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imagineitdearies · 26 days

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~ A Flawed Eternity ~

(AKA drabbles set in the Perfect Slaughter universe. 🩵 Special thanks to @secretbraintwin for the ko-fi request! 🩵)

✨ Also, taking this opportunity to shout out the fact I have a brand-spanking-new author discord! Come be among the first to say hi, make friends, get exclusive story updates, and much more 😉✨

In which Tyrus and Astarion try something new in the bedroom. Explicit/18+.

It took time, drawing out from Astarion what else he thought about alone. After their first few successful ventures back into sexual intimacy, Tyrus expected him to be excited about trying whatever else he’d been imagining—but Astarion seemed firm on sticking with what worked, when they did occasionally indulge.

That was, until one occasion after they’d already unclothed, when Astarion held Tyrus’s hands with both of his as his lips traveled down Tyrus’s neck. At first they just interlaced fingers, palms pressed together the same way the rest of their limbs and torsos were. But then the pressure increased.

Astarion was pinning his wrists into the mattress, Tyrus realized.

Before he had time to process the feeling, Astarion’s lips paused. “Does this feel alright?” he whispered in a low, rough voice against Tyrus’s skin, before raising his head. “Holding you . . . down, like this?” His eyes were wide and dilated with arousal, and yet half-hidden by a concerned, furrowed brow.

Tyrus didn’t answer right away—though neither did he pull from Astarion’s grip. He squeezed Astarion’s hands in reassurance while he tried to assess his body, this position, and what, if anything, was happening in his head.

“It feels impractical, I suppose, if you still want to be using your hand for the rest of it,” he nodded down in the direction of Astarion’s erection.

Astarion’s worry faded into amused exasperation. “I’m restraining you, Tyrus. Please be serious.”

“I am,” Tyrus protested, even if he understood what Astarion was truly asking. He wiggled his wrists in Astarion’s grip—then shrugged. “I seem to be fine. Though, I don’t understand: why do it?”

Even in the midst of asking, Tyrus watched how Astarion’s eyes slid away, his shoulders hunching up and his hands pulling out of Tyrus’s. Embarrassed about the answer—no, ashamed, Tyrus quickly gauged.

He managed to catch one of Astarion’s hands before it went far, at least. Then gave it a quick squeeze, pulling Astarion’s arm forward while he propped himself up on one elbow.

“I don’t have to understand,” Tyrus corrected himself, before pressing a small kiss against the other man’s knuckles and then moving their hands back to the previous position. “If it’s something you wanted to try, I don’t think I’ll mind.”

Astarion blew out a breath. “You’re right that it’s a bit impractical to do for long, love, especially with just my hands,” he sighed around a small half-smile.

Tyrus did feel something then—a small swoop in his belly. Uncertainty, at the thought of something besides Astarion’s hands.

He was a mage of great power, well capable of defending himself, free of a master’s influence, and currently alone with the person he trusted most in this entire world. Still, the thought of allowing rope or worse, cuffs around his wrists, in a sexual context no less, after the experiences of his first winter ball . . .

If he did ever try such a thing willingly, Tyrus already knew he would feel more vulnerable than he ever could with a thousand Dark Justiciars at his back.

He blinked, realizing Astarion was watching his reaction with sharp, inquisitive eyes. Tyrus had no idea what expression had taken over his face, but tried now to give a reassuring smile. “You could . . . hold them with one hand?” he offered, moving Astarion’s hand then to meet both of his own in between them.

Astarion’s pale face colored, ever-so-slightly, and Tyrus felt some satisfaction knowing it was thanks to him twice over. “Well. Perhaps the delicate shape of those wrists are good for something besides fancy spellcasting,” Astarion said—very careful in starting to wrap his forefinger and thumb around Tyrus’s wrists, despite the flippancy of his tone.

It didn’t mean much to Tyrus, at first, as Astarion used his free hand to spread more oil on his erection and then in the intimate crease of Tyrus’s inner legs. It was the same as what they’d done the last two times before, save he was left to watch and stay pliant while Astarion slung Tyrus’s legs over his free arm, then slot his cock into the tight seam of Tyrus’s thighs.

Then Astarion moved Tyrus’s captured wrists up, past his chest and face—holding them down into the pillow just above Tyrus’s head.

Tyrus felt another swoop in his belly as Astarion went back to kissing at his neck and nipping his earlobe, holding him so securely and confined while his hips moved. This time the feeling was harder to define: still uncertainty, but something more complicated, too.

Strangely, it was easier to just focus on tactile sensation instead—Tyrus was only half-hard at the moment, but whenever the head of Astarion’s cock rubbed just so against the slippery oiled skin behind his balls, he could feel arousal tightening in his groin. This time even more so, considering Tyrus could do nothing with himself at the moment but lie there and feel.

Astarion’s words were his only distraction, though they fueled Tyrus’s arousal in a different way; murmuring things like, “I have all of you now, don’t I?” and “Taking it so beautifully, darling,” and “All mine,” as he began moving faster.

Tyrus hadn’t bothered having an orgasm since their last night before Cazador’s death. Now he could feel his body building up to something like one, with the combination of feeling Astarion so enthusiastic and aroused above him, the perineum massage from Astarion’s cock spreading a deep, pulsing pleasure within him, and the inability to do anything but take it with his hands pinned above him.

“Astarion,” Tyrus gasped after a few minutes, though he was too overwhelmed to say more. To even translate what he was feeling into words and needs, even as he felt tears pricking the corners of his eyes.

Astarion quickly came to a stop. “Too much?” he murmured in Tyrus’s ear, the ring of his fingers loosening around Tyrus’s wrists.

Tyrus shook his head. “Just . . . just, so much,” he sighed, before instinctively making what little movement he still could: undulating his hips against Astarion’s cock snug between them.

Astarion sucked in a hitched breath at the feeling. “Gods, you’ll be the death of me,” he half-groaned, half-laughed, before holding Tyrus tight and moving his hips again.

It was a deeper, slower build up than Tyrus was used to, his cock leaking over and over despite the fact it hadn't grown full mast. All of this felt so contradictory—being so helpless, yet so entirely taken care of. And when the pleasure did come to a peak, it was all-consuming and yet left him just as aroused as before.

“Astarion, please,” Tyrus begged after that point in a high, breathless voice, still unsure what he was asking for. “Please, please.”

Clarification apparently wasn’t needed. A dark fire lit up in Astarion’s eyes at Tyrus’s words—he thrust sharp and fast, eased further by the mess Tyrus had made, then let out a desperate moan as he found his own release.

He barely had to do more than touch Tyrus’s leaking erection, afterward, before Tyrus joined for an uncanny second time.

This time, Tyrus did feel his body come down from it, though his mind was left both a bit floaty and confused. Nowhere close to the overwhelm and devastation of his first few experiences with sex—though maybe it would have descended into that, if not for how carefully Astarion treated him once it was over.

After cleaning their bodies quickly with Prestidigitation, he slowly released Tyrus’s wrists, bringing them up to massage and kiss one by one. “You did so well, love,” he murmured while smoothing Tyrus’s hair, pressing his lips to the corners of Tyrus's drying eyes, positioning Tyrus's legs more comfortably when Tyrus didn’t have the frame of mind to do it for himself.

Next, Astarion used the same spell to warm the huge, knitted blanket Cynda had given them and cocooned it around the both of them, pulling Tyrus at last into his arms. Stroking a hand up and down Tyrus’s spine, kissing the crown of his head, before whispering, “Thank you.”

Tyrus’s thoughts had slowly, gently cleared through the process—and though his mind still felt a bit tender after such a strangely intense experience, he also felt a wonderful, blossoming warmth in his chest, more lovely than any of the previous sensations combined.

“I trust you,” he said back in a soft voice, smiling when Astarion’s arms squeezed around him just a bit tighter in response.

Later, he leaned back and said, “So . . . you like hearing me say, ‘Please,’ hm?”

He couldn’t help but giggle when Astarion only huffed, buried his face abashedly in Tyrus’s hair, and made no answer.

#fic: perfect slaughter #PS: drabbles #bg3 fanfiction #astarion #astarion x oc #astarion x male oc #tystar #sorry not sorry for the unashamed smut on your dash today folks #thanks so much again to secretbraintwin for the ko-fi request!!!#haven't had much time for writing in general thanks to the adult job #but hope to jump back into it soon!!!

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