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Wyll was used to thinking on his feet, making decisions in the heat of the moment. When it was just him, his impulses were for survival. When he was with someone else, whether fighting beside them or fighting for them, his impulses were to protect them first.
He'd heard plenty of reprimand for such “self sacrificing tendencies”, as his friends loved to call it, from said group of unlikely ruffians he had come to care for dearly. So really, he should be celebrated for his quick thinking this time, that he managed to not only shield Astarion from sight of oncoming Flaming Fists - pursuing the wily vampire, as he'd just been caught picking the lock below Felogyr's Fireworks - but also himself.
Wyll had been lookout for Astarion while the others made their way around the building to search for alternate entrances, so they could choke out the Banites within, and at the shouted “Halt!” Wyll had wasted no time in yanking Astarion away and around the building. He had gotten lucky with the door a little ways down the alley, and it swung open easily as he barrelled into it. Wyll pulled them both inside, exhaling with relief both at having disappeared before the Fists caught sight of them, and that the space was otherwise completely unoccupied.
Unfortunately, it was incredibly cramped, and when Wyll closed the door behind them quickly and silently, boxing Astarion into the small space, they found themselves chest to chest in a dark room that could only be considered a supply closet at most.
“Oh,” Astarion gasped as they pressed together. “Hello, darling.”
Wyll sighed.
“Sorry,” he whispered.
He tried to shift away, but his back was flat against the door, and his manoeuvring seemed to only make their proximity worse. Wyll swallowed, feeling his traitorous heart begin to race.
Wyll had longed to be this close to Astarion for months. Ever since Astarion had sought him out at the Tiefling's celebration party, truth be told; and Astarion had flirted relentlessly only to skip away when Wyll expressed his desire for slow romance and mutual love before sex. Wyll had brushed it off as a simple incompatibility of preference, but the longing had never receded, and the more he'd learned of Astarion the more Wyll was relieved he'd denied Astarion that night at camp.
Now, however, the closeness felt awkward, as it was a result of unfortunate circumstance rather than a reciprocated desire for such an embrace. So, Wyll let his hands fall to his sides respectfully, and stiffened.
Astarion snorted quietly, and Wyll could just make out the shake of his head, his curls catching what little light seeped through the door.
“Have they gone?” Astarion whispered. “Or shall we get comfortable?”
Wyll tilted his head as much as he could, making sure not to knock Astarion's head with his horns, and strained his ears. He could hear shuffling outside, but it was impossible to tell if it was the clanging of armour and shouts of the Fists or just the normal city bustle. When he could offer no sure response, Astarion sighed, and leaned into Wyll.
“If I didn't know any better,” Astarion began, resting his head against Wyll's shoulder and sliding his hands up Wyll's abdomen, “I'd say you did this just to get me up close and alone.”
“What? No!” Wyll insisted, stage-whispering, perhaps a bit too forcefully. He breathed. “Besides, who's the one who got caught picking a lock?”
Astarion scoffed. He was fully pressed against Wyll now, and if Wyll wasn't holding himself up by bracing his arm on the wall, they would fall through the door with Astarion's weight.
“You were supposed to warn me when someone was coming,” Astarion argued. “Perhaps you were distracted by the skill of my hands,” he added suggestively.
“Distracted by your prattle, more like,” Wyll teased. “That you call yourself a master at stealth when you can't stop yapping for one minute is perhaps your best joke.”
“And that you choose to keep look-out when only one of your eyes is functional is your most embarrassing vice.”
“Hey,” Wyll said gently, but firmly. “Too far.”
Astarion quieted, going still against Wyll. He tilted his head back, catching Wyll's eyes. Astarion's own were wide with concern, and guilt, as he scanned Wyll's face, his mouth opening as if searching for an apology he wasn't used to giving. Wyll appreciated the hesitation and remorse in Astarion's expression for one more second. Then, he smirked. Astarion's jaw dropped in outrage, and he lightly smacked Wyll's arm best he could with their cramped position.
“You complete arse,” Astarion hissed. “Surely imprisonment is better than suffering you, I demand to be let out at once.”
“Oh, woe is me,” Wyll mocked with a grin, reaching behind him for the door handle.
He twisted the handle, but it was stiff. Wyll shifted his arm, yanking his wrist backwards and forwards once, only for the handle to rattle in place. He frowned, tugged one more time, and then groaned in frustration.
“Locked,” he spat. “Just our luck.”
“Did you forget you are trapped in here with a master lock-picker?”
“Did you forget the reason we're trapped in here in the first place?”
“Now you're just being petty.”
Astarion sniffed dramatically, and reached his hands around Wyll's waist to grasp the door handle behind him. He yanked it as well, to no avail, and huffed.
“Did you not believe me?” Wyll asked incredulously.
“Don't take it personally, Wyll, I just didn't think you would be used to… manoeuvring in such a way,” he said, grinning lasciviously. “I'm afraid we'll have to get much closer if I'm to pick this.”
“If we get any closer you'll be inside me,” Wyll said.
Then he winced. Astarion's laughter cut off his attempt to correct his word choice.
“Is that something you'd like, my dear?” Astarion asked, sidling somehow closer. “To be my dagger’s sheath?”
Wyll rolled his eyes, hoping Astarion's darkvision wouldn't reveal to him the deep blush that filled Wyll's face.
“You could at least not be insufferable about this.”
“As if you don't love when I am insufferable.”
Wyll sighed. It was true, and more so than even Astarion knew. Wyll loved him, after everything, and Astarion's blithe wit only added to his charm in Wyll's eyes.
Astarion began reaching within his own pockets and pouches for his thieves’ tools, and Wyll stood as still as possible to not jostle him and send the tools scattering to the ground. Wyll's heart hammered as Astarion embraced him only to reach the door handle, his fingers working the tools blindly into the lock. As he worked, he kept eye contact with Wyll, his expression shifting from teasing to concentrated as time went on.
“Having trouble?” Wyll asked.
“No,” Astarion lied.
He shifted closer against Wyll, resting his entire weight against Wyll's chest to better reach the door handle. After a few more clicks and jostling of Astarion's wrists, one of the tools fell to the floor, and Astarion groaned.
“Who puts an unpickable lock on a cupboard?” he whined.
“And who puts their cupboard outside of their building?” Wyll asked. “We could conjecture all day.”
“I'd rather not.”
“Not even as an excuse to talk some more?”
Astarion pinched Wyll's side, and Wyll chuckled. When Astarion slumped against him, Wyll huffed, his arms going around Astarion's waist on reflex to hold him up.
“This is hopeless, Wyll,” Astarion mumbled into Wyll's chest. “We're going to die in here, and when they find our bodies they'll think we were having some kind of fun.”
“I thought that's how you wanted to die.”
“We're not actually having any fun here, Wyll!”
“Speak for yourself.” Wyll tightened his arms around Astarion, pulling him into a genuine hug. “I'm quite content.”
Astarion muttered something else, though Wyll only caught “fool”. Wyll appreciated the begrudging embrace for a few more seconds, and then loosened his grasp.
“Alright,” Wyll said, “my turn.”
“What are you going to do?”
“Use magic.”
“You mean like one of your fireball spells that almost killed us both the last time?”
Wyll ignored him.
In hindsight, Wyll should have known better than to fire an Eldritch blast in such a close and tight space, but he was growing less and less reasonable the longer he spent with Astarion pressed against him, and he needed to get them out before he had any sort of embarrassing and unforgivable response to Astarion's proximity. So, he placed his hands back against the door, and whispered “Dolor”.
Rather than break open the door as Wyll had hoped, all it did was blast Wyll away from the door, sending him careening into Astarion. Wyll immediately brought his arms up around Astarion's head - again, making a decision in the nick of time - just as they both crashed into the opposite side of the closet. Astarion grunted beneath Wyll's weight, and Wyll scraped his arm against some loose wood along the wall, hissing painfully, but they were otherwise unharmed.
“What,” Astarion began breathlessly, “the Hells was that!?”
“Sorry,” Wyll groaned. “It's worked before.”
“Someone must have heard that, at least,” Astarion remarked. “Hopefully by now our friends are on their way to rescue us.”
Wyll shifted once more, righting them both and scanning Astarion for any injuries, relieved to find none. Wyll's hands twitched awkwardly at his sides once more, most of his body still pressed against Astarion firmly.
“So…” Wyll began. “Want to play a guessing game? To pass the time, I mean.”
Astarion blinked at him, his expression suggesting he found Wyll's idea completely ridiculous. But then, he smiled mischievously. Wyll felt nerves tickle his stomach.
“Why not?” Astarion shrugged.
“Alright. What is-”
“I'll go first,” Astarion interrupted. “What am I thinking right now?”
Wyll tilted his head reproachfully.
“That's not how you play. I at least need a contextual clue.”
“Fine.”
Astarion leaned against him once more, his cool hands gliding up Wyll's sides, his arms, and around his neck slowly. Astarion was close enough that Wyll could feel the warmth between their faces caused by his own breath.
“What am I thinking right now?” Astarion repeated quietly, eyeing Wyll's mouth pointedly, his eyelashes fluttering.
Wyll swallowed thickly.
“Uh,” he said eloquently. “That you enjoy tormenting me?”
“Incorrect. But not untrue.” Astarion raised a hand, tracing his fingers lightly over Wyll's cheek. “We have time, Wyll.”
“What is it that you want, Astarion?”
“Oh for the gods' sake,” Astarion snapped. “Have I not made myself abundantly clear by now? You cannot be so obtuse.”
“Don't insult me just because you're afraid of using your words,” Wyll retorted. “You're better than that, Astarion.”
“I'm certainly not,” Astarion insisted, shaking his head. “But it is because you think such a thing that I-”
Wyll waited, but Astarion said nothing more, instead pursing his lips petulantly.
“That you what, Astarion?”
Astarion straightened, meeting Wyll's gaze head-on. They were almost the same height, with Wyll's horns giving him an extra few inches. Astarion raised his chin defiantly.
“That I want to,” he said simply. “Be better.”
Then he blinked, and ducked his head.
“This is ridiculous,” he hissed. “You and your stupid fantasies and your bleeding heart and your unwavering, intolerable goodness. Wyll, you sicken me.”
“I don't see how that's my fault,” Wyll replied, his smile slow and unavoidable.
“Can't you just kiss me and spare me the mortification of having to ask?”
“I think that counts.”
Still grinning, Wyll leaned in, tilting his head to keep his horns out of the way, and pressed his lips carefully to Astarion's. Astarion instantly melted into him, his hands winding around his neck once more as he leaned against Wyll's body. Wyll placed his hands at Astarion's waist, keeping his touch respectfully light, but Astarion huffed from his nose and moved one of his hands to readjust Wyll's, moving Wyll's hand to his backside. Wyll snorted and shifted to holding Astarion's lower back, dipping him as best as he could in the narrow closet. Astarion relented, cupping Wyll's face in his hands and caressing Wyll's scars gently.
The kiss was simple, and gentle, and everything Wyll had wanted since that night after surviving the goblin camp. When they parted so Wyll could breathe, Astarion continued to press featherlight kisses to Wyll's cheek, and chin, and jaw, and below his ear. Wyll couldn't stop smiling if he tried, overjoyed by the kiss and tickled by Astarion's soft lips.
“And just for the record,” Wyll began, smoothing his fingers along Astarion's back, “this was not my intention when I got us stuck in here.”
“Oh, I know,” Astarion groaned. He leaned back so Wyll could see his dramatic eyeroll. “You'd never do something so presumptuous.” His gaze roved over Wyll's face searchingly. “But I've certainly been thinking about it since you closed that door.”
“Does that mean you've thought about it before now?” Wyll asked, unable to keep the hope out of his voice.
Astarion raised a single, well-groomed brow. It exaggerated the wrinkles around his eyes, and Wyll's chest warmed with adoration. Astarion would hate it, but Wyll thought the signs of Astarion's age added to his beauty.
“Wyll, I've thought about it since the moment we met,” Astarion admitted, his tone suggesting such a thing should be obvious.
Wyll blinked.
“Don’t look so surprised,” Astarion remarked. “You were my best bet at protection, and you’re outrageously gorgeous. It was a win-win for me.”
Wyll shook his head, smiling fondly.
“Would that I had known such a truth,” he said. “I would have attempted to court you much sooner.”
“You mean you haven’t been?” Astarion asked, gasping in exaggerated shock. “Gods above, how much worse can your romantics get?”
“I suppose you’ll have to see for yourself.”
Wyll leaned in once more, pressing a gentle kiss to the corner of Astarion’s mouth. Astarion turned, catching Wyll’s lips full on and tugging Wyll by his collar to get him closer. Wyll pulled away after only a moment, keeping the kiss fleeting and sweet, and simply gazed at Astarion, taking in as much detail of his face as he could in the dim light of their hideout. Astarion stared back at him with an almost dazed smile, his eyes flitting over Wyll’s face lightly.
“I should apologise for before,” Wyll said suddenly.
Astarion raised an inquisitive brow.
“I accused you of being insufferable, earlier,” he explained. “In truth, I’d suffer you gladly.”
“Ha!” Astarion guffawed loudly. “And suffer me you shall, my dear.”
This time, when Astarion kissed Wyll again, he also wrapped his arms around Wyll's shoulders, leaning against him fully. Wyll was forced to use the door to hold himself up as his hands flew to grasp Astarion's hips, and Astarion lifted his legs to wrap around Wyll's waist. The kiss turned passionate, but of the dramatic and facetious kind, as though Astarion was entertaining himself by playing the part of an insatiable lover. How he had managed to lift and bend his knees in their tight space, Wyll could hardly guess at, but it was amusing. Wyll simply held Astarion in his arms, soaking in the delight of the feel of Astarion's lips against his.
Just when Wyll meant to nudge Astarion away so he might breathe, a harsh banging sound coupled with the severe rattling of the door behind Wyll startled them both from their fun. They had just enough time to make panicked eye contact, before the door was falling backwards; and thus, they were falling with it.
Wyll landed on top of the door, on his back, which knocked what little breath remained within him out of him. Astarion landed on top of Wyll, but had managed to remove his legs from around Wyll's waist in order to break his fall by catching himself on either side of Wyll's supine body. Wyll noticed belatedly as well that Astarion's hands were now wound behind Wyll's skull, and had held him up to keep from slamming his head and horns into the ground. It was a remarkably thoughtful gesture; and, Wyll noted with a warm flutter in his chest, an example of Astarion making an impulsive decision for someone else's wellbeing besides his own. Oh, he would be furious to hear Wyll repeat that thought later, which made Wyll a normal amount of thrilled, and determined to do so.
“Zariel's flaming tits, you two,” Karlach huffed, standing over them with her greataxe resting over one shoulder. “We looked everywhere, worried sick, and you were just mushing mouths this whole time?”
“Not-” Wyll grunted, still regaining his breath, “-the whole time.”
“Yes,” Astarion agreed, “it took quite some effort of batting my eyelashes before he got the hint.”
Karlach helped Astarion up first, and then the two of them reached for Wyll. As Karlach patted his back reassuringly, Wyll shot Astarion a tired - yet fond - look.
“We were attempting to hide from the Fist,” Wyll explained. “How'd you find us?”
“Tadpoles,” Karlach replied, tapping the side of her head. “You two got a bit… er, sloppy, and I just followed the rampant joy you kept puttin’ out there.”
“You didn't see-”
“No, and thank the gods,” she sighed. “No offence. Love you both, don't wanna see it.”
“We weren't up to anything so raunchy as you think,” Wyll said sheepishly. “But I'm sorry we got distracted.”
“Pfft, don't be,” Karlach dismissed, waving a large hand. “On the bright side, you got the last two Fist that were hanging around out here to go off on a wild goose chase. I think I'll stick around for the lock-picking part this time, though.”
“Deal,” Wyll nodded.
“Can't you just break down that door, too?” Astarion asked, giving a pout. “We were busy.”
Karlach cackled, slapping a hand on Astarion's shoulder hard enough to make him huff.
“Cute, Fangs,” she said.
She wrapped an arm around Astarion's shoulders, and the other around Wyll's, tugging them both along. Wyll smiled at his friend, overjoyed by how well things had gone despite the mishaps before. Karlach grinned back and squeezed him closer, wagging her brows to make Wyll laugh.
He glanced around Karlach to Astarion, who was smiling gently to himself, seemingly lost in thought as they walked. When he finally noticed Wyll's gaze, he blinked, and forced himself to frown. Wyll gave him a wink, enjoying the red tint at Astarion's ears. He relaxed against Karlach's embrace, in the company of those he cared for and who cared for him, and looked forward to kissing Astarion again soon.