Work Text:
Cazador normally detested taverns. Dingy, noisy, and filled with the exact kind of rabble he considered himself a cut above, he certainly did not make a habit of frequenting them. But something – or rather, someone - had taken his fancy, and so tonight he found himself sitting at a weathered table in the corner of an, admittedly comfortable, Lower City alehouse, waiting for a glimpse of the fresh-faced young magistrate he had met that morning.
He had been at the courts on business, sorting through the final stages of a minor land dispute with some insignificant noble, when he had spied the young man.
Astarion.
Cazador had been smitten from the moment the elf had introduced himself, any annoyance at having to spend his day dealing with affairs he considered beneath himself vanishing in an instant. The magistrate was eloquent, charming and beautiful, and Cazador could hardly believe his luck when, once the formalities were out the way, the man had taken him aside privately, asking to meet him for a drink that night.
I know a wonderful little spot where we can…discuss this case some more, darling. Shall I see you there?
Cazador’s life as a noble was one of luxury, spending his days cavorting with the upper echelons of Baldurian society, but there was still a gap in his heart that money couldn’t fill.
He was…lonely.
At fifteen, his parents had found him a wife. Amanita was the daughter of the highlord of Neverwinter, and her father was one of the Szarr’s closest political allies. Although the two, still mere children, had learned to become friends, their marriage was never one of love. Oftentimes, in the early days as they made love, Cazador couldn’t stop himself from imagining that he was laying, instead, with the highlord’s son.
Once their coupling had produced the desired result in the form of a child to continue the Szarr legacy, the pair had grown apart. Although they remained cordial, Cazador was sure that Amanita knew what he was. But she never asked to know. Cazador never offered.
And so, as the years passed, he had learned to supress the burning desire in his soul. He had learned, in his own way, to be happy with Amanita, watching their son blossom from a mewling infant into a handsome, capable young man.
But when he saw him - Astarion… everything had come rushing back.
Cazador shifted awkwardly in his seat, smoothing down the material of his doublet beneath his cloak. Despite the thick heat of the tavern, he was loathe to take it off, never sure which ne’er-do-well might take a fancy to his expensive clothing. Cazador did so hate to spill unnecessary blood. He stole a glance out the window at the setting sun. Astarion would be here any minute.
Cazador took a sip of his ale, wincing slightly at the bitterness. When he had enquired as to which wines were available, the bartender had looked at him as if he had sprouted another head.
Why was he so nervous? Cazador thought. He was a lord of Baldur’s Gate, heir to the Szarr merchant empire and a ruthless businessman. He could wither a man with a look, cut a deal in his sleep. But gods…. the thought of meeting Astarion again seemed to turn his legs to jelly.
Cazador was snapped out of his reverie as a hand clasped onto his shoulder. He whipped round, heart pounding, to see the face of the young magistrate smiling back at him. Astarion had changed from his stuffy black robes into a sleek blue and purple dress shirt, gold detailing etching out a pattern across the shoulders.
“Fancy seeing you here, darling.”
Astarion’s voice made Cazador’s stomach flip, and he stood, suddenly unsure whether to embrace the man in front of him or shake his hand. Astarion, blessedly, made the decision for him, drawing him into a bear hug.
“I’m glad you could make it, Astarion. You were right, this is a wonderful little spot.”
Cazador left his final words unsaid.
A wonderful spot because of you.
Astarion sat down with a flourish, eyes roving over the man in front of him with an inscrutable expression. Cazador leaned forward, pushing a second flagon of ale towards him.
“Here. You must need it after a day in those offices.”
A smile tugged at the corner of Astarion’s mouth, and he leaned forward to accept, his hand lingering on Cazador’s for just a heartbeat longer than necessary.
“Much appreciated. It does get awfully dull, cooped up in there. I’d imagine the life of a man like you is significantly more…eventful. Though I must say, the trials and tribulations of nobility certainly haven’t marked your face like some.”
Cazador raised a quizzical eyebrow and Astarion laughed.
“Oh, darling! Don’t look so shocked, you must know what I mean – those old lords walking around with a face like a slapped arse, it’s really quite amusing. Though, perhaps they only look like that in my presence.”
Astarion gave a theatrical shrug, reclining back in his seat and taking a swig of his ale. Cazador laughed. For the first time in years, it felt genuine. Astarion smiled at him again, reaching over the table to take Cazador’s hand in his. His next words were quieter, more measured, as if Astarion was somehow scared to say them.
“I must admit…you really did catch my eye, Cazador Szarr.”
Cazador thought that no music in all of Faerûn could sound as beautiful as his name from Astarion’s lips.
He leaned forward as well, gently caressing the back of Astarion’s hand with his thumb.
“As did you, Astarion.”
Cazador began to relax as the conversation flowed. He was captivated by the elf in front of him, the way Astarion moved, the gentle tinkle of his laugh, how he played absentmindedly with his curls as Cazador talked. Sunset faded to inky night as they talked, drinks left forgotten on the table between them. Astarion regaled Cazador with tales of his life as a magistrate, and of his childhood of running riot through the Gate. Cazador spoke of his present, of his days navigating political intrigues, the spiders web of power that ran invisible through the city. Astarion seemed to hang on to his every word. Cazador made sure to avoid any mention of his family.
As darkness fell, the tavern began to fill up, conversation overlapping into a roaring wave of noise as patrons sat down to unwind and sink into their alcohol.
Astarion looked around, before turning his gaze back to Cazador.
“Shall we go somewhere quieter, darling? It’s getting rather hard to even hear myself think – and besides, think of what the Gazette would say if they caught me here with you!” Astarion grinned, a twinkle dancing through his eye. “I do have a reputation to uphold, you know.”
Cazador laughed again and nodded, pushing out his chair and extending a hand to Astarion.
“Lead the way.”
Astarion accepted the help gracefully, bounding up and slipping through the crowds with practiced ease. Cazador followed, shoulders hunched in his cloak, hoping that no one connected to the Upper City was around to recognize him. Astarion slipped through a side door, beckoning for Cazador to follow. It led to a rickety set of stairs leading up into the rafters of the tavern.
“You live here?”
Cazador regretted the words as soon as they left his mouth, they were too full of surprise, too judgemental. He felt his cheeks flush.
Astarion saw his expression and smirked.
“We can’t all live in palaces, darling.”
He drew closer to Cazador, close enough that the lord could smell a heady scent of bergamot and rosemary on his skin.
“If you’d prefer nicer quarters, then perhaps you could think about using that big…influence of yours to make the courts give us little magistrates a raise.”
Astarion turned heel, heading up the stairs, and for a second Cazador was left speechless. Watching the disappearing figure of the young elf, he felt his expression break out into an uncontrollable, giddy grin, hurrying to follow him up.
At the top, he was met with a small wooden door. Astarion produced a key, fiddling with the lock for a second before rattling the handle.
“Ah, gods…terribly sorry. This blasted lock is rather prone to jamming.”
After a few more seconds, Cazador heard a click, and Astarion let out a triumphant shout, pushing open the door to reveal his room.
It was small, tucked in under the exposed thatch of the inn’s roof. A single bed was pushed up into the corner, draped with a thick, patterned quilt. An oil lamp sat on a small, weathered cabinet beside it, and on the floor lay a threadbare carpet, adorned with a tapestry of the Feywild. A bookcase groaning with well-thumbed tomes took up most of the back wall, scattered with trinkets and framed by intricate charcoal drawings. In the other corner, a wardrobe, its door slightly ajar, butted up against a small washbasin underneath a cracked mirror. The din of the tavern faded here to a gentle background hubbub, the babbling stream of conversation slipping away like cool water over rocks.
Cazador breathed in the room. That same scent hung in the air. Astarion’s scent.
It felt like home.
Astarion unbuttoned his doublet, discarding it on a small stool by the door, and threw his arms wide, strolling over to light the wick in the lamp. The little flame cast dancing shadows across the room.
“Well…welcome to castle Ancunín.”
Cazador unclasped his own cloak, thankful to be rid of the heavy material, and stepped closer to Astarion, anxiety pooling once again in his chest. He wanted to hold to man, to circle his arms around his waist and pull him close, feel their bodies against each other - more than anything - but thirty-five years of pushing down the truth bubbled hot in his chest, rooting him to the spot.
“It’s beautiful, Astarion…you’re beautiful.”
Astarion turned to Cazador, slender fingers reaching out to entwine with his as he pulled him close.
“You are intoxicating, Cazador Szarr.”
Astarion wrapped his free arm around Cazador’s waist, pulling the man close to him as he stood on his toes, leaning up for a kiss. Electricity shot through Cazador as their lips clashed, and he leaned in, revelling in Astarion’s taste, his smell, his presence – everything. Astarion bit Cazador’s lip lightly, just enough to sting, and Cazador felt sparks burst through his chest – and through his groin.
The pair danced over the carpet, crashing onto the bed still locked in an embrace - neither man was willing to be the first to break their connection. Cazador’s hands roamed across Astarion’s back as the man straddled him, finally pulling away to pepper long, fervent kisses across Cazador’s neck, down to his collarbone. Cazador could feel Astarion grinding in his lap, could feel the way his body moved on instinct to match him.
But as Astarion moved to unbutton Cazador’s doublet, Cazador froze. Anxiety burst to life in his ribcage again, returning in a cloying, raging wave. What was he doing? He had never been with a man before, he was a Szarr – he couldn’t be here! What would his family say if they found out he was here, now, with the most beautiful person in Baldur’s Gate? What would they say if they found out what he was? Gods – he had a wife and child!
Astarion must have noticed the fear in Cazador’s eyes, felt his heartbeat quicken under his hands. He pulled back, moving out of Cazador’s lap and kneeling beside the bed, holding Cazador’s hand gently in his own.
“Shit. Cazador, are you alright?”
Cazador sat up, eyes darting around Astarion’s room as panic threatened to overtake him. His mouth felt painfully dry as he fought to hold back the floodgates.
“I…”
Words began to tumble out of Cazador’s mouth – his life, his stolen youth, his sham marriage and his childhood best friend. They had always been close - like brothers, his mother had said. But one fateful day his father had discovered them, huddled round the back of the stables and draped in each other’s arms, too lost in the thrill of a first kiss to notice Vellioth Szarr approaching. His father had promised him that day that if he ever found out Cazador had brought such dishonour on the Szarr family again, he would kill him with his own two hands. Amanita had arrived not a month later. He never saw his friend again.
It was only when he was finished, when all his pain was finally laid bare to the world, that Cazador became aware of the hot tears streaking his face. He raised a sleeve to wipe them roughly away, internally raging at himself for his weakness. He hung his head, too ashamed to meet Astarion’s eyes. He felt the bedframe bow slightly as Astarion settled next to him, and for a second Cazador braced for the worst, waiting for Astarion to finally see him for the disgusting, broken man that he was.
But the words never came. Instead, he felt the elf’s arms wrap around him, pulling him tight. Astarion whispered into his ear, rocking him gently as he held Cazador’s tear-stained cheek to his shoulder.
“Gods, Cazador… I’m so sorry.”
Cazador paused for a moment, his brain struggling to believe that Astarion didn’t revile him. Tentatively, he moved his own arms to encircle Astarion’s waist, leaning into the hug. Surrendering to it.
Cazador and Astarion remained in silence as the seconds turned into minutes, listening to the muffled sounds of the tavern below, and the soft rustle of Astarion’s sleeve as he gently stroked Cazador’s hair. After a while, Cazador opened his mouth, his voice coming out barely above a whisper.
“Thank you.”
Astarion pressed a delicate kiss to his forehead, loathe to relinquish him from the embrace.
“You’re perfect how you are, you know. Anyone who doesn’t see that can rot.”
He pulled back slightly, gently wiping away a tear from Cazador’s chin.
“Hey, we don’t have to do this. If you’re not ready.”
Cazador’s heart jumped into his chest, and he grabbed Astarion’s hand.
“No! No, please…I – I want to. Please.”
Astarion leaned forward again, cupping Cazador’s face tenderly as he leaned in for a kiss. Just before their lips could touch, he smiled slightly, letting out a soft sigh.
“To, uh, to tell you the truth…this is my first time as well…actually, ever. Being a man of the law, well… it doesn’t really leave much time for love. Not outside of my books, anyway.”
Cazador needed no words to reply, closing the distance between them and moving his hand up to tangle through Astarion’s curls as they fell backwards together in a kiss. Astarion’s hands danced over Cazador’s chest, wrapping his legs through Cazador’s to grind needily against his thigh. Gods, it felt so fucking right.
Beautiful heat burned through Cazador’s groin as Astarion ran his hands underneath his doublet, tracing his fingers over Cazador’s muscles, drinking in every inch of his body. Sparks flew as Astarion gently massaged his nipple, and Cazador took Astarion’s ass in his hand, pulling the man tight against him.
He moved to fumble at the buttons on Astarion’s shirt, freeing the elf’s rippling muscles from the material, as Astarion worked Cazador’s own doublet off his shoulders. Astarion leaned in, peppering Cazador’s chest with tender kisses as he trailed a tantalizingly slow trail down to Cazador’s waistline, dipping his thumbs below his belt.
Cazador bucked into his touch, Astarion’s name sweet as honey on his lips as the elf worked at the buckle of his belt, fumbling with the leather. After a few moments, he managed to pull it away, unbuttoning Cazador’s trousers to let the man’s cock spring free. Astarion’s eyes widened as he took Cazador in his hands, leaning down uncertainly to swipe his tongue over his tip. Sparks like fucking dragon fire shot through Cazador as Astarion tentatively wrapped his mouth around him, tongue dancing over his length.
Cazador’s head rolled back as he ran his hands through Astarion’s curls, tenderly guiding him as he began to bob his head.
“Gods…fuck, Astarion. Just like that….You say…you say you’ve never been with another man before?”
“Mm-mmfph.”
Astarion gave a small shake of his head, his mouth still full with Cazador’s cock. He pulled back slightly, letting a small string of saliva drip from the corner of his mouth, before easing himself down further, slowly taking Cazador to the hilt. Cazador squeezed his eyes shut, breath quickening as he felt himself enter Astarion’s throat. Gods above…he could cum right now if he wasn’t careful.
As Astarion bottomed out, he gagged hard, eyes bulging as he coughed around Cazador before pulling back, spit and precum staining his lips.
“Ah, fuck…terribly sorry. I rather overestimated myself.” He said bashfully.
Cazador smiled. “You were perfect.”
Astarion took the base of Cazador’s cock in his hand before slowly moving back to suck him again, working his palm and tongue in tandem. Cazador’s heart sang as heat pooled in his belly, and he couldn’t stop his hips from moving gently to match Astarion’s pace. He brought his own hand to his mouth, biting down to muffle his wanton moans. Astarion stopped, reaching out gently to grasp Cazador’s wrist.
“Don’t stop them, darling. I want to hear you.”
Astarion continued as Cazador’s voice echoed through the small bedroom, reaching down to palm his own cock through the straining fabric of his pants. After a few minutes, he stopped, his eyes filled with wild lust.
“Fuck. Cazador, I can’t take it anymore. I want you. I need you.”
Astarion sprung off the bed, shrugging off his shirt and trousers until he stood fully naked in front of Cazador, his cock standing proud in the cool night air. Cazador stared, mesmerized by him, trying to etch every inch of his body into his mind. He sat up, racing to step out of his own clothes as Astarion pulled a vial of oil from the bedside cabinet. Cazador watched as Astarion uncorked it, settling back down next to Cazador as he drizzled the liquid onto his hand to slick over Cazador’s cock.
Astarion nuzzled into Cazador, breathing in his scent as he applied the lube. Small, needy whines fluttered from his lips, driving Cazador wild.
“Take me on my back, darling?”
The request was almost a whisper. Cazador leaned down to kiss him again, gently shoving his chest to lay him down on the bed.
“Of course.”
Gods, thought Cazador, as his eyes locked with Astarion’s. How could a man be so beautiful?
Cazador grabbed the vial of oil, applying a generous helping to one hand as the other reached down to smooth over Astarion’s thigh, gently tipping his legs apart.
“Are you ready, Star? I’m going to prepare you, so tell me how you feel. If it hurts, I shall stop immediately.”
Astarion nodded, biting his lip as he leaned his head back, hips flexing into Cazador’s touch. Cazador took a deep breath. He had read about these things, about how to make sure a lover was relaxed and ready, but now that it came to it, he felt like a deer in the path of a hunter’s arrow.
Carefully, he ran his finger around Astarion’s hole, pausing briefly to drip a bit more oil onto his hand before slowly, gently, pushing his index finger in. Astarion drew in a gasp, and Cazador froze, afraid he had hurt him.
“No…” Astarion said. “Don’t you dare stop.”
Cazador resumed his pace, shifting to lean down and lick a stripe up Astarion’s shaft, basking in the gentle tang of sweat and precum on his tongue. He pushed in slightly harder, feeling Astarion quiver around his finger.
“Are you ready for more?”
Astarion nodded enthusiastically, grinding down onto Cazador’s hand as he added a second finger, delicately scissoring open Astarion’s hole as he felt the tight ring of muscle begin to relax. Cazador could barely hold back, his cock aching to be inside Astarion.
After a few minutes, Astarion grabbed Cazador’s free hand, pulling him roughly forward.
“Gods, Cazador, I’m ready, please, fuck me.”
Cazador pulled his hand free, falling forward onto his elbow as his long black hair cascaded forward around Astarion’s ears. They kissed hungrily as Cazador took himself in his hand, guiding the flushed head of his cock to Astarion’s entrance. With a deep breath, Cazador began to push himself inside. Astarion winced slightly, and Cazador slowed, torn between keeping Astarion’s pace, and the deep, animal desire to fuck the man beneath him hard. He broke the kiss, leaning down to whisper into Astarion’s ear as the elf buried his face into the crook of Cazador’s neck, sucking at the tender flesh.
“How does it feel? Are you ok?”
Astarion pulled back, eyes snapping to Cazador’s.
“Darling, it feels divine.”
As if to prove his point, Astarion thrust his hips forward onto Cazador’s cock, taking the man deeper into him. Cazador balked, hot pleasure shooting through him as he was buried into Astarion’s hole. He moved one hand back to Astarion’s hips, hitching the elf’s leg over his arm to get a better angle as he bottomed out with a moan, feeling his balls slap against Astarion’s flesh. Goosebumps broke out across his skin, and a shiver ran down his spine.
“Fuck…Astarion…I’m going to make you mine.”
Cazador drew back, tenderly easing into a slow pace. Astarion’s walls felt like heaven around his cock, and he clung on to the breathy moans forced out of the elf with every thrust. Their chests rubbed together, sweat beading on their brows as Cazador fucked into Astarion. Astarion raked his nails softly over Cazador’s back, hooking his legs around the man to hold him tighter, closer, as they kissed. Cazador’s hands roamed Astarion greedily, feeling every ridge of his lean body under his fingers.
He quickened his pace, and Astarion moaned into mouth as his cock pressed against his prostate. Cazador trailed his hands down to clasp Astarion’s cock in his hand, stroking the warm, velvet flesh. Astarion’s mouth hung open, his eyes unfocused and glazed with arousal, legs dragging Cazador deep back inside him as the man pumped his cock between their stomachs. Beautiful, sweet nothings spilled from Cazador’s lips as he worshipped the man beneath him, whispering how good he was, how good he felt, how much he needed him.
Cazador could feel the fire rising in his belly, and he slowed, lavishing attention onto Astarion’s cock. The elf whined, bucking up into Cazador to find more stimulation.
“Fuck, Cazador, please don’t stop, I’m so close.”
Cazador’s body lit up at the words, and he renewed his thrusts with vigour. Astarion’s moans reached a fever pitch as Cazador felt himself rapidly tipping over the edge, whispering Astarion’s name like a prayer.
“Astarion…Astarion – fuck, Astarion, I’m going to cum.”
Astarion locked his heels around Cazador’s ass, holding the man tight inside him.
“Gods, Cazador…so am I.”
Cazador worked Astarion’s cock as he rolled his hips into the man with burning intensity, feeling Astarion’s walls flutter and clench around him. With a small moan, he felt himself reach a dizzying climax, burying his cock to the hilt as he felt his hot seed pump into Astarion’s ass.
Below him, he felt Astarion’s spend shooting onto his hand, coating their stomachs with his orgasm as the pale elf turned to jelly under Cazador’s touch. Cazador stilled to a halt, relishing in the feeling of Astarion still wrapped around his cock. Their dual heavy breathing filled the room, as Cazador relaxed himself onto Astarion, nuzzling against his cheek. Astarion landed lazy kisses across Cazador’s neck and shoulder, inhaling his scent, and the smell of sex between them.
“By the gods…Cazador…that was fantastic.” Astarion breathed.
A few minutes went by with the two men still intertwined. Astarion occasionally flexed his hips around Cazador, sending jolts of electricity through his oversensitive shaft. Finally, Cazador pulled out, glancing around for a rag to clean the cum leaking from his lover onto the quilt. Astarion leaned over, swiping his dress shirt from the floor.
“Here, use this. It needs to be washed anyway.”
Cazador took the shirt in his hands, gently wiping away the seed from Astarion’s hole with a reverent tenderness, before cleaning himself. Astarion pulled back the quilt, slipping under the covers, motioning for Cazador to join him. He eased himself in, pressing his chest to Astarion’s back and draping his arm over Astarion’s waist to pull him into an embrace. The bed was slim, but their bodies fit perfectly together. Cazador buried his face in Astarion’s curls, breathing in his scent. He knew he should leave, but he couldn’t make himself tear himself away from Astarion.
“Stay here tonight?”
Astarion’s turned his head slightly towards Cazador as he made the request. Cazador squeezed him a bit tighter.
“Astarion, I would love nothing more.”
Amanita would never have to know. He could invent a business trip, a sudden shift in the political tides that had called him out of town for the night. It wasn’t as if she ever cared to probe. In this moment, in this little room above the tavern, nothing else in the world mattered but two secret lovers, cradled in each other’s arms. Astarion reached out, lowering the lamp to a flicker, before snuggling back against Cazador. Cazador could just make out the soft rise and fall of his chest in the gloom as it slowed to a steady, even keel. He listened to Astarion’s soft breaths as Astarion fell asleep in his arms.
Finally, sleep overcame Cazador too.
He woke early. The tavern was silent, save for the occasional knock and rattle of glasses as the bartenders cleaned the mess from the night before. Astarion was still asleep, snoring gently under the covers. Cazador stayed motionless for a while, enraptured by the magistrate in his arms, and deliberating as to whether he should wake him.
Eventually, as he drew himself to a sit, he saw Astarion’s eyes flutter open.
“Leaving already?”
Cazador gave a soft smile as he stood, gathering up his clothing from the night before.
“I must be off. The mundanities of daily life unfortunately cannot wait.”
He pressed a soft kiss to Astarion’s forehead.
“Last night was truly special, Astarion. You gave me something I never believed I would have. I hope you feel the same.”
Astarion sat up, letting the quilt fall loose around his lap as he ran his fingers through his tousled hair.
“All that and more, Cazador Szarr. One day I know we shall meet again. You always know where to find me, darling.”
He stood, stretching, and Cazador couldn’t help as his eyes skirted over Astarion’s naked body one last time. The elf leaned down, picking up the stained dress shirt with a cheeky smile.
“And here – take this. Call it…something to remember me by.”
Cazador brought the shirt to his face, taking a deep breath. It smelt deliciously like Astarion – like all of him. He couldn’t stop a grin spreading over his face as he tucked the material into the pocket of his cloak, stepping forward to taste Astarion’s lips one final time.
His hand lingered in Astarion’s as they parted. Cazador’s heart felt heavy at the prospect of having to return to his palace. But as he padded down the stairs, and stepped back out into the crisp morning air, Astarion’s words echoed in his ears.
“You always know where to find me, darling."