Work Text:
Wyll is half asleep when he clambers out of his tent for a quick midnight piss. He stumbles only a little into the treeline, cussing at the branches now getting tangled in his new horns, to find a suitably out of the way but not far off tree, with bushes to offer some level of coverage and privacy. He shuts his eyes with a sigh, untying his breeches and pulling his cock out and–
Oh. Oh, that feels strange.
He blinks his eyes open, raising his free hand to rub the sleep out.
There are spikes and ridges on his cock.
Spikes. And ridges.
The scream he lets out is, admittedly, a little embarrassing. He curses again (Karlach is already rubbing off on him, it seems), glancing towards the camp, fervently hoping no one heard him. Gods, this is a nightmare. The horns, the tongue, those were bad enough, but he hadn't thought– he was sure he'd be safe here–
He's still staring at his modified member when a branch snaps, and he looks up to see Lae'zel, scowling, sword in hand, with Gale not far behind.
All of a sudden this is a very different kind of nightmare.
“Oh, uh, nothing to see here, everything's alright, I swear,” he stammers, frantically trying to shove his cock back into his breeches, but the spikes keep catching on the fabric and he finds himself fighting the urge to cry.
Lae’zel clicks her tongue, sheathing her sword. Wyll continues to struggle to sheathe his, hoping she's stopped far enough away to see anything. “I was hoping you had reason to wake us with your screaming,” she hisses.
Gale stops behind her, still rubbing sleep out of his eyes. “Lae’zel came to grab me when she heard you. You did sound… quite distressed,” Gale mutters. “Are you certain you're alright?”
“Completely so!” Wyll chirps, high pitched and stiff.
“Are you being held at knifepoint?” Lae’zel asks, blunt, trying to peer over the bushes. Wyll squeaks, his hands moving to cover his crotch, but she doesn’t spare so much as a glance in his direction. “If there is no issue, then I shall return to my tent, and I will ask that you keep any further panic to yourself,” she growls, storming off before Wyll even has the chance to apologize, a half-spoken sorry dying on his tongue.
“I think it looks better, actually,” a voice says from right beside him, and Wyll very nearly screams again. He glares at Astarion, who has somehow materialized from the woods and is grinning wide to show off his fangs, his gaze flicking from Wyll's face down to his cock, barely concealed behind his hands. “You've got the whole devilish package now.”
Horrifyingly, Wyll sees the curiosity spark in Gale's eyes. “Thank you, Astarion,” he mutters bitterly, wishing he had a hand free to cover his face with.
“Actually, Gale, maybe you should take a look,” Astarion continues, ignoring Wyll's spluttered protests. “I’m sure you’ve read something about devil biology in all your many books.”
“I’ve not had much reason to study it, actually,” Gale responds, humming thoughtfully as he comes closer. Wyll wants to die. He’d let Astarion drain him dry if it meant a way out of this conversation. “Has more changed for you than just the horns?”
Astarion swings an arm around Wyll’s shoulders, grinning at Gale. “Oh, much more, definitely,” he purrs, leering. Wyll sighs, trying again, one hand covering his crotch and the other tugging at his breeches, to pull his trousers back up.
“I’m going back to sleep, if we’re done here,” he huffs, roughly tying the laces back up and shrugging Astarion’s arm off from around his shoulders. “I’d really rather not be on display for the whole camp to see.”
“Spoilsport,” Astarion pouts, trailing after him. “It really is a nice cock.”
“There are spikes,” Wyll says, a little frantically.
“What, sharp pointy bits? That feels a little… graphic,” Gale chimes in. “I might not be well read on devils and their anatomical particulars, but I can’t honestly see much reason for keratinous spikes on one’s member.”
Wyll feels his cheeks heat anew. “They aren’t keratinous,” he clarifies. “They’re… softer? More velvety– although, quite frankly, I don’t know why we’re talking about my dick still.”
“You did wake us all up screaming about it,” Astarion interjects.
“It was one scream. One.”
“Quite a loud one though,” Gale says, a little apologetically. “Are you certain you’re alright, though? None of the changes are affecting you too badly?”
Wyll laughs at that, running a hand over his braids, careful to avoid touching his horns. He shakes his head, though. “I’ll be fine, thank you, Gale–” he starts, when Karlach jogs up to them, concern on her face.
“You alright, soldier?” she asks, hands restless at her sides. Wyll feels his embarrassment flare back up like it had never left. He doesn’t need to turn his head to know that Astarion is grinning beside him. “I heard the scream, and I know Lae said you were all good, but–” She shrugs, a big heave of her shoulders, steaming slightly in the cool night air. “Didn’t sound it, was all.”
“I’m fine,” he croaks.
“More than, I’d say,” Astarion adds with a high-pitched giggle. Wyll gives him a dark look.
“Well,” Gale interjects, clearing his throat. “I’ll see if I can find any books on, ah, devil anatomy among my collection, then. Perhaps Karlach could help with your… predicament.” He claps Wyll on the shoulder before scurrying past Karlach, vanishing into his tent. Wyll only wishes he could follow. His face feels so hot he’s surprised he hasn’t caught fire, and the snickering he can hear from Astarion beside him isn’t helping in the slightest.
“Would you please go away?” he asks the vampire, his voice coming out strained and reedy.
“And miss all the fun?” he pouts, though it isn’t very convincing with how his lip keeps twitching into a smirk.
Wyll buries his face in his hands, a silent acquiescence. “I should’ve staked you when we met,” he hisses, but there’s not any real heat to it.
“Is… something wrong?” Karlach asks, out of the loop.
Wyll rubs his face and drops his hands with a heavy, world-weary sigh. “You don’t happen to know what devils have… down there, do you?” he asks, gesturing vaguely at his crotch.
Karlach’s eyes widen. “Did Mizora–?”
“Yes.”
“I think it suits him,” Astarion pipes in.
“You think everything suits him, fangs,” Karlach points out, cocking a brow at him, and Astarion hums, nonchalant, though Wyll is certain the vampire’s cheeks have grown a touch pink. “Anyways, point is,” she pauses, snorts a little laugh. “Points. You’ve got ‘em, right?”
“That’s… typical, then? For demons?”
“Pretty typical for some tieflings, too, hey? Before you start freaking out too bad,” she clarifies, reaching up to jostle him before pulling her hand back again, an aborted half-movement. “For anyone without any experience of devils, you do just look like a tiefling. A pretty attractive one, at that.”
He laughs, because he doesn’t know what else to do, offers Karlach a smile that feels a little blank. “Thank you,” he manages to choke out. “I, uh, suppose that’s some relief.”
It’s… not. Not as much as he wishes it was. Wyll thinks about the plans for the future he’d had, vague little flights of fancy where he’d find a lover who stuck around despite the devil at his shoulder, a true love to last the ages, something the bards would write about. Possible for a human, even with his pact.
Not so much for a devil. He hears Mizora laugh and isn’t sure if it’s just the memory of it, or if she’s been watching him through this entire fiasco.
Well. At least Astarion found some entertainment out of it, he supposes.
When he glances back up at the vampire, he’s making an odd face at Karlach, like they’ve been having some sort of wordless conversation. Or, more likely, some sort of tadpole conversation. Astarion quickly looks over at him with an easy sort of grin, though Karlach still looks worried, fingers drumming against her sides.
“Come on then, you handsome devil,” Astarion says, hooking his arm around Wyll’s. “Let’s get you to bed, and tomorrow, we’ll raid Shadowheart’s stash of smut novels for a far more in-depth look at how your new parts might be of benefit to future lovers.”
Karlach barks a laugh as Wyll splutters as he’s half-dragged towards his tent, his face hotter than the hellfires of Avernus.