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The town of Baldur’s Gate had weathered many storms, but none as fierce as this one.
It started innocently enough—a gentle drizzle, met with smiles as it kissed the townspeople’s faces. The air would clear, the plants in window boxes would drink in the moisture they’d needed for so long. Vendors left their stalls uncovered, unconcerned. Why bother? A little rain never hurt anyone.
By the next day, there was nothing left to cover.
When the storm didn’t cease but instead intensified, fear took hold. The skies tore open as if the heavens could no longer bear the weight of the water they carried. Stone streets turned into streaming rivers, waves crashed violently against the cliffs, and thunder roared without pause, punctuated by relentless flashes of lightning.
By week’s end, despair gripped the town. Had they sinned so greatly to deserve this? Only a fool would go outside now. A fool—or a man driven by desperation.
And Gale Dekarios was desperate.
Now, he hurried through deserted alleyways, slipping occasionally on slick stones, his cloak and hood pulled low against the cold and rain. He couldn’t afford to slow down; he wouldn’t let himself. After all, he was the one who had brought this suffering upon the town.
He was sure of it. It had to be him. The demons he had wrestled with his entire life had clawed their way to the surface, and surely, this storm was God’s punishment.
At first, it had been nothing more than a strange sensation, like eyes boring into him from behind. It followed him everywhere—at home, in the market, during a walk. Though he couldn’t justify it, the feeling clung to him.
Then it intensified.
The feeling evolved into something else: warm breath on his skin. In the library as he selected a new book. During lectures as he taught his students. The shallow warmth forced him to turn around, heart pounding, only to find no one there.
Then came the touches.
Phantom brushes at the most unexpected moments. A light tap on his wrist as he lay in bed. A gentle touch on his shoulder as he dressed in the morning. The faintest sensation of fingers combing through his hair during lectures. Each one made Gale flinch, and every time, he was alone.
What was worse than the sensations themselves was the fact that no one else seemed to be experiencing anything like it. Everyone else carried on with their pleasant lives, and Gale tried his best to blend in — until he’d suddenly flinch or whip around in alarm, drawing curious stares. In recent days, people have even started to whisper and point at him.
One day at the market, a huge white bat swooped over him — Gale had to rub his eyes in disbelief. He could hardly trust what he was seeing, but he was certain it was a terrible omen.
That day, the rain began.
Deep inside, Gale knew it was his fault. The townspeople’s fearful whispers, calling it divine punishment, only hardened his conviction. By the seventh day, when a shadow flitted past the window of his tiny apartment, he knew he was cursed. Possessed. Surely, the Devil himself had come to claim his due, unleashing his wrath upon the city.
There was only one place left to turn.
A bolt of lightning tore through the sky, followed by such a violent rumble that Gale nearly lost his footing. Regaining his balance, he pulled his hood lower and quickened his pace. One more turn, and…
A flash of lightning illuminated the massive church, casting it in an eerie, unforgiving glow.
He stopped. Now that he’d arrived, doubt washed over him. The place he once found welcoming now loomed ominously. The sight of its twin towers clawed toward the sky like fangs sent a shiver down Gale’s spine, urging him to turn back.
But he had no other choice.
Rain poured down around him as the church’s tall, gothic silhouette loomed closer. Each clap of thunder seemed to shake its stone walls. Gale took a deep breath and pushed open the heavy wooden door. It creaked, almost in protest. Inside, the air was thick with the scent of old incense and damp stone, shadows pooled around the high arches, and flickering candlelight cast wavering shapes along the walls.
Hesitant, he took a step forward, his footsteps echoing through the empty nave. The rows of pews, usually filled on Sundays, now lay vacant in the ghostly quiet. Gale’s eyes scanned the sanctuary, and they landed on a figure seated near the large stone altar.
Gale exhaled in relief and hurried forward. “Father Elminster, I—” He stopped, his words trailing off.
That was not Father Elminster.
“I’m afraid Father Elminster is still unwell. But perhaps I could help you, my son,” the priest’s voice echoed softly through the empty nave.
Gale’s heart sank as the reality settled over him. Of course. Father Elminster had been ailing for over a month now. How could he have forgotten?
He glanced up, realising with a start that he knew this priest. Since Father Elminster had taken ill, this man had frequently led the mass, standing in for the old cleric. Gale had always admired his beauty in silence, captivated by his alabaster skin that seemed to glow in the candlelight, his silver hair cascading in soft waves, framing a face of striking elegance.
The black cassock, which draped around him down to the floor, had a simple yet perfect cut. It clung closely to his tall, slender frame, the fabric softly catching the light from the candles.
He was simply beautiful. The entire town had been mesmerised by him, drawn to his charm and ethereal presence.
And yet, despite the priest's grace and warmth, Gale felt a gnawing hesitation. He had come here to unburden his soul, to seek comfort from an old friend who had seen him at his most vulnerable, who knew his past better than anyone. He hadn’t expected to find this other man waiting—a stranger, however kind.
“Father Astarion…”
The priest’s dark eyes searched Gale’s face, a hint of a smile touching his lips. “You look troubled, my child. Whatever weighs on you, I am here to listen.”
Gale hesitated, his mind racing. He wanted to flee, to retreat and wait until Father Elminster recovered until he could spill his secrets to someone familiar, someone he could trust implicitly. Yet, a flicker of desperation tightened his throat. The strange, haunting visions, the unrelenting storm outside—how much longer could he carry this burden alone?
He swallowed, his voice barely a whisper. “I… I don’t know if I’m ready.”
The priest’s gaze softened, and he took a step forward, his presence both comforting and unsettling. “No one ever truly feels ready, Gale. But sometimes, speaking the words aloud is the first step to finding peace. And I assure you”—his voice dropped to a low murmur—“I am no stranger to darkness.”
A tremor ran through Gale. He didn't feel good about it. But even though this priest was cloaked in shadows and mystery, he was offering the comfort Gale desperately craved.
Finally, Gale took a deep, unsteady breath, feeling it shudder as it left his chest. He looked up, meeting the priest’s mesmerizing dark eyes.
“I need to confess, Father.”
The priest nodded, his expression gentle yet solemn. He extended a hand, gesturing toward a nearby pew. “Sit with me, Gale,” he murmured. In the vast, empty church, there was no need to hide within the confessional’s shadows.
Gale’s heart skipped. How did the priest know his name? He’d never confessed to this man, never exchanged even a word with him outside of polite greetings at mass. Yet here he was, speaking Gale’s name as if it were an old, familiar song—a sound that lingered on his lips with a warmth that felt entirely out of place in the cold, sacred space around them.
But… he liked it.
Gale sank onto the wooden pew, trying to quell the butterflies that stirred in his stomach, flustered by this strange sense of familiarity that filled the air between them. His name in the priest’s mouth was ambrosia, rich and intoxicating, curling around him like incense smoke.
The priest settled beside him, folding his hands in his lap and studying Gale with an intensity that sent a ripple of unease through him. “You’ve been carrying this weight alone for too long, Gale,” he said, his voice a quiet balm. “Tell me what you fear. All of it.”
Gale’s throat tightened. How was it that a stranger—a stranger who somehow felt as familiar as his own thoughts—could speak to the heart of his turmoil so directly? He wanted to pull back, to retreat into the safety of distance, yet something in the priest’s gaze held him captive. And with each second that passed, Gale felt his resolve, his walls, crumbling.
“I’m… I’m not sure where to begin,” he murmured, his voice trembling.
“Begin where it hurts the most,” the priest replied, his tone gentle yet firm. His hand reached out, stopping just short of touching Gale’s shoulder, as if he sensed the weight of what Gale was about to reveal.
And as Gale took a deep breath, something shifted in the shadows around them, a faint whisper, an invisible presence drawing closer. For a fleeting moment, Gale thought he saw the faintest hint of a smile on the priest’s lips—a smile that seemed both compassionate and something else entirely.
“I— I’ve never really…” Gale’s voice trailed off as his gaze faltered under the priest’s steady, unreadable eyes. He couldn’t bear the intensity of that look, so he lowered his head, his cheeks warming despite the cold dampness still clinging to him.
He swallowed, his voice barely a whisper. “I’ve always… liked men.”
The words felt heavy, foreign, finally given life after so many years of silence. They hung between them, vulnerable and exposed in the vast emptiness of the church.
Gale risked a glance upward, but the priest’s expression remained serene. He didn’t flinch or recoil; he simply waited, allowing the silence to deepen, drawing out the rest of what Gale hadn’t yet said.
“Since I was a boy. I never told anyone though.” Gale’s voice trembled as he spoke, a faint flush rising to his cheeks. “But a month ago, I was coming home late. And in the alley, there were… I didn’t mean to look. I wasn’t trying to snoop.” He looked away, his hands twisting in his lap. “But… I haven’t been able to resist my thoughts since. The things I’d like to do with men, and the things I’d like them to do to me.”
Gale held his breath, careful to leave out one dangerous detail—the fact that Father Astarion himself had become one of those forbidden fantasies.
The confession left his lips barely above a whisper as if saying it any louder would bring down divine judgment at that very moment. Shame and desire twisted together, clawing at his insides. He dared not look up at the priest, afraid to see disgust—or worse, pity—on his face.
The priest’s face remained unreadable, his hand withdrawing from Gale’s shoulder with measured slowness, leaving an unsettling chill in its place.
Swallowing hard, he forced himself to continue. “They’ve consumed me, Father. They never leave me. They creep into my thoughts at every hour, as though I’m…” His voice trailed off, hesitating at the edge of a word he barely dared to speak. “As though I’m possessed.”
“That is a grave sin,” the priest said, his voice calm yet edged with something Gale couldn’t quite place. The words struck Gale like a blow, and he lowered his gaze, feeling a fresh wave of shame roll over him. His fingers gripped the edge of the pew as though he might fall without its support.
The silence settled between them, thick and impenetrable. The storm outside seemed to intensify, the winds howling against the church walls, and the flickering candlelight cast shadows that danced along the cold stone. Gale’s pulse hammered, loud in his ears, as he waited for the priest to respond.
When the priest finally spoke, his tone was low, almost reverent, as though each word were a ritual in itself. “There is darkness, Gale, that lingers around those who are lost in temptation. It grows, feeding on desire left unchecked, twisting until it no longer serves us but rather seeks to control us.” His dark eyes, unreadable, lingered on Gale’s face.
“To purify yourself,” he continued, his voice dark and resolute, “you must undergo an exorcism.”
The words struck Gale like a sudden, icy plunge, and for a moment, he couldn’t breathe. An exorcism? His mind reeled as he struggled to comprehend. He had come seeking comfort, reassurance—perhaps even absolution—but this was something else entirely.
“An exorcism, Father? That means I really am possessed?”
The priest didn’t break his gaze. “The shadows in your mind, these urges and unbidden desires—they have grown into something more. When temptation festers, it can open a gateway for spirits that seek to prey on weakness. If left unchecked, this darkness can consume you entirely.”
Gale’s hands shook, his pulse racing as he searched the priest’s face for some sign of mercy or reassurance, but found only the unwavering conviction in his eyes. The storm outside seemed to rage harder, echoing the turmoil inside him. “But… I don’t know if I can go through with it. What if—” His voice faltered. “What if it doesn’t work?”
The priest didn’t respond with words. Instead, he stood, his hand reaching out with an undeniable firmness. Gale barely had a moment to gather himself before the priest clasped his hand, his grip cool and steady. Without hesitation, he began to lead Gale down the aisle, toward the altar.
“We must begin now,” the priest said, his voice brooking no argument.
Gale’s breath quickened as they moved together, his heart pounding louder with each step. The flickering candlelight cast eerie shadows across the stone walls, and the vast, empty silence of the church seemed to close in around them, intensifying the feeling that there was something unseen, something ancient and powerful, awaiting them at the altar.
They reached the front, where the altar loomed, draped in solemn hues of violet and black. The priest’s silver hair caught the candlelight, casting a soft, almost ethereal glow around his head. Every detail stood out in sharp relief: the graceful arch of his cheekbones. His pale skin looked smooth as marble, the high collar of his robe framing his long neck in a way that made him look timeless, like a figure from one of the sacred paintings that adorned the chapel walls.
Gale’s breath caught as he took in the priest’s presence, so close and so painfully beautiful. And when the priest released Gale’s hand, Gale couldn’t help but feel a pang of regret.
Gale’s heart stilled as the priest turned to him, his face expressionless, his gaze unwavering.
“Take your clothes off, Gale.”
A cold shock ran through him, and for a moment, he thought he must have misheard. But the priest’s face held no sign of jest or cruelty—only an unnerving calm that seemed to demand obedience.
“Father Astarion…” Gale stammered, his cheeks burning. “Is this… truly necessary?”
The priest nodded, a gentleness in his expression that felt oddly unsettling. “In an exorcism, the body must be made vulnerable to release what it holds. It is a purification, a shedding of all that conceals. Trust me, Gale. If you wish to be free of this darkness, you must allow yourself to be exposed, to leave nothing hidden.”
Gale’s mind reeled as he grappled with the weight of the priest’s words. The thought left him raw, as though every unspoken fear and desire lay splayed before the altar, waiting to be confronted.
With a shaky breath, he began to unfasten his cloak, each piece of fabric slipping away under the priest’s unwavering gaze. The chill of the air pricked at his skin, leaving him stripped in a way that felt deeper than flesh as if his very soul lay bare.
“Step forward,” the priest’s voice commanded, shattering the silence.
Gale obeyed, his feet numb as they touched the cold stone, bringing him closer to the altar. He couldn’t ignore the way Astarion’s gaze trailed over him, lingering in places that made him want to turn away. Yet, something about the priest’s presence held him there, a potent mix of shame and anticipation that kept him frozen in that sacred space.
“From this moment on,” Astarion continued, his voice smooth, his tone imperious, “you will address me only by name. No titles. No formalities. You will listen—and obey—without hesitation.”
A surge of uncertainty made Gale’s heart pound, but the strength of Astarion’s words left no room for question or defiance.
“Yes, Astarion,” Gale whispered, the name foreign on his tongue, yet oddly fitting, as if it had been waiting to be spoken all along.
A faint smile played at the corner of Astarion’s lips as he watched Gale, a quiet intensity in his eyes. His hand extended, gesturing toward the altar in a silent directive.
“Lie down.”
Gale felt his throat tighten as he glanced toward the cold, stone surface of the altar, draped in solemn hues of violet and black. His heart raced a mix of fear and an unbidden thrill mingling within him. Taking a tentative step forward, he lowered himself, his skin meeting the unyielding coolness of the stone beneath him.
The flickering candlelight cast shifting shadows above, but Gale’s gaze remained fixed on Astarion. The priest’s dark eyes held something unreadable, an otherworldly promise that shimmered in the dimness between them.
“Remember,” Astarion murmured, his voice softer now but no less firm, “you are here to surrender. To let go of every fear, every doubt. Leave them here.”
Nodding, Gale felt his resolve solidify as he looked up, seeing a strange mix of beauty and darkness in Astarion’s face, a combination both terrifying and freeing.
“Now tell me, Gale,” Astarion’s voice softened to a near whisper, yet the weight of his words pinned Gale down as if he were bound. Leaning over him, Astarion’s cold hand grazed Gale’s chest, leaving a chill that raised goosebumps. Despite the icy touch, Gale’s heart thundered, each beat echoing through him with a fervour that matched his quickening thoughts.
“What did you imagine in those hidden fantasies?” Astarion’s question hung between them, enticing and dangerous, his hand trailing, fingers brushing along Gale’s collarbone and tracing the line of muscle with a touch that was both merciless and restrained.
Gale’s breath hitched, his mind spinning as he tried to form a response. How could he speak of thoughts he’d barely acknowledged, desires cloaked even from himself? Yet Astarion’s gaze demanded nothing less than complete honesty, urging him to surrender even these secrets.
“I… I thought of… being touched,” Gale managed to confess, his voice barely audible.
“Where?”
Swallowing, Gale felt his pulse race as he fought to answer. The weight of the confession filled him with shame, yet he felt an undeniable thrill, his skin prickling under the priest’s touch. He looked away, unable to meet Astarion’s intense stare. “My… my neck,” he whispered, hesitating, “and… here.” His hand moved unconsciously, brushing over his collarbone, trailing down to rest on his chest where Astarion’s fingers lingered.
A glimmer of satisfaction flickered in Astarion’s eyes, and the hint of a smile tugged at his lips as he traced the line Gale had drawn. His touch, icy yet deliberate, left a mix of warmth and chill in its wake that made Gale’s pulse quicken. Beneath that touch, he felt his heart racing, as though each beat spoke louder than any confession could.
“Good,” Astarion murmured, his voice like a whisper in the dark. “Tell me more, Gale. Show me where your thoughts wandered. Where else did you imagine being touched?”
Gale’s breath hitched, his pulse quickening at the priest’s question. He could hardly bring himself to look up, his heart hammering in his chest as he felt Astarion’s cold fingers grazing his skin, lingering over every place he’d confessed.
Slowly, Gale raised his hand, brushing trembling fingers over his stomach, just above his hip. “Here,” he whispered, barely able to keep his voice steady. “I imagined… feeling someone’s hand here, holding me.”
Astarion’s gaze darkened, and his touch followed Gale’s hand, his fingers pressing gently over the spot, sending an electric shiver down Gale’s spine. To Gale’s dismay, all the blood began rushing down between his legs.
“Father… I mean, Astarion,” Gale quickly corrected himself when the priest frowned. “We really should stop…”
Astarion ignored the plea, his hand drifting lower. “Is that all?” he pressed, his fingers tracing where Gale’s had been. “Or did your mind wander somewhere else?”
Gale’s lips parted, the confession hovering on his tongue as he struggled to push past the lingering hesitation. “My… my throat,” he murmured. “And… my wrists. I imagined someone holding them down, keeping me… helpless.”
Astarion’s eyes sparkled with a predatory satisfaction, and he reached out to graze Gale’s wrist, applying a light pressure that made Gale’s heart race. “Helpless,” Astarion echoed, his tone carrying a dark satisfaction. “To surrender completely, to feel another’s control without restraint.”
Gale’s breath came faster, feeling both exposed and relieved as if speaking these thoughts brought them to life. And even though he’d been chattering his teeth just moments before, warmth now pulsed through his entire body.
“And… kissed,” he added, the words escaping before he could fully grasp their weight. “I wanted someone to kiss me… everywhere.”
“Then tonight,” Astarion whispered, his fingers trailing back up to Gale’s throat, resting just below his jaw with a firm, yet gentle pressure, “you’ll find what you’ve longed for.
The touch around Gale’s neck eased, but as his mind began to register the shift, Astarion’s cassock fell silently to the floor, pooling around his feet. Astarion now stood above him, framed in candlelight, his form ghostly pale in the dark space. Moving with quiet grace, he lowered himself onto the altar, hovering over Gale with his gaze steady, unwavering.
“What ar-”
Before Gale could speak, both his hands were captured, pinned effortlessly above his head, and he felt Astarion’s hand return to his throat, the pressure gentle but commanding. Astarion’s mouth descended upon his, claiming his lips in a kiss both intense and relentless, stoking flames that Gale hadn’t known could burn so brightly. The priest’s warm tongue traced his lips, slipping past to explore, pulling Gale into sensations he’d only dreamed of.
A warm, wet tongue slipped past Gale's parted lips, exploring with an intensity that felt both thrilling and disorienting. He froze, eyes wide, as he absorbed the unfamiliar sensation—something he’d only dared imagine in his quietest moments. His eyes fluttered shut, and he surrendered fully to the kiss, letting his instincts guide him as he leaned into Astarion’s touch.
The grip on his neck and tight hold on his wrists sent waves of desire coursing through him, each pulse gathering in a heated, undeniable ache within him. His breaths grew shallow, his heart racing as Astarion deepened the kiss, pulling him into an irresistible tide of sensation.
A stray thought crossed his mind, absurd in its irony: Was this really an exorcism? Each touch, each stolen breath felt too indulgent, too consuming. And yet, the pleasure—so forbidden and dangerous—left him feeling vulnerable, craving a punishment as much as he feared it.
Gale gasped, a sharp intake of breath escaping his parted lips as Astarion’s hand tightened briefly around his throat, just enough to send a shiver of electric thrill through him. The pressure sent his senses spiralling, heightening every nerve, every inch of skin that felt exposed beneath the priest’s touch and his body responded without hesitation.
He was fully hard now, arousal pooling hotly in his core, every inch of his skin alive under Astarion’s gaze and touch. The priest’s hand relaxed, just slightly, as if he knew exactly how close he could push Gale without tipping him over the edge.
Breaking the kiss, Astarion’s eyes held a flicker of dark amusement. "So eager," he murmured, leaning in as his fingers trailed down Gale’s collarbone, igniting tiny sparks along the path. When Astarion’s hand reached his chest, he paused, his mouth tracing along Gale’s jaw and neck. Each deliberate kiss sent shivers through him until Astarion’s lips settled over his nipple.
Gale shuddered, feeling the warmth of Astarion’s mouth close around pink sensitive skin, while his fingers teased the other side in a blend of sharp and gentle touches that left Gale gasping. Astarion’s teeth grazed lightly, his tongue tracing delicate circles, and Gale’s breaths became rapid and ragged as he struggled to contain himself.
The grip on Gale’s wrists loosened slightly, and though he could have pulled free, the sensation held him captive. Astarion’s hand and mouth worked in unison, fingers pinching and kneading one nipple while his mouth teased and tasted the other.
Soft, involuntary moans escaped his lips, his head tipping back as he surrendered fully to Astarion’s touch. The sound only seemed to encourage Astarion, who hummed approvingly against Gale’s skin.
Realizing his wrists were free, Gale’s eyes flew open—only to find Astarion’s hand wrapping firmly around his pulsing cock. Leaning in close, Astarion’s voice brushed against his ear, soft as silk, “What do you want me to do now?”
“I… I don’t…”
“Tell me.”
Gale wasn’t sure what he should want. If this was exorcism by pleasure, he had no idea how to reach the most pleasure possible.
Then he remembered those two men in the dark alleyway.
“Take me… in your mouth…” he murmured. “Please.”
Without further words, Astarion moved lower, his touch steadying Gale as his lips brushed against him. In the next moment, Gale knew he had made the right choice. Astarion’s mouth enveloped Gale slowly, skillfully, drawing a deep moan as Gale surrendered completely, his world narrowing to the rhythm, the warmth, and Astarion’s presence.
Everything he had experienced so far was incredible, but Astarion’s tongue teasing the sensitive skin at the tip of Gale’s erection was indescribably blissful.
Until…
"Astarion… Astarion, please… nngnh … stop." The pleasure between his legs began to build, intensifying with each passing moment. If it kept up like this...
“Astarion…”
As if he didn’t understand, Astarion instead quickened the movements of his head.
Gale's eyes began to glisten. "Please… If you don’t stop, I’ll..."
He couldn’t finish his sentence. A loud cry tore from his throat as the pleasure between his legs released, and he spilt a thick load directly into Astarion’s waiting mouth.
As soon as the pleasure washed over him and his mind started working again, he immediately pushed himself up onto his elbows. Tears welled up in his eyes and the blush on his cheeks deepened to a dark crimson from embarrassment.
"I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to… I didn’t want to..."
He heard a distinct swallow, and then Astarion was over him once more, leaning close to his face. However, his expression showed no signs of anger or disgust only a faint smile. His eyes were dark with lust and watching Gale with a quiet satisfaction as he lay there, catching his breath.
“Shhh,” Astarion hushed him, tracing a finger over his lips. “It would be selfish of me to keep it all to myself. Here, taste yourself.”
Before Gale could fully process the words, Astarion captured his lips in a fierce, unyielding kiss. Gale’s eyes widened, a jolt of shock running through him as he registered the flavour lingering on Astarion’s tongue. It was… so weird. So new.
Astarion’s mouth moved against his with a passion that demanded his complete submission, and Gale found himself responding instinctively, his hands reaching up to grasp Astarion’s shoulders, pulling him closer.
Astarion’s voice murmured close to Gale’s ear. “We’re not done.”
“Huh?” was all Gale managed before Astarion flipped him over, the cool stone of the altar now pressing against his chest and stomach. He barely had time to process the shift before he felt his cheeks spread apart, and then a wet heat of Astarion’s tongue exploring the sensitive space between them.
A shockwave of pleasure surged through him, and Gale’s body reacted immediately, his desire reigniting. He bit down on his lip, unsure how to respond, his hands clenching into fists as Astarion’s tongue continued to work him over with an agonizing, teasing precision.
And then those fingers… they joined in, without the tongue ever leaving its place at the edges of his entrance. One finger slipped inside first, then a second… Every time he thought it couldn’t get any better, this beautiful priest found a way to drive him to even greater ecstasy.
Then, as suddenly as it had begun, both the tongue and fingers were gone, leaving only a lingering dampness and a gnawing sense of emptiness. Gale let out a quiet, frustrated whimper before he could stop himself.
Astarion moved atop him, his weight settling over Gale’s back, and he could feel the priest’s thighs pressing firmly against his leg, pinning him in place. A strong hand gripped his hair, pulling gently but firmly enough to make him arch his back, lifting his hips instinctively in response. His head was tilted back slightly with his neck perfectly exposed.
Gale gasped as he felt something hard and insistent pressing against him, teasing with a slow, deliberate rhythm that left no doubt of Astarion’s intent.
“I love how your hole throbbing for me. How you’re hard as a rock under there.”
Grinding his cock alongside Gale’s butt, Gale could feel how stiff Astarion was as well… It made him feel amazing. Wanted.
“You’ve carried this burden long enough, haven’t you?” Astarion’s voice was a murmur, his lips grazing Gale’s ear, sending shivers down his spine. “Tonight, it is mine to bear.”
With those words, Astarion started pushing himself inside of Gale, inch by inch.
Even though Gale didn’t know what to expect, he sensed deep down that the priest had prepared him well. It was no coincidence that he felt no pain as Astarion’s length slowly pressed inside him. Not even when thunder rumbled outside and Gale flinched did it hurt.
“As-Astarion,” he whimpered as Astarion's length finally slid inside, all the way to the hilt.
Astarion began to thrust slowly but firmly into Gale, each movement controlled yet intense. His grip tightened in Gale’s hair, pulling hard enough to make him gasp and yelp. Although Astarion kept his pace measured, his angle struck perfectly against Gale’s most sensitive spot, igniting pleasure with every thrust.
“Hahhh…” Gale cried out, his sounds growing louder as Astarion established a steady, relentless rhythm. It wasn’t long before Gale was panting, his mouth open, tongue barely out as he struggled to catch his breath, overwhelmed by Astarion’s scent and commanding presence. The combination made his arousal surge, leaving him helplessly craving more.
With his other hand, Astarion reached down to Gale’s neck, applying a light but deliberate squeeze. The grip was careful, firm yet exerting just enough pressure to make Gale’s insides tighten in response, a rush of sensation coursing through him.
“I know you can take it, Gale…”
Astarion’s grasp tightened around Gale’s neck as his body continued to pump into Gale passionately, burying himself deeper and gliding against Gale’s pleasure spot with every stroke, never missing.
And for a moment, a thought flashed through Gale’s mind: He is his. He belongs to Astarion.
Gale could feel his climax building, unstoppable, a heat coiling low in his stomach and spreading through every nerve. He clenched around Astarion, lost in the intensity, his body giving in to the inevitable.
“Gale…”
Another bolt of lightning lit up the sky.
With a final, overwhelming thrust, the pleasure shattered, crashing through Gale like a wave. He cried out, his release surging as Astarion held him close, his voice echoing through the church, their breaths mingling, their bodies entangled in a moment of raw vulnerability and surrender.
In that moment, Gale forgot the curse, forgot the sins, forgot the city. There was only the two of them.
They stayed that way for a long moment, breathing heavily, coming down from the intensity. Eventually, Astarion loosened his grip, his touch turning soft as he brushed a strand of hair from Gale’s face. Gale struggled to roll back onto his back. There was a tenderness in Astarion’s gaze, something unspoken that lingered between them as they caught their breath.
"Oh, Gale," Astarion whispered. "I've wanted this since the moment I first laid eyes on you. I haven’t been able to think of anything else."
Gale’s head was spinning. What was he talking about?
“I had to be by your side all the time. And you knew.”
He sounded very happy about it, but Gale was utterly confused.
“I can’t lose you. I won’t lose you. Not ever.”
Gale tried to organize his thoughts, but the more he looked into Astarion's eyes, the more scattered they became. Those beautiful red eyes… Wait. Had they always been red?
“Gale,” Astarion gently stroked his cheek. “Will you become my dark consort? Will you be mine forever?”
His. Of course. He wanted to be his. He was his.
“Yes… forever.” It was the only thing Gale could manage, for Astarion, it was enough.
Gale watched as those red eyes leaned closer.
He caught a glint of two sharp white fangs.
He felt a sharp pain.
And then there was only darkness.
The next morning, the storm had passed. The residents of Baldur's Gate could finally breathe a sigh of relief, begin repairing the damage, and return to their daily lives.
A few days later, they discovered the decomposing body of Father Elminster hidden in the church.
The young teacher and the charming priest vanished without a trace, and no one heard about them ever again.