarion steals a furtive glance at Gale. Still sleeping, it seemed. Good. None of this needed the man’s incessant commentary.