tangled

[deerna]

Rating: NSFW
Fandom: baldur's gate
Relationship: astarion/staeve
Tags: frotting, non-penetrative sex
Wordcount: 800
Notes: staeve belongs to MAF ♥

Summary:

Excerpt:

“Hey.” Staeve reached up and stroked Astarion’s cheek with the knuckle of a hesitant finger. “Everything alright?” “Yes,” Astarion lied. “I love you,” he added, sincerely. It wasn't the first time he said it. It wasn't the first time he meant it, either. And yet every time he struggled a little believing it himself.

{ read on AO3 | read here }

 

Astarion slipped out of trance feeling like his skin had shrunk down by two sizes. The nightmare had left behind an itch in his flesh, a prickly certainty seizing his chest, a faintness in his heart. For a moment he lay on his back, staring at the ceiling, willing it away—but it haunted him restlessly, unshakably, a mist-shaped fear taking solid form.

He rolled over, tangling the sheet around himself, and turned to look at Staeve, who slumbered on, undisturbed by Astarion’s turbulent thoughts. His face was slack and relaxed in his sleep, but there was something oddly severe in the shape of his eyebrows without the spark of awareness making them jump and quirk. It was still Staeve, but also a more serious, intimidating version of him, hidden in the depth of his unconscious self.

Impulsively, Astarion climbed on top of him and pinned him to the bed, hips against hips, hands against his chest.

You don’t love me, really, do you? were the words that ached to drip from Astarion’s lips like venom. “Good evening,” he murmured instead as Staeve startled awake, sleepily taking in Astarion’s shape with a confused expression.

“Oh.“ Sleepy puzzlement bled out of Staeve’s face and sleepy delight spread over his features instead. His hands came up to settle over Astarion’s shirt-covered waist—gentle rather than grasping, appreciative rather than greedy—and his hips twitched up, meeting his. Neither of them was hard, yet, but the heat was there, waiting.

“Good evening to me,” he agreed, voice still thick with sleep and half fuzzy with the pulse of purring that had immediately started stuttering up his sternum. He grinned up at Astarion, crooked and dazzling. “Aren’t we in a good mood, today.”

Shame immediately washed over Astarion.

Of course Staeve loved him—and even if it wasn’t love, at the very least Astarion would’ve had a hard time finding someone else who cared about him to such a degree. He looked down at Staeve, at his sleepy smile, at the way his messy hair tangled over the pillow, and felt an ache spread in his chest.

Staeve’s happiness dimmed a little, as silence stretched between them. His grip tightened a little around Astarion, thumbs tracing gentle circles against his ribs. “Hey.” He reached up and stroked Astarion’s cheek with the knuckle of a hesitant finger. “Everything alright?”

“Yes,” Astarion lied. “I love you,” he added, sincerely. It wasn't the first time he said it. It wasn't the first time he meant it, either. And yet every time he struggled a little believing it himself.

“I love you, too,” Staeve replied, without missing a beat. “Do you want to tell me what this is all about?”

“No,” Astarion answered. He rolled his hips into Staeve's again, and was rewarded by the man gasping under him, mouth dropping open and eyelids going heavy. He could feel him getting hard against his pelvis now, a feedback loop that was also causing him to stir. “Do you want me to keep doing this?”

“I could be convinced,” Staeve said, sounding gratifyingly out of breath already. “If you really are sure.”

Astarion smiled back. “I'm sure.” He rubbed up tentatively, the friction of their skin together teasing but not quite enough stimulation.

“In that case, let me help.” Staeve gripped his waist gently but firmly and shifted Astarion a little to the side so that he was straddling his thigh, and bucked his hips.

The new position had them slot together much more closely somehow, sweat and heat and urgency kicking them into motion. Astarion could feel Staeve's dick rub slick and messy right into the juncture between crotch and thigh, and he barely could keep track of himself as he rode against Staeve's muscular leg, each other’s helping hands stroking and rubbing and squeezing and soothing.

Orgasm was almost an afterthought, after the confusing tangle of feelings at Astarion's awakening, but it still hit him like a dart in his gut, startling and intense. His fingers curled on Staeve's chest, and Staeve took them in his hand and squeezed, holding him close as he arched under his own climax. His heart beat fast and hard under Astarion's palm.

He couldn’t help but keep watching as Staeve caught his breath under him—the sheen of sweat making his flushed skin even more appealing, the corner of his parted lips twitching up at the aftershocks, his shaky hand coming up to shove his sweaty fringe out of his eyes, pupils still blown with pleasure.

Staeve caught him looking, and winked. Happy, happy.

“A good evening, indeed,” he repeated with a grin. His eyes went a little serious, as he brought Astarion’s hand to his lips, so he could press a kiss to his palm. “Are we okay now?”

Astarion smiled. “Always,” he said, and he leaned down to kiss him properly, willing it to be true.