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The warmth Tavlin felt — though he was wrapped around a corpse — was spectacular. Laying his head in Astarion’s lap felt better than anything he’d ever experienced before. He revelled in the feeling of being held close, having his scalp massaged and his hair plaited; Tavlin was warm. Intimacy was something he had always yearned for, and something he punished himself for wanting. Even if it was just this: having his arms wrapped around another’s waist and his head in their lap. Even a cuddle was shameful. The idea of a cuddle made him cower in fear of his goddess, awaiting Her destructive act of disapproval — eradication.
Now, it was not Tavlin’s goddess that he feared. Rather, the little time he and Astarion had left together. The Elder Brain still loomed large in their lives, doom peaking over the horizon. Tavlin was desperate to enjoy every moment they had left together, absorbing every crumb of affection to make up for his lifetime without. Tavlin squeezed his arms tighter around Astarion and inhaled the musky scent of his clothing.
Astarion, though it shocked him thoroughly, welcomed Tavlin’s embrace. He even found himself yearning for the delicate elf’s squeeze every moment of his day. He never said it aloud though, too afraid of the reality of his want. So pure, so very pure. How precious of him! How utterly disgusting. Astarion swallowed back his embarrassment as he continued to busy his hands with Tavlin’s hair.
Admitting to himself that he enjoyed being touched and fondled so innocently felt shameful to Astarion. Much more shameful than any abuse his body had taken throughout the years. Admitting to himself that he may feel love for Tavlin was even more horrifying. Such a large emotion, an emotion he didn’t truly comprehend. To be fair, Tavlin didn’t seem to comprehend it either. The thought that they were on the same level of experience when it came to love eased Astarion’s mind. They would have each other to explore such a deep and foreboding feeling.
Tavlin had learned to understand Astarion’s expression of love, though it did take many hurt feelings to get there. Feelings of inadequacies and anger and confusion, all directed to an idiotic vampire that made his heart flutter and his head spin. Many moments of screaming into his pillow and trying desperately to block out the lust peaking around the edges of his despair. His prayers often included Astarion, ranging from blessings to curses.
“Dear Selûne, please keep an eye out for Astarion. I know he disrespects you often, but he’s a very complicated man and I can’t help but think you sent him to me for this very reason. Perhaps as a test of faith, or to help lead him to your light. I will do my best to please you and please Astarion (well not pleasure! Nothing to do with physical pleasure with Astarion, I’m sorry to even insinuate the thought) in his search for happiness.”
“Dear Selûne, if anything worshiping you has taught me is that I must be patient. But I’ve been very, very, very patient — and I will continue to be very patient for you — but please remove this damned (excuse my language) elf from my life. He’s done nothing but insult my faith and you. Nothing but try to pull me from your path. If you could please do something about him — and I do not mean to wish death upon him (though he is undead, and it may be your duty as a goddess of light to remove this wicked creature from the mortal plane), but I really would love him gone.”
One thing Astarion did make him — when happy or frustrated — was brave. Brave enough to speak to his goddess. Brave enough to look upon the moon and wish for and envision a better future. A future where he did not cower from Her wrath. Brave enough to confront his father. Brave enough to reclaim Selûne’s name. Brave enough to never let anyone else in his church suffer the way he did. When he thought of the Brain, he did feel hopeful. He, they, had faced so much already. There was nothing they couldn’t do when they had each other.
Astarion had started to feel the same. They had killed Cazador. He was free from his master’s maw. Free from the aching of the scars on his back as if Cazador was still carving them into his skin. And he was freed from him without manipulating Tavlin into worshiping him as he did his goddess. Tavlin did it of his own volition, he chose to help Astarion. Chose to care for him. So did his companions, his friends. Joy had flickered into his long cold heart. Friendship. Gods, how pathetic. How wonderful. They would kill the Brain. They would free themselves from the worm. They would all be happy.
Astarion smiled to himself. Joy was exciting, joy was something he could welcome willingly into his life. He gazed down at the elf in his lap. Joy.
Astarion brushed the back of his hand over Tavlin’s ear. Long, sturdy things. He found them fascinating. Why did they grow so large? They were quite beautiful though — unique. Unique like Tavlin himself. Perhaps it was fitting he grew such a feature.
Tavlin’s face warmed at Astarion’s touch of his ears. He wondered how he had never noticed how sensitive they were before. Perhaps he only now noticed it because someone else touched them. Tavlin grinned sleepily and turned his head to hide his face in Astarion’s crotch. It was rather embarrassing how it made him feel. His ears of all things! But oh how it felt wonderful.
Both ears now in Astarion’s reach, he grasped them eagerly in either hand, stroking them gently with his thumbs. Tavlin couldn’t help but giggle. Nervously? Excitedly? He wasn’t sure, but it was the only thing Tavlin knew to do. His laughs only made Astarion tease him more.
Tavlin wriggled around attempting to pull his ears from Astarion. Tavlin batted Astarion’s hands with his own.
“I’m being nice to you, now stop squirming!” Astarion batted his own hand back at Tavlin, smacking him on the wrist. Tavlin retreated, tucking his arms under himself.
“They're sensitive,” Tavlin whined, hiding his face once more.
Astarion debated teasing Tavlin. It would be very easy to wind him up after that confession. Call him a little pervert, making him get all riled up and have him storm out of Astarion’s tent in a huff. Astarion did find it funny how easily embarrassed Tavlin was. But he was rather enjoying their cuddle. Maybe the teasing could wait.
“How’s this?” Astarion brushed against Tavlin's ears softly, just barely caressing the back of his ears.
Tavlin was pleasantly surprised at how nicely Astarion responded. “That’s nice,” Tavlin sighed, relaxing into Astarion once more. “Thank you,” he added softly.
A smile flickered across Astarion’s face but he repressed it. “You’re welcome,” he responded, a little unsure of himself. Astarion wasn’t sure how many times he had been thanked before. Not very often he supposed. Strange how that of all things made his stomach flutter. Astarion continued his gentle stroking in hopes of coaxing more praise from Tavlin.
He did so in forms of gentle moans and quiet giggles. Astarion watched Tavlin squirm slightly, seemingly unable to keep still while his ears were touched. Astarion watched as Tavlin wiggled his hips sideways in a rocking motion. “What the hells are you doing?” Astarion asked with a laugh.
“It’s…” Tavlin sighed, he couldn’t believe the confession he was going to make. “Perhaps that’s enough. It’s beginning to feel a bit too nice.” Tavlin freed his hands from beneath him, readying to push himself off the ground.
“Oh? Then why should I stop?” Astarion teased. His fingers continued to flutter over Tavlin’s sensitive ears eagerly.
“Because–“ Tavlin’s breathing quickened. “Because this is supposed to be nice. This is supposed to be… innocent.” Tavlin worried about ruining a moment of sweetness, a moment of caring. Lust had no place here. Lust made Astarion’s gentle act of intimacy something it wasn’t. Tavlin’s lust forced Astarion’s hand, making him show affection in a sexual way rather than genuine. Tavlin wanted Astarion to feel loved, respected, appreciated — not lusted over.
“This is still nice. Very nice,” Astarion whispered, a smirk on his face. He did quite enjoy seeing Tavlin crumble underneath his touch.
“No, this is exploitative. You didn’t do this to make me… aroused. You did this to be kind to me. I don’t want to make you endure this.”
Astarion’s hands paused for a moment. Tavlin worried for him, which was new, and lovely. But he worried about how his own body made Astarion feel. It was rooted in his own shame of his sexuality as much as it was his love for Astarion. And maybe there would be a moment Astarion did not want this, but right now he adored the way Tavlin felt because of him. Adored the way he shivered as his finger dragged against the length of his ear.
“Tavlin, I did this to show… my affection towards you.” How painful that was to admit. Affection, Astarion? Love! His love for Tavlin. “Right now, I only want to make you feel nice. If that’s by scratching your scalp, or rubbing your cock.”
There was a moment of shock as Tavlin registered Astarion’s words before the both of them burst into a fit of laughter. Astarion finally relinquished Tavlin’s ears, only so he could lean forward and grab hold of Tavlin as he laughed. Tavlin did the same, squeezing Astarion’s waist as he snickered into Astarion’s lap. They held each other like this for a moment. Savoring this strange half-hug.
Astarion pulled away as his final laugh left him, leaning back onto his hands. Tavlin looked up at Astarion, a coy grin upon his face. What a pathetic little thing he was, just waiting for Astarion to tell him what to do; It made Astarion feel incredible.
Astarion ran a hand through Tavlin’s hair, tucking it behind his ear. His hand danced along Tavlin’s jaw before landing under his chin. He gazed down at the elf for a moment, relishing in his desperation. He leaned down to meet Tavlin’s face and placed a gentle kiss against his lips. His mouth grazed Tavlin’s cheek as he traveled up towards Tavlin’s ear, where he whispered, “Hump the ground just as you were before, I love how pitiful it makes you look.”
Tavlin’s body stiffened at the words. Astarion watched as the blood rushed to Tavlin’s face — watched his arousal bubble to the surface. Astarion leaned back onto his hands to absorb the whole scene. Tavlin was unsure of himself at first — barely moving his hips. His legs shifted quickly as he decided his best way to approach the scene. His hands moved from Astarion’s waist to grapple Astarion’s thighs. Gods, he was already shaking at the thought of the act. Shaking at Astarion’s piercing gaze. But he would do anything to please him.
Astarion watched Tavlin’s hips grind gently into the ground. He was slow, far too slow for Astarion’s liking. Tavlin was holding back. “Now, dear, I know you’re more desperate than that. Don’t you dare hide your eagerness from me,” Astarion said with a purr.
Tavlin may have been bright pink, but he felt white as a sheet. His arousal, fear, embarrassment, and shame collided into him at once, fighting for importance in his mind. His body, however, was full only of lust. Friction was all his hips sought. He had denied himself pleasure for so long, whenever his brain would allow it, his body chased it like an animal in heat. Release. Release, quickly. Difficult. Far too difficult. His skirt kept bunching up beneath him, impeding his hips' rapid movement. His cock was bound in his bloomers, and all he wished was to rip them off. Gods, he was disgusting. May Selûne forgive him.
“No prayers, Tavlin,” Astarion reprimanded him, taking note of the concern building upon his face. “You are nothing but worldly at this moment.”
Indulgence. Something Tavlin would have to get used to. Astarion believed it essential to his celebration of freedom — to reclaim the life stolen. Tavlin supposed he was right. It was only fair. He should indulge — they should indulge. Especially since nothing he was doing was actually wrong. Nothing of the sort had ever been prohibited by Selûne, so why should he continue to worry? Yes, perhaps he should ignore the guilt seeping into him. Perhaps he should chase what was right in front of him, or rather, building inside him. Still, he felt quite apprehensive to do so. It didn’t help having that damned skirt in the way either.
Tavlin’s hand pawed at his skirt, bound tightly to him by his corset-like belt. He tugged and pulled futilely at the green fabric, frustration boiling in him. He grunted loudly, slamming his hand to the ground, and hanging his head. Astarion blinked bewilderedly and sat up, bringing his hands to his thighs.
“Speak, darling. Don’t just grunt, you have a voice for a reason.”
Tavlin looked up at him, a deep-set frown on his face and his brows furrowed in annoyance. Astarion couldn’t help but crack a smile, suppressing an amused snort.
“I want it off,” Tavlin huffed up at him.
“Come here,” Astarion beckoned, opening his arms to Tavlin.
Tavlin pulled himself up to his knees, sitting between Astarion’s open legs. Astarion’s hands found Tavlin’s waist and his eyes lowered to the leather belt. His hands moved behind Tavlin, reaching for the string holding his belt together. He undid the corset fastening knowingly, sight unnecessary to him — he had likely done it hundreds of times before. Tavlin locked his eyes on the vampire’s dimly lit face. Astarion had taken on a focused expression, his lips pouted slightly, and his brows furrowed gently. Tavlin wanted to reach for him, trace his wrinkles, soothe his skin. Astarion wouldn’t like that, he thought. He let his hands rest in his lap.
“Let me pull it off,” Astarion spoke quietly, his tone gentle. He tugged the skirt and belt off Tavlin’s hips. Tavlin moved to sit, allowing Astarion to pull the fabric off his legs. Tavlin now wore only his blouse and bloomers, which had become one ghostly veil across his body. Astarion’s eyes fell to the wet patch on the barely perceptible tent in Tavlin’s pants. He didn’t linger long though, acutely aware of Tavlin’s proclivity to embarrassment.
Astarion moved to his knees. He pried Tavlin’s legs open, allowing him to now sit between them. His hand gently pushed a few loose strands of hair from Tavlin’s forehead, tucking them behind his ear. He kissed him softly, uncharacteristically gently. When he pulled away from Tavlin — his eyes still half-lidded and his lips slightly parted — a thought came to him: intimacy had never felt so natural. His body moved as if he hadn’t compelled it, as if each action came on impulse rather than compulsion; not in the dissociative state he often found his body moving in when it came to sex, but rather, some primal instinct for closeness. And how he wanted for more.
Astarion gave Tavlin an assertive push, forcing him to lay back. Astarion climbed atop him, straddling his delicate frame. He let himself grind slowly over Tavlin’s cock, familiarising himself with the feeling of Tavlin beneath him. He placed his arms just above Tavlin’s head, leaning down to meet his face. He scoured for any sign of discomfort or fear, neither of which appeared.
“Do you trust me?” Astarion asked in a hushed whisper.
Tavlin replied with a nod. His hands snaked around Astarion's neck, pulling him flush to his body. Tavlin kissed him hungrily, as starved for closeness as Astarion was. His tongue pushed into Astarion’s mouth, savouring the taste of his metallic saliva, revelling in the feeling of his dangerously sharp smile. Dangerous indeed. A sudden stabbing pain throbbed through his bottom lip as Astarion captured it between his teeth. Blood pooled from the small puncture left by his fangs; he lapped at it in an uncouth manner, hungry and aroused and eager for more. Tavlin moaned as Astarion’s tongue reacquainted itself with his mouth, all while Astarion’s hips ground deeply into Tavlin’s bulge.
Astarion could feel his own arousal pushing against his trousers. He too began to plead for release from his fabric cage. As much as it pained him to pull away, the lack of breathing room in his trousers pained him more. He sat up, one hand pressed against Tavlin’s chest, pinning him to the ground. His free hand fiddled with his fastening, freeing his wanting cock in one hasty movement. His own erection surprised him — how quickly it appeared, how painful it felt, and desperately leaky it was. It was almost embarrassing. Almost.
He gripped his cock eagerly, crudely stroking himself. Tavlin starred, spellbound by Astarion, his eyes switching from his face to erection rapidly. He watched how the skin around Astarion’s cock moved with each stroke. How Astarion seemed to tease himself, tightening his grip as his tip, and how he gasped at the sudden pressure. To Tavlin’s dismay, Astarion stopped. He grabbed the bottom of his shirt and threw it off himself in one graceful move. Tavlin had a shameful thought: he wanted him completely bare. His hands found the waistband of Astarion’s trousers, yanking softly at them, a small whine escaping his lips. He shouldn’t beg. He shouldn’t want this. But he did. And oh how he desperately longed for it.
Nudity was an extremely uncomfortable part of life for Tavlin. A necessary evil, he had often considered it. He even resented being bare in the confines of his own tent, his body only to be observed by himself. He was so determined to hide from himself, that before his forceful ejection into the wilds, he had taken to sponge bathing — allowing him to keep his tunic on as he washed himself. He considered modesty his top priority; If he did not attract wandering eyes, perhaps his thoughts would not turn to the lustful. But now he was only in his underclothes, a half-dressed man atop him, displaying himself for Tavlin. If completely dismantling his reservations of modesty and purity was to come at any time, it ought to be now. “I want to see all of you,” Tavlin confessed in a hush. His eyes met Astarion’s, a plea for intimacy adorning his face. He wanted their skin to touch. He wanted to know every intimate detail of Astarion’s body.
Astarion obliged. He dismounted from Tavlin's waist and sat beside him. He pulled his trousers and pants off in one go, too caught up in the moment to pursue any elegant means of disrobing. Once bare, he moved to his knees and hovered over the elf lying beside him. “You next, darling,” he teased with a slight smirk on his face. His expression softened as he looked at the cleric — considering the difficulty that awaited Tavlin as he confronted his own nudity. “I can do it, if you’d like?” A simple offer — a quiet recognition of Tavlin’s experience.
“No, it’s alright,” Tavlin shook his head, pushing himself onto his arms. He began with his bloomers, untying the ribbon at the waist that kept them up, and slowly uncovered himself. His blouse still offered him modesty, stopping just above his thigh, and covering his groin from view. His hands hesitated as he reached for the hemline. This was the point of no return. This is the time he would willingly reveal the entirety of his body to another person — an act of intimacy like nothing else before. Though he had “slept” with Astarion atop his disheveled grave, they had remained relatively clothed throughout. They had seen, touched, and tasted the more intimate parts of each other, but there was a feeling of disconnection for Tavlin. He hadn’t truly revealed himself to Astarion, body and soul. Parts of himself remained hidden behind layers of fabric, the totality of his innocence just out of reach. Perhaps Tavlin insisted they remain clothed because of the dirt and the cold. Or perhaps, he wasn’t ready to reconstruct his identity — would the exposure of his body bring him relief, or would it only confirm his belief that he was ungodly? a beast among men.
Tavlin knew who he was, knew what he wanted to become, and knew who he wanted to reinvent himself with. He gripped his blouse with confidence, pulling it off him as gracefully as Astarion had done. He placed the shirt down beside him and looked up towards Astarion. Astarion’s face was unreadable. his mouth did not curl, but instead remained flat. His eyes did not squint, and his brows did not furrow. He took in the details of Tavlin’s body, things once obscured to him — only abstractions of the elf. He was terribly thin. He had known this, touched him, squeezed him, felt the bone under his hands, but to see it was something else. His ribs and pelvis were completely visible. Astarion couldn’t imagine what he must have looked like a few months ago — Talvin confessed these adventures had forced him to eat more than he ever had before. Astarion made note to fatten Tavlin up once all this was over.
He observed the details of his skin. He hadn’t realised how far the root-like markings adorning Tavlin’s skin travelled. They expanded across his chest, down his stomach, and reached out down his thighs. They were beautiful. Astarion wanted to say he was decorated by the gods, but he cringed at his thought. Sappy, romantic, what on Earth had this elf done to him?
“Don’t just stare at me,” Tavlin whispered, feeling very worried about Astarion’s piercing gaze.
“You’re… beautiful,” Astarion finally spoke. “Apologies, I’ve suddenly become very unsure of myself — like I’ve forgotten how to do all this.” A small laugh escaped him, brimming with insecurity. Intimacy, Astarion realised, was actually very scary. Especially when it was all he wanted.
“Just as we started,” Tavlin reached his hand out to Astarion. Astarion took it, allowing Tavlin to guide him back between his legs. Tavlin placed his free hand against Astarion’s chest, unable to restrain himself from feeling his skin. Astarion released Tavlin’s hand and instead placed it against the one pressed to his chest. He leaned into Tavlin, taking in Tavlin’s bright-eyes and agape mouth.
“Your face betrays you,” Astarion grinned.
“Whatever do you mean?” Tavlin asked, his tone deceivingly collected.
“Your actions are confident, yet you stare at me slack-jawed — in disbelief of yourself.” Astarion leaned his face in closer. He could feel Tavlin’s breath against his skin.
“Then I supposed I should cover my tell,” Tavlin replied before promptly pulling Astarion into a kiss.
Astarion let himself fall into Tavlin, their bodies moving as one as Tavlin laid back against the floor. That feverish hunger overtook Astarion once again, all hesitations and fears disappearing as soon as he tasted him. Their lips, tongues, pushed against each other desperately — wantonly. Starved gasps and moans escaped both of them, unrestrained, ignorant to the world outside their tent. Astarion found himself grinding against Tavlin once more, his cock pressed against Tavlin’s bare stomach. He savoured the feeling of Tavlin’s warm skin against his hard cock; he could chase his release from it alone.
As much as he wished to be selfish, Astarion stopped his pursuit of personal pleasure, and pulled away from Tavlin. Tavlin groaned, hurt from the sudden abandonment. Astarion hushed him before planting a kiss against his chest. He travelled down Tavlin’s torso leaving a trail of kisses as he went, stopping just above his cock. Astarion looked up to meet Tavlin’s eye. Tavlin stared at him intensely, his brows pulled together and his eyes wide. His lip quivered as Astarion’s hands dragged against his thighs, goosebumps following the trail of his frigid fingers. Astarion moved lower, turning his head to kiss Tavlin’s inner thigh. Tavlin caught sight of his own erection, both amazed and horrified at how he twitched as Astarion kissed his leg. Gods, he wanted Astarion to touch him. Touch him properly. Just as he did in the graveyard.
“Please!” Tavlin suddenly gasped. Astarion raised his eyebrow, a smile growing on his face as he watched Tavlin grow an even darker shade of red. “P-please,” Tavlin repeated in a whisper.
“Please, what?” Astarion grinned. He shouldn’t tease Tavlin, but gods he just couldn’t help himself.
Tavlin frowned. He begrudgingly replied, “Please… touch me,” his tone softer than Astarion had expected. A genuine want was building in Tavlin — a want, Astarion realised, that might run away from him the longer he teased. Allowing doubt to build would be incredibly counterproductive for both of them. So, Astarion obliged.
Astarion kissed back up Tavlin’s thigh towards his groin. He placed a hand against Tavlin’s stomach as he centered himself with Tavlin’s body. He took a moment purely to observe Tavlin. His cock was as dainty as the rest of him (excluding his remarkably unique ears). Even with his understated size, Astarion could easily see the desperation twitching through his body. Slick and pulsating — crying out for attention. Astarion dragged the hand down Tavlin’s stomach and pressed it under his balls. He then pressed his lips against Tavlin’s tip, delivering a delicate kiss before he ravished him. Tavlin fit in his mouth easily, allowing him to take his entire length in one go. He sucked him slowly, letting his tongue softly explore Tavlin’s shaft in a leisurely manner. Tavlin’s breath hitched as Astarion’s lips moved up his cock at a torturous pace, and then down again, just reaching the back of Astarion’s throat.
Astarion’s pace quickened, he bobbed against Tavlin’s cock eagerly, eliciting muffled whines from Tavlin, who had covered his face with his hands. Tavlin’s moans went straight to Astarion’s cock. He eagerly humped the ground beneath him, just as he had instructed Tavlin before — desperate for any sort of physical stimulation. Eventually, he relinquished Tavlin, replacing his mouth with his hand as he turned his attention to his balls. He licked at the soft, sensitive skin, inciting more whines from the elf. His hand stroked him vigorously, his movement aided by the mix of pre-ejaculate and saliva, making lewd squelching noises each time his hand pumped his cock. Tavlin’s body shook with each feverish stroke. Astarion imagined Tavlin’s expression through all this: almost pained and beet-red. Astarion pulled his mouth away from Tavlin’s groin completely, in dire need of seeing Tavlin’s face.
Tavlin had switched between lying flat against the ground, too embarrassed to watch, and sitting up on his elbows, desperate to see. Astarion’s eyes met his once more as his hand squeezed around his length. Tavlin felt the need to turn away, but something about Astarion’s piercing gaze and cocked smile kept his eyes locked with his. He watched as Astarion’s thumb pressed against the exposed part of his bellend. Watched as he pulled it away and a thin trail of pre-ejaculate followed. Watched as that same thumb pressed gently under his foreskin, circling his tip, and how the torturous sensation caused his legs to shake. Tavlin, overcome by the foreign stimulation, began to mumble and whine incoherently, unsure even to himself of what he was trying to communicate.
Tavlin’s whines became so severe that it reminded Astarion of the lack of privacy his tent gave. He suddenly lurched up Tavlin’s body, pressing a hand to Tavlin’s mouth. He hushed him soothingly, an excited grin on his face. He climbed out from between Tavlin’s legs and laid down beside him, hooking an arm under Tavlin’s head so he could press it back to Tavlin’s mouth. The other found Tavlin’s cock again and continued rapidly stroking him. Astarion placed the palm of his hand against Tavlin’s tip, teasing him in a polishing motion, which caused the elf to cry out against Astarion’s other hand. He hushed him once again, “It’s alright, I won’t tease you long.”
He wouldn’t. He couldn’t. He knew Tavlin was likely to finish quickly, and his own erection was desperate for attention. As much as he liked bringing Tavlin to the edge and then ceasing — how Tavlin’s warm breath hit Astarion’s hand when he groaned, how Tavlin’s hips shook as he was denied — he knew it was unfair to his inexperienced lover.
Tavlin could feel his mind fogging, overcome by stimulation. An orgasm in itself was already incredibly intense to him, but this incessant denial was more than he could take. Though unable to speak — from both Astarion’s muffling hand and his own inability to formulate thoughts — he continued to mumble out sounds of pleas. It was the sight of the tear forming in Tavlin’s eyes that made Astarion decide he would let him finish.
Astarion squeezed the bottom of Tavlin’s shaft and stroked upward, unrelenting with the tightness of his hand. Astarion pumped his cock until Tavlin’s hips bucked and his knees knocked together. Stroked him as his balls hitched, his cock throbbed. Milked him as his orgasm finally ripped through him. “That’s it,” Astarion whispered. “Let go.”
His body shuddered as pleasure cascaded through him, the sensation was merciless — he wished it to never end. Spend splattered against his stomach and he moaned wantonly against Astarion’s hand and pressed his head into his shoulder. His legs twitched, his fists clenched. He felt as if his body would never relax. Astarion whispered to him, how beautiful he was, how good he had done, helping him to come down from his high.
Astarion finally uncovered Tavlin’s mouth as his breathing quieted. He gently wrapped his arm around Tavlin’s neck as he squeezed his body to him. He pressed a kiss to Tavlin’s temple, who had yet to blink back into the present. Astarion listened to how his body had reacted to it all. Listened to how his blood rushed through him while his heart pumped rapidly. How his diaphragm contracted and air rushed into his lungs. He wanted to isolate the sounds of all of him — analyse each function of his body that confirmed mortality — but, for some reason, it felt like an invasion into Tavlin’s privacy. He shook himself into the now, Tavlin had finally begun to come to.
Tavlin leaned his head and kissed the hand that rested against his shoulder. He leaned up and kissed Astarion’s jaw. He looked back towards his body, watching how his cock began to return to normalcy amidst the filth surrounding it. His eyes caught sight of Astarion’s own cock — as eager as Tavlin’s was just a few minutes ago. His turn, Tavlin thought.
He pulled at Astarion’s arm, who relinquished his grip on him, allowing Tavlin to move to his knees. He kneeled beside Astarion’s legs, looking down towards his face. Tavlin grazed his hand over Astarion’s thigh, just avoiding his sex — hesitant in touching him. Astarion grabbed Tavlin’s wrist, “Let me guide you,” he whispered.
Astarion guided Tavlin’s hand over his cock, he dragged his palm across his shaft, which was already slightly slick with his own pre-ejaculate. His eyes panned over Tavlin. Surprisingly, Tavlin’s face was not painted in fear or doubt, rather, an intense look of concentration. A smile flickered on Astarion’s lips. He looked lower, his eyes attracted to the spend painting Tavlin’s torso; an idea came to him.
“Wipe the come off yourself,” Astarion instructed, releasing Tavlin’s wrist.
Tavlin’s brow furrowed for a moment as he registered the question, but acted quickly in response. He collected his ejaculate in his hand, wiping his fingers up his body. He looked at Astarion expectantly once he had finished. Astarion motioned for his hand and Tavlin reached back towards Astarion’s body.
Astarion gripped Tavlin’s wrist once more and guided him back to his cock. He made Tavlin wipe his spend against his erection. “Close your hand around it,” Astarion directed, and Tavlin followed. Astarion led Tavlin through stroking him as he lubricated his cock with his own ejaculate. He released his hand once Tavlin began mimicking the way Astarion had touched him. Astarion groaned as Tavlin’s hand twisted around his shaft while he pumped him. He chuckled at the concentration on Tavlin’s face, entirely captivated by the task at hand. He let his hips rock and fucked up into cleric’s hand, let his eyes roll back and fully lose himself in the sensation. Had he ever done that before? Relaxed and enjoyed himself? Not in a long time. Today he would start.
Astarion commented on Tavlin’s method with “just like that”s and “you make me feel so good”s, but mostly, he found himself moaning out Tavlin’s name. Tavlin had replicated the teasing way Astarion liked to touch himself from only the few minutes he had observed him. Crude, full strokes, and sudden bouts of pressure as his hand tightened around his tip. When he started to emulate the way he had touched Tavlin, he began to worry. Tavlin polished Astarion’s tip, just the way Astarion did to him. His palm circled around his bellend, causing Astarion’s legs to twitch. Astarion hissed at the excessive attention, and to Tavlin’s amazement, laughed.
Astarion sat up onto his elbows, reaching out for Tavlin’s hand. “No, don’t- Ha. Don’t do that,” Astarion said as his face contorted between pleasure and amusement.
“Why? Am I doing it wrong?” Tavlin stopped, resting his hand atop Astarion’s cock.
“No, it’s just…” Astarion looked up at Tavlin, a sheepish grin on his face. “I wouldn’t do that. It’s quite a lot.”
“But you did it to me?” Tavlin wondered what it said about himself. Did Astarion touch him like that because of some sign he had picked up on. Some trait, unbeknownst to him, that indicated that he would enjoy it? Did that make Tavlin some sort of deviant?
“I did. Honestly, I was being mean,” Astarion looked away, a grin on his face. Really it was unkind how he treated Tavlin’s poor, inexperienced cock. But oh how fun it was.
“Does it hurt you?” Tavlin was undecided on whether he should be upset or not. A few more probing questions were required to calculate his reaction.
“No. But I’d rather not be in a sputtering, drooling state as you were,” Astarion met Tavlin’s eye again, smirking.
Tavlin suddenly understood. Power. Astarion wanted Tavlin to come apart from his touch. Wanted to ruin Tavlin as soon as he had his hands on him. He didn’t hesitate to overstimulate him, because he wanted to watch him crumble. And how could he deny himself? Especially when it was so easily done with Tavlin.
Tavlin frowned. Without saying anything, Tavlin continued his, now rather violent, polishing.
“Fuck!” Astarion hissed and fell back against the ground.
“You’re beastly,” Tavlin reprimanded him, his hand now squeezing Astarion’s cock. “Cowardly, rude, self-centered-”
Astarion interrupted him with a loud shush. A shush both to quiet him to avoid disturbing their campmates and to announce his annoyance.
Tavlin looked towards the entrance of the tent, then back to Astarion. “Cowardly, rude, self-centered,” he began again in a whisper, a grin on his face. “Perverse, and unnecessarily cruel. Your inability to surrender control is so unbelievably frustrating.”
Astarion exhaled. He gripped Tavlin’s thigh tightly as he began pumping his cock with both hands.
”I can’t believe you would abuse the fact that you’re more experienced than me just to get off.”
Astarion bit his hand, suppressing his groans as his orgasm built within him.
”Do you enjoy watching me suffer? Are you really that disturbed?”
Astarion choked out a laugh that was quickly replaced by a moan. He could feel himself reaching his climax, Tavlin’s rapid hands and scathing words filled Astarion with a strange sense of euphoria.
“That’s amusing? You’re disgusting.” Tavlin pumped harder, his hand practically slamming into the base of Astarion’s shaft. Tavlin could feel Astarion’s cock throbbing in his hand. Feel how his hand gripped tighter onto his thigh. He could see how Astarion’s muscles tensed. How his brows furrowed, his jaw clenched, and his nostrils flared.
Astarion tried to fight off his orgasm, prolong the inevitable, but Tavlin was merciless. “Tavlin i’m- you’ve got to-” He let out an exasperated chuckle at his own desperation. This was unbecoming, very unbecoming. Was he sure Tavlin had never done this before? It would definitely make Astarion feel a lot better about his unraveling — if Tavlin was more experienced than he had said.
Tavlin leant down towards Astarion. “‘Let go,’” he whispered, copying the sultry tone Astarion had said the words in when he had finished.
Astarion’s eyes widened at his words, but quickly squeezed back together as his orgasm struck him. Pleasure shot through his nervous system. His back arched, pushing his cock up into Tavlin’s hand, as if he was burrowing himself deep inside of him. What a lovely thought, to be finishing inside of him. Soon, he promised himself.
Astarion cried out, moaning Tavlin’s name as he ejaculated. His load struck his chest and then the rest seeped down his shaft, onto Tavlin’s hand. Astarion panted, breathing as if he still needed to. Tavlin rested a hand atop of Astarion’s that squeezed his thigh. His thumb stroked the back of it until Astarion finally relaxed his grip. Tavlin snaked his hand under Astarion’s, interlocking their fingers. His other hand stroked Astarion’s cock gently, sending sudden aftershocks through Astarion’s body, until he eventually released it.
“Beastly?” Astarion asked grinning, his eyes finally blinking open.
“Monstrous,” Tavlin answered, returning his grin with a warm smile.
Tavlin creeped down next to Astarion. Astarion extended his arm for Tavlin to rest against, and placed his hand against Tavlin’s back. The cleric rested his soiled hand onto Astarion’s stomach. They laid together for a few minutes in silence, neither sure of what to say about the moment. Tavlin suddenly reached his hand towards the ejaculate on Astarion’s chest, and wiped it with his fingers. Astarion craned his neck to look at it.
“Rather impressive,” Astarion commented. “That it got that far.”
“What? Is it like a spitting contest? See who can ejaculate the farthest,” Tavlin laughed.
“Well I’ve won, obviously.”
Tavlin shook his head with a small chuckle. His eyes moved back to the semen dripping down his hand. Astarion watched Tavlin’s face. There was a sense of calm to the moment that perturbed him. He felt completely relaxed. Completely safe. Unexploited. Happy. How foreign.
“Eat it,” Astarion whispered — unable to sit in calmness for a moment longer.
Tavlin’s eyes widened, and he looked up at Astarion’s face to find him already looking at him. “What?” Tavlin laughed in befuddlement.
“Lick it off your hand,” Astarion smirked. He reached his free hand to scoop up the remaining semen on his torso. He pushed his now dripping fingers towards Tavlin’s face, who recoiled in disgust.
“I’m not putting your… seed in my mouth,” Tavlin smirked and wiped his hand off on Astarion’s chest.
“You’ll like it,” Astarion pushed his hand closer to Tavlin’s face, who found himself stuck — he had retreated as far as he could.
“No I won’t,” Tavlin moved to get up before Astarion gripped his shoulder and pulled him into his body.
Tavlin struggled as Astarion pushed his hand closer to his face. He almost wriggled out of Astarion’s grasp before Astarion rolled over on top of him, pinning him beneath him.
“Come on,” Astarion pleaded, his hand hovering just over Tavlin’s mouth.
“No!” Tavlin said with a giggle. Tavlin gripped Astarion’s forearm with both hands.
Astarion pushed against Tavlin, surprised by his strength. “Just think about it,” Astarion struggled as he spoke. “I drink your blood and you get nothing in return! So now I’m returning the favour.”
“This is not…” Tavlin huffed. “This is not the same thing as you drinking blood!”
“We don’t know that for sure. Perhaps fey are supposed to eat semen? Maybe you’ll find yourself feeling incredibly replenished by it,” Astarion snorted. His hand pushed dangerously close to Tavlin’s face.
“Wouldn’t that make you happy,” Tavlin grinned. His arms began to falter under Astarion’s body weight.
Suddenly, Tavlin’s arms broke under Astarion’s weight, and Astarion took his chance to push his fingers into Tavlin’s mouth. Tavlin bit down. Astarion yelped and pulled his hand away. He hissed as he shook off the pain, but was quickly overcome with laughter. He flopped down beside Tavlin, clutching his stomach as he tried to repress his giggles. Tavlin smacked his lips in disgust and let his tongue hang from his mouth.
“Stop laughing!” Tavlin punched Astarion’s arm. “Do you have to ruin everything? Is it in your blood?”
“Evidently,” Astarion choked back a snort.
“I can’t believe you,” Tavlin frowned. “You’re disgusting. I’m going to go climb into your tent — leave you here.”
Tavlin moved to sit up but was halted by Astarion flinging his arms around him. “What? Hurry through the camp naked? Crawl into my tent where you’ll have to sit in your anger with a constant reminder of me? Actually I should let you do it — it would be incredibly amusing.”
“Shut up,” Tavlin rolled his eyes, letting Astarion pull him to his body. He could feel the semen on Astarion’s chest press against his back.
“You liked it,” Astarion rested his head on Tavlin’s shoulder.
“No, it tasted disgusting,” Tavlin pushed Astarion’s face away with his hand, trying to suppress a smile. “And I want you to apologise.”
“You liked it,” Astarion teased again.
“Gods your vile. Apologise or I will leave,” Tavlin tried to put on a stern face.
“Tavlin, my dear cleric, from the bottom of my cold, cold heart, I am sorry. But I cannot promise that I’ll never make you do it again.”
“You’re impossible,” Tavlin relaxed into Astarion, who spooned him.
Astarion laughed against Tavlin’s shoulder. Tavlin tried to ignore him, but a smile kept creeping onto his face. He couldn’t seem to control the laughter that escaped him. He wasn’t mad, really. Sure, it was disgusting, but it didn’t aggravate him at all. He rather enjoyed the weird play he and Astarion indulged in. He’d never done that before — play fought. He’d never had a normal relationship with anyone if he thought about it. There was a lot to life he had missed out on, in adolescence and adulthood. A lot that he discovered he enjoyed. Like Astarion’s naked body pressed against his. Like Astarion’s laughs reverberating through him. Like his hands against his chest, holding him close. How natural it was — how good it made him feel.
“We shouldn’t let it sit,” Astarion spoke into Tavlin’s neck.
“Hm?”
“The come. It’ll harden,” Astarion grinned.
“For gods’ sake, clean it up yourself,” Tavlin rolled his eyes and pushed against Astarion’s hips.
Astarion groaned as he sat up. He looked around Tavlin’s tent for something to wipe up with, settling on Tavlin’s discarded blouse. A small bottle of water sat atop a few books in the corner of the tent. He popped the cork off the top and poured it onto the shirt. As he wiped the semen from himself, Tavlin turned to look at him.
“What’s that bottle?” he asked.
Astarion opened his hand, his fingers pinching the neck of the glass.
“Astarion!” Tavlin hissed.
“What?” Astarion stopped wiping himself.
“That’s moon water, not some random bottle!”
“Moon water? What the hells are you talking about?” He continued wiping himself, laughing at Tavlin’s annoyance.
“Gods nevermind,” Tavlin grumbled. There was no point in explaining his spiritual practices to Astarion, for he was determined to undermine any of his beliefs.
“On your stomach,” Astarion directed, scooting on his knees back towards Tavlin. Tavlin rolled over, letting astarion wipe the semen off his shoulder blade, and then pat him dry with the sleeve of his shirt.
Astarion looked down at Tavlin; he rested his head on his crossed arms, a dejected look on his face. Astarion suddenly felt a small amount of shame for his disregard of Tavlin’s items. Well, his actions did make sense. Of course, he could have used his own shirt, but how was he supposed to know the water meant anything? He could have asked first. Should have, probably. Astarion placed the bottle and shirt on the ground beside him. He rested his hand on Tavlin’s now clean shoulder, and leaned down to kiss his temple.
“I’m… sorry,” Astarion struggled to get out. He didn’t like saying sorry. There were many things he could do to mean sorry, but the words themselves seemed to burn on their way out.
“It’s alright,” Tavlin whispered. “You didn’t know.”
“No, I didn’t,” Astarion replied. Tavlin scoffed.
Astarion laid on his side next to Tavlin, propped up on his elbow. “Turn around?” Astarion beckoned. Tavlin shifted to rest his head on his other cheek in order to look at Astarion. Astarion moved down, getting eye level with Tavlin, his arm stretching out in front of him. The back of his hand traced Tavlin’s face.
“I am sorry,” Astarion clarified. He frowned at both himself and Tavlin’s sad face. His disrespect of a bottle of water couldn’t have made him look so depressing, could it?
“I know,” Tavlin forced a smile.
“Are you alright? Did I upset you? Hurt you?” Astarion felt anxiety creeping over his body. Sex leaves people in a vulnerable state — especially the inexperienced. He should have been more careful with Tavlin, with himself. Should have let the moment be, rather than incite action — discomfort.
“No, you didn’t do anything. I’m happy,” Tavlin said softly.
“You definitely don't look it.”
“I’m happy that I have you. Happy that you make me happy. Happy I can touch you, kiss you, laugh with you. But I’m sad that I haven’t before. Sad that this is all a first,” Tavlin traced the stitching of his bed roll with his finger.
“This…” Astarion struggled to find the words. Struggled to let them escape him. Gods, vulnerability was hard. “This is all quite new to me too.”
Tavlin rolled onto his side, placing his now freed hand atop Astarions. He looked into his eyes. Older than he seemed. Years of loneliness hidden away inside him. They were all too familiar with loneliness.
“I love you,” Tavlin whispered.
Astarion’s eyes widened, his lips parting slightly in shock, and then flattening as he clenched his jaw. Saying sorry was one thing, this was another. He did. Gods did love him. Or at least he believes he does? Is that what love felt like? Desperation to be near another. A deep-seated need to care for and be cared for. A longing to share every detail of oneself to another — to be understood wholly. A sense of calm, a sense of belonging, to be near another. That was his love at least. That’s what he understood it to be.
Astarion stroked Tavlin’s cheek with his thumb. He absorbed the details of his face. Yes, love, he thought. Love.
“I love you too.”
***
Tavlin ate his bowl of oats while Astarion watched him. At first Tavlin had struggled to be watched as he ate — it was already such an uncomfortable process, and Astarion’s creepy gaze did nothing to encourage him. But now he was used to it, and found himself rather fond of Astarion’s company in the mornings. Especially this morning.
Tavlin’s mind kept wandering back to their night together. How Astarion had touched him… How it had felt… More. He wanted more.
Fondness aside, it did bring a concern to his mind. In the daylight Tavlin realised how close together their tents were. He remembered how out of control things had gotten between him and Astarion. Were they whispering? Yes, they must have. He hoped they had. Pray to his Silver Lady they did.
A cranky looking Shadowheart walked briskly to the pot atop the fire. She scooped herself a helping of oats and sat down opposite to Tavlin and Astarion — the same log as Halsin. Halsin bid her good morning and she grunted in response. Tavlin poked at his oats with his spoon, looking anxiously away from Shadowheart.
“You know, Halsin?” Shadowheart suddenly said.
“Yes?” Halsin smiled at her.
“I was just wondering this, and I thought you would be the person to know,” she began, looking at the pair although she spoke to Halsin. “Do fey eat semen for survival like… I don’t know, perhaps a vampire drinks blood?”
Tavlin covered his face with his hands in shame, while Astarion barked out in laughter.
Well now he knew. They most definitely did not keep quiet.