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“So,” Halsin keeps his voice low and sits at the opposite side of his tent from Astarion, “you’re an omega. I thought so before, but with your scent peaking like this, it’s all but certain, yes?”
“Obviously.”
“And you’re hurting, it seems? From your heat?”
“Y-yes.” Astarion is panting. He certainly seems pained. He hadn’t sought Halsin’s personal aid before when he’d been injured in battle, or when he landed himself in a trap the other day. This request is new, as is the concern for privacy, and the devastated look on his face.
“Yes-” Halsin echoes Astarion’s reply in a soft tone, “I can see that, I’m very sorry. Is it always like this for you?”
“No, no- it’s never been like this. I am properly dead, you know. It hasn’t happened since I was turned. It’s been centuries, it’s not supposed to- hells-” The shivers are back and Astarion seems to lose track of the sentence. “You’re- I shouldn’t be here.” Astarion begins to stand and his hollow breathing just comes faster, harsher. “This isn’t your concern. This wretched thing in me must have sought out your scent. You’re obviously an-” Astarion waves his hand weakly towards Halsin’s large form. “You’re… forget it, this is ridiculous. I’m going. Forget you saw me like this.”
He moves at odd angles, forcing austerity though it clearly costs him a great deal as he makes for the tent’s entrance.
Halsin reaches for his arm and Astarion flinches, “Don’t-“ he stares at Halsin’s hand with an audible whimper. “-don’t touch me.”
Halsin stops himself before he can actually reach. Of course he might not wished to be touched here, like this. “Forgive me, I didn’t intend to…”
Astarion appears frozen in place, staring at Halsin’s still extended arm.
“Forgive me.” Halsin pulls his arm back. “I only meant to invite you to stay, if that’s what you want. You can intuit that I’m an alpha, but you should also know that I’m a healer, and I’m a man who has lived more years than most. I’ve seen plenty of bad heats, I know how you’ll hurt if you try to weather this alone. If you stay, I’ll do what I can to help. Anything you ask, and nothing you do not ask- you have my word to that- on my honor, and may the Oakfather strike me down if I should waver.”
There is a moment of silence between them as Astarion stares, searching his face, sweeping down his chest, looking again at the hand that had previously been extended. Even as Halsin waits, carefully unmoving, a fresh wave of Astarion’s scent fills the tent. It’s heady, like wet earth and ozone, but distinctly Astarion and cloyingly intimate. A new muscle spasm has him doubling over by an inch or two, his red eyes squeezing shut.
Finally, breathlessly, “Yes, okay.”
The spasm seems to lessen and Astarion catches a deep inhale. It must be habit, or the natural way that a body seeks equilibrium, even in undeath. Gingerly, he sets himself down right there, at the edge of the bed roll and facing away from Halsin.
“Okay?” Halsin asks back.
“Yes.” Astarion glances around at him. “You can help, I suppose.”
Halsin smiles in spite of himself, in spite of the situation and Astarion’s prickly tone. “Thank you for the trust, little one. Hm, how about this- will you allow me to touch your neck?”
Astarion looks resolutely away. “I- yes, that’s fine.”
Halsin presses forward to seat himself behind Astarion and brings his hands to Astarion’s neck. He lets him feel the touch before adding any pressure- it’s warm palms, soft against the front of his neck and then drawing up, flat and sweeping to the base of his skull. It’s a very basic technique, used to stimulate structures related to scent and marking in an omega’s biology.
Halsin repeats the movement with more pressure, over and up, over and up. Astarion’s skin is cool and incredibly soft. Pristine, like the lightest cotton sheets or the wall of a porcelain tea cup, though presently swollen with an overproduction of scent. Astarion is sat rigid and straight-backed, though Halsin notices his head tilts back and his eyes flutter. It’s fragile, but it’s a lovely little spark of relief.
Leaning forward, Halsin presents his own scent close enough for Astarion to catch. It’s quieter, as Astarion’s is when he’s not in a proper heat. Halsin smells masculine and distinctly natural, like woodsmoke and musk
The scent catches Astarion's attention. He inhales it in a series of quick, panting breaths, turning until he notices just how close Halsin is to him- lips almost brushing his neck- and then it’s as though he’s forgotten to breathe entirely. He’s stiff again, frozen and staring.
Halsin’s hands raise automatically, backing off. “What’s gone wrong?”
“Don’t stop!” Astarion softens his posture with apparent effort. “Please don’t stop… just, ah, keep your teeth to yourself, darling.”
“Teeth?” Halsin tries to see Astarion’s face better and realizes he really is quite close, Astarion can likely feel the warmth of his breath. “I’m not going to mark you, Astarion. I wanted to let you catch my scent. Sometimes scent alongside touch like this will calm a heat, make the body think it’s being given what it’s seeking.”
“Oh.”
“You’ve had quite enough teeth already, hm? I would never mark you like that- never without asking, agreeing. It’s a very serious choice to mark a mate. I’m sorry I worried you.” Halsin leans back a bit and continues the massage, increasing the pressure just so.
Astarion sniffs, “That’s- ah, thank you.”
Altogether it seems to help for a bit, until suddenly it becomes abruptly clear that it’s not enough. Astarion has begun to shake again, his hands fisted into the bedding. Halsin notices all at once the tension, and then feels a slight flush to Astarion’s skin as he breaks a sweat. His scent pours from him like incense, far brighter and louder than it should be.
“You’re hurting again.”
“Yes.” Astarion gasps. “I… I need this off.” Clawed fingers are pulling at his own shirt, wresting it up and over his head. It drops from his hands without thought, falling into the dirt to be immediately forgotten. On any other night, that would be cause for concern in and of itself- Astarion is meticulous with his clothes.
His smooth chest is flushed a very pale pink that extends up his neck and to his cheeks and ears, as much color as Halsin had ever seen on him. He’s lithe and pristinely handsome, covered in gooseflesh despite the heat. Halsin tells himself he should look away- this isn’t a lover before him, it’s a man who trusts him in a moment of need.
“There are more direct ways I can help you, as I’m sure you know.” Halsin leans back to give Astarion some space. He doesn’t want to miss any subtleties of the other elf’s body language. “I won’t press, I just want to let you know it’s an option. Tell me no now, and I will not suggest it again.”
Astarion barks out a short, sharp laugh. “Of course, of course there are ‘more direct ways.’ Half of Baldur’s Gate has offered me their cock as a supposed favor, you know.” He squeezes his eyes shut, wincing. “But- ah- I think perhaps you are the first to offer with truly pure intentions.” He looks back at Halsin suddenly, catching where Halsin’s gaze has drifted down the line of his neck and landed somewhere around his navel. “Mostly pure intentions, that is.”
Halsin looks quickly away. “I apologize, truly, I didn't mean to-”
Astarion interrupts, weary but lighter than before, “-to take advantage of the desperate omega veritably throwing himself at you? I think you can be forgiven, darling, you’re not made of stone.”
Halsin sighs. “You haven’t given me an answer. Nothing you don’t ask for, remember? I meant what I said.”
Astarion is only a hundred years or so younger than Halsin, but in this moment Halsin feels as though he’s talking to a much younger elf- a fledgeling rounding out their very first century, perhaps. Someone to be handled delicately.
“I would not take advantage, even like this. Tell me no and I will suggest alternatives for your pain. They will not be as effective, and they will not touch your craving, but they would be no more intimate than what I have already done for you.”
“No, I-” Astarion seems genuinely on the back foot. His words are not as crisp as they usually would be. It’s hard to think around pain, Halsin knows. “I shouldn’t have implied… you’ve been kind to me. It’s not a no. If you’re offering, that is. I would be-” He takes a shuddering breath, his fists clenching tighter. “-grateful.”
Halsin smiles, even as Astarion squeezes his eyes shut. He looks tired. “Alright then, as you say. In that case, I think we can quiet your pain in short order. Most heats respond well to a simple approach. It may trouble you again in the coming days, though. If that happens you can come back to me either for this or for an alternative treatment. Does that sound alright?”
Astarion nods, finding Halsin’s eyes and holding his gaze.
“Lie down on your front for me, and remove the rest of your clothing.”
Halsin’s bedroll is a soft, down-stuffed thing over a base of straw. Astarion sheds the rest of his clothing easily and finds the bedroll quite comfortable. It’s a relief to have the tight leggings off, his skin feels sensitive and hot as though he were feverish. He doesn’t think about how it is to be bare in front of Halsin. To make himself vulnerable and to invite his touch, ready to hold himself still for it. It’s a practiced habit to ignore the period of anticipation.
Halsin sees the stress across Astarion’s taut frame. He strips himself with an eye on Astarion’s fast, fluid movements, watching as he exposes long limbs and tenses muscles under a back ruined with hard scars. When Astarion pulls off his leggings, moonlight catches the shine of slick down his thighs. It must be uncomfortable, but Astarion seems unaware or unphased, apparently overwhelmed with other sensation.
The scars are shocking, worse than Halsin had imagined they could be. He can’t pull his eyes away as he folds his own clothing and settles in place behind Astarion. This close, he can see every flex of muscle, every minutia of movement. Astarion flinches when Halsin nudges his legs further apart.
“Oh, little one,” Halsin can’t stop the words. “You’ve borne far more than your share of suffering.”
Astarion’s heavy breathing becomes a whine where his head is cradled in his arms. “Don’t make me wait.”
Halsin shakes his head though Astarion cannot see it, focusing himself. “Of course. I- I’m going to touch you first, alright?”
There’s a smaller whine that sounds like assent, so Halsin places careful palms at Astarion’s hips. Immediately he is rocking into the touch. Halsin wastes no time in tracing down the cleft of his ass. He’s so wet with slick here that his skin feels silken..
Halsin finds his hole quickly and circles it, applying gentle pressure with his fingers. Astarion keens. The slick draws Halsin’s fingers to dip in and out by a small measure with each circle, and Astarion’s voice catches softly with each dip.
“Okay, okay.” Halsin’s own voice has gone deeper. He can feel his body reacting to the feel and the sound; to the smell and the tension between them. “You’re being such a good cub, so patient.”
With careful motion, Halsin gathers up enough slick on his first two fingers to press in properly, willing Astarion’s body to yield to the touch. It does, and Halsin’s fingers breach him in a smooth motion, even as Astarion looses a pitiful sob. His hips flex down, pushing himself into the touch a bit harder.
“You’re doing so well, just relax for me.” Halsin presses in very slowly, fighting to control the movement. Astarion is warmer inside, if only by a bit. His body is unbelievably smooth, his muscles quivering around Halsin’s fingers as they accept him deeper. “Does this feel okay?”
The response is immediate. “Don’t stop.”
Halsin reaches his knuckles and Astarion moans properly- hopefully no one is lingering near Halsin’s tent. Gently, he pulls his fingers back and then pushes deeper again, earning another moan. Halsin sets a slow, thorough pace, massaging forward as he pulls away and reaching as deep as he can when he presses back in. He has to use his other hand to anchor Astarion’s hips to the bedroll as he works.
“Gods,” Astarion sobs, “more, please. Please.”
A quiet growl escapes Halsin’s throat as he works in another finger, earning him further broken noises from Astarion. He pushes him harder, moving a bit faster and having to hold Astarion still with more of his strength.
“Please” he whines again, rocking bodily with Halsin’s fingers.
Halsin slows the motion when Astarion lets out an exhausted breath, craning his neck to look back at Halsin with a desperate look on his face.
“Don’t fret little one, I just want to be sure you’re prepared.” It’s hard to be the one with composure when Astarion is looking at him like that. His scent is all around the tent, clean and earthen and visceral. “You want my cock, truly? I’ll struggle to avoid knotting you like this. It’s… a lot, I have been told. Have you had an alpha recently?”
Astarion takes a shaky breath, his eyes darting around the tent’s corners. “Cazador didn’t want alphas. I’m sure I’ve taken a knot before, though… l’ve had it all. Don’t make me beg, really- I’ll be fine. Please.” He tacks on the extra ‘please’ belatedly.
Halsin pulls his fingers fully from Astarion’s body, earning a frustrated sob. His hand is well slicked from Astarion’s wet, and he uses the fluid to stroke his own length. He’s painfully hard, and now that he has himself in hand it’s impossible to ignore it. Instinct tells him to take and to claim, as much and as fast as he can.
He pushes the more violent urges aside, but presses the tip of his cock into the cleft of Astarion’s ass, rubbing against the delicate tissue there. Astarion gasps and then seems to forget to breathe entirely, going very still and waiting, shaking.
“You’ll have what you desire, but I need you to tell me if it’s too much before I have my knot in you, do you understand? I could hurt you if I tried to pull away prematurely once it is full.” Halsin can hear himself speaking as though from a distance. His focus is narrowed to the tip of his cock and the yielding of Astarion’s body as he can’t help but apply a bit more pressure. “Astarion, do you understand? Tell me you understand.”
“Yes. Yes!” Astarion had to find his breath again to speak.
“Good. Prepare yourself, this may be intense but it should calm what ails your body- I know you can handle it.” There’s a soothing hand on Astarion’s lower back.
Halsin applies pressure and it’s so much more than Astarion had anticipated. He hadn’t anticipated anything, really, there had been no room around the pain and the fear. He feels the hand on his back, so large and warm. Halsin pushes harder and Astarion feels him press inside, slow and hot and devastating. His body sings.
Astarion is startled out of a moan when he hears a sound from Halsin like a growl, real and primal. He feels utterly full, yet Halsin continues to press into him. It’s inevitable and it’s ruining. That hand of Halsin’s rubs soothing circles into Astarion’s back as he presses deeper and forces Astarion’s body to open for him, to accept him in the most intimate possible way.
There is certainly no room for the aching feeling of before. There is room only for Halsin, and for the stretch of Astarion’s body against him. Astarion finds himself panting and he realizes that Halsin is hushing him, rubbing harder against his back (like that will help any, really). Finally, finally Halsin’s hips are flush against Astarion’s ass, and he’s warm there too. Everything feels like heat.
“There- Silvanus preserve me. Astarion, is this too much? How is your pain?”
It takes a moment for Astarion to process what was said. Any small motion shifts his body around Halsin, altering the sensation and unfocusing his fractured stream of thought.
“Good.” Astarion finds his words belatedly. “It’s so good. The pain is quiet, it’s just you, but... Hells you’re big.”
“That’s good, that’s perfect. Tell me if- tell me if it’s too much.” Halsin fights to keep control. He’s not some untried alpha to lose his manners in pleasure, but everything is so overwhelmingly intense. It’s Astarion’s desperation and the delicate yield of his body, his scent and the trust he’s extended, approaching Halsin in a particularly vulnerable moment, and then accepting so intimate a solution to his hurt.
When Astarion begins to test small motions, Halsin moves for him. He pulls gently from Astarion’s body, all the way to the tip, and the slide earns him a broken sound in return. It’s so honest and raw, it peaks Halsin’s own desire higher. He presses back in and Astarion’s breath catches again.
Halsin fucks Astarion slowly, letting him adjust to the feeling. Astarion moves with him, pressing back with a fluid skill even as the sensation drives increasingly uninhibited little sounds from his lips. Astarion is dripping, his need obvious in the wet alone. It makes the glide luxurious and comfortable, makes Halsin feel as though he’s reaching a little deeper inside him with each easy stroke.
“Come here, damia, can I have you on your back for me?” It feels innately wrong to pull away, to let his cock slip from Astarion’s body, but it will be worthwhile to see his face, to read his expressions and know if there are any moments of unmet need or shifting want.
Astarion whimpers at the sudden emptiness. He threads a leg around Halsin’s body to flip himself over and oh- his face. His pretty white curls are tousled, his lashes clumped together with unshed tears of overwhelm, or maybe from the pain before. His lips stay parted as he settles, holding his hips at an easy angle. His want is clear, utterly unmistakable.
“Gods, Astarion.”
Pushing back inside earns Halsin sharp nails in his biceps. Astarion’s mouth falls further open, agape and pleading. It’s clear a faster pace won’t be a solely self-serving thing, Astarion encourages each push with knees clutching at Halsin’s hips; tight fingers against Halsin’s arms and splayed across his chest.
This new angle is terribly personal, so close and loverlike. Astarion is breathing in time with the motion, his fangs peaking out past his lips. Halsin finds his breath coming fast not only with exertion, but also from his own building need and a growing awe of the man beneath him, matching his every motion and taking so beautifully.
Halsin slides a hand from Astarions thigh back to his calf, lifting his leg to instead rest higher, on Halsin’s shoulder. It hardly seems to register for Astarion. His body is flexible enough to be moved with ease, and his mind is utterly occupied, content to submit to Halsin’s touch. He does, however, seem to take notice when the shift allows for an impossibly deeper stroke inside, reaching just a little further than before. His voice breaks on a punched out moan, his toes curling somewhere behind Halsin’s ear.
Pale hands grasp at arms and hips and claw into skin before being carefully schooled to softness. Then a moment later the claws are back, and the cycle of overwhelm and belated control repeats. Halsin chases the prettiest, most indulgent sounds pulled from Astarion’s core; the ones that break his voice and draw one sound into a new, sweeter sound.
By the time Halsin realizes his knot is building, it’s already catching at Astarion’s rim, forced inside him and then popping free with every shift of their bodies. Astarion seems to recognize it a beat later, keening as Halsin pulls it free again.
“H-ha, hells. You weren’t posturing, were you?” Astarion’s voice is wrecked, breathy and unguarded as it usually never is. “I think you could tear a man apart like that. Will it break me, do you think?”
Gods, does he sound eager?
Halsin stills with the partial knot carefully outside of Astarion’s body. “I would never break you, my heart. The full thing may not be to your taste, though. It might hurt. We won’t attempt it unless that is what you desire.”
Astarion is still panting as he shakes his head. His chin tips up in challenge, or perhaps pride. “Don’t you dare give me any less than your all, bear.”
It goes straight to Halsin’s chest, a swelling, wild feeling. He can hardly hold himself together enough to keep from utterly wrecking the sweet body clutching at him. His growing knot throbs as it passes Astarion’s rim, forcing him wider and pushing his body to its comfortable limit. He yelps at the feeling, but it’s drawn into a long moan once Halsin bottoms out inside him.
“Again, do that again.” Astarion sounds wild.
Halsin pulls from his body, and this time it takes notably more pressure. Astarion whines and squeezes his eyes shut, but there are no words of protest. This time when he pushes back in, Halsin grasps at Astarion’s cock; pretty and leaking, flushed pink where it drools against his stomach. The stretch will be more now, it’s large enough to make a less experienced man sob and push away. Astarion takes it, but there are tears beginning to track down the sides of his face. He moans wild and whimpering as Halsin breaches him while working his cock, wringing every inch of pleasure he can reach from his trembling body.
“Again,” says Astarion, but this time his voice breaks. His stomach tightens, highlighting the musculature and the soft flesh that covers it.
The knot can barely be pulled from his body now, but with effort it does, leaving them both gasping together. The push back in is harder, slow and agonizing. Astarion sobs even as Halsin strokes his cock faster, knowing he has to balance the pleasure against the stretch if he wants to bring Astarion over the edge.
“Astarion-” Halsin had meant to check in, but the words are hard to form on his tongue.
It doesn’t matter, because Astarion interrupts. His voice is commanding even as broken and ragged as it is. “Don’t you dare stop.”
So he doesn’t. Halsin pushes that much harder and finally, finally his knot pops back inside. It’s so tight, close and intimate and overwhelming. Astarion sobs out a quiet ‘yesss’ as they’re joined again.
The feeling of impossible tightness could have been what pushed Halsin over the edge, but instead it’s Astarion finishing over his hand and the surprisingly soft moan on his lips as he does. His cock pulses fast and hard, his face contorted in ecstasy and relief. Halsin feels himself spend as well, buried as deeply as he can reach inside Astarion’s body and held there tightly by his knot.
It feels to Astarion as though he’s being filled from a tap. Halsin’s spend comes and comes, a strange, distant feeling so far inside him. Halsin holds him through it, ensuring they can’t separate in a way that would pull the knot from his body like this, now too large to remove safely. Halsin is stroking Astarion’s hair with his clean hand, wiping the tears from his cheeks. He’s whispering sweet praises that Astarion registers in pieces, something about how lovely he is, something about how brave he is. Something about how he’s deserving and perfect… it just goes on. With another man it might feel insincere, but with Halsin it all seems unflinchingly earnest.
Astarion had imagined leaving when they were finished, but now that he’s here, utterly full of Halsin’s cock and held carefully in his warm arms, under his attentive care- all he can think about is how nice it would be to trance like this. He could handle the rest later, surely. The mess and whatever words needed to be said.
It’s not a conscious choice to do so, but the next thing he knows it’s quite a bit darker outside and the druid is curled around him but no longer buried inside of him. Halsin must have attended to the mess at some point. Astarion feels clean and he feels weak. His body is sore all over, as if he’d fought a hard battle with fists and blood. Instinctively, he reaches a hand between his legs and finds that he’s clean there too. Just- ah- very delicate.
The pain of his heat from before is gone, temporarily appeased. Halsin hasn’t stirred yet from his own trance. He could slip out and the other elf might not even notice. Perhaps they would never even need to discuss it again. Then again, Halsin’s bedroll is much more comfortable than Astarion’s own. And actually, there’s something surprisingly nice about being held, cocooned in warmth and care. He could stay. Maybe Halsin will repeat some of his pretty words again in the morning, when Astarion can pay better attention.