#hellblood

Astarion groaned with annoyance when water started dripping on his face. He sat up, huffing. He threw a glare at the satured roof of his tent. It was a tent made of flimsy material, and the unrelentless downpour was making short work of it. Astarion had been trying to read for the last hour, but the cold, the dampness and now outright drops were making it impossible. He threw the book aside and stood up, shivering. Memories of his coupling with Zevlor came back to his mind. Gods, he couldn't believe they actually did it. And it felt so…so good, so natural. Astarion had thoroughly enjoyed himself. He actually looked forward to a next time.

…if there was to be a next time. The future looked more than uncertain. There was no saying they would survive their adventure. Even if they did, there was no guarantee Zevlor would want to keep seeing him. Astarion didn't like to dwell on the uncertainty that was what they had, because it meant thinking about Cazador, and he'd very much like to forget about the bastard, thank you very much.

The spawn shook himself up and resolved to warm himself the best way he knew how. He lifted the flap of his tent, scowling at the apocalyptic downpour happening outside. He glanced back inside where condensation was gathering here and there on the oversatured fabric. Astarion resolutely grabbed his backpack and, taking a steadying breath, dragged his traveller's chest outside. He struggled with it as he got thoroughly soaked in the rain. He dearly hoped none of his travelling companions were taking a peek outside, his hair was a mess! The crossing of the camp only lasted five minutes at most, but Astarion was soaked to the bone. He gratefully took shelter under the porch of Zevlor's tent, which formed a closed vestibule with its two flaps brought down. His was one of the biggest in the camp. It was most likely a military tent, worn but sturdy. He lifted the heavy flap and was welcomed by warmth and Zevlor's smell. The man himself was sitting cross-legged, sharpening his word.

"Astarion!" he exclaimed with concern, weapon forgotten as he rushed to the spawn.

"How come you have a waterproof tent?" Astarion grumbled, letting himself be fussed about.

"You're soaked! Here– Let's dry you off."

The tiefling went back inside, disappearing behind the heavy flap. Astarion stood there awkwardly, shivering with the cold. Zevlor's face poked out, confused.

"Is something the matter? You're not coming?"

The vampire felt the tip of his ears heat with embarrassment.

"I'd rather not soak your nice interior," he smoothly lied with a flashy smile.

"Oh," Zevlor nodded.

He handed him the towel and went to lower the flap of the porch before retreating inside the tent. Astarion couldn't help a burst of fondness for the tiefling. He was always so attentive to him.

Astarion freely stripped. He toweled himself dry. He had no other camp clothes, so he wrapped himself in the towel and left his clothes on his chest. He slipped inside the tent barefoot and was surprised to find Zevlor busy arranging what looked like a decadent bedroll. The mat looked plush, and the fur blanket covering it was soft. Two great pillows were disposed with three smaller ones at one end. A fur blanket with a satin lining finished the set. Zevlor's surprised sound pulled Astarion out of his reverie.

The tiefling was looking at him wide-eyed, and the spawn remembered he was wearing nothing but a towel.

"I don't have anything to put on," he admitted with a lop-sided smile, feeling embarrassed.

"Oh! You should have told me!" the Hellrider scrambled to open his traveller's chest. "I have several spare shirts–"

Like the gentleman he was, he kept his gaze downcast as he gave the clothes to Astarion. It both amused him and made his heart burst with fondness for Zevlor. Zevlor was safety.

"I wouldn't be caught dead in these in Baldur's Gate, but this will do for now."

The Hellrider chuckled, eyes crinkling.

"Where are your clothes, by the way? Did you leave them outside?"

"They'll dry," Astarion shrugged.

Zevlor shook his head fondly.

"Why are you here, by the way? Are you hungry?" he asked gently, coming to take Astarion's hand in his.

"My tent is so soaked it started raining inside," the vampire pouted.

"By the gods, truly?"

"Can I spend the night with you? At least until this damned rain stops."

Zevlor's eyes softened so much Astarion was choked by the need to kiss him.

"I would be happy to sleep with you," he said quietly.

And for once, the vampire knew there was no innuendo. Grinning, he dragged the bed to the entrance.

"I want to see the rain!" he declared with some childishness.

Zevlor went outside to roll up the lateral flaps of the porch, leaving only a short roof so the entrance wouldn't get soaked. He tied back the flap of the entrance a bit so they could get a view without leaving the tent open to the wind. Astarion got rid of his trousers and settled in bed, looking like the cat who got the cream. The Hellrider shook his head fondly and slipped under the covers. The spawn immediately snuggled himself in his arms, all but purring with content. A warm hand carded through his hair, slowly massaging his scalp. They watched the rain fall in comfortable silence until Astarion started to pout again.

"What is it?" Zevlor asked, amused.

"I want to feel your skin…" the spawn murmured against his neck.

The Hellrider sat up to remove his shirt. His lover eagerly stuck himself to him again, sighing with content. Astarion wondered if heaven was something like this. He gazed upon the tiefling and felt the need to kiss him. It was slow and gentle. They kissed lazily, enjoying each other's presence. The vampire moved to Zevlor's throat, sucking on the warm skin and leaving a hint of teeth on his jugular. He felt his lover's heartbeat quicken with a thrill. Arousal simmered in his belly as the sound of the rain intensified.

"Ah- We should- We should move the bed," the Hellrider gasped.

Astarion only hummed, more preoccupied with sucking a bruise on the side of his lover's throat. A displeased growl left him when Zevlor freed himself and got up. He closed the flap of the tent. The spawn was tempted to bite on his tail to show him how disasstisfied he was with this situation.

"Come on, get up," the tiefling said. "You'll get cold staying near the entrance."

The vampire made a show of standing up slowly with plenty of sighs and groans. Zevlor shook his head, amused, and pulled the bed back to the center of the tent before he lit a small oil lantern. Astarion remembered suddenly that his lover had lost his darkvision. He settled back into bed with a pout. When Zevlor tried to wrap him in his arms, he petulantly crossed his arms and turned his back to him.

"I'll sleep on this side of the bed, thank you," he grumbled.

"What can I do to make myself forgiven?" the tiefling was asking behind him.

Astarion bit his lip, arousal swirling lazily between his legs. He turned around to see Zevlor's eyes crinkling with fondness and amusement. He brought him down for a kiss.

"I think you should let me do as I please," the vampire purred in Zevlor's ear, nibbling on the tip.

He watched his tail thrash around with satisfaction as the tiefling cleared his throat.

"I–I think this can be arranged," he answered, eyes darkening with desire.

Astarion grinned wolfishly, making a show of eyeing the Hellrider's bulge. He licked his lips, the idea of having that ridged, hot cock inside his mouth made arousal rush south. He considered how to go about this. Should he have Zevlor on his knees? Or should he make him lie down? The vampire decided to take pity on the old soldier and spare his knees. Astarion sat up, a hand splayed on his lover's strong chest. He could feel his heartbeat pick up under his palm. He let his fingertips ran appreciatively down his torso. He heard Zevlor suck in a breath as he slowly undid the laces of his pants, freeing his hardening cock.

Astarion found it beautiful. It sounded silly even to himself: he had seen countless dicks in his two hundred years and they all look mostly the same. Zevlor's penis was a bit of a novelty for him in that regard as it was ridged. He was slightly thicker than average too. It had brought him much delight the last time they had been intimate. Gods, imagining it sliding against his sweet spot, stretching him, filling him… Arousal made him shiver. He took Zevlor's cock in hand, giving it a few loose, languid strokes. The spawn swiped the head with his thumb, enjoying his lover's tiny moan.

Astarion gave slow pumps to the penis in his hand, finding the way the skin pull almost hyptonic. The small whimpers of his lover was feeding his arousal. He observed his face carefully, watching Zevlor bite his lip, eyes glued to Astarion's hand. The Hellrider hissed slightly, features twisting in discomfort. The vampire removed his hand, heart thrumming as he asked:

"Did I hurt you?"

"Forgive me," the tiefling murmured. "The friction is too dry. I must have some oil somewhere–"

"Ah, I see," the spawn chuckled with a wicked gleam in his eyes. "If it is lubrication you need…"

Before Zevlor could do anything, Astarion gave in to his impulse and swallowed down his cock. The Hellrider almost howled, grabbing him by the hair before yanking his hand away.

"S-Sorry," he gasped.

The vampire smirked, mouth full. Always the gentleman. The spawn put all of his practiced skills into it as his lover grabbed the sheets. Astarion was enjoying himself, he realized with surprise. Not only did he enjoy reducing Zevlor to an incoherent mess, but he also loved the act. It was the first time he took any pleasure in this. It had always been a chore, one that he found unpleasant and almost degrading, deep down. But with Zevlor… It had not even crossed his mind to think about it. He simply did it, on a whim. He was enjoying it. He loved the weight of Zevlor's cock on his tongue. He loved the taste of it in his mouth.

"My heart! Ah, please, I can't–" the Hellrider was gasping above him.

A warm hand slipped into his hair again, caressing more than holding. It spurred the spawn on, swallowing down his length. He planted his gaze into the Hellrider's clouded one. He bottomed out, throat constricted around his lover's girth. Zevlor moaned, arching up, head thrown back as he spilled inside Astarion's mouth. The vampire let his cock with a pop, licking his lips wirh satisfaction. Even the bitter spent on his tongue tasted sweet in front of this debauched view. He let himself fall onto the bed, snuggling up against the Hellrider trying to catch his breath.

"Thank you, my heart," Zevlor told him, eyes crinkling with fondness.

Astarion tried not to blush as he let himself be kissed and embraced.

"Tell me how to please you," he asked the vampire softly.

"It's fine. I'm not in the mood for it," Astarion said.

He let out a frustrated growl as he briskly sat up. A bout of light-headedness struck him instantly, reminding him that he had not fed in days. Even after leaving the formerly called Shadow Lands, animals were still few in the forest, leaving Astarion hungry. Sometimes, it was all he could think about. It left a bad taste of déjà-vu in his mouth. The spawn shook his head. No use dwelling on those particularly unpleasant thoughts for now.

He should go for a walk before dawn and enjoy the quiet. He put on his shoes and got out of his tent. He shivered in the cold night air. It was eerily quiet. No sound could be heard aside from the rustling of the tree leaves in the wind. The vegetation was abundant and lush here despite this, signaling they truly were out of the cursed lands they had had to dwell in. A few good things came out of that, fortunately, like Zevlor… His thoughts turned again to those hot, gentle hands caressing him like he was some sort of fragile porcelain. Astarion shivered, though this time not from the cold. He bit his lip as he thought about the expanse of strong muscles hiding under the tiefling's armor; the quiet devoted passion that slept under the calm mask of the Commander; the sadness his fiery eyes could not burn away.

Astarion sighed. It had been the first time in two hundred years he genuinely enjoyed being with someone. Zevlor had been understanding when the spawn had voiced his refusal to be intimate. He had been wary of this readily acceptance of his wish, thinking the tiefling was simply acquiescing to ease his misgivings about their…relations. The paladin had been true to this word, however. Astarion should have known. This old man was a goody-two-shoes, after all. He had never tried to push his boundaries. Truth be told, it was Astarion who was pushing on his boundaries, testing Zevlor's patience every time he came late at night in his tent. For the first time in his undead life, he wanted to be with someone. He wanted to kiss him. He wanted more and more and more with each session and it was starting to scare him. Was that what desire felt like? Was this why people wanted to have sex all the time?

The vampire shivered again in the cold. He'd had enough of this. There was no snack in sight and he was godsdamned cold. He should get back to camp. Astarion trudged back to the campsite feeling frustrated. This walk had not eased his restlessness by any means and had in fact encouraged him to slide deep in thoughts. There was no way he could meditate now. He huffed a frustrated sigh as he walked by his companions' tents. He had the surprise to see light in Zevlor's tent. How come the man was not sleeping? Pushed by his curiosity Astarion pushed aside the flap of the tent. Zevlor was sat up in his bedroll, panting.

"Astarion?" his brow furrowed in confusion.

"You're not sleeping?" the spawn asked, coming to sit down next to the tiefling.

"I, ah, had trouble sleeping."

Astarion knew exactly what it meant: Zevlor had been plagued by nightmares.

"Just like me. I went for a walk but it just reminded me how much I had on my mind…"

Zevlor cautiously took his hand.

"Are you alright?" he asked, concern thick in his voice.

The spawn shrugged.

"Not worse for wear, at least. But…," and he dropped his voice to a sultry octave, "I've been quite cold, you know."

He watched Zevlor shiver with delight, eyes becoming clouded with desire.

"I think I could help with that," he rumbled with a small smile.

Astarion gave him a toothy grin and slid into his lap, straddling him as he carded his fingers in the Hellrider's silky hair. The tiefling kissed him easily, helped by their countless make-out sessions. Their first kiss had been an unbearably stilted and awkward affair but it had only gotten better from there. Zevlor was a fast learner and had never taken offense in Astarion's sometimes biting rebuttals. He had been patient, kind and always happy to see him. Soon enough the usually sassy spawn didn't have the heart to be mean-spirited with him. To be completely honest with himself…he was smitten. He was despairingly smitten with this old Hellrider and his crinkling eyes.

Astarion slipped his hand inside Zevlor's shirt, caressing the hot skin, following the outline of muscles, gently tweaking a nipple. The tiefling's hands were on his hips, where they belonged. Astarion managed to wrench himself from Zevlor's mouth to pull the man's shirt above his head before diving down to suck on his throat. He felt the quiet whimper he gave. Zevlor made no move to remove Astarion's shirt. He had scrupulously respected the spawn's boundaries, no matter the fire in his eyes during their sessions. Astarion wasn't sure he was ready to tell the Hellrider about the scars on his back yet. Satisfied with the blooming bruises he left on his neck, he trailed back up to the lush lips waiting for him. They kissed more passionately this time. Astarion could feel the desire Zevlor had for him and for the first time in his dead life, this didn't disgust him. On the contrary, Zevlor's desire had been feeding his own.

He grinded his crotch against the tiefling's, moaning softly. They were both hard when they had hardly begun. Astarion would be embarrassed if he was not preoccupied with kissing him silly. Zevlor's hands slowly went down to squeeze the meat of his thighs. His mouth kissed his jaw. His sharp teeth gently brushed Astarion's bite mark, making him moan quietly. Zevlor latched his mouth onto it, sucking a bruise. The spawn's cock twitched at the thought his lover would leave his mark above his old master's. The tiefling wrapped him in his arm before gently lowering themselves on his bedroll. Astarion clumsily removed his pants before eagerly resuming their kissing. The heat in the vampire's belly was volcanic, his hunger overwhelming. He needed him in more ways than one.

"I need you," he stuttered against Zevlor's plush lips.

He watched with delight the arousal cloud the Hellrider's fiery eyes. Yet there was also hesitation.

"Are you sure?" he asked gently.

"Yes," the spawn hissed impatiently. "Now please fuck me with that ridged pole of yours."

The Commander chuckled, eyes crinkling.

"You must stop me if anything happens. For any reason. Do not let me do as I wish as you slip away, do you understand? I won't forgive myself otherwise."

Astarion swallowed, emotions bubbling up unpleasantly in his throat. No one had ever bothered to reassure him like this. It unfurled something deep within him to know this man would refuse to take advantage of him in any shape or form. He was well and truly safe with Zevlor.

"Tell me you understand," the tiefling quietly pleaded.

"I do," he whispered and took his lips again.

Their passion resumed anew. Astarion was now certain of one thing: he wanted Zevlor inside of him before the end of the night. He murmured the modified spell of Grease he would always use before catching the tiefling's hand and guiding it between his thighs. It was Zevlor's turn to murmur an enchantment and Astarion felt magic wrapping around him like an armor. Still, the Hellrider's finger was impossibly careful and gentle when it breached him. The spawn squirmed with impatience, but his lover did not give in. He fingered him carefully, slowly pumping his finger in and out before finding that sweet spot. A loud moan escaped Astarion. He slapped a hand over his mouth, shocked at his own loss of control. Zevlor was panting quietly in his ear. The vampire noticed his lover was smelling differently. It wasn't unpleasant but it was different from his usual smell. Somehow, it added to his arousal. The Hellrider was doing wonderful things to him, massaging his prostate steadily. Pleasure was mounting lazily in his belly as Astarion's mind went blissfully blank. All he could find about was Zevlor.

"Gods, my heart, you're perfect," the tiefling moaned quietly.

The praise went straight to Astarion's cock. Zevlor's scent seemed to become heavier in the tent.

"Fuck me," the vampire gasped, "please."

The Hellrider growled, his eyes stormy with desire.

"Ah, wait- Let me- Let me make you comfortable."

He gently turned Astarion on his side before spooning him. He wrapped an arm around him as his tail wrapped around his ankle. The vampire was all but purring with satisfaction.

"Are you sure?" Zevlor whispered, hands caressing his hips.

"Yes," Astarion growled, pushing back against him and feeling the pulsing hardness of his lover.

Zevlor positioned his cock against his entrance. He slowly, maddeningly slowly pushed in. Astarion let out a shaky breath. Gods, he was so big! He clenched hard, moaning, when the first ridges slipped past his ring of muscles. The Hellrider rubbed soothing circles into the skin of his hips, kissing his neck. Astarion bit his lip, nipples hard and sensitive under his shirt. The second row of ridges breached him and he was left breathless. He was filled and full. Zevlor carefully started with some shallow thrusts, pushing the ridges in and out of Astarion's entrance.

"Ah! You feel so good, my love," the Hellrider panted quietly.

The vampire couldn't help a choked, loud moan.

"Gods, how I dreamed of that, of you, of your skin against mine–" Zevlor was gasping in his ear as his cock rubbed his sweet spot.

He picked up his pace. Astarion's mind was blank, filled only with the pleasure that was starting to tear him apart at the seams. He was unravelling, shaking and trembling in a cocoon of warmth, surrounded by Zevlor's scent. The tent was filled with their gasps and pants. Astarion wanted for this moment to never end. For the first time in his life, he was making love to someone he had chosen. That knowledge alone brought him the greatest of pleasures.

But soon something was slapping his entrance, making obscene, wet noises. The vampire could not divine what it was, but he didn't care. He was too preoccupied by the pleasure unravelling him.

"Please," Zevlor was begging him quietly, "please let me– Ah, please I can't–"

"Yes," the spawn moaned.

Whatever it was, whatever he wanted, he was ready to grant it to him. Zevlor pushed against his entrance again and again, slow and steady, as his tight ring of muscles yielded to the enormous intrusion. Astarion panted, nails digging into hot skin as his eyes watered. He was so close, so achingly close. He felt dizzy and lighthearted and hungry. Instincts took over. He turned his head around to dive his fangs into the salty-tasting neck offered to him. Right as he tasted the rich, hot, delicious blood of his lover, something big popped inside him. His release crashed over him like a tidal waves, sweeping him away in a torrent of pleasure.

For a blissful eternity, Astarion floated in a great ocean of nothingness. Perhaps he even fell asleep. When he slowly came back to himself, birds could be heard outside. He was still in Zevlor's embrace. For a moment panic seized him as he feared he had drained his lover dry, but fortunately the man stirred.

"'Starion?" the Hellrider mumbled, still groggy with sleep.

The spawn hummed, unable to help the twist of disgust on his face as he felt the stickiness on him.

"Everything alright?" the tiefling asked, hand on the vampire's hip.

"I'm sticky," Astarion complained with a pout.

Zevlor quietly laughed, but the seriousness quickly returned on his face.

"Forgive me, I… I did not expect to get so carried away as to knot you."

"Well, I did not expect to get so carried away as to almost drain you dry, so I think that evens it out," the spawn chuckled. "You'll have to ask Shadowheart for some lesser restoration."

Zevlor gave him a tender smile. He got up and went to the basin of water sitting in a corner. He wetted a cloth and kneeled down to gently clean Astarion.

"I can do it," the vampire said petulantly, but did nothing to stop his lover.

Truth be told, he enjoyed the attention he was receiving. Zevlor likely knew it, which was why he was ignoring his complaint. His movements were slow and tender. Astarion was struck by the devotion of his lover. The latter's gaze searched his when he got to his thighs. The spawn nodded with a small smile, giving the Hellrider consent. The warm hands carefully cleaned him in his most intimate places. There was nothing sleazy, nothing salacious in the focused devotion of Zevlor. It was completely alien to Astarion. This kind of touch always had a disgusting agenda for him, but not with Zevlor. It was relaxing not to have to worry about having to endure someone's advances, not to have to be on his guard all the time.

Once he finished, Zevlor slipped back under the covers and pulled Astarion in his embrace. The spawn snuggled him, sighing with content. The tiefling pet his hair, and they stayed like this for a while.

"The others will wake soon," Zevlor said reluctantly.

Astarion only hummed. He too was reluctant to go. He felt good and sated. Zevlor had met all of his needs. He wanted to bask in his warmth and doze in his arms.

"Hang the others," he said with a pout, nuzzling the tiefling's neck. "They've probably heard us anyway."