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A perfectly lazy Saturday afternoon. No chores to do, no responsibilities whatsoever. Astarion's spent it in bed, texting Shadowheart about the latest episode of Love Island whilst petting the cat. He thinks about doing some mat pilates and then decides he's far too lazy. Ugh, lazy—but bored.
"Move it, Myshka," he grunts, plopping the cat onto the floor. Myshka meows in annoyance and stalks off, tail in the air. Astarion stretches upwards, feeling his joints pop a bit.
He wants attention. And what Astarion wants, Astarion gets.
He can hear the sounds of the television from their cozy living room, loud hacking and slashing and frantic battle music. His darling must be playing that new game he's been excited for, Monster Chaser? Monster Slayer? Astarion can't quite remember the name. Nor does he care, frankly, though Wyll's smile was quite precious when he came home with the box.
And so Astarion slinks out of the bedroom and gives himself a once-over in the hall mirror, just to be sure. Hair lovingly mussed, check. Legs smooth, freshly shaved, check. Too-short shorts, check. They cling to his ass in just the right way. Everything clean and ready down there—check, of course! Astarion is always prepared. He bites his lip to give it a touch of extra colour. All in all, irresistible.
"Wyll," he drawls, appearing in the entrance to the living area. He leans against the wall, cocking his hip to the side, emphasising the curve of his waist. "Darling, can I sit with you?"
"Course," Wyll says, his eyes glued to the screen. His thumbs are twiddling away on the controller and he doesn't even bother glancing over at Astarion. He shifts to the side of the sofa without looking away, making room for his boyfriend.
Astarion huffs. He gives the screen a cursory glance—some sort of battle is happening, Wyll's character leaping and twisting in gravity defying stunts. Numbers flicker around some sort of ugly, bloated iguana-like monster that commands most of the screen.
Well, surely Astarion is more interesting than beating on some puffed-up lizard. This ought to be a piece of cake.
He slides in next to Wyll, tucking his legs up and pressing their shoulders together. Wyll gives him a sweet smile and nudges him back, still not looking at the beauty lovingly displayed beside him.
"Just give me a second, Star. This part is tough."
Tough! Astarion looks at the screen, brow twitching. Indeed it appears as if Wyll's little mini-me is getting stomped on. Well, bully for him! Astarion wants attention! He's not had any all morning and he's feeling sore with it.
Wyll curses under his breath, his thumbs mashing at the buttons. His tongue pokes out from between his teeth as he concentrates. God, he's really too cute sometimes, even when he's beating up fake monsters. Astarion sighs a bit.
"Yes," Wyll hisses, breaking out into a big grin. "Take that!"
"Well done, dear," Astarion says politely. Then he throws his arms around Wyll and nuzzles his face into the crook of Wyll's neck, pressing a lingering kiss right there, over his pulse point.
"Ha—oh shit, it's got a brother!"
Astarion squawks as Wyll flings him off and hunches forward over the controller once more. Betrayal! He scowls at the screen, full of loathing. Not to put too fine a point on it, but it appears as if this situation calls for the big guns.
Carefully, so as not to jostle him much, Astarion inches back beside Wyll. When they're again side by side he touches their bare legs together, and for the finishing touch sneaks an arm in between Wyll's back and the sofa, wrapping loosely around Wyll's waist.
"Your hero looks so...rugged," he purrs, squinting at the pixels. Wyll huffs a laugh. "What's happening here? Saving a poor damsel in distress?"
"A lost child, actually," Wyll says. "Fuck—no, don't run away with her! Damn." He runs a frustrated hand through his twists, but puts down the controller.
"Oh, did the child just die? Pity," Astarion says, not caring a whit. "Guess your mission's over, big hero. You tried!"
He then swings himself into Wyll's lap, blocking his view of the screen.
"Astarion," Wyll laughs, his hands encircling Astarion's waist, making him shiver with want. "I can't see now, love."
"You can see me," Astarion whines, grinding down on Wyll's lap. He's done playing coy, he aches to be touched. "Aren't I more interesting than your little game?"
Wyll boops his nose. Astarion scowls, then looks at him with big saddened eyes. "Always," Wyll says, still smiling. "But I've a mission to complete...hm. You are clingy today, though. Very tempting."
"Wyll, I'm really wanting," Astarion pleads, rubbing all up on him. He's half-hard now, feeling Wyll's hands on him. He wants more. Wyll hums and then leans forward to kiss him. Astarion melts, eyes fluttering shut at the touch of Wyll's lips, getting comfortable in Wyll's lap.
Too comfortable. He's completely caught off-guard when Wyll slides one arm beneath Astarion's hips and one tight around his waist, and then flips him over, so that Astarion is dangling over the edge of the sofa. He shrieks, flinging his arms out to catch himself—though Wyll has him held tight and safe, of course.
"What is wrong with you!" Astarion screeches, blood rushing to his cheeks thanks to gravity and the sheer embarrassment of the position, ass up, face down.
"You were blocking my view," Wyll chuckles, giving him a little squeeze and hoist. He pins Astarion in place by gripping Astarion's thighs beneath his armpits and then picks up the controller again, the wire draping over the arch of Astarion's back. "Now you're not in the way of any of the important parts, and I've got a perfectly shaped prize right below!"
"I'm going to kill you one day," Astarion mutters. "One day you're going to wake up with Myshka on your throat, suffocating you. And just know it was me who gave the order."
Wyll laughs. Astarion can feel it ripple through Wyll's chest. Like this Astarion's hardness is trapped against Wyll's lower belly, but he can't move forward, can't seek any type of friction. It's absolutely maddening. The sounds of the game combat start up again and Wyll goes back to mashing buttons, ignoring the plump, toned and willing ass right beneath his face.
"How is this my life," Astarion sighs into the rug, hiding his burning face in his elbows. The awful thing is that the humiliation is turning him on even more. Wyll's got him still, trapped at his mercy, and though he's complaining Astarion doesn't want to escape. "Wyll. Wyll, how long is this going to take?!"
"As long as it takes. A child is in danger, my love. She takes priority over you—oh, you bastard! Not today!" The button mashing increases in ferocity. Astarion heaves a dramatic sigh and settles down a bit, feeling the flex of Wyll's biceps as his boyfriend leans over and squeezes him tighter in concentration. From this vantage point Astarion can't even see the screen, only the base of the telly and the legs of their coffee table. There's nothing to concentrate on besides the feeling of Wyll's arms around him and the enforced spread of his cheeks. He's going to go cuckoo. He's going to go mad, possibly feral with the anticipation. Wyll does not understand the sort of brat he's about to unleash.
"Wyll," he whines, wiggling his ass as much as he can, trying to buck backwards. "My darling, my love, this is very unbecoming—"
"Astarion. Stay still."
Oh. Wyll's dropped into that register. The one that means that Astarion better behave, or he'll be punished for it. Or—rewarded, if he plays his cards right. Astarion shivers and then stills. He has a feeling that punishment here would mean denial, denial for so long...and he's too desperate now, too worked up. It would be torture. So instead he stills and lets the hacking and slashing continue while his face grows increasingly heated with rushing blood.
"Almost—c'mon big guy, you've got to be almost dead by now—yes! Finally," Wyll crows in triumph.
"There better not be a second brother," Astarion grumbles.
"Yet another victory! Ah—so sweet..." And Wyll pulls him up further, nuzzling his face all over Astarion's ass. Astarion lets him, feels the scruff of his beard rub against the smooth satin of his shorts.
"And what's your prize, big hero? A handful of gold? Perhaps the kid's widowed mum?"
"You're such a bastard," Wyll teases, smoothing his hands along the back of Astarion's bare thighs. "No. Despite all his complaining, I think my prize is right in front of me. He's very lucky that I'm such a patient man."
"Patient! Excuse me, which of us has been dangling upside down until their back cramps, until—"
Wyll lifts him up smoothly and Astarion squawks again as he's righted and deposited onto the sofa on all fours, scrambling as he gets his limbs beneath him.
"There now," Wyll says, tugging down Astarion's shirt and stroking down his spine. "Tch, so needy. That whole round took only a couple of minutes."
Astarion's face burns. His cock hangs heavy and hard, still untouched and aching. Wyll's arms encircle him again as he drapes himself over Astarion's back and presses a kiss to the nape of his neck. "Felt like forever," Astarion moans. "I've been neglected—Wyll, I've been left alone all day and this is how you treat me—"
Without any prior warning Wyll yanks Astarion's shorts down, exposing every last bit of him to the living room. Astarion gasps—suddenly Wyll's hands are on his cheeks, rubbing, spreading, playing, his thumbs massaging into the fat.
"You think I neglect you?" Wyll hums whilst Astarion breathes heavily with anticipation. "Baby, please. You're a spoilt thing and you know it. And I want you to say it."
Astarion drives his hips further into Wyll's touch, enjoying the tease but needing it to be over soon. "I'm not spoilt," he declares. "How can I be spoilt, when you do nothing but torture and tease me so?"
Wyll gives him a quick swat on the fullest part of his cheek—not too hard, just a reminder to behave. Astarion's muscles clench and he whines, curling his fingers into the sofa.
"See, here I thought I spoiled you often. Enough so that I can take an afternoon off to kill some monsters and know I won't be disturbed. But already you were wriggling in my lap, begging for my attention..."
Wyll's hands just feel so good on him. Astarion never, ever wants him to stop. He is a terribly needy creature, he knows. But how can Wyll complain?! Astarion knows how irresistible he is.
"It's not enough," he says, his breath jolting as one of Wyll's fingers circles the rim of his hole. "It's never enough. I've been begging, darling—please..."
"Hm. If I give you what you need now, will you be patient afterwards? Good enough to let me finish my missions in peace?"
"I'm never really good," Astarion admits shakily, truthfully, and Wyll snorts, chuckling a bit. He kisses Astarion's pale cheek.
"No. But will you try?"
"Oh god—yes! I promise I'll be good, I'll try, just touch me now before I lose my mind!"
Wyll places a firm palm on his lower back. He urges Astarion's torso down, forcing his ass up higher. "Perfect," he whispers. "Alright. I'll spoil you, baby. You seem to need it desperately."
"You'd need it too, if you were—oh—fuck, darling..."
Wyll's dived right in. His tongue laps around Astarion's hole and Astarion's knees go weak as jelly, all the breath leaving him in one fell swoop. Without Wyll's arm supporting him he would be melting right into the sofa. His mind is already going blank and floaty with it—this is the one act that always sends him spinning, without fail. It feels like he's being pampered in the best way, utterly taken care of, nothing required of him but to take and take the pleasure that Wyll's tongue delivers.
He lets himself be noisy. He makes sure Wyll knows just how good he's making Astarion feel, as Wyll gets messy devouring Astarion. Like Astarion's the perfect mid-game snack, he thinks to himself, giggling stupidly. He is a snack, and Wyll knows it.
"What's so funny?" Wyll asks, lifting his head up, and Astarion whines at the loss of contact.
"Nothing—darling, keep going please, it feels so g-good!"
He can hear the grin in Wyll's tone as he sits back on his haunches, still rubbing, rubbing at Astarion's cheeks. "You've got some nerve, laughing at the person who's got their hands all up in your sensitive bits..." At that his hand moves to cup Astarion's bollocks, a light squeeze as Astarion gasps and whimpers in frustration.
"I-I'm not! I wasn't laughing at you, dear, course not—Wyll, don't be cruel! Touch me," he begs. He's leaking all over the sofa cushions, it's honestly quite mortifying. He knows Wyll is going to make him clean up his mess later. He jerks and thrusts his hips back towards Wyll, more debauched noises of frustration, until Wyll catches him firmly and presses him down into the cushions with no small amount of strength. Astarion collapses like a house of cards, spreads his legs as Wyll directs, his sore cock rubbing against the plush.
"You're clearly determined to get what you want," Wyll says, and Astarion shivers in anticipation as the fabric of Wyll's shorts brushes against his calf, discarded somewhere out of sight. "But all this mouthiness, love. All these demands, all this whining...we're going to have to do something about it, aren't we?"
He nods frantically into the cushions, eyes squeezed shut, reaching back for Wyll's hand. His love takes it and gives it a comforting rub, and Astarion knows then that he'll be given relief. Eventually. Wyll strokes down the bumps of his spine, then spreads his cheeks once more. There's the sound of Wyll spitting liberally, coating his fingers, which then play around the pucker of Astarion's hole, dipping in just slightly.
"Please," Astarion breathes, giving entirely into the desperation. Wyll leans over him and kisses the nape of his neck as he plunges two fingers inside, enjoying the choked off gasp he squeezes out of Astarion.
"Good, love," Wyll murmurs, gently moving, stretching, but Astarion knows he's only being sweet for the moment. Astarion's been too mouthy to not be taken apart completely on Wyll's cock. He can hardly wait—he squirms and tries to buck back, but Wyll holds him down with his other arm, palm flat against Astarion's back. "See—you need to be tamed, baby. And this won't be enough to hold you down." A pulse of Wyll's fingers against Astarion's prostate, shivers and sparks all the way up his spine. Toes curling, more whining, helpless whining, he can't help it. He's always been noisy. Wyll's breathing is getting heavy with the anticipation too. "Ready?"
It's one of the things Astarion adores most about Wyll. That Wyll still asks, still makes sure, even when they're deep in play. He nods, fingers tangled in the sofa's plush. Then—Wyll's fingers are replaced by the head of his cock, blunt delicious pressure that steals Astarion's voice away. Wyll bottoms out with a groan, all his weight draped over Astarion, who closes his eyes at the sublime feeling. Safe, beneath Wyll's body. Nothing to worry about here. Every part of Astarion taken care of. And then Wyll draws back, begins to thrust forward, pushing Astarion deeper and deeper into sofa until he's drooling with the sensation of being stuffed completely full. Wyll's pace is steady and quick, efficiently fucking Astarion into a puddle as he promised.
"So good," Wyll pants, one hand tangling in Astarion's hair, gripping it tight and holding Astarion down with the weight of his body. "You're so good—you just needed, god, a firm hand—"
Astarion moans in agreement, his face pushed into the cushions. He loves this position, so close, so intimate—then Wyll snakes a hand around his waist and tries to pull him up onto all fours. But Astarion's arms are so shaky, so liquid with the way Wyll has begun fucking all thought out of his brain. Wyll laughs, short of breath, and instead uses his strength to pull them both onto their knees, clutching Astarion close so that Astarion's head can rest against his firm shoulder. His arm wraps around Astarion's middle, tangled in his t-shirt and holding him up. God, Astarion has never been so thankful for all the times Karlach's dragged Wyll into the gym.
"Wyll—Ah, oh..."
"I know," Wyll says, right into Astarion's sensitive ear, as he continues fucking him mercilessly. Astarion can feel his back arch into it, following Wyll's lead, eyes rolling back in overwhelming pleasure. "You—needed this, I know..."
"Mhm—oh, oh—"
"Where'd all your words go, baby?" Wyll laughs, mouthing at the shell of Astarion's ear. "You were so full of them! All gone beneath the Blade, are they?"
If Astarion still had presence of mind, he'd groan at Wyll's secretly endearing corniness. But he's working with perhaps five brain cells, all of which are currently occupied with hanging onto the ride for dear life. His cock is stiff and dripping, flushed and still cruelly untouched as Wyll fucks him six ways to Sunday.
"I—Wyll..."
"Use your words, love," Wyll says, with a nip to Astarion's cartilage that gets him visibly twitching.
"Touch me," Astarion begs, throwing his head back. Wyll's hand slips beneath damp t-shirt fabric to stroke and hold Astarion's belly, teasing right above where he dearly wants to be touched.
"No," Wyll denies with what must be a devilish smile. Oh...oh, Astarion has really gotten himself into a mess. "You can come like this, can't you? We're so close—I'm inside you, baby. I'm holding you. I'm giving you all the attention in the world right now. And still, you want—more?" His thrusts grow more erratic, harder still, and Astarion sobs from the pleasure. "Greedy—greedy thing, aren't you?"
"Yes!" Astarion keens, one of his hands fluttering down to his cock for relief, but Wyll snatches it firm. "I'm—I'm very greedy, I know, b-but..."
"You're okay," Wyll whispers into his ear. "But greedy boys can't have everything—you're going to come like this."
Astarion nods, breathless. He's surrendered himself entirely to Wyll, every last fragile part of him is held in Wyll's hands, and every last drop of pleasure Wyll coaxes out of him feels so much better like this. Wyll says this is how he needs to come, and so this is how he will come. He needn't think about it any further.
Wyll thrusts hard, thrusts deep—and then stays there for a moment, as connected as they can ever be, tiny twitches of his hips, rubbing himself up against Astarion's most favourite spot. Astarion moans desperately, a tear squeezing from the corner of his eye as his core clenches and the pleasure inside builds builds builds—and then Wyll's lips graze over his ear, so soft and gentle, just a tickle.
"My beautiful boy," Wyll smiles, and Astarion sobs, and comes, untouched as asked. Wyll holds him through it, as Astarion's knees go so shaky with pleasure he simply needs to be held up. He's made a ridiculous mess of himself, come dripping down his thighs and beading onto the sofa. Still Wyll holds him, pressing his lips to the nape of Astarion's neck. "I need to move," he whispers, and Astarion nods his permission, reaching to hold Wyll's hand at his side. Their fingers tangle and Wyll begins to move again—Astarion trembles and twitches from the overstimulation, just the right side of too much, wringing every last drop out of him. Wyll clutches him tight as his hips finally stutter, finishing buried inside Astarion, squeezing his hand while he's at it. Astarion's heart pounds, full of emotion.
Wyll noses into his hair for a moment, breathing hard. He withdraws and Astarion whines—Wyll shushes him. "I've just told you not to be greedy," he chides. "You've had your fun." Astarion turns and wraps his arms around Wyll's neck, accepts a kiss on the forehead, and then a long lingering one against Wyll's soft lips. Wyll pulls him down as he sits and Astarion easily collapses, still feeling rather like jelly. He lies down in Wyll's lap, curled, feeling the stickiness between his thighs with no small amount of satisfaction. Wyll smiles down at him as he rubs his hands all over Astarion's shirt, massaging Astarion's belly while he's at it. Astarion practically purrs, putty in his lap.
And then Wyll reaches for that goddamned controller. A ploy! A ploy to wipe his hands clean, calming Astarion with belly rubs, as if Astarion is as easily distracted as Myshka!
...And curse him, for it worked. Wyll's already started the game up again before Astarion can even squawk out his annoyance.
"My mind is so nice and clear now," Wyll says conversationally, while Astarion fumes. He wanted more cuddles and rubs. "I think I'm ready to save the whole nearby village...it'll take ages, of course. Plenty of dangerous monsters to clear out."
"Wyll..."
"Oh no, love. You promised," Wyll smirks, hunching over Astarion's limp, wrung-out body, button mashing once more. "But you can stay right here, as long as you're good. And you will be good, won't you?"
He curls around Wyll further, face smushed into Wyll's bare thighs.
"...Maybe."