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melanch0lystar · 4 months ago

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Arcane Hunger

Gale Dekarios/Duck(named tav)

Notes: I wrote this a while back but never posted it, oops! This is based off the idea that sorcerers can transfer magic to others, if only briefly. My tav is a sorcerer/barbarian multiclass dwarf! I don’t usually post my oc/canon works, so I do hope you all enjoy it.

Tags: pining, act 1, frottage, Gale being desperate, Astarion being nosy and catty

Ao3 link

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Nothing could have prepared him for an ache like this. Artifacts weren’t cutting it anymore, and the suffocating clench of the orb's jaws only tightened around him. It would only be a matter of time until it eats at the last sliver of his sanity, and he can only hope he’s far isolated when it erupts.

It would have been so much easier to accept his fate if it weren’t for his companions, or rather, his leader. Gale thanked the stars when Duck had allowed him to stay even despite his looming, explosive threat of the orb. Even more so when he finally invited them into his space, showed them the enchantment of the weave; where they melded their mind to his, the cool comfort of their desires, a timid kiss shared and hands brushing together. He had snapped the connection in surprise, a flustered pink to his cheeks. Exhilarating it was, to have such a powerful ally fancy him so. The necrotic swell of magic in his chest responded almost angrily, nearly gnashing at his soul as his heart had quickened and his palms sweat like a lovesick schoolboy.

The wizard had never thought he’d fall for a sorcerer. A petty rivalry to be sure, a jealousy for a natural talent he studied so arduously for–though at the state of their wild and untamed magic, he couldn’t find himself to be too envious.

One thing he could, however, was the organic accumulation of weave just under their fingertips, ripe and primed to destroy with just a snap of their fingers. If he had that, he would never fear the arcane hunger that consumes him so viciously.

The days are growing longer with the party’s journey to the Mountain Pass and his knees are as weary as his resolve is fierce. Duck leads the party through the thickets of wilderness, mud squelching beneath boots and grass slick with morning dew. Gale stops to catch his breath when they look over the map, much to Astarion’s teasing.

“Need a rest, Grandpa?” The spawn snickers.

“Please, I’m centuries younger than you.” The wizard counters.

“Perhaps that’s why you’re so boring.”

Gale glares and Duck clears their throat. “We’re nearly to the Shadowlands now, we ought to set up camp or we’ll be drained by the time we get there.”

“Chk! We waste precious daylight, fretting around the muck like lost babes.”

“The Shadowlands will still be there tomorrow, Lae’zel! If I do not get my beauty sleep there will be hells to pay.”

“Your hells hold no threat to me, spawn.”

“Enough.” Duck groans, putting the map back in their pack. “We’ll rest for the night, we need it.” They offer Gale an understanding look, as if he was in need of fretting and fussing. These days, he’s wondering if that’s the case. Their word is final as they speak it, regardless of any complaints grumbled. He finds his sights glued to the back of their head, slivers of their face on the trek back to camp. Their hair is shorter than it was when they first met, incredibly so. Gale supposes that experiencing your first death at the hands of a ghoul would evoke some physical changes, not to mention the mental terror of a soul ripped from one plane to another. He remembers the day sourly, the fear that clenched his chest as tight as the hunger had. At the very least, he was glad they recovered so quickly, albeit with the scarred reminder across their eye.

He finds himself thinking more on the way back to camp, the thoughts clouding his once organized mind even as he set up his bedroll for the night. If Duck was brimming with so much magic power, surely there could be a way to…transfer it, shouldn’t there? It would be an intimate ordeal to ask of them, who knows what would be needed for that kind of trade. Briefly, he thinks of skin-on-skin contact, but then starts to feel his heart beat too quickly for the orbs' liking. The sharp throb is enough to calm any wandering thoughts, forcing him back to cleaner observations.

Gale looks out at the campfire from the shelter of his tent, singled and secluded. Everyone circles around the fire tonight, the cook pot empty and stomachs full. The gnawing in his chest distracts him from any kind of nutritional hunger, his only focus on the arcane penance. Their leader is amongst them, to his surprise. Typically, Duck didn’t favor larger crowds, but he supposes that this is a situation that forces you from your comfort zone.

The warm orange-yellow light of the crackling fire across their face like the paintings he saw back home in Waterdeep. He wonders after everything is said and done, where they’d go. He hopes they'd give him a visit, if he made it that long.

Duck’s head turns from the group and finds him in their line of sight, an expression almost like confusion written on their face. The lively conversation continues without them when they excuse themselves, Gale’s heart pounding when he realizes they’re coming over to him. He must look a mess, all frazzled hair and tremoring hands.

“You never ate.” They say, scrunching their nose and pushing their glasses back up the bridge of it. He watches the action intensely. “I wasn’t able to save any, but I could try to make you something?”

Gale shakes his head. “Oh, you needn’t fuss over me like that, I’ll be just fine.”

“Are you sure? You haven’t looked very…well, lately.” They don’t mean it the way that insecurity tugs at his chest, certainly, but it’s a reaction he can’t help.

“Ah…that’s just my own hubris at play.” He sighs out, hand instinctively clenching his shirt over his chest.

“Would more magic items help?” Duck queries, sitting down beside him, already rifling through their pockets for some kind of trinket.

“No, no, that’s quite alright,” his hands hover over theirs, assuring. “It would do me no good, and it would waste your hard earned treasures in the process.”

Their hands pull out of their pockets and brush against his, the faintest of touches, but one that triggers a shiver down his spine—pure, unfiltered magic zapping against his flesh. It feels energizing and lulling at the same time, a jittery spread across his body that soothes the ache in his chest just the smallest bit. Even then, just the smallest taste of their magic quelled the fires quicker than any banged up magic ring or tarnished locket.

He shudders and they pull their hands to their chest, an apology dangling from their tongue. “I’m so sorry, my magic just does that–”

“No, it’s ok. I actually...ah, I think that may have helped?” Gale reaches his hand up to his chest, fingertips brushing over the inky, indented scars of his orb. He feels it fizzle in acknowledgment, distracted, soaking in the concentrated weave.

Duck’s brows furrow in concern, head tilting just so, inquisitive enough to make him feel warm in the cheeks. He’d rather not be fussed over, coddled like a runt, but something about them makes him feel a queer kind of way. Too often he’s let them tend to his wounds when he could have himself, relished the way their calloused fingers pressed healing balms into his skin, leaning into their touch in ways only a lover should. As far as Gale was aware, they didn’t have anyone waiting for them.

Not that he obsessed over the prospect of their love life, he thought of it a totally normal amount, most certainly.

“I could give you more?” They offer, holding their hand out again, an offer poised over the center of his chest.

The orb lurches in his chest at the mere suggestion, tearing at the very fibers of his being, his soul, a deep hunger settling behind his ribs. “I couldn’t-” he still protests like a hiss between his teeth, fist clutching his chest.

“You can, you must.” Duck reiterates, a command, not a suggestion. They speak with a strict edge of urgency, cutting through his pleas like the blade they wield.

Gale looks past them, eyes flicking to the campfire. The others remain unaware of their leader's disappearance, for now. His stomach churns at the thought of any of his companions bearing witness.

“…alright, b-but privately, yes? I think this has proven to be a rather intimate ordeal,” he stammers, pawing at the tent’s opening. Gods, he hasn’t felt this nervous since he was a sweaty palmed teenager grasping at the threads of weave Mystra graced him with.

This, however, is real. They’re real, not a figment of a goddess who would never love him, but a true flesh and blood person. Within them he sees life, warmth, desire.

The inside of his tent shades a cool blue over their bodies, moonlight filtered through the tough cloth. Gale feels his heartbeat in his ears, wiping his palms on his trousers.

Duck inches closer, kneeling and lifting their right hand up. A faint pulse emanates from their palm and they close their eyes, focusing in on it. He watches, bewitched, etching the image of them into his mind. The round slope of their nose, wired glasses set atop the bridge, dark eyelashes flush against full cheeks and framing the wrinkled creases of their eyes. His eyes flit lower, to their lips, and a great sense of yearning settles like a heavy rock in his gut.

Their magic first feels like a sharp bristle when they press their palm to his chest, but then it smooths into a warm embrace. It seeps into the starved maw of the orb, soft tendrils of gold glowing between the skin of their palm and Gale’s chest.

He can’t fight the groan of pleasure, squeezing his eyes shut in embarrassment, relief deep seated into his bones.

“Ah, I’m dreadfully sorry,” he breathes, swallowing the lump in his throat and meeting their eyes. “I-I don’t know what’s come over me—“

“But it’s helping, right? Do you need a moment?” Duck begins to pull their hand back and he grabs their wrist, needy, desperate.

“Please, stay, I’m alright.” Gale pleads, cheeks flushed and lips parted. Duck hums softly, clearing their throat, face warm and heart pounding.

“It’s like…ahh, instant relief…” the wizard mutters, leaning closer, driven on instinct alone. “Thank you, thank you,”

“Ha…” Duck shifts on their knees, mouth dry. Gale can taste the uncertainty within their magic, but amongst it he also feels want, the same pull he felt when sharing a moment in the Weave with them. It's bliss, serene and beautiful, his body consuming their magic in a deep act of devotion and dependence. He curls into them like a touch starved dog, holding their hand in his own, his knees brushing theirs. Any further and he’d be all but falling into their lap, not that he could find it in him to complain, not at all.

They look up to him, illuminated by the glow of their own mana. Ethereal, heavenly. Gale was a man of faith, too often invested in those unworthy of his worship. But here, now, he has never wanted to commit himself so wholly, not even when caught in the throes of Mystra.

He can’t help himself when he cups their face instead, he can’t help himself when he surges forward, pressing his lips to theirs. Surely, he can’t help himself when he straddles their thighs, a sound of unfiltered hunger rumbling from the back of his throat.

And they’re kissing him back, they’re holding onto his shoulders, fingers clutching his shirt. His heart blooms with desire, warmth bleeding from his soul into theirs, pouring over with affection. Their mouth moves inexperienced, sloppy—he wouldn’t have it any other way.

Duck’s teeth catch on his lower lip and he groans softly, whispering a hushed, ��yes’.

“I’ve wanted this, you, for so long,” Gale sighs like a siren's song, babbling beside himself. “I know in the Weave you gave me that- that wonderful image b-but I didn’t think…”

They’re not good with words, even if he would tell them otherwise- so instead they kiss him again, holding him like they were trying to bleed all of their affection into him.

It does the trick, and Gale is melting back into them, biting back a low moan. He pulls away, reluctantly, to push his leather bound books off his bedroll, hastily propping up pillows with a sheepish grin.

Duck crawls forward, hands embarrassingly sweaty and heart pounding up in their skull. Gale pulls, beckons, and they fall into his lap, a short ‘oof’ before he’s kissing them again.

They straddle his lap, finding purchase on his camp shirt, the crushed velvet of it softer than anything they had ever owned.

“I’m sorry…I’m heavy…” they get out between kisses. “I can get off.”

Gale shakes his head immediately. “Nonsense,” he indulges himself when he grabs their thighs, fingers sinking into fatty flesh and muscle, a sensation he longed to feel since he first (accidentally) spied them bathing in the river—naked and wet, goosebumps from chilled night, dripping down a stout, voluptuous body—

“Mmmph,” he moans against their lips, legs widening beneath them, the weight of their lower half settling on his groin. It doesn’t go unnoticed by them, and they draw in a tight breath at the thought.

“Quiet,” they whisper to him. He nods enthusiastically, pressing his lips together in a thin line.

Only a soft rustle of fabric is heard as Duck leans up, cheeks hot to the touch as they begin to unbutton their blouse. Gale’s eyes are glued to the exposing midriff, pawing at their hips like he was no more than a hormone riddled teenager.

They look down to him, his hair splayed across the pillow underneath, eyes wide and wanting. He would give his entire being to them, his own heart on a silver platter if he weren’t a dead man walking.

Instead, he grips and grabs, massaging his fingers into their hips as they free the last button and shed their shirt. They fight the reflex to fold their arms over their chest, instead bracing their palms against his.

Gale draws in a breath, almost dizzy with arousal, zeroing in on the heavy swell of their breasts, nearly pouring from the cups of their brassiere. Pinned beneath them like this, he notices just how small he is.

There’s the logistical height differences between the two that debunk that statement, yes, but length wasn’t his thought. The orb drained him in more ways than one, his weight being one of them. He’s long since been the healthy, powerful man he once was- now he is sickly thin, the purple hued tendrils sapping the nutrients from his body, both magical and organic.

Duck is thick, stocky, built for strength and durability. He can feel it under his hands, the muscle beneath the fat. Their hands are already so large, it’d be no big feat to wrap their hands completely around his waist- his throat.

The dwarf slides their hands under his shirt, timid, cautious. Urgently, Gale pulls at the offending garment, tugging it off himself with a stifled grunt. Warm, calloused palms follow and he breathes a sigh of relief, eyes fluttering shut. He feels just right, beneath them like this, body soft and liquid with pleasure.

They shift in his lap, a strained sound emitting from his chest in response. He drinks in the sight of them, lips parted and eyes lidded. He follows the curve of their lips and the jagged, torn patch of scarred flesh across their eye. The way the heat of their cheeks makes their skin sweat, beads he longs to chase with his tongue.

“You’re beautiful,” he whispers, hips shifting beneath, chasing the feeling of them.

They don’t reply to it, averting their gaze in fact, but shimmying their hips regardless. Gale hisses softly, grasping for purchase on their belt loops. He’s sure they can feel how hard he’s become, pressed stiffly against the soft mound between their thighs. Cloth against cloth, he can still feel the delicious drag of friction.

“You’re so good to me,” he whimpers, hushed. “A little firmer, please?”

Strong legs lock against his sides, their hands braced against his frail chest as they grind down into his lap, rubbing against the thick line of his erection.

First, he gasps, a breath drawn in thinly- and then comes the loud, aching moan. Both go still, and so does the distant chatter from the campsite yards beyond.

Duck clamps their hand over his mouth, silencing him with their palm. He goes dizzy, eyelids fluttering, shuddering exhales from his nose. A beat passes, then two, and the conversation picks back up, unbothered. They breathe a sigh of relief and look back down at him.

Gale puckers his lips behind their palm, kissing the center fervently. He follows when they pull their hand away, his fingers curling around their wrist.

“Silence me,” he whispers, barely a sound.

Delicately, he kisses their fingertips, his tongue pressing between the digits when he takes them into his mouth. He must look no better than an average copper whore, sucking on their fingers to muffle his petty whines.

They haven’t moved, seated still against his aching cock, pressing deeper down his throat. He wiggles, writhes, weakly bucks his hips from underneath, searching for more friction. They bounce, just slightly, in his lap, and it’s enough to make him gurgle behind their fingers.

They breathe heavy, flushed cheeks and sweaty flesh, tracing the lines of his orb with their opposite hand. He yearns, starves, positively aches from his very core. Gale thinks he could die happy, beneath them like this, touched and seen—

The tent flap rips open with a quick thwip, exposing the pair to the moonlit camp.

“Oh my gods, I was right, they were having sex!” Astarion cackles, “or rather, trying, it seems. Really, I was hoping to see more skin, it sounded like a pair of stuck pigs in there!”

“Get out!” Gale yelps, instinctually covering himself with his arms, embarrassment festering in his gut. He hears a distant call of ‘leave them be, Astarion!’ along with a wolf’s whistle from the campfire.

“Darling, you hardly got a room, there’s nothing for me to get out of! Trust me, I think I’ve gotten my fill of whatever…finger-sucking debacle this is, anyways.”

Duck has hurriedly pulled their shirt back on, face red and tears of embarrassment rising to the surface. Gale can’t stop them from rushing out of the tent, nearly pushing Astarion aside in the process, a scoff in turn as the dwarf escapes in shame. Guilt consumes him, finding no trace of them when he peers out of the tent.

“Now, look at what you’ve done!” The wizard hisses. “I sincerely hope that was just the tadpole’s doing, to cause you to do something as disrespectful as, as exposing our leader!”

“Please,” Astarion rolls his eyes. “Don’t try to scold me when you still have a pillow over your lap.”

“That’s-!”

“Enough!” Lae’zel stomps up behind Astarion, taking a fistful of his shirt collar and pulling him back. “Enough of this nonsense chatter! We waste our breath squabbling amongst each other. In Crèche K’liir, disputes are handled by blade, if you both would like to solve this childish squawking.”

Both men grumble in defeat, Astarion smoothing the ruffles of his shirt in upset.

“You. Spawn, you’d do better not to stick your fleshy nose where it does not belong.” The githyanki sneers, jabbing a pointed finger into Astarion’s chest. Gale laughs triumphantly at the elf’s scolding, before the woman turns her ire back on him.

“And you. I knew wizards were cowards, but allowing your own mate to be defiled by such an act? I would not put your incompetence on display, istik.

Chk! If you both do not end this conflict, I will end you.”

Gale spends the night alone in his bedroll, a dangerous cocktail of guilt and shame festering in his stomach. He spends a long while thinking, reenacting it all behind his eyelids as his fingers pick the frayed edges of his bedroll. Things he could have said differently, things he could have done differently—including and not limited to a gag with how tremendously he blew their cover. Gods, what a fool he’s become since his infection!

He misses them already. The warmth of their body, the taste of their mouth. The image of them almost soothes his mind, as if they were caressing his face once more.

He sees them again the morning after, packing their bag for the day's adventure in silence. A great longing grips his chest, and if he had been a bit braver, he would have gone over to check on them. Instead, they catch his gaze, and he feels a chill run down his spine. No, perhaps that wouldn’t be the best idea, bravery aside.

He regrets. He most certainly does, he’d be a fool to claim otherwise. Gale wouldn’t blame them if they didn’t want him any more, if the night before was a mistake they longed to forget.

They take him along on the road even despite his errors, albeit walking in silence. Regardless, they still watch his back, being there to catch him when he inevitably trips over his own feet from the nerves.

He doesn’t deserve them, he truly doesn’t, not when he’s proven himself to be such a selfish wretch.

And yet, he still looks to them when they find Elminster on the mountain pass, the beckoning darkness of the Shadowlands ahead almost seeping past the wooden warning signs like tendrils. The message his old friend brings is no less grim.

Gale still hopes for comfort, if only in his final moments.

#bg3 #gale of waterdeep #spicy #tav: duck #oc x canon

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melanch0lystar · 4 months ago

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Holographic Shenanigans

Gale/Named Tav

Notes: threesome/cuckholding, handjobs, light oral, overstimulation, improper use of holograms

~ long time no proper fic! Well, not really proper, this started as rambles on discord. I don’t usually post my ocxcanon writing, but I couldn’t resist this time! My tav is Duck(they/them) a 150 year old dwarf sorcerer previously a hermit. Ty to my bestie for helping me with the title!

“It’s another of yours truly, for when you’re feeling…especially insatiable.” Gale says, gesturing to the lightly sparkling blue hologram, which is more like a tangible mass of magic than a simple visage. The hologram smiles serenely. “You can do anything you wish with it, nothing’s off the table.”

The hologram sits besides Duck on the bed, on the unoccupied side. It takes their hand, and brings it up to its lips to kiss. “I concur, I can say on the behalf of Gale Dekarios that I have absolutely no limits and am fully devoted to your pleasure. He would also like you to know that I am 100% anatomically accurate.”

The true flesh Gale clears his throat, a touch flustered as Duck inspects the hologram closer, intrigue and curiosity dancing in dark eyes. “This is…wow.” They say, exploring the cool touch of the holograms hand, its glowing eyes watching them intently. Gale feels a voyeuristic kind of pleasure in watching his beloved enjoy, well, him, albeit a different form.

“Well,” Duck begins, retreating from the holograms touch briefly. “I can still have you, right?” They lean into Gales side, and he answers with immediate reassurance. “Of course! This is simply to accommodate for your, ahem, awakened libido.”

They nod, chewing on their bottom lip. “I’m just, I am new to all this, I don’t know the rules, what I can have.”

The hologram speaks for Gale, resting a hand on Duck’s thigh. “All is obtainable. And I contain all of Gale’s knowledge, so I can assure you that you will learn plenty.”

Duck swallows, face heated, but heart beating faster. “I don’t…know where to begin.” They say, hands held in the air, hovering over the hologram. Gale watches from behind them, setting a reassuring hand on their back. “Touch it like you touch me.” He says, the hologram mirroring his own enticement.

The dwarf nods, settling a large hand over top the holograms chest. Its orb glows faintly in response, an impressive copy to the real thing. With a bit of bravery, they untuck its shirt from its trousers, sliding their hands under and over cool flesh.

The hologram shivers, body arching into their touch. Duck can hear the heavy exhale from Gale behind them, his hands distracted in rubbing their hips and back. “Exactly right,” he says, pausing to wet his lips with his tongue. “You’re just fantastic.”

Duck glances over their shoulder, meeting Gale’s hungry gaze. They realize in that moment that their husband seems to like watching more than they thought. ‘keep going’ he whispers, and they focus on the hologram once more.

Bolder now, Duck moves a hand lower and grabs its clothed, half hard dick. Its reaction is immediate and incredibly accurate to the real Gale Dekarios—a loud and breathy groan, its hips rising into their palm.

They can feel Gale’s hips rut in involuntary response, just shy of their hip. For a moment they contemplate reaching behind to help relieve him, before they stop themself. Gale can sit and watch, just as he desired. It would be rude of them to put such a burden on him- yes, that’s it. They chew on their bottom lip. Perhaps they’re a little more mean than they thought.

Duck unlaces the holograms pants, pulling them down its hips, fueled by its gasp of excitement. Gale would be surprised at the rate his wife has begun to undress his clone, if he hadn’t already been subjected to it. (Not that he disliked it, quite the opposite, really. To have such eager hands upon you, it makes him feel young and desperate again.)

The hologram makes a soft, echoing noise, cheeks colored a deeper blue as Duck traces a finger across the underside of its cock. Gale finds himself pressing closer, up against their back, arms wrapped around them.

“Are you enjoying this?” The dwarf asks and both the human and clone reply a filthy ‘yes’. They grab the hologram fully, the flesh like jelly—malleable, squishy, versatile. They could bend this version of Gale however they wanted, past his human limits. Duck stops, spits on their hand, and grabs it again, stroking slowly.

Gale breathes shakily against their shoulder, unable to resist the temptation of smacking kisses across their neck. The copy writhes under the touch, watching the mortal hand closely, then looking back at Duck, jaw slack and brows furrowed. “Quicker,” it whimpers, toes curling in its boots.

“I wasn’t sure it—you could feel…” they trail off, sliding their thumb over the squishy head, almost failing to resist the temptation of digging their thumb in. The hologram shudders, head lolling to the side. “Ah- G-Gale has ensured I was crafted with the- the most tangible components,” it replies, and Gale hides his face further in their neck, biting almost petulantly.

“You really thought about this, didn’t you?” They question aloud, picking up the speed of their pumping fist until the hologram is squirming. Gale’s voice is husky yet airy when he whines, “yes, more than I’d like to admit.” He’s painfully hard in his underwear already, devouring the table scraps of their attention while they pleasure a carbon copy of himself.

“You’re so smart.” Duck says simply in reply, a genuine little compliment that has him whining into their shortly cropped curls.

The hologram cries softly, rising in volume as its hips cant upwards, quite unruly, Gale would say. Duck pulls their attention back to the illusion, cooing softly, rubbing a comforting hand over its stomach. “There, there, don’t strain yourself, you’re in good hands.”

In that moment, the human comes to the realization that this copy of himself had played him. It grins contentedly around its own moans, lavishing in the resumed attention. Curses, he shouldn’t have given it a sense of feeling.

Gale glares from over their shoulder, squeezing them tighter. “Calm yourself,” they warn, this time not even bothering to spare him a glance. “You’ll get yourself too worked up, and you said yourself this was for my satisfaction. I thought you were too worn out, hm?”

He opens his mouth, and then closes it again, put sternly in his place. “Apologies,” he mumbles into their shoulder, a sour taste in his mouth at the way the hologram looks triumphant. As if he couldn’t banish it from existence with a flick of his wrist.

Still, he lets it remain, because a very obvious part of him is enjoying this- power play. He shivers. He didn’t think his love could be so cruel. He quite likes it.

Duck twists their hand, squeezing tighter, and the hologram comes with an airy, crackling sob. Its ejaculate is translucent and slightly opalescent streaked across its exposed skin, dripping down over the dwarfs knuckles. “Pretty,” they say, and Gale recognizes that lilt in their voice. This hologram might think it’s won, but he knows his wife’s insatiable appetite personally.

The hologram has no time to recover from the orgasmic haze before Duck is touching it again, grinding the center of their palm over the oversensitive head of its cock. It jolts and squirms and they move to sit on its legs, pushing it flat on the bed.

Gale voices his complaints nonverbally, clinging to them until he can't any longer. He grabs his thighs now, still pitifully hard. “Duck,” he calls out, needy, “may I? Please?”

Duck looks over their shoulder, eyeing his tented underwear. For a moment, he seems to twitch under the scrutiny. “…No.” They say, and turn back, refocused on torturing the poor illusion.

The wizard exhales heavily, disappointed and discarded. His erection doesn't flag regardless of that. He pulls at his briefs, eyes rolling at the much needed friction of fabric. He shouldn’t, he couldn’t, he thinks, bottom lip caught between his teeth. Duck hasn’t noticed him, focused on painfully drawing out another orgasm from the starry copy. “Hush,” they tell it, pressing their fingers into its mouth, the cool tongue curling around the digits as it sucked obediently. “You act like you hadn’t expected this.”

The copy looks at them with big, wet eyes, soft despite the way light pours from the sockets. Little crystalline tears gather at its waterlines, but evaporate before they can slide off its face. Duck shivers at the way it copies Gale’s mannerisms with ease, though they aren’t surprised. He was never one to neglect the finer details.

Gale holds his breath as he chances another touch for himself, willing himself to go unheard and unsuspected. If he could just relieve a little of the ache, he could last through their sadistic display of fascination without his body betraying him, as it has so many times before with them, it seems.

Duck releases the clone from their grasp, it gasping shakily around their fingers in relief. It is short lived however, as they descend, a simple thought guiding their actions. ’I wonder how you taste.’

Gale moans in place of the clone as the realization dawns on him, even where he’s been told to stay, only a view from behind. It’s not a bad view however, he thinks, eyes rolling as he palms himself rougher through his underwear.

He can see the copy’s legs shake, hear it cry and plead, guttural. He knows he shouldn’t, but he can’t help but feel a little inkling of jealousy sitting sour in his chest, festering like the orb had once before. He knew Duck would use it as intended, but now cast to the side, as arousing as it was, he finds himself needing more, craving their attention.

Gale leans forward and grabs their hips, driven on lust as he lowers his head and licks them through the cloth of their underwear.

Duck jerks in surprise, the hologram’s dick slipping from their mouth, much to its combined relief and frustration. “Hey!” They shout, though it’s more of a bark of surprise as they whip their head around to catch glimpse of their husbands head from behind their ass. They move away, and kneel up, turning their focus completely on him.

In the lapse of focus, the hologram dissipates in a puff of fine, sparkling mist, its duty fulfilled. Gale however, still needed to answer to his misdeed.

“What do you think you’re doing?” They raise their hand grab a fistful of his hair. He bends with it, lowering where they guide him, hissing softly.

“I was only wanting to worship you, my goddess.” The wizard says, and the sorcerer feels a flare of excitement and wild magic surge from within. Duck tamps it down—an unruly creature their magic be, settled between their ribs and below the lungs, waiting for the right emotion to seize control of.

“You know to ask before you take. I thought I taught you better.” They tut, keeping him tightly wound in their grip, his mouth an aching distance from theirs. He watches intensely, lips parted in anticipation.

“I’m sorry,” he begins, his throat bobbing as he swallows. “I won’t disappoint you again- but I needed you. Just a sliver of your affection, that’s all I’ll need, I won’t be bad again.”

“Is that so?” Duck coos, releasing his hair to cradle his face instead, squishing his cheeks and puckering his lips. “Don’t tell me you were jealous of your own copy.” They laugh and Gale burns red hot. “But don’t you worry your pretty little noggin about it. I’ll refresh your memory about how loved you are…” Duck leans in closer, lips brushing against his. He shudders, closing his eyes leaning into them.

Suddenly, they pull away, letting go of his face and stroking down his chest. “After you’re punished for earlier.”

Gale's eyes snap open again, just in time to be pushed flat on his back, his dearest looming above him despite their stature. He laughs, a clipped chuckle that’s as breathy as it is desperate. He won’t be picky tonight, even if it yields him sore by daybreak.

#bg3 #gale of waterdeep #tav: duck #oc x canon #spicy

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