Somewhat Clear

Halsin was pleased to find out that Astarion wasn’t exaggerating when he’d boasted about the prowess of his mouth; careful with his fangs and attentive with his tongue, he was perfect and welcoming around Halsin. In his long life, he had had his share of skilled lovers; after that night, he could effortlessly place Astarion among them.

On the other hand, there was something disquieting in the focus Astarion poured in the act—an emptiness in his gaze that wasn’t the stupor of reverence that Halsin knew from a certain sort of lovemaking, nor the haze of bliss. He seemed so lost in it, he’d forgotten Halsin was there; his eyes were vacant and distant, his grin more reflex than intention. Wasn’t he enjoying himself?

Halsin knew that some didn’t take pleasure in servicing their lovers that way—he would never demand of anyone to endure something they didn’t like just to gratify him; given how much Astarion had insisted on it though, falling eagerly to his knees as soon as Halsin was done divesting of his clothes, as fervent as a devout folding to the ground in adoration, Halsin hadn’t thought of questioning his eagerness. But now, even as every stroke of Astarion’s clever tongue made his nerves tingle with delight, he hesitated to let him keep going.

“Astarion,” he murmured, separating himself from the grasp of sensation. Astarion didn’t pay him any mind, didn’t really respond even when Halsin stroked his hand along his jaw, over his cheek, through soft, silvery curls. Only when his fingers brushed against the lobe of his ear, accidentally more than by design, Halsin got—a twitch, a spark of something that made Astarion slow down, a stutter in his practiced technique. Encouraged, Halsin ran his fingertips along the smooth backside of the shell of his ear.

It worked like a charm—maybe even too well: Astarion abruptly turned his head away, a shocked sound emerging from his lips, eyes wide and alarmed.

“Ah, my apologies—” Halsin pulled his hand away, slightly chastised. That had been an interesting reaction, but he hadn’t meant to startle him quite that badly. “Was that too much?”

A touch of confusion lingered in Astarion’s eyes for a heartbeat, before melting into the exaggerated sultry look he seemed to wear often; nonetheless, the clarity in his eyes when he blinked up at Halsin, finally meeting his gaze, lucid and square, was for him a relief sharper than any pleasure.

His lips were shiny with spit and Halsin’s own fluids. He seemed wholly unselfconscious about it, as he licked them clean. “That tickled!” he chuckled, tossing his hair. “What were you doing to my poor ear?”

Halsin smiled. “Just paying attention,” he said, non-committally. “You never had your ears played with? You seem pretty responsive to it.”

Ice bloomed and melted in Astarion’s expression, as quick as the first snow. “I can’t say I have, no.”

“May I?” Halsin raised his hand again.

Astarion didn’t say no; he just slowly lowered his chin, looking at Halsin through his lashes, and tilted his head. Halsin decided it meant he was curious; under his watchful gaze, he slowly reached out. He took delicate hold of the tip of his ear between thumb and forefinger, and gave it a gentle, lingering rub. The other elf shuddered, eyes squeezing shut and mouth falling open as he gasped—a sound that again sounded more startled than pleased, so very different from the drawn out moans he’d been making while sucking Halsin off, like he was surprised by his own pleasure. Astarion’s spine was tense, like a coiled snake, like he was caught between pushing Halsin away and sinking into his touch.

He looked so undone after one simple, small stroke; it was doing unkind things to Halsin’s insides.

“More?” It was so tempting to explore that delightful glimpse of discomposure, but Halsin resisted; he kept his hand cupped around Astarion’s ear, careful not to touch anywhere sensitive, to give him time to collect himself.

“Darling.” Astarion shifted his legs under himself, avoided Halsin’s eyes. “If you keep distracting me, we’ll never reach the main event,” he purred, aiming for lascivious and missing shamefully, betrayed by a crack in his voice; as he straightened up to press a kiss to Halsin’s hip, to the top of his thigh, to the shaft of his cock, his smile was blank and carefully pleasant.

Centuries of experience had taught Halsin that lovemaking was sometimes a difficult dance to learn: many ended up going through the motions mechanically, never realizing that enjoying how the body moved with the music was more important than following what others had tried to impose as established steps. It was supposed to be a joyful expression of freedom, a bond between beings; it always pained Halsin when he realized that his lovers were locking themselves away from him, tormented by constraints like duty or shame—or worse, too often.

He stopped Astarion’s approach by pushing the pad of his thumb against his lips, before he could break Halsin’s resolve (the vampire had a gifted tongue, and the druid was a simple man of simple desires, after all), and folded to his knees, bringing himself closer to Astarion’s eye-level.

“And what the main event would be?” he murmured, failing to keep bitterness out of his voice. He shook his head, stroking Astarion’s bottom lip as an apology, and as a way to keep him from protesting. “I know we don’t know each other very well, but rather than watching you force yourself through something that isn’t pleasurable to you, I’d rather bring you back to camp, and call it a night.”

Astarion’s smile grew fangs, vicious and cold. “You don’t need to know anything about me, my dear druid.” Words as sharp as the blades he handled every day on the battlefield, spoken right against Halsin’s finger. “I’ll let you know that what I find pleasurable is pleasing you. But if this is how you decided to let me know that you don’t want me, after all—” He started pulling away, a brittle edge of hurt, maybe disappointment, under the cutting tone.

Halsin caught his wrists, bringing him close enough to slot their knees together. “Nothing would please me more than pleasuring you,” he replied, keeping his voice light and playful. “Don’t you think that makes us rather the perfect match?” He ran his hands lightly up his arms, along his shoulders and his neck, until he was cradling his jaw in his palms. “I have no intention of rejecting you, Astarion.”

Halsin leaned forward to kiss him. He was starting to grow fond of those little startled moans of his, so low in his throat and so sweet against Halsin’s mouth. Astarion twitched in his hold, but he opened up eagerly enough; he seemed more worried about his fangs than Halsin was, with the overcautious way he responded to Halsin’s deep-mouthed licks. It struck Halsin as amusing for a moment—a vampire who hadn’t hesitated putting his teeth around a man’s cock had concerned about cutting up his tongue, now?—until it dawned on him that Astarion kissed like he didn’t have much experience using his mouth that way.

He was a quick and willing study, nonetheless. With each brush of their lips, he seemed to turn bolder and more engaged; the tense line of his back relaxed under Halsin’s wandering hands; following Halsin’s example, his own fingers started exploring Halsin’s chest, his shoulders, and the nape of his neck.

When Halsin pulled away to catch his breath, Astarion looked a little dazed—but like a lover dragged from the rapture of bliss by an unwelcome interruption, rather than the strange blankness from before. “It feels lucky that I don’t need to breathe,” he quipped, touching his mouth. Irritation poked through the airy tone like spring grass, and Halsin wanted to dive in again, kiss the pout away from his voice. “What was that even for?”

“It pleased me,” Halsin answered, cheeky.

Astarion snorted and rolled his eyes. “Yeah, I can see that,” he laughed and shook his head, gesturing between their bodies: Halsin’s hardness laid there, curved against his leg. “I honestly don’t know if I should be flattered that I can get you this hard with just a kiss, or offended that you prefer that to my carefully cultivated cocksucking skills.”

Amused, Halsin tilted his head at him. “Wouldn’t you say you’re a good kisser?”

“Huh- I mean,” Astarion stammered, caught off guard. “I haven’t gotten complaints about my head, either.”

Halsin touched his lips again, partly as an apology—that had been uncalled for, even if making him squirm had its charm—and partly because he didn’t seem to be able to stop himself from doing it. “I don’t know, your lips felt so much sweeter against mine than elsewhere.”

Astarion scoffed, but he seemed pleased. “Gods, alright.” He pushed Halsin’s hand out of his face. “I didn’t take you for a romantic.”

“I haven’t danced my steps properly, then,” Halsin replied, play-shocked. He wrapped both his arms around Astarion’s waist and brought their faces close enough to kiss; he just looked into his eyes instead, waiting for his reaction. His weight against Halsin was very comfortable; he had been as cool as the evening breeze against Halsin’s skin at the beginning of their encounter, but now he was as warm as a sun-kissed riverside rock. His wide eyes were almost pink in the dappled moonlight, but it was hard to see if his skin was flushed at all, despite its pallor. A vampire thing?

Eventually Astarion couldn’t hold his gaze anymore. “Gods, it feels like I’m getting away with something,” he muttered, so quiet Halsin wasn’t sure he was aware he’d been talking out loud.

Halsin held him close, stroking his back, fingertips catching on the fabric of his shirt. He regretted not taking time to undress him properly earlier, but he didn’t dare doing it now, afraid to break the intimate but playful mood he’d managed to pull Astarion into. “What do you like?”

An uncomplicated question, Halsin thought — yet it seemed to stump Astarion entirely: following steps, never stopping to enjoy the music.

“Would you like it if I touched your ears again?”

Astarion’s claws were gentle points against Halsin’s upper back, where he was still playing with the loose strands of his hair. “I—that was interesting, I suppose,” he conceded, careful.

It wasn’t a no. It wasn’t a yes, either. Halsin was going to have to tread carefully.

“I could play with your ears.” He stroked a knuckle up the line of Astarion’s jaw, suggestive and delicate as a whisper. “Or I could kiss you some more.” He didn’t touch his mouth this time—though, oh, he wanted to—but he rested his thumb on his chin. Options sometimes were easier to pick from, rather than to outright accept or refuse.

Astarion took his hand and pressed his lips to the tips of Halsin’s fingers, to his palm, to the pulse point on his wrist—and finally to his mouth. The kiss started chaste and lingering, just a soft press of flesh against flesh; Halsin opened up immediately to the first uncertain touch of Astarion’s tongue, groaning in approval and encouragement. The other elf immediately pressed deeper, his whole body angling into Halsin’s, frantic like a fox diving into a rabbit nest. Astarion’s slender fingers were pleasantly cool as they traced his collarbone, the contours of his chest, his stomach, and finally slipped between his legs, over his leaking hardness.

Halsin moaned, heat pooling deep against his spine, and stroked down his back, down his flanks, pushed his leg against Astarion’s still clothed crotch, spurring him to ride his thigh. Prickles of pain bloomed across his scalp where Astarion sank his nails to pull at his hair, a counterpoint to the wet, open-mouthed kisses Astarion was pressing against his throat, in the hollow below his jaw.

In hindsight, he shouldn’t have been surprised when Astarion’s teeth closed around the tip of his ear; the wave of unexpected pleasure hit him like the blow from a bear paw, almost sending him over the edge right then and there. He gasped and instinctively tightened his grip around Astarion’s hips, pulling him against himself, briefly trapping his hand between their bodies.

“Apologies,“ Astarion purred in his ear, then licked over the teeth marks, sending another shiver through Halsin. “Was that too much?”

A shock of laughter burst out of Halsin. “You learn fast.”

Astarion’s grin was wide and unrepentant, fangs in full display. “I’m not just a pretty face, you know? I’m also very talented.”

“A triple threat, as they say,” Halsin agreed. “Pretty, talented and also generous. Truly a dangerous man.”

“Stop ruining my lines, I have a reputation to uphold.“ His thumb did a wicked thing that made Halsin twitch. “Are you close?”

“Yes,” Halsin answered, covering Astarion’s hand with his, enjoying the feeling of his bony, smaller knuckles against his palm, guiding him in a languorously slow down-stroke, tightening the grip at the base to help staving off his orgasm. “But before I come, I’d like to touch you too, if you let me.”

“You are touching me,” Astarion pointed out, raising an eyebrow at him.

“I would like to touch you more intimately.”

“More intimately, you say? I truly don’t know what you mean. I’m afraid you’ll have to spell it out for me, my dear.” Astarion teased at his hairline with his free hand. “I’m afraid I’m too beautiful to also be smart.“

“Pretty, but also talented, yet too beautiful to be smart,” Halsin mused, deadpan. “Which one is the truth, I wonder.”

A corner of Astarion’s mouth twitched. “Whatever is more hilarious at the moment.”

“I will say it slowly, then, shall I?” It was such a silly game, but Halsin was enjoying himself. “I’d like to touch your cock.”

Astarion liked that, pupils going wide and dark against a thin ring of red, a bark of laughter of his own. “That sounds dirtier than it should, coming from you.“

“Does it? I can go much dirtier, if it's working for you.“

“Ha. Maybe next time,“ Astarion chuckled. His expression twisted for a moment, but it was gone too quickly, replaced by a new grin. “Want to help undoing my trousers?“

Halsin obliged, letting him go to loosen the lacing at his crotch. Much like the rest of him, Astarion’s cock was pretty and slender, and strangely cool to the touch, strangely dry. It looked like it might have fit very comfortably in his mouth, but Halsin contented himself with pulling it out of his trousers and cradling it in his hand, mirroring Astarion.

“You’re so lovely,” he complimented him fervently, smoothing his palm along the length. “Thank you so much for letting me do this.”

Astarion stared at him oddly, then he smiled. “Does it mean I can make you come, now?”

Halsin grinned back. “Mmm. I’ll follow your lead.”

Astarion didn’t hesitate; he had the skilled hand and the practiced movement of someone who had pleasured dozens of lovers the same way a million times over, but he still startled at Halsin attempting to match him move by move—not an easy thing to do, when every twist of Astarion’s wrist made Halsin want to close his eyes and just give in to the ecstasy.

Astarion’s red eyes were wide with surprise; Halsin couldn’t resist kissing him again. Astarion’s hand clenched a little nervously around him, sending another spark of unexpected sensation up his spine, making Halsin moan right into his mouth. Astarion’s eyes fluttered closed.

Halsin kept touching him with careful fingers, mindful of the friction; he was close, and he suspected Astarion was, as well, by the way he was starting to lose rhythm. He pulled him closer, hips pushed flush together, their erections meeting in the middle. He gently dislodged Astarion from around himself, and had him wrap his elegant fingers around both of them, covered them with his own.

“Is this alright, yes?“ he murmured. Astarion shuddered, and nodded, beyond words. “Good.“ He grinned, a shudder of his own. “Don’t stop, little elf. We’re almost there.”

The following moments were a bit of a blur; Halsin honestly couldn’t have told who came first. He only knew they had clutched at each other for dear life, lost in the wave of sensations, broken groans and choked screams as pleasure washed over them.

Astarion leaned against Halsin’s shoulder heavily breathing for a long time, as his body struggled to settle and quiet. Halsin was still coming down when Astarion suddenly twitched away, bracing against his shoulders to free himself from their entangle.

He was only half successful at it, weakened legs making him stumble in the soft moss and undergrowth; Halsin had to reach out and catch him at the thigh, stabilizing him before he fell down and ate mud. “Careful,” he cautioned, also getting to his feet with a grunt. Astarion was still shivering; Halsin automatically wrapped his arms around him, lending body heat. “Are you cold, little one?”

“Gods. Maybe,“ Astarion allowed, nervous laughter threading his tone. He didn’t try to move away from Halsin’s frame, but he didn’t raise his head to look at him, either. He tried fixing the lacing on his trousers, but his trembling fingers weren’t making it easy for him.

“Why don’t we get dressed,” Halsin offered in a low voice, quietly reaching down to do it for him, “and go back to camp to warm up next to the fire?”

Astarion watched his hands as Halsin handled the task as perfunctorily as possible—cleaning him up of their fluids with a quick cantrip, tucking him back into his trousers before tightening the laces—and bit his lip.

“Yeah,” he said. “I’d like that.” It sounded flatter and less charged than anything he’d told Halsin all night, as if sharing an orgasm had taken something out of him, but it was also the most vulnerable, bare feeling Halsin ever had from him.

Halsin squeezed his shoulders one more time, before picking up his clothes where he’d dropped them in haste what felt like ages earlier, and tried to be quick as he slid back in the necessary trap of them. He caught Astarion, leaning against the nearby tree, as he watched him with a soft, distracted smile.

Halsin looked forward to enjoying admiring the fire flicker in those garnet eyes.