Chapter Text
Despite Tavi’s patience, by the end of their session Church’s psyche is palpable with frustration. While he manages to lift some objects with his psionic powers and repel Tavi a few times with a mind blast, he can’t quite seem to manage sustained flying at all.
“You’ve only just started,” Tavi reassures him. “In time, you’ll finesse your power and figure it out.”
“In how much time?” Church groans, still flat on his back from his last attempt.
Tavi sighs. “It took me a few years, but—”
“I don’t have years!” the tiefling laughs bitterly. “There’s got to be a faster way, or maybe I’ll find myself some kind of psionic prodigy…”
“You’re not going to like what I have to say,” Tavi chuckles wryly.
“I know,” Church sighs ruefully. “I could always increase my power — add yet another parasite to the mix.”
“You could consider it,” Tavi admits. “But even with just the one, you’ve already proven yourself to be more than effective in wielding your new powers. I would first encourage you to have some patience with yourself.”
He holds his hand out to help the warlock up.
“The gravity within the Astral Plane is far less than your waking world,” Tavi warns. “You know what to do, but you will find it takes considerably more effort to accomplish what you’ve done here. Additionally,” he chuckles, “your enemies won’t be nearly as forgiving as I am.”
Church huffs a laugh as he dusts himself off.
“You weren’t exactly gentle yourself,” he chuckles. “But I’d let you throw me around any day.”
There’s an awkward silence at that, filled only with the rumbling of the Astral Plane.
“That didn’t come out right,” Church mutters as Tavi smirks back at him, crossing his arms.
“If we had more time, I’d take you up on that,” Tavi smiles tightly. “But duty calls.”
“You’re just trying to exit the conversation,” Church says pointedly.
“Both things can be true at once,” Tavi chuckles. “Until next time, Church.”
His eyes glow purple, and all fades to white.
—
The soreness from his training doesn’t follow Church into the waking world, fortunately, but it still manifests as a slight headache as he begins to recognize the sounds of the river nearby, the wind whistling through the ruins and trees.
But there’s something else out there.
Something else in here, with him.
Church jolts awake and a hand immediately shoves his chest back down to his bedroll — a blade sharp and cold against his neck.
“Oh fuck!”
With his harsh shout, he reflexively lets loose a psionic force that blasts Lae’zel clean off of her feet and out of his tent.
“Shit!” Church hisses as he scrambles to his feet. “Shit shit shit…”
Through the canvas of his tent, he hears a clamor — a scuffle — in the low light of dawn.
“Stay away from him!” shouts Astarion from outside.
“The hshar’lak is corrupted!” Lae’zel spits vehemently. “You all know and feel it. He is ghaik!”
“Lae’zel!” Church calls from inside the tent as he hurriedly wards himself. “Stay your blade — I can explain!”
“What’s going on?” Shadowheart calls in alarm.
“The Githyanki is going crazy again, little Sharran. She’s a danger to us all!” Astarion barks, and Church steps right into his back as he exits his tent. The elf stands square in front of the entrance, holding his arms out in a meager attempt at shielding the tiefling from a seething Lae’zel.
“I gave you a chance!” Shadowheart snarls as she stalks towards the githyanki, a fire bolt in hand.
“Stop!” Church cries, stepping past Astarion and holding out his hands. “Just stop, all of you!”
He drops his arms and glances back at Astarion, who is glowering, hunched forward, and primed for attack.
“Look, I was going to tell you all soon, but I took one of the tadpoles last night,” Church confesses to the rest of them. “And I’m fine! I’m me. It’s been hours and I’m still me.”
Shadowheart’s hand extinguishes, but she ogles at Church, appalled. “It was bad enough having just one of those tadpoles forced upon us! I can scarcely believe you actually inflicted another on yourself…”
Lae’zel paces restlessly as she glowers at Church and Astarion. “Kaincha!” she snarls. “No good will come of devouring a ghaik worm, no matter what you might think.”
The remaining murmuring companions scramble forth from their corners of the camp. For the most part, they hold themselves back from the confrontation — uncertainly readying their arms and magic.
“I needed its power, Lae’zel,” Church implores her. “You have to take my word for it, but my magic was more potent before the first tadpole. This second one not only makes up for it, but it gives me psionic powers that I never had before. You heard about how I was when Minthara looked into my brain! If we’re infiltrating Moonrise Towers, then I need to be able to push back against someone stronger than her. I need to be stronger.”
Lae’zel scoffs. “Tsk’va. Mark my words, this power would be no blessing, but a curse. You might as well gouge out your eyes for the promise of sight, or slice off your tongue for the promise of taste.”
Karlach steps between her and Church. “I know why you did it, soldier,” she says regretfully. “And you weren’t there, Lae’zel — he almost died on us for good. The only reason there was anything left for Astarion to revive was our guardian using his power.”
Church approaches Lae’zel, hands raised in peace.
“Look into my mind,” he pleads with her. “All of you. I’m not turning. He’s preventing that from happening.”
Lae’zel glowers at him, and then reluctantly she shuts her eyes, grimacing as she connects with the warlock’s mind. She withdraws quickly, warily.
“Yes, it’s… you,” she admits in resignation. “Chk. Consume all the ghaik tadpoles you wish,” she adds in a bluster. “I’m not so craven.”
“Well, he’s not the only craven one,” Astarion pipes up wryly, tapping against his own temple. “We took them together. And I feel wonderful!”
“Gods, not you too…” Wyll mutters.
“If we must bear the tadpoles’ burdens, we should also avail ourselves of their power!” Astarion declares. “The True Souls we met were strong — well, except for Gut,” he adds. “Imagine what we could all do together if we were more powerful? More resistant? This Absolute won’t even stand a chance.”
“That is absurd,” sneers Lae’zel. “When the tadpole has stretched to every pore and slithered through every vein, what am I to do then? It won’t hear my screams, it won’t care if I beg. I will be remade in its image.
“My faith in Vlaakith will guide me and my own might will sustain me. I have no need of this depraved power.”
“I’m not asking you to take the parasite,” Church cuts in warily. “I just need you to understand — this cult of the Absolute is dangerous. We should take all the help we can get. I would never ask this of any of you, but I am willing to do this for us.”
He steps towards Lae’zel, and with a concentrated thought and a small gesture, he pulls her sword towards himself with a whoosh. The others — even Lae’zel — cry out in alarm, but the blade stops and hovers just before his neck, reverberating against the golden, pulsating ward.
“If I do turn, you have my permission to kill me,” Church says evenly. “But as it stands I’m still your ally, Lae’zel. Your ra’stil.”
Lae’zel seethes, but she yanks her sword away from Church’s neck.
“You fool. You — you might be right,” she grimaces. “After all… the githyanki have long studied ghaik and used what we’ve learned. The zaith’isk itself was devised from such knowledge.”
“I still intend to find a way to get our tadpoles removed,” Church says quietly, ignoring Astarion’s disparaging look. “With the help from our guardian, the tadpole doesn’t have to be just our curse. We can turn it into a weapon that we can twist and mold to our advantage.”
Lae’zel regards him balefully.
And then she sighs. “Very well. I will swallow my disgust as you avail yourself of the parasite’s powers.”
She stalks away back towards her tent, leaving the rest of her companions hovering nervously around the defiant Church and Astarion.
“Any questions?” Church asks wryly.
Gale eagerly takes the opportunity to approach him.
“Come on then, don’t leave us in suspense. How are you feeling?” he studies Church’s face cautiously. “No errant tentacles? No sudden cravings for a more cerebral diet?”
“Honestly I’m feeling… great,” Church huffs a laugh. “But I can feel this whole new facet of my magic. It’s like discovering that your tent has had another room in it the whole time.”
Gale doesn’t quite clap his hands, but he certainly comes close to it as his face lights up in excitement.
“Wonderful,” the wizard gushes. “Advantages are a more precious commodity than I’d have hoped, given the nature of our predicament.”
He gestures and bows diplomatically at Astarion.
“While I’m still not certain you can handle that book, I still commend you both on your willingness to take such a risk.” Gale reaches out and pats Church amicably on the shoulder. “Now, let’s hope your new, illithid-fuelled prowess tip the balance suitably in our favor.”
“So you feel… the same?” Karlach asks timidly. “I’ve never seen you do what you did with Lae’zel’s sword before without your mage hand… is that new?”
“Yes,” Church says honestly. “The guardian taught me a few things in my dreams last night.”
Astarion shoots him a curious look.
“Did he now?” he says lightly. “And I thought I was special.”
Wyll wipes a hand down his face.
“Hells, you’re a warlock, Church. You know better than anyone else — all unknowable powers come with unknowable consequences,” he says gravely. “I can’t say I’m not curious, but once you take an illithid by the talon, there’s no telling how deep into the abyss it might drag you.”
“Well we won’t know the consequences until someone comes to know the powers, will we?” Church retorts.
Wyll just sighs at that.
“Any more sage words of advice?” Astarion calls out to the group. “No? Then get on with your morning.”
He doesn’t wait for an answer before grabbing hold of Church’s arm, dragging him towards the ruins.
—
“Well,” Astarion says lightly, grasping Church by the shoulders and giving the tiefling a once-over. “No tentacles yet. I suppose we can consider that a success.”
His expression is unreadable as he adds, “That was some stunt you pulled with Lae’zel’s sword.”
“I am… so glad I could even control it,” Church admits in disbelief, sagging against a wall. “I wasn’t sure how much force to use compared to the Astral Plane, so gods… that was… really stupid.”
“Well it impressed me,” Astarion says indulgently. “Far more than you somehow managing to die twice in the span of a day would have accomplished.”
Church lets out a breathless laugh, before peering up at Astarion, uncertainly. “So how was your night?”
Astarion hums. “I had a few lessons of my own. These illithid powers will come in very handy.” He eyes Church curiously. “And yours?”
“The guardian taught me some telekinesis — as demonstrated,” Church shrugs. “I have some ideas on how to manipulate what I learned even further.” He scowls a little. “I had hoped to learn how to fly, but…”
“Good gods, I didn’t even think to ask about that,” Astarion grouses. “But I did learn some interesting ways to manipulate our enemies to our advantage…”
He babbles on for a bit, but Church finds it hard to listen as he comes down from the adrenaline of Lae’zel’s confrontation. His eyes scan along the ruffles of Astarion’s deep collar, up to his bobbing throat with those old puncture wounds that must have hurt so, so much. He follows along his jawline and over to those soft lips that cushion and conceal deadly fangs…
Church pushes himself off of the wall to plant a kiss upon them.
Astarion startles, but he scarcely has time to react before Church pulls away, clearing his throat as a small blush tints his skin.
“My, my, is someone feeling frisky this morning?” Astarion’s mouth flickers up to a smirk.
“I just wanted to thank you,” Church explains hurriedly. “You stood up for me. You outed yourself when you didn’t need to. That takes courage.” He sighs, tentatively resting a hand against Astarion’s shoulder. “And I’m glad I didn’t have to face the others alone. Or even do this alone. Just… thank you.”
He rises up to press another brief, small kiss to the elf’s cheek. When he pulls away, the elf seems at a loss, his eyes searching for something in Church’s face.
And then his smirk returns.
“Believe it or not, it’s my pleasure, darling,” Astarion finally says, gallantly. His face breaks into a grin. “But really — you should have seen the gith’s face when you blasted her right out of your tent.”
Church chuckles weakly, and the elf casts a wary look over towards the direction of camp. “We should head back — before the others get any more suspicious about us cooking up some illithid conspiracy.”
But before the two leave the relative privacy of the ruins completely, Astarion yanks the tiefling into another corner, pressing and pawing up against him with a hungry, indulgent kiss. Church delves into it in return, eager and feeling quite pleased with himself as the elf smiles against his lips.
“You and I are going to have so much fun with these new powers,” Astarion whispers delightedly. “Together, we are going to raise the hells.”
—
As Church, Gale, Karlach, and Wyll make their way through the Emerald Grove’s heavy, ivy-covered gate, they are surprised to find the entrance of the grove already teeming with tieflings packing up and preparing for travel.
What was meant to be a simple check-in with Zevlor and Halsin turns into each party member getting pulled into a different conversation at once. No sooner has Wyll finished speaking to Zevlor than two of the children clamber up to him, shouting something about “blades” and “goblins” and “dragons.” Church and Gale barely manage to get any further before they get pulled into a conversation with Lia and Pandirna. Karlach, meanwhile, immediately sets to helping a grateful Dammon load the least-flammable supplies into carts.
Eventually, Church and Gale extract themselves from the conversation with a promise to continue it at a celebration that they are apparently hosting in their camp that evening. Gale finds himself bemusedly trailing after Church as the tiefling takes the opportunity to seek out the grove’s trader, Arron. As he takes a break from bartering some last minute supplies, the halfling watches the tieflings bustling by with crossed arms and a fond, wistful smile.
“Oh gods, please say you still have it!” is Church’s frantic greeting to the puzzled trader.
“You’ll have to be more specific, I’m afraid…”
“The Rain Dancer!” Church clarifies hurriedly. “The quarterstaff. I—”
“I still have it,” Arron tells him with a hasty chuckle.
After Church hands him his coin, Gale raises his eyebrows at the pale staff clutched in Church’s hands. It’s a tool of excellent craftsmanship, inlaid with a droplet-shaped topaz.
“If that’s for me, there’s really no need,” Gale protests. “Just the other day Wyll gave me this ring that…”
“Ah, no, that’s not why I picked it up,” Church assures him hurriedly. “I mean — once I’m done with it you’re certainly welcome to have it… although now that I’m holding it, I just really hope that you’ll actually use it rather than consume it…”
He trails off as Gale watches him in curiosity.
“Can you hold this, actually?” Church says — thrusting the staff into Gale’s hands. “I want to have a chat with that strange ox again before we meet Halsin.”
—
They’re back at camp when Church entreats Karlach to join him by the river, the warlock beckoning his friend towards the unimpressed and ever-watchful gaze of Withers.
“What’re we doing?” Karlach asks him with a nervous smile.
“Testing my theory,” Church grins, gesturing at Rain Dancer. “Worst comes to worst, we both just get really, really wet.”
Karlach’s eyes literally light up as she grins. “Ooh I see! This… this might just work, soldier.”
“Cross your fingers,” Church smiles before channeling the Weave through the staff with flourish.
All at once, an effervescent deluge of water falls in a thunderous, heavy sheet atop the two tieflings, alarming some nearby companions with their splashing, shouts, and swearing.
Withers, meanwhile, had stepped quietly — deliberately — out of the spells’ range.
“Ooh,” Karlach shivers, dripping wet, steaming, but excited. “This is clever — might even work!” She flashes Church a soft smile. “C’mere, you!”
Church barely hesitates before flinging his arms around Karlach, but the other tiefling doesn’t even have time to move her arms before he leaps back with a yelp, patting at his singed clothing.
“Soldier — shit!” Karlach swears in alarm.
“I’m fine!” Church laughs reassuringly. “No permanent damage… and absolutely worth it.”
Karlach’s worried face melts back into a hopeful smile as she distractedly wraps her arms around herself — now completely dry and back to her infernal heat.
“I hope that’s true… ‘cause I’m hoping for seconds, thirds, and fourths, once we find a way to cool off this engine.” She grins at him. “And then no one is going to be safe from me!”
Church beams at her before glancing mournfully down at his ruined shirt. “Well. That’s that for this one. Let me get changed and we’ll start getting the grounds set up for the party, alright?”
“Maybe go see Shadowheart for those burns first,” Karlach suggests apologetically. “I’ll look around for more firewood. Carefully,” she adds with a chuckle.
Church walks happily past the baffled looks of their other companions in camp.
“You know,” Astarion drawls from where he loiters outside of the warlock’s tent. “It would have been much easier if you had just told her to dunk in the river instead.”
The tiefling blinks at him in astonishment.
“Well, damn,” he mutters sheepishly as he gingerly strips off his scorched shirt. “Didn’t think of that.”
He shrugs, secretly pleased at how the elf’s eyes trail curiously over the cartilage ridges radiating along his torso. “Well, at least Gale gets something out of this too.”
—
As a child, in hopes of ingratiating himself within the village, Church had taught himself how to dance.
At first he would surreptitiously watch the festivals of Tarrin’s Hearth from the rooftops, mimicking the footwork of the leads and followers from the shadows. Eventually, when he finally became truly integrated into the village at age thirteen, he amazed and scandalized the villagers with how easily he had swept up Lydia, Mairead, and several of the other village teens into a dance.
A dancing devil was an amusing spectacle, at the very least.
Church still remembers how surprised Lydia was, and how delightedly she had laughed to be led by this smaller, scrawny infernal boy. She said that she had never been dipped during a dance before, and she followed this statement with a perfunctory kiss upon the boy’s cheek.
He had thought about that for days.
Tavi later told Church that he had been intensely jealous of the tiefling’s confidence and apparent comfort with the girls. He later also said that he wished he had been brave enough back then to ask for a dance from Church himself.
The tiefling still feels a pang of sadness at the thought. He and Tavi never had a chance to dance together — not at Vyerna’s wake, and not during their rendezvous in Neverwinter. He should have taken the chance while they had it, but it’s not like they knew how little time they had.
They couldn’t have known.
And so, here at the tiefling party, Church decides that he won’t miss any chances now. He even gets Shadowheart to indulge him in a little twirl as she rolls her eyes, taking a long sip of wine to hide her smile.
He invites his friend Lia to be the first to dance, swinging her around the campfire to the delight of the Elturians. Even Withers seems to watch with mild interest. As the two tieflings dance together, Church finds himself grinning uncontrollably back at Lia. Bold, gorgeous, and hilarious — his younger self would no doubt have been smitten with her.
But over her shoulder Church spots another face watching from the shadows, catching his eye throughout the tieflings’ party. It sends the warlock’s already racing heart soaring to see the elf’s eyes shining mirthfully back at him.
Later on into the night, Church is the one to approach Astarion, emboldened by the wine and the euphoria of the festivities. Curiously, he wonders if Astarion would even entertain his invitation to dance.
“Here’s my little treat with their cheeks all flushed,” Astarion simpers. “And the belle of the ball, apparently.”
Church huffs a laugh. “I dunno, I have some competition over there now. Asharak clearly knows a few moves of his own.” He smiles back at the elf. “I was hoping to find you, actually.”
“Were you, now?” Astarion purrs, his eyes flicking over the tiefling from head to toe. “Then you will come to my bed tonight, won’t you?”
Church scoffs, throwing on an unimpressed expression.
“Very presumptuous of you,” he drawls. “In case you haven’t noticed, I’m quite popular these days. I have yet to decide how I’ll be spending my night.”
Astarion’s eyes narrow, a dangerous smile blossoming across his face. “Ah, you need a bit of enticing, then. Let me see.”
He contemplates briefly to himself before flashing the warlock a bright smile. “Hm. How about this one?”
Astarion gestures floridly towards Church, his voice theatrical as he orates. “All these accolades from the tieflings are nothing compared to the sound of my name, cried from your lips.”
Church huffs a laugh. “I’ve heard worse,” he admits with a smirk. “Full marks for effort.”
“Hmm, yes… then let me give it another go,” Astarion’s eyes sparkle mischievously with the challenge.
“Every part of your perfect body whispers temptation,” he says, leaning yearningly towards the tiefling. “It’s as if the gods made you just to ruin me.”
Church guffaws at him. “The first one was better. Did these seriously work on…?” He barely stops his tipsy tongue from finishing the sentence —
— Cazador’s targets.
“Well, they worked on you last time, didn’t they?” Astarion recalls with an infuriatingly smug smirk.
“Perhaps you’ve gotten rusty, old man,” Church teases airily.
The elf’s eyes flash indignantly at that before narrowing into another sharp smile. With a thoughtful hum, he slowly sets his goblet down, stepping closer to the tiefling.
“Then what if I said these little words?” the elf purrs. “Everyone’s favorite—”
Church startles as the elf’s hand reaches to caress his face. Astarion’s eyes grow soft as he gazes wistfully upon him.
“—I love you.”
Church gawks at him numbly as his heart flutters at those words. A foolish bubble of hope floats up inside of him…
…and then he finally notices the twitch in the elf’s mouth.
The bubble pops.
Church sighs, brushing the elf’s hand away with a chuckle.
“Having fun, are you?” he says blandly.
“I am!” Astarion laughs gaily, smiling fondly down at him. “It’s hard not to, with you.”
He gestures extravagantly at the party all around them. “Now, as much as I relish standing around and saying all my favorite lines at you…” he drops his voice suggestively, “…I’d much rather we got to experience each others’ full portfolio of talents once again.”
He smirks knowingly at the tiefling.
Church hums dubiously, making a show of casting his eyes across the campsite. A hand catches his chin, drawing him to look back at the beautiful, pale elf.
“Who are you looking for, darling?” Astarion murmurs, amused. “Wyll? Gale? That sweet young tiefling of yours?”
“Perhaps,” Church says airily, shrugging.
“Interesting,” Astarion smiles dangerously, “because I saw how your eyes kept flicking back to find me in the crowd. I saw how you smiled over her shoulder at me.”
He releases him, making a show of straightening Church’s collar.
“By all means, take your time to decide. I’ll be right here waiting for you, when you do,” he murmurs, letting his touch trail down to the tiefling’s chest. “Just remember to save a last dance for me, darling.”
Church’s hand catches Astarion’s as he steps even closer to the elf. “We could have one now,” he suggests hopefully.
Astarion’s eyes twinkle.
“I like how you think,” he titters, glancing away coyly. “Shall we steal away?”
Church hesitates. That… wasn’t his intention. But the invitation to dance quickly evaporates under Astarion’s smoldering gaze.
Who is he kidding? Astarion wouldn’t want to be seen with him like that, making a spectacle in front of everyone else.
And so the tiefling sighs a laugh, grasping the elf fully by the hand before he can think better of it.
Astarion doesn’t seem to mind, however. He pulls Church away from the camp, clambering up the rocks behind his tent and heading into the forest. The rogue carries himself confidently, silently as he leads the tiefling further from the sounds of the festivities.
“Where are we going?” Church laughs breathlessly. “And what’s got you in a hurry?”
He yelps as a palm presses against his chest, fingers splayed as the elf backs him into a tree. With a small, satisfied sound, Astarion drapes himself flush against the tiefling’s warm body, mouthing at his sensitive neck as Church gasps in surprised, delighted pleasure.
“I have missed you, darling,” Astarion groans, pressing the flat of a fang against the tiefling’s pulse. “I am hungry for you, and tonight I want you all to myself.”
Church eagerly wraps his arms around the elf, catching his mouth in a kiss and pulling him in even tighter.
“I… missed you too…” he admits in a laugh. “From, I dunno, two nights ago? But gods, you’re insatiable…”
“Mmm,” Astarion hums, tracing the tip of his tongue inside of Church’s lip. “That I am, darling.”
He pulls away. “But… not here. I’ve got somewhere in mind for us.”
Astarion leads the tiefling confidently onward.
Their path ascends slightly as they traipse through the underbrush. Moonlight filters through as the trees begin to thin, finally revealing a cave of sorts worn into the base of a sheer cliff face.
Church hesitates as they approach their destination.
“You know, someone else might find this awfully suspicious,” he chuckles. “Following a vampire spawn into a secluded cave, unarmed and…” he stumbles slightly over a root, “…slightly tipsy.”
“How awfully cynical of you,” Astarion says sardonically, raising his hand in a mock vow. “On my honor, the only thing on my mind is depraved, carnal lust.”
He pulls the tiefling into the shadows of the shallow cave, releasing his hand as he spins around and gazes coyly back at Church.
“Oh darling, relax,” Astarion urges him, grabbing a handful of the tiefling’s shirt and pulling him in deeper. “Those pesky goblin leaders have been defeated, and your precious refugees are safe at last.”
“And I’m miraculously alive,” Church adds with a rueful chuckle. “Thanks to you.” And Tavi, he reminds himself.
“Hm, yes,” Astarion says lightly. He releases the tiefling’s shirt, smoothing his hands slowly down his chest. “Want to show me exactly how alive you are?”
“Again, that can’t be one of your lines,” Church protests, even as his body reacts reflexively to the invitation that tugs enticingly at his core.
“I’m workshopping it,” Astarion says blithely. He bats his eyelashes alluringly at the tiefling. “…but it seems to have its desired effect.”
“I don’t know about that — I haven’t agreed to anything, after all,” Church says loftily. They’re brave words for a tiefling whose cock is currently stiffening uncomfortably against his trousers. “Try again.”
Under any other circumstances the warlock is quite capable of deception, but when it comes to the elf pressing so torturously close…
Astarion leans into Church’s ear, slipping his hands slowly around the tiefling’s waist.
“I still remember how you tasted,” Astarion breathes. “I remember how hard and slick you were upon my tongue, and how with every stroke you whimpered in my grasp…”
Church’s eyes flutter shut, his lips parting as he shudders the smallest, startled sound. He feels his face heat uncontrollably at the elf’s filthy words and agonizing proximity. His damned tail also betrays him, curving reflexively towards the elf’s drifting touch.
“Such a riveting performance. I couldn’t help but wonder…” Astarion murmurs sweetly, curiously as his hands slip lower along the curve of Church’s ass. “How would it feel to have that delicious cock of yours inside of me? How would it feel to be pressed down against the floor, or bent over the…”
With a longing moan, Church gives in and drags the elf back against the cave wall. But he lingers there — panting and holding himself back from the kiss he aches to lavish upon those smug lips.
“Is that what you want?” he asks softly, searching Astarion’s eyes.
The elf wraps his hands around the tiefling’s ass, pulling their groins painfully flush.
“I think we both know what we want,” he growls.
“That’s not what I— ah!” Church squeaks as Astarion dives in to lavish his tongue upon his throat, distracting him from his thoughts.
Panting past the aches and bursts of pleasure, Church strokes the elf’s silver curls as he buries his face into Astarion’s neck as well, groaning as he grinds his hips into his leg. His tail unconsciously curves around the two of them, the tip of it brushing against the back of the elf’s thighs as they sway together. But it’s not long before Astarion shoves the tiefling away, gaze lowered alluringly as the elf begins to retreat.
Church watches as his companion idly loosens the laces of his own ruffled neckline, his smirk growing as he pulls upon his shirt, untucking it completely. Maintaining eye contact, he slowly drags his hand up his front, raising up the hem of his shirt to expose the soft, pallid skin beneath.
“Oh how I’ve ached for you, darling,” he groans longingly. “And now you’re all mine, and I’m all yours.”
He drags off his shirt, letting it drop unceremoniously to the floor.
“…until morning at least,” he adds coyly, slipping in his fingers to slide off his trousers.
Slowly.
Teasingly.
Church raises his eyebrows. “…now who’s being a showman?”
“Oh you don’t even know, darling,” the elf purrs. “The acoustics in here will be… incredible.”
He steps gracefully out of his dropped trousers, sauntering lithely back towards the warlock.
“Now go on,” Astarion coaxes him, burying his hand in the tiefling’s hair to guide him down. “Taste me.”
Church remembers the last time they were together like this, and how the elf had trembled and tensed against his touch. But Astarion seems to have no such trepidation now as he leans himself invitingly into the tiefling’s touch.
Eyes flicking up to watch the elf’s face, Church sinks to his knees before him, pressing his mouth against the inside of his hip bones with a soft moan.
“You’ve wanted this, haven’t you?” Astarion whispers. “I can see why. What a delicious view.” His hand strokes through Church’s raven hair, fingers tracing teasingly over his horns as the tiefling whines into his touch. “The hero of the grove, on your knees before me.”
“You’re a hero, too,” Church smirks as he nuzzles into him, caressing the delicate skin of his balls with his fingertips.
“Ugh, don’t remind me,” Astarion groans with a sharp intake of breath. He presses his hips impatiently into Church’s touch. The tiefling chuckles as he strokes up his shaft, and the elf’s cock reflexively twitches up towards the tiefling’s wetted lips as it fills.
With a momentary, shy glance upwards, Church gently pushes back the elf’s foreskin before nearly leaping forth to taste him. As soon as he makes contact, Astarion lets out a loud, lilting moan. The tiefling imagines his warm tongue must be searing as it swirls around Astarion’s head. But while the heat of the elf is absent, the salt of his skin is still there. The taste sends the tiefling reeling as he moans softly — pulling off and gliding the elf back into him in a leisurely rhythm.
Sure enough, the duet of their respective moans echoes beautifully within the walls of the culvert.
Astarion’s hand clenches against Church’s scalp, the elf’s thumb stroking along the curve of his horns. “There you go,” he breathes. “Good boy.”
Church whimpers as he clutches his hands into the flesh of Astarion’s ass, holding him flush to him as he bobs ardently forth. He savors the bitter salt that leaks from the elf, the weight of his member upon his tongue as it pushes against the cushion of his throat. The tiefling loses himself in the slide of hard, slicked skin upon his hungry lips as his mouth vibrates in a groan.
“Look at you,” Astarion coos down at him. “So eager.”
Church takes him as deep as he can, grunting against the pressure before easing off and swallowing him again and again.
“I love watching you eat me up,” Astarion murmurs breathily, stroking his hair. “Hearing your sweet sounds around my cock…”
Tearing up, Church whimpers as the elf’s hips press flush into him, filling his throat. His own hands clench around Astarion’s ass, kneading him as he swallows — and chokes — around his girth.
Church gasps as he pulls off and catches his breath, staring up in awe at the elf. Astarion gazes back down at him, a smile fixed upon his face.
“Are you alright?” the tiefling asks softly.
“You’re far too gentle, darling,” the elf whines. “I’m beginning to wonder if—!”
He yelps as Church insistently maneuvers them both to the floor, kissing Astarion in earnest against the cold, gritty stone beneath them.
“—sorry,” Church mutters apologetically as they both wince at the discomfort.
“Oh I like this side of you,” Astarion growls. “I always knew you wanted to have your way with me.”
Church groans against his skin, retreating down to press his mouth along the soft contours of his companion, hooking his arms beneath his thighs. The needy sounds the elf makes sends him reeling as he licks once more along the length of his cock, before delving down further to gently lick at the elf’s taint. He then experimentally caresses his balls with his tongue, drawing out a soft whimper again and again as he pulls Astarion into a better angle.
“Mind your talons, darling,” the elf mutters in trepidation.
“Don’t worry,” Church assures him with a secretive smile. “I’ve got a party trick for this.” He wraps a hand around Astarion’s thigh, and as the elf watches, Church’s taloned hand shimmers with a fleeting golden light. “I usually use this to ward against blades,” he explains with a bashful chuckle. “It has other uses too.”
“So resourceful,” Astarion says, eyes sparkling. “I’m excited for this… magical demonstration.”
Church wets his warded, dulled fingers in his mouth before angling them against Astarion, experimentally stroking the entrance of him as he carefully watches his face. To the tiefling’s surprise, he feels the slickness of oil there already, and little resistance as he ventures a single finger into him.
“Oh,” Church says, quite taken aback. “Well you’re quite sure of yourself, aren’t you?”
Astarion smirks hazily at him. “It always pays to be prepared, darling.” He tilts his hips further up, licking his lips as he does so. “Now… don’t be shy.”
Church moans as he takes the elf’s cock into his mouth again. He pushes his finger back inside of him before soon adding another. When he curls them both, the elf lets out a wanton gasp, arching his back as he thrusts up into the tiefling’s mouth.
“Mmm again, darling!” he whimpers. Church knows that Astarion’s theatrics are primarily for his benefit, but gods be damned if it isn’t working. So he obeys, moaning as he feels the elf relax around his thrusting and flexing fingers.
“Fuck, Astarion…” the tiefling pants. “When did you even do this?”
“Oh, darling,” Astarion croons. “While you were having your fun this evening, I just kept imagining the heat of your body flush along my back, your talons digging into my skin as you lay claim to me…” he groans filthily. “I remembered tasting those curious little ridges upon your cock. I wondered how it might feel to ride them…”
Church groans against him, straightening upon his knees. Astarion takes that moment to follow him up, palming the tiefling’s length firmly as Church finally strips off his shirt.
…or tries to, anyways.
“Why do you insist on wearing shirts with laces?” Astarion grumbles as he impatiently aids the tiefling in unhooking his collar from his horns.
He then helps Church shuck his trousers, and as the tiefling kicks them off, Astarion dives down to take him hungrily into his mouth. Church groans helplessly at the wet slide of the lips upon his cock, hand fisting into Astarion’s hair to slow the elf in his voracious ministrations. He’s left thicker and harder than ever before as Astarion reclines languidly back to the ground, smug as his own erection bounces in anticipation.
“Now don’t let my hard work go to waste,” he smirks.
Church eagerly leans into him, positioning his cock against the elf’s slicked entrance. With a soft groan, he pushes just his head into him, marveling at how the elf arches and whimpers as he stretches around his hardened girth.
“More…!” Astarion pleads.
The tiefling slowly eases into him, watching in awe as the elf shudders, wrapping his legs around him and digging his heels into Church’s lower back to push him in deeper.
“…all good?” Church asks the tensed elf as he pulses deeper. He moans as his cautious inhibitions melt away at the tightness all around him.
“Gods, just hurry up and fuck me,” Astarion whines, his eyes screwed closed. “Make me yours.”
At his invitation Church loses himself in the tight, relentless waves lapping over his cock, the soft moans of the elf pinned below him. His mouth falls onto that pale neck, kneading and kissing the junction of his throat and shoulder as the elf keens delightedly against each impact inside of him.
“You’re beautiful,” Church groans into his ear breathlessly as he thrusts into him. “Gods, you’re…”
“Mmm tell me more, darling,” Astarion murmurs back, stroking his hair.
“You’re fucking amazing,” the tiefling laughs in disbelief. “I… gods… I need…”
“Tell me what you need from me,” Astarion croons up to him. “What are you hungry for?”
“I…” Church gasps, his hips stuttering at the sensation of Astarion tightening around him. “I want to hear you say my name,” he pleads desperately. “I want you to beg for me…”
“Church,” Astarion’s musical, dulcet voice whines immediately. “Unnngh… Chuuurch!” He somehow manages to add several syllables to the tiefling’s name, crying out shamelessly with each pulse of hips as he writhes beneath him. “Please fuck me, Church—! Use me, own me… I’m yours…!”
The tiefling gasps ecstatically as he drives into him, the pleasure tingling down to his toes as he cradles the back of Astarion’s neck, supporting him upwards. He reaches between them to grasp Astarion’s hardened cock, working him as they both groan in concert with each stroke.
Church falls hungrily forward, taking the tip of Astarion’s ear into his mouth and gently sucking as he swirls his tongue against its contours. The elf whimpers and begs something incomprehensible as he claws wantonly against Church’s back.
“…fucked elves before, have you?” Astarion manages to gasp up at him with a knowing grin.
“Oh, would you believe this is my first time?” Church jests brightly, breathlessly. He dives down to drag his tongue along the curve of Astarion’s throat, drawing out an unhinged whine.
“Not at all,” Astarion gasps, teetering upon the edge of his pleasure, “but — hmmgh! Fuck! Don’t finish me just yet!”
He pushes the tiefling backwards and off of him with a groan. But soon the elf is crawling over Church as he pushes the tiefling back down, straddling his hips.
Astarion tilts his head, studying the breathless tiefling. He then grasps Church’s chin, brushing his thumb against the pout of his soft lower lip. “Oh darling — I can see it plain in your face. You want more, don’t you?”
The warlock huffs a sheepish laugh. It’s true — as much as he’s been thoroughly enjoying this, he can’t escape the vivid memory of being in Astarion’s place instead.
Remarkably, the elf seems to understand his wordless expression, reaching for his trousers. After some fumbling he draws out a vial of oil, unstoppering it with a soft hum. He maneuvers himself between Church’s legs, angling the tiefling’s hips up upon his thighs. Soon, the tiefling feels Astarion’s expert fingers working into his entrance, spreading and stretching him. Church shudders, overwhelmed by the relentless touch as he gasps and pleads for more.
“Now who’s insatiable?” the elf teases, curling his fingers into his softened hole. “Hmm, whatever shall I do with you, darling?”
Church huffs a laugh as he covers his face, but Astarion pulls his hands away, crooning encouragement down at the tiefling until he has repositioned himself on all fours — glancing over his shoulder with heavy-lidded eyes at the elf kneeling behind him.
“Look at you,” Astarion croons, tracing a spread hand down the ridges of the tiefling’s arched back. “…and that tail of yours just begging for me to fuck you.”
He tugs on the indeed enticingly-lifted tail, and Church cries out in pleasured pain, pressing his hips back into the elf’s otherwise featherlight touch.
Curls askew and damp, Astarion nudges Church’s knees slightly further apart as he positions himself over the tiefling. With a satisfied hum, he teases the head of his cock over Church’s slicked hole, drawing out a frustrated whimper from his companion.
“If I remember correctly,” Astarion murmurs. “You don’t quite like it as gentle as you like to give. But we can of course test that theory…”
Church moans as the elf finally eases into him. With every small, measured pulse pushing himself deeper, Astarion forces out more breathless, steadily more unbridled whimpers of pleasure from the tiefling.
“Please,” Church begs. “Just make me…”
…believe that you actually want me, he thinks to himself.
“…just take me,” he amends instead, holding tightly to the arm that Astarion curls around to support his middle.
Don’t think about all that, Church scolds himself as he relaxes into the rhythm of the elf’s lithe, undulating movements. That’s not what he wants. This is just an escape, for both of you. Get it out of your system, and fight to live another day. There is no future of any kind if you don’t make it out alive.
And then, as the elf reaches around to stroke him with a satisfied hum…
Just enjoy the moment. Savor the touch, the sounds, the feeling of being wanted and enjoyed. It may very well be the last time you ever get to know what it’s like to be wanted.
…even if it’s just pretend.
Church moans long and loud into his grasp, collapsing against the floor as Astarion picks up his pace, hips thrusting steadily, deeply into his.
“Oh why didn’t you say something sooner, darling?” Astarion groans, low and lustful as he presses a kiss to the tiefling’s shoulder. “If this is what you liked, I could have been doing this to you all night.”
“I like… both…!” Church protests even as the relentless movement pushes his breath out of his lungs.
“Hmm,” Astarion sounds skeptical as he lowers himself fully on top of the tiefling, pressing him prone to the ground. Completely flush against Church’s back, he fucks him with a slow, undulating roll of his hips. The tiefling’s desperate whimpers grow loud and insistent as they echo euphoniously inside of the cave, and they are soon joined by the elf’s encouraging whispers and moans.
“…that’s what I thought,” Astarion murmurs smugly, running a tongue over the shell of the shuddering tiefling’s ear. “You prefer to be claimed.”
He imitates Church’s earlier move, pulling the tingling tip of the tiefling’s ear into his mouth and slipping his tongue insistently against it.
The sensation sends Church calling out ardently, wordlessly as the elf wraps a hand around his throat, cradling his jaw. Unable to restrain himself any longer, he turns his head to catch Astarion in a eager, sloppy kiss, moaning into his mouth and delighting in the cool tongue that seeks out his.
“It depends on my mood,” Church eventually whispers breathlessly against Astarion’s mouth. “And right now… ah!” he whimpers needily as the elf snaps his hips deep into him. “…nnnhh! I want you to take me. I want… ahh!” he moans. “…I want to know I’m yours!” he gasps frantically as the elf’s slick tongue returns to swirl over his ears. “I want to know how much you want me…!”
He lets out a startled cry as Astarion grasps him by his horns and hair, yanking his head up and exposing his gasping throat. The spawn leans in, hovering his mouth against the tiefling’s ear.
“You’re mine,” Astarion snarls as he fucks him at a now punishing pace. Church nearly comes from that voice alone.
“I’m — I’m yours — please!” the tiefling begs. “Gods—! I need—!”
Astarion grabs hold of Church’s swaying tail and suckles intently upon its very tip, pulling another pleading sob from the warlock. The elf then tugs his hips back by its base, plunging his cock back into Church’s entrance as the tiefling shouts ardently into the night, echoing rapturously around the cave.
At some point Astarion swiftly pulls out of him, falling languidly back onto the ground as he pulls the dazed tiefling over to straddle him. Church eagerly lowers back onto Astarion’s cock, whimpering with every inch he sinks deeper.
After just a moment’s adjustment he’s already riding on top of him, closing his eyes against each intense throb of pleasure within his core. And as he adjusts to the sensation, Church opens his eyes again to watch as Astarion’s face continues to contort into an expression of intense pleasure…
But with a jolt the tiefling realizes that despite his dramatic moans, the elf’s eyes are… flat. Elsewhere.
Church slows himself, frowning in dazed concern. “Astarion…?”
The elf grips his hips tightly to him in response. “Getting tired, darling?” he teases him, although the levity of his voice does not meet his eyes.
“N-no, ah!” Church gasps as the elf thrusts up into him. He falls forward, propping himself upon the ground with his arms as he moans heavily, frantically into Astarion’s neck. “Ah—aah—ahh!”
Astarion pumps Church’s cock until the tiefling comes completely, incredibly undone. He cries out helplessly with each spurt in between both of them until he finally collapses — utterly spent — against the elf.
The tiefling gives a final whimper as Astarion slips unceremoniously out of him, before they both collapse back onto the cave floor, panting.
The two men rest there for a moment, shivering in the sudden chill of the night against their sweaty, clammy skin. Church gives a breathless, pleased hum as he hastily flourishes a hand with a mumbled incantation to prestidigitate his mess clean.
Satisfied with his work, the tiefling stretches before collapsing against Astarion’s side with a hushed laugh of disbelief. And then, without thinking, he drapes his arm across the elf’s pale chest, pressing a soft kiss to his shoulder.
Astarion tenses immediately against the gesture, and Church lets go in an instant.
“What more do you want?” the elf almost snaps at him.
“…sorry,” Church apologizes quickly as he withdraws his arm. “I suppose now I know… you’re not a cuddler,” he observes sheepishly, scooting away.
Astarion seems to remember himself, arranging his face back into a stiff, flirtatious smirk as he reaches to stroke along Church’s cheek. The tiefling isn’t sure whether to lean into his touch or not as he searches the elf’s face, puzzled.
“…wait, did I — did you even finish?” Church asks Astarion in alarm. The elf is winded, but clearly flaccid as he props himself up beside him. As much as they have pleasured each other over the past few days, Church has always seemed to come first — very loudly and messily. But Astarion?
“Of course I did,” the elf says dismissively. “Didn’t you hear me?”
Church shrugs, frowning. “I dunno, I just expected… I mean…”
“Why are you looking at me like that?” Astarion asks irritably.
“Like what?” Church sits up, reaching for his clothes.
“Like I killed your mother,” Astarion says dryly. “Did I not satisfy you, darling? We can always go again. I just took your cries to mean that…”
“You… you satisfied me,” Church laughs uneasily. “More than that. That was fucking fantastic.”
He preoccupies himself with donning his trousers. Damn it. He can’t hide his expressions to save his life around the elf.
“But I’m just wondering… did I…” Church glances warily at Astarion. “Did… I satisfy you?”
Astarion lets out a loud, musical laugh, wrapping his arm around Church’s naked waist and tugging him close for another perfunctory kiss.
“You were absolutely ravishing,” he declares. “You felt divine.”
Church smiles tightly. He doesn’t buy it. He remembers the elf’s blank eyes as he looked back up at him.
He’s lying, the insidious voice hisses to Church. You’re nothing more than a pity-fuck. He can’t even get off to a face like yours.
So why does he keep coming back? Church wonders to himself. What good am I to him?
He’s still using you. There’s more that he wants.
Church is silent as Astarion warily studies his preoccupied face.
“You should go back to camp,” the spawn suggests dismissively after a moment. “I’ll be hunting.”
“If you’re hungry,” Church says suddenly. “Why don’t you…?” He tilts his head to the side a little, exposing the two puncture marks that have worn themselves there into his neck with each consecutive visit.
Astarion’s face lights up a little.
“Are you sure?” he asks.
“Yeah, of course,” Church says quickly. “I want you to feel strong and… happy.” And satisfied in some way, he adds to himself ruefully.
Astarion smiles at him. “You sweet, generous thing,” he drawls, and he scooches closer to nuzzle into Church’s neck. The tiefling stifles a shudder as the elf’s breath cascades down his neck.
“Just do it,” he says tiredly.
You’re nothing but a blood bank. A canteen. A spare camp supply.
But if he’s already being used, then what’s the harm in getting some use out of a stronger Astarion as well?
“Wait,” Church blurts, and the vampire spawn stills with a disappointed little grunt. “Can I ask a favor?”
Astarion sighs. “Fine. Ask away.”
“Can you… hold me… again?” Church flushes, mortified at his own request.
You’re so utterly pathetic, asking this elf to entertain a delusion of affection…
The elf smirks as he strokes his thumb along the tiefling’s throat.
“Of course, darling,” Astarion says idly, wrapping an arm possessively around Church’s middle as he nuzzles back into him. “Now, relax.”
His other arm locks across the tiefling’s shoulders and chest before he bites into his neck. As Church grunts from the initial pain, his hands lift up to grip this arm tightly to him. It’s too rigid and firm for a romantic embrace, but tonight, it’s close enough for the warlock.
Against his better judgment, Church faintly admits to himself that he has thoroughly enjoyed these past few days of Astarion’s close, attentive company.
And, for just a moment as the pain turns to numbness and the tiefling’s head goes woozy, he can almost fool himself into thinking that the elf feels the same.