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"You just had to keep licking it, didn't you?! We all told you to stop, but oh no, mister big and tough had to ignore our warnings in favor of consuming the suspicious, and dare I say more importantly, rotten spider meat!"
The sound of Gale's stream of conscious nagging is shards of ice to Tav's brain. He shakes his head to clear it but it only makes the entire world spin instead. Not good.
"Ah, he'll be fine!" Karlach says. "Er… right?"
"If he dies, he deserves it," Lae'zel replies. She sounds deeply irritable, even more so than usual.
The four of them are back at camp after a very long day full of ancient underground temple raiding, Sharran trials, and the defeat of one very pissed off Orthon.
"It wasn't…" Tav has to pause before speaking further . It feels like his insides are about to become his outsides if he isn't careful. "It wasn't—rotten."
"That's your defense?" Gale demands. "It's fine because the carcass was only, oh, let's see… mangled, oozing, likely poisoned, and found deep within the bowels of the fetid lair of an evil, bloodthirsty fiend?"
"Wasn't poisoned either."
"No, but it was laced with… with—"
"Succubus spittle," Lae'zel supplies dryly.
"What's all this about a succubus, now?" rings out a posh voice.
The sound of Astarion so close makes Tav groan, the last vestiges of his sanity threatening to fray apart entirely. Much easier to keep it together when trapped below the dirt and surrounded by the stink of rot and gore and shit. Harder now amongst the familiar smells and sights of camp, nearly impossible with the pale elf almost within arm's reach.
"Vlaakith be praised," Lae'zel mutters, "he's yours to deal with now, istik."
She drops Tav's arm over Astarion's shoulder and Tav stumbles, legs too shaky to support him. Astarion bleats out a soft little noise of surprise and tries to steady him, guiding Tav over to his tent.
"Darling, I know the mere sight of me must make you weak in the knees, but you're scaring me a little," he says. "What's happened?"
"It's… nothing…"
Being so close to Astarion makes him feel like he's going mad. He can feel the warmth from Astarion holding him, the tickle of soft hair against his skin. The smell of him, stronger than ever suddenly, sweet and rich and dangerous. Suddenly he thinks he knows what it must be like to be Astarion, to suffer that overwhelming need to feed. He wants it right now, wants to devour this elf brat whole.
"...you hear me? Tav, what is wrong?"
The curtain to Astarion's tent falls closed behind them, shrouding them in quiet and warm burgundy shadows.
"Ate something," Tav manages to reply. "Tainted. Succubus."
Astarion looks at him like he is witnessing the folly of man anew. "...Why?"
Tav hangs his head, ashamed for the first time since it happened. "I thought… it smelled a bit… like you."
"And so your first thought was to… eat it?" Astarion asks. Then: "Wait a moment, are you saying I smell like a decaying corpse?"
"No," Tav says. "It just smelled so good, and then I couldn't help myself."
Astarion takes a moment to process this. "Well," he says finally, "succubus charms are a powerful thing."
Tav swallows. "I think the way I feel about you… might be even stronger than that."
It's as though he's perceiving the world through a slow spell, the way he notices the slight flutter of Astarion's silver lashes at his words, the movement of his throat as he swallows.
"You'll need to be taken care of, I expect," Astarion says, voice lowering, "or that charm is going to eat you alive."
He knows what Astarion is offering. And yet…
"I don't want to be taken care of," Tav says.
Astarion raises an eyebrow. "Are you sure? These things don't just… run their course, darling."
"I didn't say I don't want anything," Tav continues.
Astarion looks a bit wary. "What do you mean?"
"Do you trust me?"
"I…" Astarion's brow furrows, and then, in a tone that speaks something of his own confusion, he says, "I suppose I do. Yes."
Even while currently ravaged under the weight of his own desires, Tav can't help but smile. "Lie down for me."
"Ooh," Astarion coos as Tav guides him to lay on his stomach. The elf has brought an absurd amount of pillows, and Tav makes sure to situate him comfortably. "Ass in the air, eh? Are you going to take me as though we both are mindless beasts?"
"Eventually," Tav says. He peels Astarion's trousers off his slim hips and settles himself.
"What are you planning to—" Astarion starts to say, and then he cuts himself off. And then he says, "Oh… oh."
"I just want to taste you," Tav tells him, before he licks another long, lingering stripe against Astarion's hole.
"I can— gods," Astarion gasps. "I can—s-see that."
Tav makes sure he can damn well feel it, too. He puts his lips to the sensitive skin and sucks, receiving another breathy gasp for his troubles. Astarion tastes amazing, tastes like the finest delicacy in all of Faerun, and Tav—he's ravenous.
It's not just the soft, trembling skin he can taste—it's the soft, surprised noises Astarion keeps making, the sight of him spread apart and empty, the rich smell of his arousal. All the heady sweetness of his desire. Tav can taste all of it, is nearly drowning in it, and still he wants more.
He runs the tip of his tongue around Astarion's rim and Astarion's hips snap forward, before he's pushing back in desperation.
"What are you doing to me?" he moans.
Rather than answer, as his mouth is otherwise occupied, Tav presses his tongue past the tight ring of muscle and Astarion cries out, whole body shuddering. He sounds so gods-damned beautiful, and Tav knows how to get more of that sound, more— laps at his hole before working his tongue in and out in short rapid thrusts. Astarion's cries climb higher and higher, and Tav would feel sorry for the sensibilities of their companions if he could bring himself to care about anything right now other than being inside Astarion.
"Don't stop—" Astarion pants. "Don't you dare stop."
Tav wouldn't dream of it, wouldn't, except Astarion clenches around him and he feels it as though it were everywhere, in his gut and his cock—
And then he's coming with his tongue up Astarion's ass and his dick completely untouched.
The force of it takes him by storm, and his vision goes almost black as he soaks the front of his trousers. He doesn't even hear Astarion berating him until he comes back to his senses.
"Oh, you evil, conniving, son of a bitch," the elf is cursing. "You are a fiend, worse than one, and I—" He pauses. "Tav?"
"…Yes?"
"Did you just come from eating me out?"
"I… might've."
The look Astarion throws him over his shoulder is utterly flabbergasted. "I see."
"Don't look at me like that," Tav says. "It's not my fault."
Astarion barks out a breathless laugh. "Oh, it is. It most definitely is. And if you think I'm going to let you get away with stopping there—"
"I don't… think that will be an issue," Tav says, shifting awkwardly to assess the situation. He's still rock hard.
Astarion glances down at Tav's crotch. "Thank the hells for succubi. You—pants off. Now."
Tav does not need to be told twice. He divests himself of his clothes as Astarion stretches with shaky arms for his pack. By the time Tav has tossed his shirt aside, the elf has already slicked his fingers with fragrant oil and is working them inside himself greedily.
"Let me," Tav asks. Honestly, it's closer to pleading.
"Be my guest," Astarion tells him, and so Tav makes himself at home inside Astarion's body. He pushes one finger in up to the knuckle and appreciates the stretch of taut muscle around it, the way Astarion clenches around him when he pulls away to rub slick, frantic little circles against his rim.
He hauls himself bodily over Astarion, pushes the back of his shirt up and braces one arm at the side of the elf's body so he can drag his mouth across Astarion's back. Astarion tenses for a moment, and Tav realizes— scars— so he kisses above them, at the nape of that elegant neck, works a second finger in, and Astarion is putty beneath his hands. The vampire twists his long fingers in the blanket, hips grinding back in a mindless, desperate rhythm.
He's everything to Tav like this, everything when he stops holding himself back and lets himself want, instead.
"This isn't f-fair," Astarion pants, "when you're supposed to be the one— ah— suffering."
"I'm suffering plenty," Tav murmurs, and it's true, he feels as though he's on fire. But he can survive the inferno, longs to stoke it even higher with every shiver, every shudder that he can pull from Astarion.
"Then why," Astarion asks, "am I aching to have you inside me?"
And suddenly he can hold back no longer. He pulls his fingers away, even though it pains him to hear the absolutely lost noise Astarion makes at being empty, can only kiss the elf's pale shoulder in apology as he aligns his throbbing cock with Astarion's rim and enters him.
That screaming hunger gnawing at Tav's insides is, for the first time since he ate that damned meat, something like sated. He groans as he pushes deeper into the tight walls of Astarion's body, a perfect fit, slotting himself both inside and over the vampire to be as close as possible. He finally feels almost satisfied, now that he can run his hands over the smooth expanse of Astarion's thighs, his stomach, feel the muscles clench and tremble.
"You alright?" he asks, because it's only polite when you've split someone open on your cock, and gods he wants to move but he knows once he does he'll never stop. He wants to stay buried inside this man forever.
Astarion huffs out a sound that might actually be a laugh. "Leave it to you," he grates out, "to be this concerned with my well-being when you should be fucking me until I can no longer stand."
"Apologies," Tav says, and then he sets about doing exactly that.
It's easy to forget sometimes how small Astarion is, given his usual bluster as well as his exceptional way of handling himself in battle. But like this… like this, when Tav feels like he holds the core of Astarion in his palm, when he can spread both hands over the smooth flesh of Astarion's hips, sink his fingers into the soft, supple divots there so he can yank those hips back to meet him when he pulls out, slams in—
He's reminded he's caught hold of something fragile, something precious. And he doesn't want to let it go.
"Yes," Astarion hisses. "Right there. Get it all out of your system, pup—"
"One problem," Tav grunts, rocking Astarion's whole body with another hard thrust of his hips.
"W-what?"
He folds himself over Astarion, so he can say, close to his ear: "I'm never going to get you out of my system."
The fact that this is what makes Astarion moan for him, makes his body clench reflexively, and tight, around Tav's cock—that's what has him thinking that maybe he never has to let go at all.
"Gods, Astarion… yes." He rolls his hips, grinding deep inside Astarion over, and over, the whole world narrowed down to that singular feeling of being surrounded, of being fulfilled. "I'm going to—"
"Then do it—" Astarion gasps. "I want it, there's no need to bloody announce— ah, fuck, fuck—"
He swallows his own voice when Tav grips just a bit too hard, too harsh, sure to leave marks that will develop purplish-blue, marks that Astarion can see on himself in the sun the next morning. He can't stop himself, though, not when the insatiable flames of that awful hunger are finally burning their brightest, as he fills Astarion to brimming. Fills is all too accurate a word, when he feels like those gut wrenching spasms continue on, and on, far longer than natural. He can only cling to Astarion, feeling at once helpless and embarrassed at how he must be crushing the vampire with his weight, at the state he's leaving Astarion in.
Tav's body is wracked with one last, powerful shudder—and then he pulls out with a pained groan and a noise not unlike freeing a stuck blade from a deep wound. He slumps as much to the side as he can, a bit like some dead thing, which is how he feels.
After a moment, a somewhat faint voice asks, "Still alive over there?"
He blinks, and focuses with difficulty on Astarion, who is still lying half under him, head craned to the side so he can peer at Tav.
"Shit," Tav says, "I'm sorry, I—"
"Not to worry," the elf says breezily. He wiggles the fingers of one hand in Tav's face—they're wet and slick with cum. Tav's dick gives a half-hearted throb at the sight and for a moment he's worried—but no, this seems to just be normal, run-of-the-mill arousal. "You didn't seem in any state to be helping me, so I took the liberty of doing it myself."
"I'm sorry," Tav groans. "I was truly… not myself, for a moment there."
"I hadn't noticed," Astarion deadpans. "I'm fairly sure no living organism was meant to be the receptacle of quite this much… seed."
He shifts his hips lewdly. Tav looks down and feels his face turning red. "Lolth's gods-damned hairy legs," he swears.
Astarion is absolutely covered from the ass down in cum, leaking from his pink and, Tav must admit, pleasantly stretched hole, streaking the backs of his thighs, staining the blanket below. Tav covers his face with his hand. Only after a moment does he realize Astarion is laughing at him.
"I think we've learned our lesson today about consuming suspicious foods, hm?" Astarion says with a chuckle, one of those airy, princely sounds of his that verges on giggling. "Please, don't look so distraught. At least we got some fun out of it! That's more than I can usually say for dungeon spelunking."
"I ruined you," Tav moans.
"Yes, darling," Astarion agrees. "And I'd gladly let you do it again."
"Quiet," Tav says. "And… thank you, for not letting me suffer through that alone."
Astarion smirks. "I take that to mean I was good enough to suit your purposes, then."
Tav shakes his head. "Good enough? That was perfect."
Astarion waves his hand. "Oh, you'll say anything after eating a little charmed spider meat, won't you?"
He sounds so dismissive. Tav catches his hand—intertwines their fingers together, and catches Astarion's gaze with his own. "No, I mean it. You were perfect."
"Oh, I—oh," Astarion splutters. "If you say so."
But he gives Tav's hand a little squeeze back.
"I do say so," Tav says. "Now, come on—I'm starved."
"Can't imagine why."
"You know what?" Tav snaps his fingers. "I think I've got some spider meat left in my pack—"
Astarion hits him as hard as he can with one of his overstuffed pillows. "Get out of my tent," he says, and Tav goes, pants only half done up and laughing all the way.