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The moon soaked the dense forest in a gentle gleam that night, nearing a full phase that Gale admired as he marched through tall grass and sleeping flowers. Having recently uncovered a new discovery within one of his lengthy academic volumes, this evening came long awaited. Under a full moon, he revealed, arrived the possibility of finding one particular mushroom variety that might hold the cure to the rather inconvenient tadpole swimming around in his mind. Better yet, it might also free the brains of the ragtag group of companions he now fought loyally alongside through battle and darkness.
The archaic volume spoke vaguely of a small pink mushroom of “great power” and suggested it could safely remove parasites from the body when powderized. So to say the task at hand was important was an understatement. No, this involved a life or death situation which he took with the utmost seriousness. Still, not wanting to promise false hope (or admit to anyone that his research could be entirely incorrect), Gale disembarked from camp several hours prior. Alone. To bathe in a nearby stream and do some laundry, he told the others, whilst they shared bottles of Ithbank and Waterdhavian cheese over a healthy fire. Quietly, to the self-appointed leader of their group, Tav, he confided that he may be back quite late and he would appreciate their discretion in the matter.
In a strive to be a man of his word, Gale indeed visited the stream, as promised, where he now found himself wandering along its banks in the incredibly specific areas which his book specified to search. This all seemed easier as an idea, but now that he scanned every branch for signs of fungi life, the task felt futile. A spell of dancing lights illuminated his way although it was hardly needed with the silver streams of moonbeam that enveloped the land before him.
Another hour passed. It had to be about midnight now. Fungi could appear in such a short time frame, however, growing with pace under the right conditions such as this evening. Gale knew this from his research and so up-and-down a three-mile section of stream he trudged, his feet growing wet in the effort. All practiced academics spoke incessantly to themselves yet he still must resembled a madman to any onlookers, mumbling softly to himself and checking under leaves, sticks, and brambles.
Blue and white flowers. Reeds. Pebbles shaped like glass and glass shaped like pebbles. A toad. Gale swore that he had seen it all, when suddenly, poking out from beneath a green leaf, he spotted his prize. A blush pink cap.
“By Mystra!” He nearly shouted, dropping instantly to his knees and pulling forth the dancing lights for a closer examination. The color matched. His tongue poked out the side of his mouth in concentration as he used his thumb to measure the size. Also appropriate. He urgently reached for his bag and pulled out a book, flipping to a bookmarked page that he had revisited at least ninety-seven times previously.
“A perfect match. OK. Well, excellent work, Gale! I never doubted you once.” The wizard whispered to himself in a low voice and a twinkle crossed his deep brown eyes. Moving with the same care as if diffusing a bomb, he gently plucked the fungi from the earth with the hubris of a man attempting to control nature. Right. The next step would be to dry it out, and crush it into a paste, a project that will keep him busy over the next few days.
And yet. Something about the mushroom seemed… irresistible, almost. Was it because he knew this humble fungi held the key to salvation? Or… was it something else? Gale held it close to his face, inspecting every spec of the plant - under its cap, its spores, the dirt that still clung to its tiny stem. It did not have an odor, he noticed, despite holding it ever closer to his nose, to his mouth…
“O-ok. Time to… put it away now..” He instructed nobody, but for whatever reason, he could not execute his own order. The human side of him grew so, so, terribly curious. What a beautiful mushroom, really, exquisite in a way he had not imagined fungi could be. The thought of its taste crossed his mind then suddenly. Would it taste as good as it looked? Would it deliver hints of umami on his tongue, or something more bitter? The book surely would have warned against eating it. Suddenly he wished for a bigger library to research in. Then maybe he would know what it tasted like. Yet this knowledge could be acquired in other ways, ways which required a more hands-on methodology. A force seemed to propel him to remain, to keep staring, to…
“Put it down.” He again ordered himself, a panic bubbling in his throat. Why could he not pocket the damn thing already!? Stiffened muscles taunted him.
Gale tried to resist but his hands trembled, his mind felt overpowered beyond the way one with a tadpole in a brain ordinarily feels overpowered. Hunger sparked. As if he had never before eaten, the wizard began to shake. It looked divine; the spores danced around his human nose and with one last great effort he tried to pull away. Look away. Anything. Only to succumb to the fungi’s demands seconds later, when he tore into the mushroom with his teeth and all the ferocity of a starving wolf at a deer’s carcass. He smashed his own hands into his face, a lewd moan escaping his throat as he chewed and chewed. For a moment, his eyes fluttered shut and his hand gripped his midsection in ecstasy.
A delicious taste of strawberry, vanilla, rich like a freshly baked cake assaulted his tongue, overindulgent in the best way. It went straight to his head like taking a long drink of prosecco on an empty stomach, yet sweeter and more decadent. His thoughts felt like air as he swayed for a moment in an embrace of possibly the most delectable treat he had ever discovered. The aftertaste slowly turned instead to earthiness, a cruel trick of the fragile human senses.
While the sugariness disappeared as soon as he swallowed, the reality of his actions remained. Incredulity washed over him - a man of such great resolve driven to a moment of madness outside his control. Rationality and reason overpowered by a plant. More importantly, however, the only hope for him, and all his friends, was now gone. He blinked and failed to realize the prevailing shaking of his hands and body, the trembling response it gave to the very presence of such a potent plant.
A dark blush painted his cheeks as he reached for his book, scrambling back to the same page to scan every letter before him. How could the author be so careless to explain? Had he actually been driven to eat the same mushroom? Was the real one still out there? Questions raced around his mind leaving him feeling airheaded with confusion and a deep pang of regret, although, in perfect honesty he did not feel of the right mind or body at that moment to adequately discern the truth. If anything, it had felt like the mushroom itself compelled him to eat it with some power of allure, the kind of power only the natural or magical worlds could possess.
With a sense of loss and resolve sitting like a lead weight in his heart, Gale rose to his unsteady feet in the hopes of persevering the remaining hours of the night. Admittedly, he did worry in the back of his mind about the dangers of the fungi he did just consume. Likely it could not be good to eat just any mushroom one finds. But he felt relieved now that the peculiar experience of losing one’s self control, dignity, and coherence was over. Besides. That likely would not happen again, he warily told himself. Now he would be more prepared, and the reward of the plant might prove too great to admit defeat.
Over the course of the next hour the wizard traveled northwards, closer to camp, choosing to suppress the bodily sensations that bubbled within. After each passing minute he felt hotter and more feverish due to a discomfort that paired with general itchiness over his olive-turned-pinkened skin. By the time he reached a thirty minute radius of the camp, however, Gale had to stop to rest, doubled over with one hand upon a boulder as he took in deep breaths to calm himself. Sweat dampened his clothes now and the idea of jumping into the icy cold stream was not a bad one. That was when it first happened, the first twinge of something much sinister rising from his belly where the mushroom now sat. A revenge for its consumption perhaps.
Although Gale had often gone long lengths of time in his life, for one reason or another, without any form of self-relief, now he found himself with a deep urge to open his robes and to graze his soft writer’s hands across his aching need. Even to take something within him to fill himself up. Such thoughts had crossed his mind before, yes. The difference was that now he felt abruptly dizzied at their prominence. He gulped, hard. These compulsions were not his own. Furthermore, there was absolutely no way he could go to camp now, not in the middle of the night like this, not when he wanted to loudly and wantonly do with himself as he pleased. Soon, he feared, the urge may become unbearable and force him to rut desperately into his hand in this solemn, empty forest. Gale was sure he could maintain some level of control, but he was not entirely confident he could keep so quiet that the others could not hear him.
And wouldn’t that be awful. If his campmates heard him. Positively... Perhaps one would offer him help in this moment of great need. Perhaps the beautiful Halsin, strong and capable, would hush him gently and soothe his whimpers, bringing him a relief greatly desired. Or Shadowheart would let him see her beautiful curves under that metal armour; that alone might send him over the edge. Oh! If he was very lucky, the pale elf himself would grant him one punishing night of a release he had never tasted before. At the very thought - only somewhat foreign until now - he found himself dropping to his knees, one hand holding against a deep aching cramp in his stomach, as a desperate and pleading moan escaped his lips. Was he panting? Overcome by the same mania that had pushed him to consume the mushroom, Gale began ripping at his cursed robes, swaying on his knees without care if they ripped. Faintly, the breeze seemed to carry away that familiar strawberry scent, but he found himself too occupied to investigate.
“Gods.” He muttered in reaction to his own visions of his campmates. A deep shameful redness crept onto his cheeks, as he felt embarrassed to ever even think of such dear friends in this way without their permission. Using the boulder he had stopped at, the wizard attempted to rise to his feet, his flushed chest now bare and his legs feeling weak. Long brown hair, ordinarily pushed back off his face, tousled with his sweat. The world spun slightly and an airheaded feeling of weightlessness swarmed his mind, the trees around him spinning. He had to get his trousers off at the least, lest he simply pass out from impulsive want.
“What in the world do we have here? Gale?”
A voice from behind. Not his own. Dark, and almost surprised, but not wholly. No, intrigued. A shiver of arousal ran down his spine and his heart raced even quicker. In direct competition to his curiosity, the logical side of him felt nothing but panic as he spun around on clumsy heels.
Out of the night finally prowled a lanky figure. It was enough to make Gale want to die right there and then. He froze, hands trembling as they rested on the tired leather of his belt. Astarion. Perhaps the least forgiving of everyone who could have discovered him in this predicament. Gale would never live this down. Maybe he did not want to.
“Astarion!” Gale gasped, feeling a bit dumbfounded as more heat poured into his cheeks, if that were possible. How will he ever explain?
“Well, well, well… Isn’t this quite the lovely surprise. Out for a midnight stroll?” Astarion questioned with a smirk, though, he did look rather curious at the entire situation. Moreover, he himself appeared oddly brushed of heat; his skin, so pale, almost had a sheen of sweat, and the vampire fidgeted on his feet while pulling in long drags of the air towards Gale’s direction despite not needing to breathe in his vampiric form. Had he been able to see them, Gale would have noticed how blown Astarion’s eyes were in the darkness, arousal pooling in the depths of his darkened burgundy iris. There was also a splatter of blood on the shoulder of his white tunic left as a remnant of his most recent hunt which had ended over an hour ago by now; the vampire had snagged a plump rabbit before stumbling upon an even better prey. Gale.
“I can explain-” Gods, Gale really couldn’t, though. Not when his entire body craved hands, touch, heat. It craved to submit, to fulfill his wildest fantasies suppressed for so many years. How many lovers had he pleased in his lifetime, and yet he himself failed to utter his own darkest impulsions? Dear Gods, now Gale wanted it, wanted everything. He could hardly meet the other’s gaze in fear he would somehow read his most intimate desires.
“Hmm, yes, I’m sure you can. Go on, do tell me everything.” The purr from Astarion made Gale wonder if this is what it felt like to be a helpless mouse under a cat’s paw, squeaking its last pleads.
Quiet. For once, Gale of Waterdeep found it too hard, too complicated, to form a thought. He shook his head, reaching for something, anything. Yes, think. Form a sentence then speak it; first the mushroom, then the book. No, wait, other way around. Why was this so difficult? That is when his eyes fell on Astarion’s outline, distracted again. How the elf seemed to have developed his muscles throughout their adventures made the wizard’s mouth gape open. Tonight, in this moment, he looked especially powerful as he loomed over with an ever-growing twitchiness about him. Astarion inhaled once more, the same intoxicating fruity vanilla filling his nostrils which had lured him from his hunts in the first place. Perhaps, truly, it did originate from his peculiar campmate.
“I’m waiting,” Astarion reminded him in a hum as he watched Gale stare and flop about as useless as a fish out of its tank. In the darkness, his piercing elven eyes picked up on every human detail before settling to admire his trousers. Pre-cum began to stain through the violet canvas-like trousers.
“Yes, of course. I… I am merely in the… midst of academic discovery,” Gale offered, using a humorous tone to mask his panic when his words finally found his tongue. His knees felt like they were supporting boulders. “There is a fungi… a possible solution for all of our… ah.. parasitic tadpole conundrums. Only growing in the full moon, I set out earlier this evening on an adventure of my own in order to locate it. Which.” He paused, sucking in a deep breath and faltering slightly, “I believe I did, but its effects are rather unexpected.”
In response, Astarion crossed his arms in a display of skepticism. Playful disapproval accompanied his pose and Gale's cock twitched in his trousers in response to his own shame. He hoped the elf could not see him well. Even his legs began to sweat under the thick material of his clothing. Before he could continue, another cramp of need took over his lower belly, intense and, now, all consuming. This time he let out an unexpected cry that morphed almost into a keen as he panted and twisted between pain and an emptiness. The humiliation was too great to look Astarion in the eye any longer. It was all he could do to not fall onto the floor, a delirium lurking beneath him, yanking at the recesses of his mind. He was not even aware of the soft whimpers escaping his lips.
Astarion stepped forward to take another long pull of the air, eyes locked onto his writhing campmate, now unable to look away for even a second as the effect intensified even on him. Somewhat undignified, yes, but at least he did not let his tongue hang out. Something in the air compelled him to want to grab Gale’s hips, pin him, mount, dominate, own. The mage needed it. Needed him. He needed him in return.
Finally, he enquired, “This… mushroom. Does it affect others in the vicinity?” Somehow Astarion appeared capable of thinking a bit more clearly as his stalk forward to close their gap commenced. Yet he could hear the huskiness from his own voice.
Conversely, desperation tore at Gale. His cock rubbed helplessly at the fabric of his pants, expanding his patch of precum into a darkened stain. That was enough.
“Look, I don’t know! I don’t know anything about it! But, I cannot resist its potency any longer and perhaps you should leave if you don't wish to see that.” It was hard not to choke on his words. He tried to give the other a few moments to turn away but a compulsion from inside ordered him to palm at his cock through his trousers. As he kneeled before Astarion, under his embarrassment, he could not help but relish its deliciousness; how he longed to be viewed in this needy state and finally granted the relief - and the acknowledgement - he so long sought and chased after. To receive attention rightfully his and yet so long denied.
A voice turned dark with the next line from the elf who suddenly bent down to grab his scruffy chin, looking him in the eyes with a wild hunger, like a panther leaving its cage for the first time to hunt real flesh. “Listen here, mage. I do want to see. I may not know what you’ve done to get yourself into this mess, but I’m the only way out of it, aren’t I?” Astarion growled lowly when Gale only stared at him dumbly, “Answer me.”
In response, the wizard nodded quickly, eyes blown with lust. Astarion mentally filed that reaction to his authority down and took another smell of the air. With his heightened senses Gale’s metallic blood danced with provoking allure.
“And do you want my help?” A more direct approach, perhaps, but Astarion was not sure what level of control, if any, he had over himself going forward. No, his own trousers pulled taut. The activity of sex was fun, but the sex he needed at present was equivalent to drinking lifeblood for his very existence. He suspected Gale felt the same.
“I do. Yes. I need your help. If… If you will have me, I feel… as though I could die without touch.” Gale whispered, a glint of fear in his own eyes when he acknowledged to himself the intensity of the sensations he felt. Truly, he did not want to be alone for this. His heart raced, beating hard, head swimming against the currents of desperation. His hands moved to continue rubbing himself under his own trousers, a whiny little moan escaping him and filling the cool airspace between them.
“Flattering. And I don't want you dying either. So, how about I give you anything you want tonight, you lost little puppy, and in turn, you can help me source something I need?” As he spoke, Astarion traced his hand down to Gale’s neck, thrumming at a spot where he fancied a nibble. Drinking the life of this wizard, he decided, would prove a fair exchange. Besides, Astarion would be lying if he said that right now, something about the usually outspoken mage looked extra appetizing. Irresistible, even. To his elven nose, the smell of a strawberry and vanilla sweetness tingled about Gale, clouding his own judgment slowly. As Gale’s sweat reached the pads of his fingers, he, too, felt a heat course through his skin and into his core, somehow intensifying his reaction.
Gale could only nod agreement as he knelt obediently before the vampire. Where shame held him back only moments ago, he whimpered more freely now, looking up with honey sweet, begging eyes. Those eyes, Astarion mused, could acquire near anything they wanted as far as he was concerned. The only logical part of Gale left in that moment, buried beneath what felt like an impossible wall of need, arousal, desperation, ached duly with a slight fear that, with each passing moment, turned to excitement.
“Yes, yes… I… I agree. Please. Help me.” Gale swayed, caught from falling only by dextrous, pale fingers sinking deep into his lush brown hair. They tugged, tight, and he moaned openly, eyes fluttering. Another, harsher tug led to the closest thing to a teasing of relief that Gale had felt in hours.
“Already begging for me?” Astarion’s voice admittedly came out more breathy than he’d intended. With haste, he maneuvered Gale onto his back upon the dewy grass and towered over the other man, pushing a knee high up into his crotch so the squirming plaything could buck against it. Filthy. Delight danced over his expression.
“Tonight, let’s see exactly the kind of man Gale of Waterdeep is,” He continued, husky, voice almost like a purr against Gale’s cheek and ears. “I always thought of you as quite vanilla, darling,” He enunciated this by harshly rubbing a finger along Gale’s lower lip, who in turn, lifted his eyes to meet Astarion’s, pliant and waiting. “A missionary man, perhaps?”
“But yet here you are, begging and squirming like a frisky little pup in heat. My frisky pup. Is that really what you are?” Astarion shoved two fingers into Gale’s mouth, who clumsily began to lick, unsure of a technique after many moons devoid of touch, but he proved willing to learn. He was a most enthusiastic student. Liberated from the uncertainty of whether or not they would engage each other, he moaned, eyes now fluttering shut to imagine what it would be like to have those fingers open him. Would they itch the need that is so deeply rooted in his psyche?
“But then, I’ve seen you staring at me in camp and on missions… At Halsin, too. Hells, I’ve even caught you eying up a few drow or any paladin we cross. Were you dreaming of being taken by them? Was our pretty little mage actually desperate to be tied down and fucked like the communal playtoy he really is?” The teasing was too much, Gale whined against the fingers but they only began to fuck his throat harder, harsher. Meanwhile, the stain on his trousers grew, his body now covered in sweat from the effects of the mushroom. His hands reached, yanking down at Astarion’s shirt.
Then, it was all taken away so cruelly as the vampire stood to quickly undress, throwing his clothes unceremoniously aside and pulling Gale’s trousers off without any inclination for civility. There was nothing sweet or romantic about this, and in fact, Astarion began to shake and tremble with the same need in his mantle that threatened to destroy the panting Gale beneath him. With both their bodies now bare, Astarion crushed his lips against Gale, utterly dominating the helpless wizard who fought to keep up.
And yet.
It. Was. Not. Enough.
“Astarion, I… I need you. For so long, it aches, I… I ache-”
Astarion hummed approval; he wanted to own this wizard thoroughly, to claim him, to stake him as his toy. “Tell me how long you’ve wanted me.” In the height of their stupor the vampire still craved power and it piqued his curiosity that perhaps Gale had even fantasized about this before. At some times, he, too, grew curious of what lay under the wizard’s robes, but of course, as a creature of sexuality he chalked this down to something that ordinarily happens when traversing long distances with strangers in close quarters.
Continuing his attention Astarion moved to stroke Gale’s cock, but only briefly. Under normal circumstances the act would have been much longer and more salacious but here he struggled to do anything that did not directly inflict pleasurable relief to them both. Heat and need also began to plague Astarion relentlessly. “Tell me what you’ve wanted.” He repeated, firmer, and spit on his hand to move down to tease Gale’s hole, who whimpered needfully below and struggled not to buck his hips into the sensations.
“You!” Gale managed, neglecting to answer more specifically, and with the remainder of his reasoning and concentration skills he whispered an incantation. With that, grease appeared to drip down the rogue’s fingers and Astarion took this as an invitation to thrust one digit into the other man. “Please.”
The first finger opened him up with some level of formality. That is, it did not add too much pressure too soon, and he adjusted quickly to the sensation, his body demanding more. The second finger worked with more rapidity as even Astarion began to lose his self-control and pressed his cock into Gale’s thigh (a thick, attractive thigh he wanted to mar with bruising kisses) for any kind of friction. Gale’s moans encouraged him to continue.
“I want to fuck you ass up. Move for me, darling,” Astarion decided, his head also hazy and lost. It felt almost like having an out-of-body experience, if not for the direct sensations buzzing throughout his flesh. Through his eyes he watched himself fuck, but neither of them seemed to control the dance of it all. Astarion withdrew his fingers and roughly flipped Gale onto his belly, landing a rough smack onto his ass for good measure, just to hear the surprised yelp and groan. A few strokes of his already hardened member and Astarion began to push into Gale’s hole, letting out a deep moan in response to the tightness. There, he found his friction, and it was positively delightful.
His hips snapped forward. This was not a time that allowed for thought and though Astarion would have preferred to start at a slower pace, he found himself quickening as Gale encouraged it with his whines. In that moment it only felt like the rapture they both had so long craved, a satisfaction of their demands.
“Needy… fucking… toy.” Astarion hissed, bending over to fuck him harder now, mouth moving to nip playfully at his ears. Without thinking the vampire latched his mouth on Gale’s neck and lavished it, messily through the position, nipping and sucking where he could. Not to draw blood, but to mark his territory. Gale leaned into it, feeling open and vulnerable but at last having the burden of heat cooled from his core. “Well? Are you?” Astarion liked dirty talk, he loved to talk down in order to pull the power from under his prey. It hid his own insecurities well, as he skillfully deflected the attention from himself to his squirming lover.
A sloppy nod and a pair of blushing cheeks later, Gale managed to agree. “Y-yes. Gods - Mystra, yes!” Perhaps a momentary slip-up as the wizard plummeted into a deeper state of blissful confusion, crying out into the dead of the forest where no one could hear him plead mercy to his goddess, who had at one time taken his lover's place. Astarion, however, thrusted even harder and launched a hand into his sensitive brown locks in order to yank his head back. Gale found himself staring into the emptiness of the forest, unable to adjust from the grasp. “Cry out my name when you cum, mage. Let me see how good you can be for me.”
It was enough to send him over. Gale nodded willingly, and just as instructed, a few pumps into him more in quick succession had him writhing, crying out for Astarion, a barrage of curses, whimpers, and ‘yesyesyesyes!’ following. A delicious symphony to Astarion’s elven ears. He took in the sight of the other’s plump arse and toned shoulders with greedy eyes of his own, only fucking for a few moments longer before finally stuttering, and spilling himself deep inside his lover. He came more than he ever imagined and finally a coolness overcame his body; he had not realized just how hot his skin had somehow turned, similarly to Gale’s.
There was a bit of clarity, if only for a moment. Gale gasped beneath Astarion, face now pressed into the dirt as he failed to support himself any longer. “That… I must admit,” He began, the ability to form sentences returning only somewhat. “I enjoyed that.”
A hum came in response. “Indeed.” Astarion breathed, although something lingered unsaid in the air from him for a moment as he pulled out. Cheekily, he continued with enthusiasm as a hand landed to absentmindedly massage Gale's arse. “You know, I never knew how easy it would be to quiet you... All it takes is stuffing that little mouth of yours with my cock, hmm? Although it only lasted a few moments I’m afraid, before you were positively screaming.” Astarion teased to an indignant huff of a response. Apologetically he planted a nibbling kiss upon one arse cheek.
That is when something peculiar occurred between the two. The relief experienced remained temporary; nearly as soon as they both had caught their breath or wiped themselves clean, each began to experience the same rash of need seep into their blood and body. So it was with great effort that the pair spent the remainder of the night replaying their first encounter, each time taking more physical resources to achieve. They tried numerous positions. Gale rode Astarion’s hips after a while, bouncing enthusiastically atop him and using him for his own pleasure, much to the elf’s enjoyment.
“That’s it,” Astarion purred, and admittedly, he did enjoy the view - and the moment’s reprieve from their strenuous activity. His partner threw his head back in ecstasy, the muscles of his throat and neck highlighted by the rivers of the moonlight. Sweat trickled from Gale’s pinkened face while only the wet and intimate sounds of their delicious foray, accompanied by the nearby flowing stream, filled the nighttime forest air. A pale hand wrapped around Gale’s aching cock which led him to cry out once more, ropes of cum splashing between their cores. Soon Astarion joined him in coming as he guided the wizard down by his chin for a sloppy and intrusive kiss, their tongues sliding together, beard meeting sharp jaws. It may have been some time since Gale was last intimate, but he was a determined and a somewhat experienced lover who devoted himself into achieving the highest bliss for his partner.
Then, when their muscles began to quake in aching protest from that position, they switched to missionary and enjoyed a slower pace with Gale on top. In a sense that almost seemed more romantic and therefore more awkward for two people who, outside of an external influence, would never have found themselves in each other’s arms at this point in their history. Where does one even look in this situation? Gale, ever the romantic, wanted to gaze into Astarion’s eyes, but the elf seemed to be a million miles away regardless. Meanwhile Astarion focused on Gale’s chest, his mind seeking to wander but pulled back by his own will to remain present due to just how gently the other held and kissed him. For once, he yearned to remember a lover's tender ministrations, their devotion. How odd, then, was it to learn so much about how to please another’s body in one night.
With time, the breaks between their fucks lengthened from mere seconds to minutes, and the level of need subdued as the spores of the mushroom wore off. The process took hours and by the end of it each looked exhausted in separate ways. Astarion could hardly pull himself up, lying back in the grass and staring up at the world of the waking dawn. He admired the sun, the birds, and the colourful trees which for so many decades he had previously been unable to bask in the glory of. Meanwhile Gale looked more bruised with visible hickies lining all over his body from the nibbles of his slightly over-affectionate bedmate; violet bags of exhaustion began to appear beneath his eyes as humans certainly required at least some rest at night. Especially this human - ordinarily he enjoyed an even eight hours of rest between the same predictable pattern.
As a man of passionate need, too, he flipped onto his side to throw an arm over Astarion and pull him closer. They had, afterall, shared themselves most intimately and he thus sought this soft aftercare to ground himself as the realization of their actions dawned on him. The vampire stiffened beneath him initially before tolerating it, only just. In some ways perhaps he only tolerated it from his encumbering exhaustion alone. For a time there was a comfortable silence between the pair as only the sounds of Gale’s quiet breathing interrupted nature’s morning activity.
“I must say that while this was likely not the outcome you had predicted for your night, I… am indebted to you for your aid in my time of need.” Gale hesitantly mumbled into Astarion’s skin. There was more silence that followed.
Normally, Astarion tried to leave before his bedmates became… like this. It was already becoming uncomfortable and he wagered his options internally before settling on a dry wit to dissuade any further communication. “Quite. Although you didn’t need a mushroom to bed me, darling.” It was likely true. At the admission, their touches felt suddenly suffocating, the pressure to offer some form of emotional explanation overbearing. Astarion slid from under Gale’s arm, moving to stand and dust off the dirt that clung to him with a dramatic flair. The elf began to clothe himself and shot a dismissive wave in the other’s direction.
“Well, I enjoyed… whatever this was.” He hummed in a voice dripping of sarcasm, motioning at the naked Gale, the mess of dirt and grass and leaves they left behind. How were they to ever return to normalcy in their relationship again? An emotion twisted in Astarion’s gut, unpleasant, and he scrunched his nose as if the entire situation left him displeased, when really he sought to distance from the sentiments churning within him. Meanwhile, Gale watched him closely, concern pooling in his eyes as he, too, moved on fatigued feet to reach for his robes, as if all of a sudden modesty was required or important. It was clear the wizard was about to drone on about something, perhaps an apology or explanation, or something in between. Astarion did not want to hear it right now. “Do be more careful in your foraging attempts, darling.”
There was a pause. “Oh, and don't forget that I will come to collect on my end of our deal, so keep that pretty little neck of yours safe for me, too, won't you?” Strangely, the concluding remarks lacked any bite when stated so matter-of-fact. Although the wizard opened his mouth to respond (would now be a good time to mention the whole orb-pumping-his-chest-with-poison thing?), Astarion whipped around on his feet and slinked into the forest, disappearing with ease.
Gale remained cluelessly behind, holding his robe over his lower half as he watched the hasty and unexpected departure. Everything had flipped so quickly that he was left reeling, standing wearily amongst the morning dew of the early hours. Gale swallowed hard, unsure how his sense of loss nestled so deep within him. It was only his campmate, not a lover. It was only a mushroom.
The trudge back to camp took him some time and in the silence of the hike he found himself thinking over the events of the night prior. Certainly, he had never intended for such an outcome with the mushroom, but seeming as it unpreventably happened, Gale had managed to enjoy himself. Several times. There was no changing things now and out of everyone in the camp he felt most comfortable to share such an awkward, revealing situation with none other than the resident vampire. Perhaps he lacked self-preservation skills.
The sight of colorful tents and the smells of a smoky breakfast were incredibly welcomed as he sought to break free from the confines of his dismal thinking. Besides, the wizard was in desperate need of a bath and a change of clothes. With luck he disappeared into his own tent, catching only the bleary eyes of a curious Shadowheart who had not yet finished her tea. Gale shrugged a curt nod before dipping into the flaps of his tent. The rest of the morning he was left to himself to change, head to the river to bathe, and tiredly rejoin the group. Astarion was far from the scene. As he pushed around a bit of scrambled egg with his fork, the elf did not seem to leave his mind.
Another dilemma.