Astarion never believed in the pantheon of gods that allegedly watched over Faerun, but as he stood, shrouded in the shadows across the street, observing the well-meaning priest standing outside of the temple handing out alms to those in need, he thought that maybe he should consider making an offering to whatever god or goddess the man dedicated himself to.
He never thought that he would find the stiff buttoned-up look attractive on anyone, but this man made Astarion want to undo the buttons with his teeth. The black cloth clung to every curve, betraying the softness of the man’s belly, presumably from a life of serving– Astarion finally looked up at the temple to determine which god motivated such devotion and ostentatious display of wealth in the middle of Baldur’s Gate– Mystra. Ah. So the man was also a wizard. But one with an ass that Astarion was dying to get his hands on, pun not intended.
Admittedly, Astarion wasn’t quite as versed in the inner workings of what Mystra’s followers believed in or did, but that was no obstacle. Smile bashfully, act repentant and frightened of divine punishment, and he would have the religious do-gooders falling all over him, claiming forgiveness for his sins, and then he could begin flirting. It worked before, a hundred times.
The bell at the top of the temple began to ring, making Astarion (and the mysterious man he was so keen on seducing) jump. The priest said something to the woman in front of him, likely apologizing as he scurried back into the temple, the heavy wooden doors falling shut behind him.
Astarion prowled forward, searching for a keyhole that he could possibly pick. There was nothing, just the faint sheen of magic keeping the door shut. Hm. That did complicate things, but a temple this large always had multiple entrances.
He continued to walk around the building, scanning with observant eyes, before he caught sight of a door that was left slightly ajar. Excellent. He slipped through it and made his way to the nave of the temple, his darkvision making it easy to navigate through the building. The gaudy decor made his lip curl, with decorations of sparkling gems inlaid in pure gold around the room, sculpture impressions of a woman he presumed to be Mystra made of precious materials strategically placed around the perimeter.
At the front of the room, an altar made of marble underneath a looming statue of the goddess. The altar was clean, a white cloth draped across it, with half-melted candles arranged on top of it. As Astarion neared, he could smell verbena and thyme.
As he inspected the altar, he could hear heavy footsteps approaching from behind him.
“How did you get in here?” Astarion turned, only to see the man he had been watching so studiously standing there, a floating orb of light above his head, casting a soft light on him. At this distance, Astarion could admire the grey streaks in his hair, giving him a distinguished look rounded out with a neatly trimmed beard. “I’m afraid the temple is closed to visitors at the moment.”
“I was hoping to have a moment of private repentance, Father,” Astarion murmured, tone contrite.
“Ah, I’m not actually–” The priest frowned, but then seemed to decide that whatever he had to say was not important. “You are more than welcome to seek… whatever it is you are seeking here. Tomorrow.”
Astarion stepped closer to the other man, reveling in satisfaction at him stepping back. “Do you think you are able to give me what I seek, Father?” he purred out.
“What is it you seek?” The priest was still guarded, eyeing him like prey would a predator, making Astarion's smile widen.
“Let’s start with a name. I’m Astarion.”
“... And I’m Gale of Waterdeep.”
Astarion didn’t realize that priests could be pretentious. Gale of Waterdeep. He let out a soft laugh. “Pleasure, darling.”
“Well,” Gale clapped his hands, a little too loudly, as the noise echoed through the cavernous room, making him flinch. Astarion could hear how his heartbeat began to race, but more deliciously, saw the red flush begin to form on his cheeks. That only served to make his smirk grow wider and take another step closer. “Now that that’s out of the way, I encourage you to return tomorrow, my friend.”
“Hm… Father, is it not your duty to help those in need?” Another step and Gale was within arm’s reach. “I am in desperate need.”
“I’m not sure… ah, if I’m reading the situation right, but–” The red flush on Gale’s skin deepened and spread, and Astarion wanted to know how far down that blush was. “I’m not sure this is appropriate. My life is dedicated to Mystra and I–”
The man talked too much. With a roll of his eyes, Astarion reached out and yanked Gale in by the lapel for a bruising kiss. He heard the muffled sounds of protest from the priest, felt hands attempting to push him away but he held firm, tilting his head and deepening the kiss.
He pulled back once he remembered that humans needed to breathe. Gale’s breathing was labored, but he had stopped trying to push Astarion away, hands now resting on his chest.
“This isn't appropriate, good sir.” The protest was weak, and Astarion knew that he almost had the man. Thank the gods for keeping their religious figureheads repressed and prone to two hundred years of practiced seduction.
“But that's not a no,” he replied lightly, moving one hand to toy with the top button of his robe.
“I must–” His words were cut off by a gasp as Astarion snaked his other hand to palm at the sizeable bulge at Gale's crotch. Any other day, Astarion would have been thrilled to bend over and take the priest within his body, but today, his goal was to be the one to ruin him.
“I could show you pleasures that not even your goddess could,” he murmured softly, stepping back to pull his shirt off over his head. “Lose yourself in me, little priest.”
He could see the heat in Gale's eyes as he began to undo his trousers. “You're playing a dangerous game.”
Fully nude, Astarion stood there unabashedly, his own erection rising from in between his legs. “Who says this is a game, Gale of Waterdeep?” He looked down at himself, the light of the candles illuminating alabaster skin. Astarion thought that it was all rather marble statue-esque. Based on the hungry look Gale was giving him, he was not the only one of that opinion.
“Mystra would not approve.” Gale's gaze moved behind him, looking towards the likeness of Mystra that towered over them. “She is not a forgiving goddess.”
Astarion resisted the urge to roll his eyes, instead, he stepped backwards until he felt his back bump against the altar. “And I'm not a forgiving lover.” He replied, hoisting himself up to sit on the white cloth spread across the table.
At the disgruntled look materializing across Gale's face, he spread his legs, leaning back and bracing one hand behind him. “You're staring, little priest.”
“You are blasphemous.” There was no reproach behind his words. Good. Astarion preferred to be transparent in his hedonistic debauchery. No point in giving this priest the idea that he could be, or even wanted to be, saved. “Do you have no fear of retribution?”
The question was asked with a quiet reverence that caught Astarion off guard. “Darling, I have no fear of your gods.” He held a hand out. “Come to me.”
From where he was spread out, he could see Gale's throat bob as he swallowed, but the priest obeyed, moving forward until he was standing in between Astarion's legs. “We shouldn't–”
Astarion reached up, slid a finger underneath the white collar around Gale's neck and pulled. It came free, and Astarion made sure to maintain eye contact as he tossed the piece of stiff cloth over Gale's shoulder. “Your dedication is admirable, Gale of Waterdeep. But tell me, what has your goddess ever done for you? All of your devotion, all of your worship, for what?”
He watched as Gale's eyes drifted up to the statue looming over them, before fixing back onto the vampire's face. Astarion was fascinated by the uncertainty in the brown eyes fading to what looked like hard anger. Interesting. This little priest had some secrets of his own.
“What would you have me do?” Gale asked.
Check and mate.
“Worship me.”
Astarion only grew harder as Gale sunk to his knees, a practiced motion, bastardized, he knew, by his bare ass on the altar and co*ck out. He couldn't help but to thread his fingers into Gale's thick hair and throw his head back in a moan as the priest took his tip into his mouth and sucked.
He couldn’t help but wonder if this was Gale’s first time giving a blowj*b, with how his tongue swirled along the sensitive spot right underneath the head in conjunction with the suction of his cheeks hollowing around the length. The hot feeling of pleasure coiled tighter and tighter in his lower stomach.
As if he were a god bestowing a blessing on his devoted, he allowed his cries of pleasure to escape, echoing back to them, a chorus of hedonistic debauchery. Gale seemed to enjoy that, as his own moans vibrated around his co*ck.
“What a good little priest, ah, kneeling in supplication for me,” Astarion praised, the grip in Gale’s hair tightening. His hips thrust forward when the priest’s teeth scraped against a particularly sensitive area, causing Gale to gag. He pulled back a little, not wanting to completely scare the man off, but Gale very enthusiastically swallowed him back down to the root, looking up at him with large brown eyes that were starting to gather tears.
“You’re so eager, pet.” With that, he began thrusting with reckless abandon, causing Gale to choke with each motion. To his shock, he could feel his org*sm rapidly approaching and not wanting this night to end there, he roughly tugged Gale’s head off. “That’s enough,” he said softly. He observed the red-rimmed eyes, the tear tracks running down his cheeks, and the trails of saliva spilling down the corner of his mouth. With a thumb, he wiped away the saliva, bringing it up to his own mouth to lick it off, tasting the salty combination of his own pre-cum and Gale’s spit.
Gale choked at the motion. “You–” He blushed furiously, the red of his blood spreading across his cheeks under the olive skin.
“Will you let me have you?” Astarion cooed out, lowering his voice to the practiced husky register that had made even the toughest conquests melt.
There was an apprehensive look in Gale’s eyes as he looked up at the statue of Mystra above them. Astarion used the hand he had under the chin to force him to look back at him. “Don’t think about your goddess, little priest. Answer my question. Will you let me have you?”
With an unexpected grace that took Astarion by surprise, Gale rose to his feet. “How would you have me?”
A grin spread across Astarion’s face and he jumped down from the altar, patting the spot where he just vacated. “I would have you bent over and screaming, darling.”
Wordlessly, Gale nodded, moving to unbutton his robes. Astarion stopped him with a hand. “Keep those on,” he commanded.
Gale’s mouth fell open in slight shock. “Are you sure?”
“Bend over the altar, pet.” His tone brooked no argument. “I won’t ask again.”
He did as he was told, placing the top half of his body over the altar. Astarion practically licked his lips as he drew the purple robes up Gale’s body. The human wasn’t wearing underwear. “Your ass is the most divine thing in this temple, my pet.”
“Don’t–” Gale’s protests trailed off into a soft cry as Astarion leaned forward and prodded his tongue into the ring of muscle in between his cheeks. Astarion smiled and merely tilted his head to dive deeper.
He spread Gale’s cheeks further for more access, the moans making his own co*ck twitch. Once he deemed the priest sufficiently wet, he slid a finger in. “Shh, shh, shh,” he murmured, as Gale’s cries got louder. “I want the rest of your temple to see you taking my co*ck over their precious sacred altar. Not a moment before.” He added a second finger and began stretching him.
“N-No, I can’t– ah!” Gale let out a shout when Astarion twisted his fingers to hit the spot within him that sent sparks of pleasure up his spine.
“You can, darling.” Astarion looked around their immediate surroundings, before spotting a vial of what looked like oil. He grabbed it, unstoppered it deftly with his fingers, and poured some of it along the crease of Gale’s ass. The smell of lavender filled the space.
“That’s sacred oil!”
“Oops,” Astarion replied carelessly as he upturned the bottle over his own erection, lubing it up. He eased a third finger into Gale, the entry now smoother with the oil.
Judging him to be sufficiently stretched and ready, Astarion removed his fingers and pressed the head of his co*ck to the fluttering hole, dipping it in and watching the muscles spread around him. “Look up at your goddess, little priest. Let her watch as I defile you.” With the last two words, he pushed in, entangling his fingers in Gale’s hair to yank his head back, forcing him to make eye contact with the statue.
“Astarion!” Gale practically wailed, before he hastily covered his own mouth with one of his hands.
In all of his previous conquests for his master, none had quite compared to this, the heady feeling of ruining a priest in front of a divine being. It made Astarion feel powerful, as he snapped his hips hard against Gale’s, the cloth of his rucked up robes rubbing against his own naked skin. “That’s it, love. Scream my name. Let your precious Mystra know who it is you’re worshiping tonight,” he snarled out. He released Gale’s hair, forcing him to fall forward and brace his hands against the top of the altar.
With a bruising grip on his hips, Astarion set a punishing pace, relishing in the moans and cries from his partner. Gale was warm around him, his walls twitching with each brush against his prostate, squeezing him as if to keep him there for all of eternity.
Astarion was close, he could feel it. He leaned forward to plaster the front of his still-naked body along Gale’s back. “Do you want to feel my come inside of you, little priest? Mark you so deep that you’ll be leaking for days and remembering how I f*cked you across this altar when you kneel and pray to your goddess?”
He wrapped an arm around to stroke at Gale’s erection, trapped under him. The extra stimulation was too much for the priest, as he came with a shudder, spilling onto the marble of the altar and his own robe.
Seeing Gale come undone was the tipping point, as Astarion thrust as deeply as he could, painting his walls white. He mused that it was a pity that he had no way of plugging Gale up to keep his come within him. Alas. He withdrew, his dick now soft.
“Look at you. You’re incredible,” he marveled, watching the f*cked out hole in front of him quiver and gape. Had he possessed any artistic ability, he would have painted that sight and immortalized it for all of eternity. His admiration was cut short as he heard the sound of someone lumbering down a set of stairs approaching from one of the side hallways.
“As much as I would love to stay and chat,” he drawled out, pulling back and quickly gathering his clothes, “it seems that one of your fellow priests is coming.” He gave Gale a pointed look up and down. “You may want to ah– straighten yourself out,” he laughed out, before he cast Invisibility on himself and slipped away from the still-dumbfounded priest sprawled across the altar.
Gale of Waterdeep…
Astarion would remember him.
