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This was supposed to be easy.
He must have done this thousands of times before. Two centuries of languorous thrusting and honeyed words, of deceitful smiles and carefully-constructed kisses.
But Astarion had never done anything like this before in all his long life.
Halsin’s hand was warm where it pressed against his hip, applying pressure to the bone there as their lips met. The archdruid’s hands were so much bigger than the vampire’s, but so much more cautious as they explored his body.
Halsin used his other hand to trail his palm down the length of Astarion’s chest, pausing to rest on his abdomen. Astarion leaned against the bedframe, hands buried in Halsin’s hair as the larger elf kissed him over and over again.
The spare bed both men were sprawled upon did not technically belong to Astarion. It was Halsin’s room; the extra bed had been a coincidence. The vampire had been sharing his room with Gale, and when they had all been camping outside together they had gotten along just fine.
But Gale mumbled in his sleep. Incessantly. When he awoke, even half-dozing, he continued to grumble and chat and make observations.
It had driven Astarion to the point of insanity.
When Halsin had passed him in the hall one evening and offered him a cup of tea and some company, Astarion had jumped at the chance to get away from his wizard roommate.
Since their meeting at Wyrm’s Crossing, he and Halsin had been…not friendly, per se. More like accidental companions. Astarion had initially dismissed him when they had freed the druid from the goblin camp. He took him to be an enormous, bumbling idiot who let himself get captured.
In return, Halsin was nothing but kind to him. To everyone, really. Genial smiles and outgoing handshakes, not to mention the tiny, whittled gifts he gave out to everyone in camp. All of them found the big elf endearing, Astarion among them.
But he kept everything, everyone, at a distance. And Halsin was no exception.
Astarion did not make friends. Yet a slow, quiet friendship had blossomed between them.
Halsin kept reappearing, though, at crucial moments when he was at his loneliest. The night they’d shared a campfire had been the start of it, this unnamed closeness between them. One thing had led to another, cups of tea turning into glasses of wine over the past few tendays.
Halsin never touched him without his explicit permission. In the beginning, Astarion refused him every time. He loathed to be touched, to be held, sometimes even just to be stared at.
Halsin was just so careful with him. And patient. Gradually, Astarion gave into him, learning to accept, then enjoy, holding his hand or letting the druid move a lock of hair out of his face.
And now here they were. Astarion wanted badly to make a joke, to comment lewdly at the size of Halsin’s excitement (he could see the outline of the larger man’s cock where it strained against his pants).
But Astarion did not feel terribly performative as Halsin continued his journey towards his nether regions. Instead, he found himself groaning when the elf nosed at his pointed ear affectionately. He feels desperate, exposed, thirsty. He yearned for something he had no clear name for.
Halsin seemed to read his mind. Part of it, anyway.
“If you need to drink from me, Astarion,” he offered. “Then you are welcome to it.”
Despite Halsin’s consent, Astarion did not sink his teeth into the druid’s exposed throat right away. He nuzzled at his pulse point almost shyly, uncertain. The thud of Halsin’s blood met the vampire’s ears, and he bit down with uncharacteristic carefulness.
He felt the druid’s groan reverberate through his own body. Astarion sunk his nails into Halsin’s bicep, both men gripping each other tightly as he drank. His head felt slightly clearer, his emotions less overwhelming, as they broke away.
Halsin surprised him by meeting his mouth again, his tongue gaining entry and no doubt tasting his own blood. Some of it was smeared on his lips when he pulled back, and the sight of it made Astarion’s dead heart skip a beat. He withheld his desire to lick the rich redness off the archdruid’s face.
It was Halsin’s turn to kiss at his neck, though he made no attempt to bite the smaller man. Astarion still held onto his shoulders as Halsin placed a cautious hand on the waistband of his trousers.
He was waiting, as always, for permission.
Astarion met his gaze. Halsin looked back at him coolly, carefully, patiently. Astarion nodded, and the archdruid helped him out of his pants and undergarments.
The vampire’s slender cock stood at full mast, weeping with precum. Halsin looked down at it fondly, and Astarion’s stomach flipped with anticipation and that yet-unknowable thing that sat heavily between them.
The druid took his cock so gently in his fist that Astarion again wanted to mock him, to laugh, anything to break the tension.
Instead he whimpered like a virgin, bucking his hips and propping himself up on his elbows so he could watch. The larger man’s callouses provide a heightened sensation that the vampire had not expected.
Halsin was murmuring to him lovingly; telling him how good he was, asking if he was enjoying himself. There was no teasing or insulting tone in his voice, only simple praise and calm reassurance.
Astarion could not tolerate it, even as his orgasm threatened to rise to the surface.
“Stop,” he hissed. Halsin complied immediately, releasing his length and laying his palm down in the dirt beside the vampire’s naked form instead.
Astarion saw his mouth form the words, “Are you all right?” but did not hear them. He realized his own breaths were shallow and quick, frightened. Sweat broke out all over his cold skin, and he noticed he was trembling, soaked in his own terror. Something bad was happening, and he could not understand it.
Cazador.
The name spilled from his lips without his meaning to. He had meant only to think the word, and yet there it was, formed into the cool night air before drifting away with the rest of his breaths.
It was the only time Halsin did not wait for his consent.
The archdruid wordlessly cupped the vampire around his armpits, lifting him as though he were a child. He pulled Astarion into his lap, wrapping his immense arms across his chest.
Astarion continued to shake. He could not seem to stop it. He noticed tears running down his cheeks. Mortified, he also realized that he was still completely nude and fully erect. Halsin, embracing him, was still in his usual dark green trousers, though he had lost his shirt hours earlier.
Astarion wished he could die. He wished for the sun to still hurt him. He wished for his life to just not be the way that it was for a few moments.
All the while, Halsin rocked him, slowly. He was not trying to kiss him, or cop a feel, or do anything other than sway their bodies side to side. He continued to speak, lowly, though again Astarion could not focus on the words.
It takes a long time for his tears to subside. Eventually, though, they do. Halsin’s bare chest is warm against his spine. His arms are a grounding, comforting presence. He does not want to leave the safety of the larger elf’s lap. He reflects that he doesn’t think anyone has ever held him this way before.
He begins to doze, briefly, his head tipped back against the druid’s shoulder. As he relaxes, Astarion comes back to himself more completely, feeling the edge of Halsin’s blunt nails as he runs them down the length of the vampire’s arm. They scratch their way back up towards his shoulder, then back down again. The motion centers his mind, focusing it.
He can finally hear the archdruid’s words again as they are whispered into his ear. “Do you want to call it a night? Lie down with me for a bit?”
He surprises them both when he says, “No.”
He stumbles over his words when he tries to explain. “I don’t-I don’t think I’ll panic like that again. I think I’m going to be all right.”
Halsin’s chuckle is, as always, teasing without being derisive. “Well,” he says, “I’ve only been trying to tell you that for the past twenty minutes or so.”
Astarion feels his own smile flit across his face. He leans back to nip at Halsin’s ear encouragingly, and the druid’s moan widens his grin.
One hand continues to pin him in the larger elf’s lap as the other grazes one nipple before continuing down his abdomen and resting on his thigh. Astarion marvels at the fact that the druid’s palm is large enough to nearly engulf his leg. He’s still turned on, and it takes a great deal of effort on his part not to just grab Halsin’s hand and apply to where he needed it most.
Halsin goes even slower than before, gripping his thigh and massaging it before tip-toeing his fingers across the vampire’s bare flesh and taking his manhood in his fist once more. He used his thumb to stroke Astarion’s cockhead, gathering precum and lubricating his hand with it.
He picks up speed subtly, listening for any signs that the lithe vampire might be feeling unsure again. He rotates his wrist, and Astarion kicks out helplessly as pleasure wins out over his uncertainty. He throws his head back and whines, arms folding behind him so that he can grip the base of Halsin’s skull. His own fingernails dig into the other man’s scalp, but Halsin does not register the sharpness of them in the slightest.
When Astarion finally, finally orgasms, it is with Halsin’s name on his lips and his hands clinging to his long brown hair. He does not want the druid to ever let him go.
“Now it’s time to rest,” Halsin tells him. Astarion grumbles tiredly as the other elf moves his arm from over his chest, freeing him. Unable to bear the sudden emptiness, Astarion dazedly reaches for him once again. Halsin complies, holding him while also attempting to and failing to get his trousers back on.
Both of them surrendering, Halsin guided him onto his side, pulling him close. Astarion moves against him, restless, feeling the archdruid’s hardness pressed into his back.
He rolls over, trying to reach for it. This time, it is Halsin who says no.
“Later,” he promises. “Right now I just want to hold you, just for a little while.”
They fall into their meditative rest soon after. Astarion tucks himself underneath Halsin’s chin. In turn, Halsin keeps one hand over his midsection and the other above their heads. They remain locked together like that until the early hours of the dawn.
In all his life, it’s the first time Astarion has let anyone keep him that close. No fear or shame touches him in the morning as he reaches for the archdruid. He aches only for Halsin’s warmth.