Archive of Our Own ^beta

"As the stars do shine, so, there you are!"

Volke rolled his eyes.

"Sure, whatever, need healing," he said.

"A-ha! Yes, I shall see you fixed right up! You come to my door, though!"

"Yes, well, and something else…"

"Oh, do tell, my good man!"

Bastian said it while fetching the staff and some jars.

"A… eh… a little pent up from it…"

"Ah, and my deft hands are to be your answer?"

Volke groaned, already starting to undo his jacket, the slit through it promising to be a pain to patch more so than his own skin. He pulled the undershirt over his head, wincing as that pulled at the edges of the messy gash.

"Yeah, suppose to. You know how elixirs… are."

"Hmm? Oh, yes, quite a curse for one trying to stay of chaste mind if imbibing beyond the first sip!"

"I don't give a damn for chastity. But it's becoming a problem, and it's still… a problem."

He gestured to it, sluggishly bleeding. The wound had previously stretched far wider. He could see the fragile skin, new, ruddy, in either direction. This was the last of it.

Bastian settled the various items onto the table, beckoned him.

Volke settled down, the tenting in his pants more evident without the jacket covering over anything. He pressed his palm to his face a moment.

"And what wounds you so, old friend?" Bastian asked.

Volke pressed his lips into a thin line for a moment, but sighed. "Ferals… so, it being your queen's assignment…"

"Ah, yes, on the house…as though I'd charge you to begin with!"

"Less yapping, more of my blood staying in my body."

Bastian had the nerve to look at him with those pursed lips and knit brows. It was momentary, and he had the staff in hand, hand laying against the wound. It itched, damnably so, as the skin knit back together, a heat to it as it went. Volke couldn't help the low sigh. It only took a moment.

"But now then, about the reason it was my services above others you sought for yourself!"

Volke's jaw clenched. He nodded.

"Allow me see the afflicted organ."

Volke was so sure he saw a glint of a smile there as he sighed again and undid the lacings to his pants. He peeled back the fabric, only kept from showing the dark stain of arousal by the thickness of it. His cock stood painfully erect, swollen dark, the tip a deep red and drooling pre.

"And how long?" Bastian asked.

"Damn …hours. Six hours."

"Aha, waiting for it to go down to try to further tend yourself?"

Volke looked away, grimacing. "Bloody won't."

"Let's see… at least two… three droughts of it?"

"Three," Volke grunted.

"My dear man. You've done yourself a hardship, if you'll forgive the-"

"Forgiven, if it's gone soon."

"Now, you hardly mean that, I know you a scoundrel and patron of the-"

"Not another word," Volke snapped.

Bastian chuckled. "I've an application… Wait, a moment."

So Volke did, sitting, watching the issuance of that clear fluid bubble up, leak down the shaft. He was raw already from his own efforts.

Bastian returned with several small jars and set them onto the table, resumed his seat.

"I've the thing for you," he said, and opened the first.

The smell of it was immediately medicinal, and he fixed his gaze on Volke's.

"Yes, before you ask… touch whatever," Volke said.

"Ah, but you misunderstand me, is it to be the touch of a lover, or a physician?" he asked.

Volke glanced away. He coughed.

"Guess warm body in the dark isn't an option…"

"Lover it shall be, then. Let us them retire to the-"

"Sofa. I'm not getting into those poncy sheets. Besides. I'm filthy."

He walked, awkwardly holding his pants up with his hand, to it and settled down. His eyes slipped closed until the cushion near him dipped. He decided he hated everything about this.

"Now, I shall-"

"Hush," Volke groaned. "I like this quieter."

With him, at least.

The first touch against that raw skin had his breath hitch, a low sound in his throat. The salve tingled, then cooled, and Volke sighed. Fingers wrapped around him and stroked, slick, soothing. He could tell even without looking, though, he was just as hard as before.

"… When does it go down?" Volke asked, frowning.

"Hmm? Oh, this is not to reduce it, there is little to be done for that, but, you've run yourself quite ragged! This is to soothe the flesh until the madness passes it!"

He was still stroking, thumb pressing up over the head on each rise and then sliding back down, fingers tight, and then Bastian cupped under his balls that had been, as far as he could tell, drained dry, and he gently fondled at them.

It was exquisite, for a handjob.

Volke swallowed a moan.

"…The other jars, then, what are those for?" he asked, voice tight.

"Why, for if you should wish other sorts of stimulation to ease the aggravation to this particular organ, as we wait for the suffering to subside!"

"… Such as? Don't pussyfoot around…"

"My dear man, should you so desire to have-"

"Plain speak, goddess, enough of this. You offering to fuck me?"

"To say it so crassly, why, yes! Or, to take the other side!"

"… The other side…" Volke muttered. "Mmf… fuck…"

He gritted his teeth, felt that heat in his cheeks.

"… Sure. Fuck me. Not like you've ever been subtle about wanting to…"

"What manner of scandal-" Bastian started, but chuckled, then. "Aha, and so I am found out…"

"But never put lines on me like some woman… not pretty enough, eh?"

"Why, I'll have you know, it was out of nothing but respect for our professional relationship!"

"And yet you badger me for anything else…"

Volke said it as he was shucking his pants down, loosening the laces of his boots.

"Badger, yes, but with respect to your costs, always!"

"Well, you're in luck, I don't charge for this…"

"Aha, saves me having to offer it as a trade! What I have is a rather potent lubricant that offers a heightening of sensations… it should speed along your ecstasies and hasten the end of your condition!"

"Heightened sensations, eh? For you too?" Volke asked, slyly.

"Without any way to prevent it, I suppose it shall!"

"Excuse to use me like a damn sock…"

"Like the finest silk stocking, I must clarify!"

"Nothing fine silk about me," he chuckled. "Deal, though… if you say why."

Volke kicked the boots off, pants next.

"Why…?" Bastian asked.

"Your tastes never ran my way…"

"Oho, yes, well. There's a certain… skillful way you have about you, and a dark intrigue to your gaze, and that bearing…"

"… On second thought, no, don't tell me," Volke grumbled, "just fuck me."

"Ah, as you say!"

Volke lay on his side, drawing one leg back, watched as Bastian had his shoes, his own pants pulled off far more neatly.

"Nothing too rough and tumble or else I fear that wound may make itself known anew," he said.

Volke watched him like a wolf baring its throat.

"It's fine. How rough on me were you planning, anyhow?"

"Oh, nothing of the sort," Bastian said. "You'll find I'm a-"

"The most loquacious man I willingly associate with, yes, yes, fuck me already, eh? I'd have lost it if it wasn't for the damned elixir."

"What impatience," Bastian laughed.

"I'm allowed, I'm going to mess all over your damn furniture."

"That, you likely will… But, no matter, what else do I retain-"

Volke groaned, his own hand grasping around his cock, stroking.

Bastian sighed, dipped his fingers into the second jar, kneeling between Volke's parted thighs. He rimmed that tightly puckered hole, and just from that, Volke's breath hitched. A fresh dribble of pre slid silkily down the head, caught on his fingers. Bastian prodded his slick fingers in, two at once, but slow, an easy stretch that had Volke's eyes slipping shut.

"You open like an eager maiden," Bastian chuckled.

"Calling me a virgin, or a whore?" Volke asked, voice a hiss as those fingers inside of him curled.

Bastian gave him a sly smile.

His teeth gritted. Then, his eyes pinched sharply shut and his breath pulled in in a heavy drag. A daze went through him at the way he was being touched inside.

He was hardly new to receiving, but the way Bastian rubbed inside of him had his teeth clenched, a low, bitten-off moan in his throat.

"There, you see, these hands-"

Volke coughed, shot a scowl near as he could manage with the blush in his cheeks, the turn of his mouth betraying him.

Bastian curled the fingers of his other hand around the cock Volke had ceased in his touch of, arrested by feeling.

"Mm, let our silence speak for itself," Bastian chuckled as Volke felt himself goaded far too quickly towards that edge, breath harsh, ragged as he spilled.

He hadn't expected the strength, but Bastian had always been a man of surprises – Volke was hauled down just enough to close the gap between their bodies, and fingers withdrew, something thicker pressed to him.

He glanced down, rolled his eyes despite the deepening blush on his cheeks.

"Hmm?" Bastian hummed, rubbing the tip against him.

"… Lucky for her she turned you down," Volke groaned. "The queen won't split her in damn half…"

"Hah, not by naturally endowed means, at least!"

Volke exhaled at the heavy press in, his body far too easily receptive, a fresh dribble of silken pre laced with the dregs of his last release issuing from his cock.

His treacherous body took that stretch and had his toes curling, his muscles all clenching, and the fragile skin around his prior wound stretching in a way that had him clutching at it.

"Had supposed such a thing…" Bastian said, and he had Volke's hand brushed away, his own fingers dipped into some further pot of salve and spreading it across the mend.

Volke let himself go slack.

"Stop worrying about that shit… just fuck me, dammit," he groaned.

Just the idle persistence of that stretch had him ready to demand far more pathetically than that.

The rock back had his lungs fill as though it was the key to his breathing, and then the heavy thrust in, he sighed, a yearning need in his own voice taking him off guard.

In time with that, a sure grip stroked along his length, and he let himself sink into it, let that pleasure, unnatural in its intensity, in how wholly it gripped his whole being, overtake him. It was nothing but the rutting of bodies, his own easily whatever silk stocking he was intended to be.

When he came again, it was a blur.

"Oh, but do sing such pleasures, that voice-"

Volke hadn't realized himself to be moaning so until he heard it in his own ear over the rush of ecstacy.

His abdomen was a sticky mess of spend that was suddenly wiped up with a kerchief produced from somewhere he'd not even noticed, a lapse of awareness owing surely to nothing more than the effects of the various slaves and the elixir that had started all of this.

It kept the cushion upholstery from bearing the drip that had been threatening as he was convinced his reserve of cum to be endless, at this point, or Bastian to be a different sort of magician.

"There," he said, and it snapped Volke out of some sort of fugue he wouldn't dare in any other company, an overstimulated torpor of nothing but aftershocks of pleasure.

"It is easing, is it not?"

The formerly painfully ruddy skin was slack, lay only half-hard against his thigh.

He took in a bracing breath.

"… Is," he said, all he could manage, his throat feeling raw. "Need a smoke…"

"Ah-ah, not inside of doors," Bastian said.

It was with a soft sound that he pulled back, and Volke winced at the sudden emptiness, grimaced, as he felt a trickle.

"How many…" he grunted.

"Oh? Usually so astute… my good man, you did-"

"Nevermind," he huffed. "I'll pay you if you never speak of it again."

Bastian laughed, a hearty sound that had something uncanny in Volke's chest. He swallowed, and it was gone.

"You know I keep a secret as well as you," Bastian said.

"Better… coin won't loosen your tongue…" Volke said.

"Nor tighten it. Not a word, old friend."

Volke snatched for the handkerchief that hung from Bastian's fingers, and had it between his legs, quelling the slick sensation of climaxes he'd lost count of from the other man's side.

"Ah…" Bastian started.

"Like it wasn't already drenched."

His eyes slipped shut for brief moments.

"… Did me a favor… I'll remember it," he said, finally.

"Of course. Shall I leave the room, let you to your convalescence without eyes on you-"

Volke sagged, head laying at an awkward angle on the cushion.

"I don't give a fuck," he bit out.

Bastian hummed a low acknowledgement.

Volke stretched out into the space vacated as Bastian stood to dress again.

"Should you wish a bath later…?"

Volke turned into the couch, drawing his arm under his head.

"Let me sleep."