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“Hells Mizora….”
He bit his lip, tried to keep his voice down. This was humiliating for him. Normally when she wanted to do this to him- She would at least teleport them to her room in Zariel’s castle.
Of course, she had not- because she knew he was traveling with people now- his friends- and she wanted to embarrass him.
At least she’d given him the dignity of walking a ways away. They’d sat down by a rocky alcove and then she took what she wanted. She always did- He didn’t have any say in the matter.
On Wyll’s seventeenth birthday he’d signed his soul away to the half-fiend, to save Baldur’s Gate from the Cult of the Dragon, who were attempting to summon the evil dragon Goddess Tiamat, and from that moment on he was hers.
Body and soul, all hers, and as her self-proclaimed favorite pet- She used his body - a lot.
She used his body for missions, things she needed done for her or her Lady Zariel’s causes. Which he usually didn’t mind. Often times it made him very happy. It was always some beast, devil, undead or monster so felling it made him feel good. It gave him purpose being the blade of frontiers. His father had been commanding fleets at his age, climbing his way up the Flaming Fists. Wyll had assumed he’d do the same- or go into politics as a noble of the Gate. But he was disgraced. Thrown out. So being a monster hunter- being the blade- it drove him. It proved he was still a good person. That he still had a purpose. That he was a hero. Like his father.
But she often used his body for this as well. She took his eye and his virginity the day he signed the contract. He’d always read in fables about how your first love was your true love. Mizora had manipulated him. Pretended to be someone she wasn’t. Appearing as a girl of his age, for a full year while his Father was trapped in the Hells, and Wyll had been the lone master of Ravengard manor. He’d believed he had found his first love in Mizora’s false guise. They would dance together, cuddle, talk for hours…He’d told her so many of his secrets, his family history. He could still see the sweet girl with her long red hair, her freckles. Her head on his shoulder, smiling shyly, stroking his arm. All a lie. It was all a lie.
When the time came to sign, between the pressure of the situation, his love for his city, and his trust of her- he’d signed it. Sometimes, and it was sick he knew, he’d still get a pulse of longing for that girl. Even though he knew she didn’t exist. She never had. In a twisted way though? He missed her terribly.
That was seven years ago. He knew full-well how monstrous Mizora was now. He hated her with all his heart, but he was bound to her. Eternally. Even after he died. There would be no afterlife with a loving God or Goddess for him when death came for him. No relief even on the fugue plane. He would go to the Hells. His soul- His soul was Mizora’s- for her to torment even after he had nothing left to give her, nothing left to give anyone.
Wyll didn’t like to think about it.
He didn’t like to think about this either. The sex he had with her. How good it often felt. How bad it often felt. A lot of times the actual sex felt good, which made him feel ashamed. A lot of times she did things during sex that felt bad, which made him feel enraged.
He was helpless to protect himself from either sensation.
“Clause B § 6: Soul-bearer cannot harm the Soul-binder.”
He was helpless to refuse her.
“Clause Z § 13: Should the promised soul refuse obeyance or neglect duty, the pact-holder shall cast the promised in Avernus as a lemure.”
And it ate at him. All of it ate at him. He’d always imagined having sex on his wedding day, or perhaps when engaged if comfortable enough. When he was truly, truly promised to someone else, their hearts united in love and commitment. He didn’t shame anyone for how they lived their lives, but he grew up sheltered, with upper city sensibilities. He wanted a gallant, chivalrous love. The kind he’d read about in his favorite fables as a child.
She moaned as she rode him, shoved his shoulders down while gasping and cackling with pleasure. His head hit the stone with a crack, and he felt a bit of blood dripping from the back of his head. Wyll blinked a few times. No concussion, good. She’d done that before.
He bit his lip and swallowed thickly, turned his head to the side with shame, so he didn’t see her gleeful face, her breasts bouncing in their dress. This certainly wasn’t a gallant or chivalrous love. Then again, there was that sick, twisted loyalty to her. He’d never been with anyone else. He felt it would be further debasement, to go to a brothel- or anything like that. He’d always been good. He was still good. He was still his father’s son. Even despite her. Even despite this. He hoped.
Yet she’d brag, giggle, and speak of their “courtship”. Of how he refused to be with anyone else. How he was hers, and he liked it that way.
“Oh~ You truly love me, don’t you pet? I’m your soulmate, the one true love of the blade~”
Mizora mocked, her red eyes glinting coldly. He didn’t. He didn’t! He hated her. He just….he was naive he supposed. He still was hoping for, dreaming of that great romance. The love of his life.
She was cutting up his stomach with a shiny blue dagger as she rode him lazily, her tail flicking all around him. She loved to do this. Most of his scars, impressively- or ashamedly- depending on his mood, were from her, not from battle.
He hissed as she drew a particularly deep line down, twitching and fidgeting. He watched his chest and stomach begin to pool with blood. He closed his eyes, as more cuts came- they were all quite deep. She must be having a bad day, Lady Zariel must be annoying her. He gasped in pain when she sliced down one of his nipples, splitting the sensitive flesh.
His hand flew up to stop her instinctively at that one, but of course it was just as if he was holding his lover’s wrist gently- he could not stop her, could not force her away. At least that wound was not so deep.
Despite himself the warlock feels his hip’s stirring, thrusting up. It feels good. As much as he hated himself for it, like always, she makes him feel good. She’d trained him to enjoy this sick pain-pleasure, and he hated himself for it. A good pet. A good pup. The warlock loathed himself when he had to do this with her.
Mizora leaned down, biting his neck and scratching the knife up and down his side faster as her pace got more brutal. She moans into his bleeding neck, and he moans too, his arms wrapping around her. Suddenly the knife is gone, and she’s pulling the bigger man up off the ground easily (The cambion is much, much stronger than she looks.) and crashes him into the rock wall, rocking herself into him- basically just using him as a masturbatory aid at that point. He pants helplessly against her, pinned. Wyll’s eyes flutter, and he lets out another strangled gasp of pleasure.
“M-Mizora- put m-me down…”
“Mmmm…”
She tilted her head as if thinking about it.
“No.”
She’s kissing him, and her tongue is in his mouth, exploring as she always does. It’s hers to explore. She bites down and pulls on his bottom lip and he groans- his dark lashes fluttering.
He would’ve lost himself in it, gasping into her wetted mouth if his eyes weren’t pulled to the tree-line.
A wall of self-loathing and cold terror hit him like a crashing wave. He sees two glowing red dots.
His face burns like someone just set him aflame. No no no this cannot be happening! No one at camp can know this is his life. Especially not him. He inhaled sharply, blinks a few times, tries to will the image away from his eyes.
“P-Put me down n-“
-Wyll groans again from another hard thrust into him. Gods she feels so good. She’s rocking into him quicker now, moaning herself. The eyes are still there. Astarion. Oh Gods, how completely and utterly mortifying! The warlock liked this companion the best, the elf was quite funny, easy on the eyes too, but he was a sardonic sort compared to Wyll. He’ll probably tell everyone at their camp. He’ll think this droll. He feels hot tears welling up, but he immediately forces them back down. The warlock tries to control his breathing, but it gets harder when the man is coming out of the tree-line, figure becoming visible. His mouth and lips are stained red, and the embarrassing thought bubbles up that it looks quite beautiful in contrast with his fair skin.
Oh, wonderful! He was going to embarrass him immediately, not even give him the dignity of approaching him after this was over. Mizora seems to notice him too. She doesn’t turn around
“Oh look pet, one of your little friends is here to play.”
She tilts her head, smirking smile on her face towards him.
“Well, this looks like fun~”
He purrs, tilting to look at them. Wyll feels vaguely nauseous, vaguely angry. He knew Mizora was beautiful, but she treated him terribly. But he wasn’t looking at her. He was looking at him.
His eyes snap away. Wyll doesn’t want to look at either of them. He’s sure they’re now grinning madly each other. The warlock feels like certain people are in on a joke he’ll never quite understand, but then when he looks back the vampire’s eyes are still on him. There’s something else there- sympathy maybe?
“Would you like to play with us? I don’t share my pet, but I’d happy to share myself~”
Her tail wraps around the pale elf’s wrist. He immediately snatched it away.
“How very generous of you. So….I can’t even kiss him? That’s no fun.”
He’s looking at Wyll as he says this. Wyll feels his face heating up, more than it already was.
“Mmm you can try, he’s never kissed anyone but me, my poor puppy might have an aneurysm.”
She continues to grind into him, and he groans. He feels release coiling in him. Another strangled gasp escapes him as she licks the side of his face, all while the elf is right there. He wants to sink into the ground and disappear, because the older man is looking at him so intently.
“Stop…s-stop looking at me…”
He gasps at the elf finally, squeezing his eyes shut. This is the most shameful, horrendously embarrassing thing he’s ever felt in his life, and Mizora has subjected him to some pretty humiliating things.
“What do you say pet? Do you want him to kiss you?”
The elf tilts his head, he’s waiting for Wyll himself to respond.
“Well?”
Wyll is so overwhelmed by this situation. He does find the elf quite fetching, and had their entire journey, but the idea of Mizora watching- and the fear of being touched by someone else who might betray him makes him so nervous. He was just getting to know the man he’s traveling with- What if Wyll ends up falling for him and it all turns out to be a trick, like with Mizora? Wyll wanted to protect his heart.
“I….I don’t know…”
Mizora bursts into high, tinkling laughter. She cups his cheeks, squishing them tight so they’re pursed.
“I told you….he’s my loyal little pup. My sweet little slave.”
Wyll groans as she grinds down one more time, and in a wave of intense humiliation, he cums. He hisses through gritted teeth, he doesn’t want to look at the woman pushing him against the wall, and he certainly doesn’t want to look at his companion next to him.
She pulls away and he’s finally no longer pinned, and she’s laughing, smoothing out her dress.
“Well that was just scrumptious as usual. You continue to just blow my expectations out of the water. My sweet little pet, proving why he’s the favorite as always.”
The half-fiend turns to the elf.
“I hope you enjoyed the show little vampling, but I have other errands to attend to.”
Little what?
Before the warlock has time to process that remark Mizora leans to where Wyll’s catching his breath against the wall, licks the side of his face. He cringes, shivers.
“I’ll be back soon sweet pup, ta-ta for now~”
With that she poofs, and the man huffily tucks himself in, still not looking at the other man.
“D-don’t tell anyone at camp. Please Astarion. Please. I know you’re not a man of hono-“
“I won’t tell anyone.”
The elf says simply, arms crossed. Though he seems a bit miffed about something.
“So is it part of the pact you can’t be with anyone besides her? No sex with anyone but the fiend?”
He neither say this with his usual flirtatious lilt, nor his contemptuous sneer. The two ways he usually speaks to the disgraced noble. The elf says this in a tone Wyll doesn’t can’t really read well.
“It’s not that no. If it was in my pact contract I’d be forbidden to speak about it.”
Wyll huffs, his hand running against the stone he’s still standing against. He can’t believe he’s going to tell anyone, especially this man- who might laugh at him- this story. He’s never told anyone it before.
“My father was trapped in the Hells for a whole year. I was left alone at Ravengard manor.”
Astarion hums.
“I think I remember being told the Ravengard patriar was absent.”
Wyll’s eyes flick to the older man.
“N-nothing, keep going.”
“A girl started working at the manor. She was my age, and we became friends. And then more than friends. That girl wasn’t real. It was Mizora. I can’t say what happened after that. Just that she took advantage of me- and now we’re bound together. Eternally. So I’ve only ever been with her. I just, I don’t want to get betrayed again. I want to protect myself I suppose. Not fall in love with the wrong person.”
Astarion frowns.
“You don’t need to put your heart into sex darling, believe me. Sex and love are as different as the day and the night.”
Wyll shrugs, rubs his arm.
“I guess it sounds a bit silly. It’s just how I am. I’d like to find my true love- feel safe before doing something like that. I only do this with Mizora because I’m pact bound to her.”
The elf rolls his eyes.
“You remind me of a prince in a children’s fable I would’ve wanted to wed at thirteen, too sweet and naive for their own good.”
“I just. I don’t think I could have sex, and not end up with feelings for the person. I love people so much you know? I care so deeply for all of our companions, and we’ve barely gotten to know one another. I care about you too. You all are my dear friends…wonderful people at least- I think so. But I loved Mizora at one point too. So maybe…maybe you’re not. Maybe they’re not. The idea of being betrayed…It hurts.”
Wyll looks at the elf. Hoping he won’t laugh, but he’s not laughing- he’s just looking at the human, and he looks almost pained. Astarion looks away and they’re both silent for a moment.
After a moment his red eyes flit back up to him, but not his face- it’s like his entire body language shifts, tilts towards the warlock.
“—That scar down your chest. It’s bad, much worse than the rest. Why don’t we go back to camp, wake Shadowheart. She can heal you.”
Wyll shakes his head.
“I’ll be fine, I’ve dealt with worse scars. I honestly don’t really feel like talking to anyone at camp right now. I’ll just handle it.”
Astarion stares at his bloody torso for a long moment.
“I- I can help you. Though I don’t think it’ll be as nice as just letting Shadowheart heal you- and frankly I think you’re being a bit ridiculous with all that…that perfectly good blood gushing down your chest-“
The elf licks his lips. He’s speaking faster now, like he’s trying to get all the words out as quickly as possible, definitely not his typical charming self.
“-b-but I know a way around a needle and thread. I can stitch you up, if you’re really going to insist on being stubborn.”
Wyll doesn’t really want Astarion’s help either. He’s used to handling things to do with Mizora alone- and he handles them just fine, but since he already knows about the situation he shrugs.
The elf jerkily walks off into the night, Wyll supposes to get supplies from the camp. The warlock idly looks down. Oh, the elf was right. He is bleeding bad. Real bad. He slinks down the wall so he’s sitting, and gingerly touches the wound. He hisses, it stings terribly. He doesn’t know when he learned to compartmentalize wounds, just shut out the pain- but it’s apparently a bit of a curse as well as a blessing. He definitely did need some intervention here, or he might’ve passed out, maybe even died from bloodloss.
He wondered if Mizora felt she could go deeper than usual since he had companions around. Hells she probably cut him so deeply so he’d have to wake people up. Force him to make up excuses why he’s cut up from the neck down to his groin. The half-fiend loved to humiliate him so.
He was pleasantly surprised by Astarion’s reaction, but as he saw him reappearing he was…concerned. He looked a little strained, and is muttering under his breath. The elf dumped the supplies next to the sitting younger man and kneeled, before promptly dumping rubbing alcohol all over his chest.
He hissed and his hand shot out, wrapped around the vampire’s arm, with bruising strength.
“What the Hells Astarion?”
He muttered through gritted teeth, his entire torso now set aflame with all the scars zipping up and down his chest.
Astarion shrugged.
“It’ll help with the smell. I told you you’d prefer Shadowheart.”
“The smell?”
The warlock didn’t understand. It wasn’t like this was a festering wound. All Wyll can smell is blood. And now alcohol.
The elf is threading his needle, not looking at Wyll. He looks unbelievably tense, but he’s doing it. Tilting closer and closer to his chest, though it’s glacially slow. Wyll jumps just slightly as he finally feels the needle go in. Astarion’s head is tilted downward so he can’t see his face. He swears he can hear him muttering, swearing, but it’s too low to catch the actual words.
The elf is stitching him up quickly, and it hurts a little, but it’s nothing Wyll can’t handle. The tingling pain of the alcohol cleaning his wounds dies down and the warlock’s breathing begins to steady.
“Thank you for doing this my friend, and t-thank you for keeping this between us. Perhaps I misjudged you Astarion, you might be a gentleman afte-“
He feels the elf. It’s not mistakable. The feeling of a wet tongue languidly dragging from just above his navel to his mid-chest- the entire line of the deep cut. Twice.
“Did you just….did you just lick me?”
Astarion’s head pops up, and he looks like someone’s dunked his head in the river he’s sweating so bad.
“I- I did it.”
He tilts back in an odd, stilted way, gives space so Wyll can see that he is indeed patched up.
“Okay…..thank you…..”
“But……why did you lick me….”
Astarion opens his mouth, closes it- opens it again- closes it.
“You know…..this hasn’t come up naturally quite yet, but since you were honest with me- I- I suppose I could tell you.”
He looks at the warlock nervously for a minute and then huffs, putting one of his hands up, as if to deflect blame from his own statement.
“…..I’m a vampire.”
“A vampire? Hells Astarion….”
Wyll is a monster hunter. He’s felled a number of vampires. But there’s a bond between him and the other man. He doesn’t want to harm him. Still, he has to do his due diligence.
“You don’t….you don’t eat people do you?”
The elf laughs softly, though there’s strain there.
“You’re the first person’s blood I’ve ever tasted—“
Astarion swallows thickly.
“—-I - I should go.”
But he doesn’t move.
Wyll looks at the man, his eyes are closed. He strokes his face lightly.
“Are…are you alright?”
“Don’t touch me.”
His fists are clenched down into his thighs, and they’re digging in. Wyll doesn’t pull away from the man, it’s obvious he’s going through some struggle- and the vampire just helped him, promised to keep his secret from the camp. He wants to help him too.
“Hey, you’re okay.”
Wyll says softly.
Then the vampire is suddenly atop him, and Wyll’s flat on his back. He hovers over his neck, the warlock can hear his harsh breathing- before moving down, back to his chest covered in wounds- and he’s licking again. Wyll shivers. He should pull the man off, he’s overwhelmed by the smell of the blood maybe? Since he’s a vampire. This could be very dangerous. But it feels kind of nice- nice to be touched by someone who isn’t Mizora. Someone he finds attractive…but this was wrong wasn’t it? He’d been worried about betrayal, and now he knew this man was a vampire. Vampires weren’t exactly known for their chivalrous and gallant behavior.
The warlock whimpers slightly when the man’s tongue goes over his cut nipple. It stings, but it feels good. The vampire seems to go over that spot over and over with his tongue. Wyll is shivering, his hand finds the other man’s hair.
“You- you need to stop…”
The vampire pants harshly, pulls himself off of him.
“I’m sorry. I’m sorry. You
⁃ you just taste so good.”
The warlock huffs, shakily.
“I do?”
The vampire nods emphatically; his red eyes glinting with want.
That attraction to him, that dull desire to be touched by someone other than Mizora- but being too afraid of intimacy with anyone besides her- letting him drink his blood seems like it might scratch the itch for being touched by him, without falling for the man above him.
Wyll speaks, and he almost feels outside of himself as says it.
“Y-you can feed off of me if you want.”
The vampire looks at him in stunned silence. Then an absolutely unhinged smile appears on his face.
“I can?”
The face gives Wyll pause.
“Sure. Just. Just don’t kill me. Alright?”
Astarion’s smile becomes somehow wider.
“Of course darling, of course.”
The man shifts himself upwards, scowls at the sight of Mizora’s bite mark.
“…Sit up.”
Wyll does as he’s told, and he feels the man against him now. The younger man tilts his neck, giving the vampire access to the unmarred side. Astarion kisses him gently.
“Don’t do that! I said you could feed. Not…bewitch.”
The human says huffily, his face feeling as if it was set aflame a second time.
Astarion chuckles.
“Sorry, sorry- force of habit.”
Their eyes meet for a second, and Wyll immediately squeezes his shut. The elf…he’s really cute, and he’s smiling at him in such a cheeky way.
He gasps when he finally feels him sink into him. Maybe it’s all the coaching by Mizora, but it feels good to him, the piercing pain. He moans.
He feels the man chuckle against him, but the laughter quickly dies down. The vampire’s arms creep around the younger man’s as he’s feeding, and Wyll feels his senses dulling. The humans eyes flutter, and he shivers at the feeling of the man drinking from him. Astarion’s thumb is stroking his arm, as if to comfort him- but soon his claws are digging into his biceps, and the vampire’s pulling the younger man even tauter against him. This goes on for a few moments, and the human starts to feel cold, numb.
“‘Starion stop”
He mumbles, his eyes closing just as he feels the older man pull away.
The warlock doesn’t lose consciousness, but he is out of it, a dull hazy feeling covering him like a shroud. The other, slightly smaller man holds him. He feels him petting his head, vaguely- but as soon as he opens his eyes he stops.
He’s looking up at him. Still quite hungrily. A different kind of hunger though.
“We…should get to bed.”
“Really? We should?”
The elf replied, smiling ruefully and not moving an inch.
Wyll felt it too. He tamped down his fears- just one kiss couldn’t hurt right?
“Would it be alright if I kissed you goodnight?
He said slowly, not breaking contact with those strange glinting red eyes.
“Yes.”
The vampire said instantaneously.
He tilted up and kissed the elf. It was a chaste kiss, just lips pressing against lips. He was quite cold, but Wyll didn’t particularly mind. The vampire looked absolutely awestruck by the human in his arms.
When he immediately bent down for another Wyll tilted away.
“Maybe another time.”
He said quietly.
Something flashed in the vampire’s eyes, but he nodded, pulling away from the human. Wyll sat like this for a couple more moments, enjoying the feeling of being held. Astarion stared down at him, didn’t move. Neither vampire nor human spoke. Finally Wyll yawned. Between the sex with Mizora, and the draining from the vampire he wanted to sleep. He took Astarion’s smaller hand in his own, and kissed it, before getting up. He looked down at the still kneeling man.
“Goodnight Astarion.”
“Goodnight Wyll.”
The vampire mumbled contemptuously to himself, staring at his hand.
“Prince indeed.”
Wyll turned at the remark, but Astarion wasn’t looking at him. Instead, his hands were clasped together, and he was still looking down, as if examining the place where the warlock had kissed him. He leaned over, kissed the top of his head before walking off to camp.
Despite his hopes the lack of intimacy would keep his feelings at bay the warlock felt a dull uneasiness as he laid down on his bedroll.
He liked the vampire. Wyll knew it. The feeling of a crush was washing all over again. Wyll was falling in love with another creature of the dark. Though this time he was being even dumber. He was fully aware of what Astarion was, he had told him tonight. It was only a matter of time before he was betrayed, hurt.
His heart twinged though. Astarion had his own demons, sometimes he’d cry out into the night, and the rest of the group would pretend not to hear. Maybe it would be different this time. Maybe they could help each other. Wyll couldn’t help but want to believe in the other man, it was his nature to believe in the best in people. Maybe he could have his great love story. The love of his life. He was getting ahead of himself. Again. He turned his head into his pillow, tried to temper his own expectations- but no matter how hard the young man tried- He longed for the vampire.
Dreamed of a happy life with him.
Strangely enough, though the human would not believe it- so did the other.
Both longed for peace, happiness in each other’s arms.
The dream of it was enough for Wyll, for now. He’d had so much less for so long now.
He slept.