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The issue with taking a wizard for a lover, Astarion thinks, is that they’re too damn clever for their own good.
“Clever” may be the wrong word, actually. “Curious” may be more fitting, in the manner that killed the cat, for most people would not consider it clever or wise to be in such close proximity to a known vampire, and yet here Gale Dekarios is.
Astarion finds himself seated comfortably in the gently-lit interior of Gale’s tent as the wizard himself conducts another one of his self-proclaimed “purely academic” experiments. It is not the first time Gale has asked to examine Astarion – for the sake of research, of course – and it is only because Astarion knows how these little experiments tend to end that he agreed. It’s certainly not because he appreciates the excuse to be close to Gale himself, or because he enjoys the way Gale looks at him like a puzzle to be solved.
Tonight’s escapade is unique from the others, however. Previous “experiments” had been focused on his vampiric traits; Gale had spent memorable evenings examining how his fangs extend further under certain stimuli (namely, arousal), how his pupils contract into catlike slits when his body reacts to certain sensations (such as arousal), and how he can smell hormonal changes in someone’s blood if they stand close enough (once again, mostly arousal). Tonight, however, Gale has decided to fixate on something not vampiric but elven: Astarion’s ears.
It’s an open secret among elves that touching someone’s ears is incredibly intimate due to their sensitivity. Astarion has always had trouble believing it, writing it off as another exaggerated trope for humans to write their indecent fantasies about. How ridiculous, he thought, hearing lurid tales of elven partners reaching their peak just from having their ears stimulated. Touching his own ears had never felt particularly exciting, and none of his many partners with their wandering hands had managed to pull anything pleasurable from his ears.
He should’ve known that his prodigy wizard would prove him wrong.
They stumbled upon this one by accident, for once. Their ragtag little party had been enjoying dinner around the fire, Astarion having just returned from his hunt when one of Lae’zel’s dry comments had him bark out a laugh. Gale watched him affectionately, taking joy in his joy, then reached out to tuck a lock of hair that had fallen out of place back behind his left ear, accidentally brushing the tip of his ear in the process.
The effect was immediate, and thank the gods below that the rest of the party was too distracted by the rest of the conversation to notice Astarion’s sharp intake of breath. Gale, of course, took notice. With a slow, deliberate movement, he brought his hand back up to Astarion’s ear and ran one finger down the edge, gentle and featherlight. Astarion, still in shock from his initial reaction, couldn’t help the full-body shiver or the way his eyes glassed over for a split second, his mouth falling open slightly.
Gale seemed to contemplate the sight before him for a moment before drawing his hand away, giving a decisive nod and sending a quick psychic pulse to Astarion’s mind. Tonight, my tent. I’d like to learn more from you, if you’ll let me.
And so Astarion is here, fully clothed and barely touched and yet struggling not to shake apart under Gale’s precise ministrations. It starts with slow, soft touches as Gale traces the shell of each ear just to learn the shape and watch with wonder as Astarion shudders under him.
“Fascinating,” Gale murmurs. “And you really had no idea of the effect this would have on you?”
“It’s never had an effect before — ah,” Astarion cuts himself off with a stifled whine as Gale’s hands move, growing bolder, rubbing the pointed tip of one ear between his fingers. Gale had suggested that Astarion sit back and make himself comfortable, while Gale remains standing for the sake of being able to move around, and something about the arrangement already sparks a curling heat at his core.
“So you said,” Gale replies. His eyes carefully gauge each reaction, cataloging Astarion’s every twitch and sigh. “What makes me so special then, I wonder?”
Trust, Astarion thinks immediately. I trust your hands on me more than anyone else’s, more than my own.
“Must be your scintillating conversation,” he grits out instead, trying valiantly to suppress another full-body shudder when the gentle rubbing of his ear tips leads to a scrape of fingernail. “You must know by now, darling, there’s nothing sexier than your – mh – long-winded rambles about lanceboard.”
Gale, ever the gentleman, doesn’t acknowledge the way his words trip over a bitten-off moan beyond a quick smirk of satisfaction. “Ah, of course. You do know how to flatter me, dearheart.”
Astarion opens his mouth to provide his usual witty protests at the pet name but Gale, the bastard, takes that moment to lean down and lick a quick stripe along the edge of his right ear, and instead all that comes out is a very undignified whine. Before he can recover, Gale does it again but slower, wet heat dragging along his skin, and Astarion cannot help the full-on moan that escapes him at the sensation.
Any hope Astarion had of maintaining a shred of dignity flies out the tent flap when Gale climbs into his lap and holds his head in place to lave his tongue over the delicate shell of his ear. It’s obscene, the way Gale licks and kisses his ear like a cock while the hand not curled in Astarion’s hair finds its way to his other ear to stroke at the tip. Astarion has had partners, he’s had pleasure, including at Gale’s own hand, but nothing has felt like this before – somehow both painfully intimate and not close enough, too much and too little. Something about their positioning, too, makes every coherent thought in his head turn to mush. Gale has him held in place, his mouth working close enough to Astarion’s neck that he can feel hot breath ghosting over the bite scar.
His hips rock up of their own accord, meeting nothing but air as Gale lifts himself onto his knees to keep Astarion from getting any real friction. Fucking bastard – Astarion can feel his mouth curl into a grin against his ear.
When Gale pulls away, leaving Astarion’s spit-soaked right ear to twitch in the sudden coolness, he really does look like he’s just been sucking on something more substantial. His pupils are blown wide, lips swollen and shiny. Gale carefully lowers himself back down to be seated fully in Astarion’s lap, and they both take a moment to take in the sight before them, panting.
“Huh,” Gale says finally. “I had expected a stronger reaction from, er, stronger stimuli, of course, but that…I don’t think I’ve ever heard you make such noises.”
If he could, Astarion knows he would be blushing. “Ah. Hm. I must confess, I don’t think I understood the full extent of what that would feel like either.”
Gale seems to think for a moment, taking the time to let them both cool down a bit, and then he meets Astarion’s gaze once more, a wicked gleam in his eyes. “Do you think you could come from it?” He asks innocently, one hand already trailing up to trace along the edge of Astarion’s now-damp ear.
Astarion cannot hide the way he leans into the touch. “I’m not sure,” he answers honestly. “I…hm. I…would be open to finding out.”
“Excellent,” Gale breathes, giving a quick grind down with his hips to make sure Astarion can feel the growing hardness there. “Because I must confess something myself, dearheart. My interest is no longer purely academic.”
With that, he rises back to his knees, laces his fingers back into Astarion’s curls to hold him in place, takes his other ear-tip into his mouth and bites. Pure heat races through Astarion’s body at the feeling of blunt human teeth scraping against such sensitive skin, and if Gale weren’t holding him so tightly he would have thrown his head back with the force of his moan. His hands clutch at the back of Gale’s robes, desperate for something to hold onto against the unrelenting wave of sensation.
This time, the wizard doesn’t let up. Ever the quick learner, he picks up on the way Astarion’s whines rise in pitch when he sucks on the lobe, how a teasing nibble at the tip earns him a desperate roll of hips but a full-on bite results in a gasp that sounds a lot like his name.
Gale is nothing if not an enthusiastic lover, and Astarion is already soaking his underclothes with the need for Gale’s stupid fucking perfect mouth to be somewhere more rewarding. It would be so easy to seek out that last bit of stimulation, either from rutting against his own hand or with some well-placed begging to get Gale to concede. But Gale’s earlier question, asking if he could come just from this, swims through his overwhelmed mind. Astarion had spent two centuries believing he couldn’t come at all without stimulation to his clit, until Gale “Overachiever” Dekarios came along, so what if this is similar? The allure of learning something new about himself and his body at Gale’s careful hand is too tempting to pass up.
And it seems the question will be answered sooner rather than later. As though he can sense Astarion’s resolve, Gale seems to double down on his efforts. His mouth works on one ear, applying the same level of devoted attention that he would on Astarion’s cunt, his left hand works the other ear, and his right hand remains tangled in Astarion’s hair, holding him in place. Astarion’s body cannot comprehend the sheer onslaught of pleasure while he remains technically untouched, his cunt throbbing and clenching around nothing, so aroused it almost aches. The heat within him winds tighter and tighter with each lap of Gale’s tongue, each tug on his hair, until he’s squirming in his seat and every breath is a plea. A litany of please, fuck, Gale, more falls from his lips, unending. Close, more, fuck. Close.
In the end, it’s not even the hand or mouth at his ears that pushes him over the edge. Gale pulls back from his ear just enough to blow cool air over the wet skin and whispers, “I think you can come from this, love. I think you will .” It’s not quite a command but fuck, Astarion could never refuse him. He seizes up under Gale’s body, the built-up tension snapping like a bowstring, mouth open in a silent shout. For a moment, nothing, just white-hot pleasure blanking out his mind.
The world comes trickling back in slowly. The hands in his hair and at his ear have since migrated to rub soothing circles into his sides. Gale has settled fully in his lap again, no longer raised up on his knees, and the weight of him is grounding. His face filters into focus, brown eyes still blown wide with arousal but warm and affectionate.
“Well, I think that answers our question of the evening,” Gale says as soon as he sees those red eyes return to awareness.
“It certainly does,” Astarion replies, still panting. He shifts in his seat and makes a face when he feels the now-uncomfortable wetness on the inside of his underclothes. “Well, darling, experiment concluded. Now, if you wouldn’t mind, I’d like to clean myself up a bit. Being thoroughly debauched is all fun and good until the aftermath, isn’t it?”
Gale glances down to Astarion’s crotch, seeming to just notice the growing wet patch. His eyes grow hooded, and he licks his lips. “The aftermath…of course. May I help you, then? With your clean-up?”
Astarion does not miss the way he licks his lips again for emphasis, and grins. “I thought you’d never offer. You know, dear, it’s quite rude to just leave your own mess for someone else to handle.”
Gale is already slipping down from his lap onto the floor, resting his chin on Astarion’s knee. “Oh, and we can’t have that. I’m known for my manners, after all.”
Between the two of them, it does not take long to get Astarion naked from the waist down. Gale watches like a starving man as each inch of pale skin is revealed, tongue darting out to wet his lips at the sight of a string of slick connecting Astarion to his underclothes are tugged away. As soon as the clothes are off, he lurches forward, stopping just before his mouth makes contact, close enough that Astarion can feel his breath on cold skin.
“May I?” Gale asks, voice thick with need.
Astarion threads both hands into his hair. “Go on, then. Clean up your mess.”
The issue with taking a wizard for a lover, Astarion thinks, is that they’re too damn clever for their own good. And “clever” is the correct word for this case, because there is no other explanation for how Gale has figured out how to take him apart so exquisitely.
Usually, Gale will take his time with teasing, kissing all over between Astarion’s legs except for where he’s hot with wanting until Astarion pulls him in by the hair. It seems that he has no patience for teasing today, however, which is a small blessing. Gale’s tongue goes straight to his soft folds, licking up any excess slick from his first orgasm, and Astarion can feel him moan at the taste. Strong hands, fingers slightly calloused from spellwork, hold his legs wide and open. If it were anyone else, Astarion would feel too exposed, too vulnerable, but he feels safe under Gale’s attention. He’s seen those hands manipulate the strings of reality like a harp, but now those same hands are devoted to holding him still, thumbs gently rubbing the insides of his thighs. That brilliant mind, fully focused on wringing every last drop of pleasure from his body. That clever mouth, capable of incinerating foes with a single word, is now sealed over his clit and sucking hard enough that Astarion is thrashing involuntarily against Gale’s grip.
At this point, Astarion no longer has the presence of mind to be self-conscious. When Gale moves one hand from his thigh to slip a finger into him, Astarion shamelessly throws his now-unrestrained leg over Gale’s shoulder and grinds up into his face. Gale, delighted with the rougher treatment, goes straight for two fingers, spreads them, sticks his tongue in between for good measure and lets out the most wanton moan directly into Astarion’s core.
Already sensitive from his first orgasm, Astarion is growing close quickly. His incoherent babbling and cursing are evidently intelligible enough to Gale, who starts pumping in a third finger and goes back to providing suction over his clit. Those long, slender fingers speed up, fucking into him with a filthy wet sound every time.
In the end, it’s Gale’s teeth that do him in – the tiniest drag of those blunt human teeth over his clit, the barest suggestion of a bite, has Astarion letting out a broken wail as he arches again, gushing over Gale’s face.
Gale pulls back for a moment, releasing Astarion’s oversensitive clit but not removing his fingers, only slowing their jackhammer pace to a gentler slide. “More?” Gale asks, voice hoarse.
Once Astarion’s vision clears, he almost comes again right away just from the sight before him. Proud, clever Gale, knelt in reverence in front of him. His face is soaked from the nose down, his beard glistening with slick, his mouth dripping wet, and even now his tongue darts out to lick his lips. Panting like he’s been sprinting, brown eyes almost eclipsed by blown-out pupils, hair mussed and tangled by Astarion’s demanding fingers.
He’s an absolute mess. Astarion yanks him back in by the hair.
Gale’s admittedly expert technique starts getting sloppier as he goes on, but his enthusiasm seems to double, absolutely burying his face between Astarion’s trembling legs and eating him out like his life depends on it. The slick sounds of his fingers, four now, pounding relentlessly into Astarion’s clenching hole are obscene.
At some point, Astarion’s third orgasm has him gulping for air he doesn’t need, eyes screwed shut. Before Gale can ask, Astarion is gasping, “More, please, don’t stop,” unintentionally slipping into Elvish. Gale seems to get the gist and obliges, fucking his fingers faster and sucking harder until a fourth orgasm slams into him almost immediately.
After coming four times, Astarion goes limp in his seat. Gale carefully unseals his mouth from Astarion’s throbbing cunt and gently slips his fingers out, wiping them on his own pants. His other hand rubs soothing circles on Astarion’s inner thigh.
“Alright, love?” Gale asks, and gods, his voice is fucking wrecked. It’s enough to make Astarion twitch in interest.
Astarion blinks at him, bleary-eyed, a lazy half-grin curling across his face. “That’s one way to put it. For fuck’s sake, Gale, that was… inspired, to say the least.”
Gale preens at the compliment, licking his lips again. “I’ll take that as the highest praise.”
“Usually, I’d make some remark about how I never give praise out for free, but I think you successfully fucked the wit right out of me,” Astarion responds. “Well done, wizard. Now, would you, er, like anything in return?”
Gale’s face somehow gets even redder, and he looks down sheepishly. “Ah! Um, I appreciate the offer, good sir, but I believe that will not be…necessary.”
Astarion follows his gaze to the fresh wet patch on the front of Gale’s trousers, and his half-grin widens. “Gale, am I to believe that you came in your pants just from sucking me off? I’m flattered.”
Gale opens his mouth, presumably to try to defend himself, but is interrupted in his attempt by Astarion sliding to the floor and silencing him with a kiss.
“Well,” Gale says, once they pull apart. “I think we can call this experiment a success, yes?”
“Oh, I’m not sure,” Astarion replies. “I think it will require further study, don’t you?”
Gale looks delighted. “Ah, yes, upon reflection, I see that our results may have been…inconclusive. You’re right, I think I’ll need to conduct further experimentation.”
Astarion smiles fully. “I can’t wait.”