tavlesskink | Rules and Prompts

tavlessmod posting in

For anyone who enjoys the old-school fandom vibes of anonymous prompts, but who wants to focus on origins characters and BG3 NPCs.

What is a kinkmeme?
A kinkmeme is a place to post story ideas, plot bunnies, and concepts anonymously, in hopes that they'll inspire someone else in the fandom. As implied in the name, kink and smut prompts are welcome, but so are gen prompts! This is a choose not to warn space - there may be offensive content in prompts and we do not require warnings in titles.

Mod Post | Fills Archive | Prompt Index (by character)

Prompting

Reply to this post with a comment with your prompt. Separate prompts go in separate comments!
Use the subject line to identify the prompt in some way (ex: ship/brief concept). This will make it easier for folks to see which prompt people are replying to in the flat view.
All prompts must be anonymous
All prompts must focus on canon characters from Baldur's Gate 3, whether they be playable characters or NPCs. Canon Durge (white dragonborn sorcerer with his Gortash-involved backstory, that guy) is allowed. If you want to prompt for ideas about your custom Durge/Tav, or a generic Tav, there is another BG3 kinkmeme that allows Tav prompts.

Fills

Please post your fill as a comment to the original prompt comment
If you add the word [FILL] to the start of the subject line of your reply that' makes it easier to find
If you also cross post to AO3 or another site feel free to drop a link (there isn't a collection on ao3 but folks have been using the tag Community: tavlesskink)
Multiple fills are always allowed/encouraged!
Non-fic fills (art, game edits, filk) are also welcome!

General Guidelines

YKINMKATO - be respectful. If you hate a prompt, ignore it.
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Co-signing prompts, suggesting variations, and related fic recs are also welcome! You don't have to be posting a fill to reply to a prompt
Questions can be directed to the mod post

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

From: (Anonymous)

OP here. Very excited to see the other potential fill but I must confess I have also written a fill of my own. The spirit of Ansur briefly possessed me. I also added some Wyllstarion bc that is my favorite pairing.

CW for xenophilia (obviously), extreme size kink, temporary body modification, inflation, lil bit of temporary mindbreak sex....you know, the usual.

---

“By treachery I was killed,” Ansur said, “And denied the ability to protect this city, my home. But enough magic rests in me to see it done – to protect you from the Elder Brain’s control with no need of the thing that wears Balduran’s corpse. If you would take me within you, Wyll Ravengard, that power could be reborn. You, who have already stood in my stead once before to protect this city, could do so again with my blessing.”

The dragon stood before them, resplendent in bronze and green, raised up from the pile of bones and rot into his true form again in this borrowed moment. When Wyll had seen Ansur dead he had despaired; not for the lost ally in their fight but simply for the loss of something so great and beautiful. When the magic had raised Ansur’s spirit, he had feared evil necromancy, despaired further to think of fighting the Heart of the Gate.

But a creature powerful enough to sever the link of an Elder Brain to his lover, powerful enough to block the Emperor inside the prism to keep him from spoiling their conversation, was able to read their intentions easily enough. Ansur had explained the sordid end of the partnership that had helped found the city, untangling the lies and misdirections the Emperor had been telling them from the beginning.

And now he offered a boon. To Wyll.

“Anything within my power,” Wyll promised. He wanted to say that he would do anything to protect the city of Baldur’s Gate, but that wasn’t quite true, was it? He had nearly lost his pact magic entirely in refusing to swear a second oath to Zariel. Mizora could pull it from him at any moment, leave him defenseless on the battlefield. He could have had surety that it would be there to aid their mission.

But at the price of his soul, and his eternal service to a devil.

So he could not say he would do anything.

Ansur’s neck leaned down, his face coming eye-to-eye with Wyll’s. “I have already said how this gift would need to be given. You would need take me within yourself, let it spark and be reborn within you.” He paused, significantly. “I speak of sex magic, the oldest and deepest-tied magics on this plane. Would you accept my gift with that condition?”

Wyll blinked. He looked at Ansur. There was quite a lot of him. Really, excessively much of him. “I don’t have a womb,” he said, in case that was a requirement for draconic sex magic.

Ansur breathed out in a huff of amusement. “The magic is not quite so literal as that.”

“I’m just not sure it’s...physically possible?” Well said. “I think I might die. Literally. I don’t want to sound ungrateful, Ansur, but could you take a form that’s smaller?”

“I would allow no harm to come to you,” Ansur promised. “I would shape you, in that moment, to allow you to enjoy your gift. You would not be the first human I have mated in this form, Wyll Ravengard. I am no inexperienced wyrmling.”

Wyll’s breath caught, finally letting himself imagine it. He was no stranger to fantasy; caught between the isolation of the road and Mizora’s omnipresent watching eye, fantasy was the closest he had come to sex for a long time. And, in the absence of reality to tether himself to, those fantasies had sometimes become quite...dramatic. It had been hard to imagine any circumstance where Mizora would let him form a bond with another human, but humiliating fantasies of being taken by a creature that cared nothing of courting - that had sometimes been easier to believe plausible.

So yes, he had imagined having sex with a dragon before. He had imagined a smaller dragon; even his sex-high eighteen-year-old mind hadn’t been this ambitious. But he’d thought about it.

He just hadn’t thought about doing so in front of all of his friends (he hadn’t had friends to worry about back then). Or in front of his lover.

“You offer me a priceless gift, Ansur,” Wyll said, holding out his hands in supplication. “I yearn to accept. But I have sworn to another that I would be faithful - ”

“Actually,” Astarion said, wrapping his arms around Wyll’s waist. “I have no objections to watching you get impaled on a dragon’s mighty dick. Provided you get to survive the experience and tell me about it afterwards.”

“I would prefer not to see that,” Shadowheart said firmly. “Can we go...out? If you’re actually doing this mad thing, Wyll.”

“It seems your lover does not mind me borrowing you for one night,” Ansur said, clearly amused. “Your companions may go, if they wish, and wait for us outside this chamber. Do you have any other doubts I may lay to rest before you make your decision?”

There was nothing else holding him back. Wyll felt like he was in freefall; that moment before you had to use the feather-fall scroll right at the end. Weightless. He was going to be gifted draconic magic. He was going to carry the power of the Heart of the Gate.

He was going to have a dragon’s cock inside of him.

“I would be honored to receive your gift, Ansur,” he said.

The others left. Astarion helped him out of his clothes, then sat down on one of the crystal pillars, posing himself like a man at the opera house. “If you need anything, I’m here,” he said, kissing Wyll deeply before sending him off to Ansur.

Wyll stood before Ansur, feet bare on the gritty stone, shivering. It was cold under Wyrm’s Rock. They ended up in so many tunnels and so many of them were frigid. He wondered, suddenly, if the many tunnels under Baldur’s Gate were the work of a dragon rather than hundreds of years of dedicated illegal excavation by various cults, businesses and criminal factions.

“A little of both, perhaps,” Ansur said, answering the thought on Wyll’s mind. Which Wyll realized meant he had most certainly caught Wyll’s memories of his past dragon sex fantasies. He could feel his cheeks burn as Ansur chuckled, answering that question as well.

“I would not have offered if I did not think you were willing, young human,” Ansur said. “You remind me of Balduran in more ways than one.”

Ansur lay down, rolling slightly onto his side to expose his belly. The scales there were lighter, the green sheen more prominent. He was perhaps the height of two horses, if one didn’t count the wings. That did not seem a reassuring comparison, as Well watched the dragon’s cock slide free from its sheath. Behind him, Astarion whistled.

“Come to me and taste,” Ansur commanded. “My seed will carry my magic within you, help shape you so that you can take me without harm.

Wyll stumbled towards him. The dragon’s shaft was bigger than his thigh. The magic to make it fit within him – he shuddered, imagining it. The small scales that covered it were soft and flexible, compared to the stiff armor of the scales on the rest of Ansur’s belly. He reached out and touched them, felt the way the texture changed along its length. The scales were already wet with clear slick. Wyll ran his hand through it, brought his fingers to his mouth and tasted.

It was electricity, like life and potential in his mouth, carried on a layer of musky sweetness. He wondered if this was how Astarion felt drinking his blood, if it could possibly measure up to how good it felt to taste of a dragon.

Going to his knees, he tilted his head up and opened his mouth. Ansur rolled back onto his feet, couching over Wyll so that his proud cock hung over him like a fountain, to run down into Wyll’s mouth like the blessing it was.

He could have stayed like that forever. He could feel the strangeness taking over his body, everything within him seeming to crackle with energy, juddering static. But the taste of Ansur washed away all of his fear, left only bliss and anticipation of greater bliss.

“You are not a supplicant, Wyll Ravengard,” Ansur said, his voice rattling from everywhere around him. “This is your gift. Touch me, and taste me, and drink your fill.”

From: (Anonymous)

Permission granted, Wyll surged up to his feet, pressing his face to that tremendous cock, licking it clean, suckling at the slit where more wondrous spend still flowed forth.

Claws rested gently around his waist and they were rolled over once again, this time with Wyll ending atop Ansur’s belly. He pushed himself against Ansur’s cock, rocking into the texture of his scales as he drank up the magic.

He realized, slowly, that he could feel something warm leaking out of him. Hazily, he wondered if he had drunk so much dragon come that he’d pissed himself. But when he reached back, he instead found something slick and tingling oozing from his hole. This seemed like something that ought to be frightening, or at least embarrassing. But there was no time for embarrassment when he was drowning in bliss. He tested his fingers against his hole, sliding three fingers inside as easily as he had one the night before. He pulled them out, cupped his thumb to his fingers and tried sliding his fist inside him. It slipped in just as smoothly, but for the difficulty of the angle.

Wyll pulled his fist out, stared at his hand a bit blankly. Wiped it off on his chest and was fascinated to feel his ribs flex gently against the motion, like they had become soft and pliable within him.

“The trick to not breaking a human when you mount them,” Ansur rumbled, “is to teach them to be flexible, the way a dragon is. What you have is merely shifted, reshaped to hold me better, in this moment. You will go back to the way you were, young human. Perhaps with a few...draconic additions. But fear not for your lover’s ability to enjoy the sweet, tight hole he has so enjoyed – you will have it back by morning.”

Wyll nodded. He couldn’t have – even his fantasies had never imagined he could have something like this. Not without the fantasy ending in ruin and defilement, kept as the creature’s broken little slut or bleeding out in the dirt after his intestines were ruptured by the monster’s cock. His fantasies always spiraled down towards horror in the end. He didn’t get good endings; it just wasn’t how the world worked.

Or it hadn’t been, until today.

Wyll drank until the emptiness inside of him began to ache and he was rutting in earnest against Ansur’s cock, whining for the need to have it inside. Ansur answered by taking him in one clawed hand and pulling him face-to-face again. “You think you are ready now?” He asked.

Wyll nodded, frantically. He wasn’t just ready, he needed it. He needed it inside him that very minute.

“I will be the judge of that,” Ansur replied. A second hand wrapped around Wyll and he lifted Wyll up above his head, like a monster about to swallow him down. Wyll cried out, hot fear momentarily washing over that heady bliss.

Ansur lowered him until he was straddling that enormous jaw, perched atop teeth as long as daggers. Then his tongue swept up out of his mouth to lick over Wyll, balls to neck. It was huge, split on the end like a snake’s but rougher, covered in fine, flexible barbs like a cat’s tongue. Ansur licked him, cleaning off his own slick and Wyll’s, sensitizing his skin as he scraped at it. Wyll shuddered, his cock hard to bursting and his balls physically painful with how badly he needed to come as Ansur swiped roughly over them. But he knew he would not be able to come until this body had served the purpose Ansur set for it.

He clung to Ansur’s talons as he was shifted forward again, suspended over his open maw. Ansur licked over his hole; once, twice, till Wyll was crying out again at the sensation. The dragon laughed, his amusement rattling Wyll’s bones as his tongue finally slid within him.

It was huge, at least twice as big as the largest cock he had ever taken, but it slid easily inside of him. Ansur had curled his tongue to conceal the rough top surface and the spit-slick underside stretched up into him like liquid fire. Wyll had never had much sensation inside, not beyond a few inches past his rim and the awareness of pressure. But whatever Ansur had done to him had lit nerves inside that ought not have existed and he could feel as Ansur’s tongue delved deeper, rising up to behind his naval and then retreating. The split ends fluttered against him, and he futilely tried to rock into them. When Ansur next slid up into him, his claws pulled Wyll down as well, into that waiting mouth as his tongue speared up into a space that shouldn’t have existed up behind Wyll’s ribs. All around him, Ansur’s breath was hot, like a steamroom that smelled of ozone.

“Yes!” Wyll cried. “Yes, thank you!” His legs kicked as he was lifted again into the cold dry air of the tunnel, as he was robbed of that sweet pleasure within him. Ansur licked over him again, then into him, alternating between shallow licks and dragging Wyll near to the base of his tongue, where it swelled so beautifully. Wyll thanked him, breathlessly, till the words stopped making sense. He still couldn’t come, fever pitch with need but the pleasure was still so good.

“Good little human,” Ansur boomed, finally setting Wyll back down on his belly. “You taste delicious, young Ravengard. Drink a little more and I will give you what you seek.”

Spit-slick, Wyll crawled back to Ansur’s cock and drank of it. It tasted even better now after a moment’s absence. He could feel the slightest movement of the air, the motes of dust floating in it against his skin. The world seemed to grow brighter, like Ansur’s scales were themselves glowing. “Please,” he begged. “I’m ready, please,”

“Very well,” Ansur said, and two clawed hands again took Wyll around the middle, pulling him back. But this time, when Wyll looked, there were no bronze and green scaled talons holding him, only a faint light-limned spectre.

“What...” Wyll asked, and did not need to finish his question for Ansur to answer.

“Did you think mage hand was the sole prerogative of two-legged creatures?” Ansur said. “How could I mount you properly without my claws to dig into the stone? Ideally, we would have a harness to tie you to my belly, a sling to keep you close while we mated in flight. This will have to substitute.”

And then he was being lifted, up, up over the top of Ansur’s magnificent shaft. The claws shifted, a talon slipped under each of his thighs to gently pull him open, his hole coming to meet the dragon’s cockhead. He could feel his bones, shivering with power, shift and stretch as his legs were stretched impossibly wide, so wide that he ought to have been broken. And then the tip of Ansur’s cock was sliding up into him.

Wyll panted, drool leaking out of his mouth and dripping off his chin. Ansur rocked him onto his cock, held gently like a porcelain doll within his talons. The stretch was inhuman and he could feel the catch and drag of each tiny, delicate scale as they swept past his leaking walls. Ansur toyed with him, rocking him onto the tip and back, going no further as Wyll once again begged, begged for more, to be given all of it. To be allowed to sheathe the dragon’s cock fully, hold him within his body.

“You want it all?” Ansur asked, stilling with just the bare tip of his cock within Wyll.

Wyll was crying freely, his face a mess of tears and snot and drool. “Please, please, please,” he begged, trying to wiggle down onto the cock but the hands holding him were implacable.

“Never fear, little warlock, I will give you what you wish,” Ansur promised. “You will remember this night, always.”

And then he let go.

Wyll plunged down onto his massive cock, body stretching to accommodate it.

Wyll screamed, coming harder than he ever had in his life. Harder than any human had, ever in all of their lives collectively.

He was – it was –

He shuddered through it, caught in that wordless scream, clenching around the cock within him, his own dick pulsing and spilling onto Ansur’s belly. When he looked down, he could see the shape of Ansur’s cock, rising up and through him, pushing his belly out, his ribs stretched out like a barrel. He touched them, touched the damp skin of his belly, felt the ridges of Ansur’s cock within him. His hand drifted down, exploring the way his legs were stretched to either side, the inhuman girth of Ansur’s cock and the taut skin of his rim around it in wondrous fascination.

His breathing slowed and he found he had words again, for all that the pleasure was still rumbling around him in waves. Ansur was terribly patient, to hold himself in stillness as Wyll was sleeved around him like this.

“Can you feel my heart beating against you?” Wyll asked, petting again over his belly, hoping Ansur could feel it through his skin. He wanted to share as much of this pleasure with Ansur as possible. Make him feel a fragment of how good Wyll felt.

Ansur growled, and the vibrations made Wyll moan with pleasure. “I can feel all of you pulsing around me, Wyll Ravengard. I can feel the flutter of your lungs and the pulse of your veins and the beat of your heart. I can feel all of you, you wondrous and delicious creature.”

Real claws reached for Wyll this time, laid over his hands, rubbed at Ansur through Wyll as he petted Wyll’s back, his belly. “You are wondrous,” Ansur repeated as Wyll cried out, shuddered in his grasp. “I wish I might have known you while I yet lived.”

The magehands took him again, began to use him to stroke Ansur’s cock. Squeezing slightly on the upstroke, pressing the glide of those hundreds of scales into him like a thousand points of light. Wyll watched his body bulge and stretch as he was used. Accommodating Ansur perfectly, like he had been made to do it. He had been, this night. His own prick looked so small as it slapped against Ansur’s belly on the downstroke, still pulsing weakly, continuously. Wyll hugged his arms around himself beneath the talons, pressed his hands into it. Mentally, he urged Ansur to go faster, to give him more. He wanted all of it, he wanted everything Ansur had promised him.

From: (Anonymous)

With a roar, Ansur tore him off his cock, shook out his wings as he flipped them. The magehands pushed him beneath Ansur, angled so that his hands could almost touch the ground even as his ass was pulled up to meet Ansur’s cock. Pinned in place, he could only moan and beg as Ansur reared up on his hind legs, to grasp for the nearest crystal pillar and mount him.

Wyll couldn’t scream this time, the force of Ansur’s thrusts robbing his lungs of air. There was nothing else of him, just Ansur, just Ansur within him and nothing else. Ansur mounted him and the magehands shoved him back onto that cock and sanity dribbled away in each bone-shaking thrust.

When Ansur came he was barely a person, just a fount of pleasure.

Molten waves of come filled him, stretched him further, his skin tight now to the point of pain, magic or not. The magehands pressed his back up against Ansur’s belly, locked him in place. There was a great gust of wind and then they were flying, Ansur still coming within him. They swooped and flipped, the speed of it blinding him as the motion made Ansur’s come slosh within him. Wyll’s throat was raw from screaming as they circled endlessly.

His mind drifted. A harness, Ansur had said. He imagined it, a soft sling of leather that would press his back against the great dragon’s belly. How it would narrow at the back to allow his legs to hang freely so that Ansur could mount him. How it would hold him onto that great cock, allow him to sleeve it indefinitely. Forever. He wouldn’t have to fight anymore, or think. He could just be this; this conduit of pleasure, a thing for Ansur to use.

He imagined Ansur rolling onto his back, freeing him from the harness to rub the soreness out of his muscles. To feed him little scraps of meat, still raw and singing of life, the way a dragon ate. He imagined crawling back into it, sheathing himself on Ansur’s cock, feeling the leather tighten around his distended stomach as they took off again, soaring the skies. He imagined feeling nothing but this ever again, nothing but bliss.

“No,” Ansur said.

Wyll realized that the lack of stinging winds was because they’d landed, that Ansur had rolled over and he was once again seated on his cock. Clawed hands petted at him, soothing the friction-raw skin and his trembling muscles.

“I cannot keep you, Wyll Ravengard,” Ansur said. “Once the magic takes I will be gone.”

“Please,” Wyll begged. He didn’t want this to end. He didn’t want to go back into the world, to be alone, to hurt, to have to make decisions. Was he not good enough?”

“The world is a painful place,” Ansur said. “But you must walk it. I am sorry, little human, that I cannot offer you more succor than this. I am dead, and you yet live. There is no future for us.”

Wyll cried, the end of all happiness looming before him. Everything was perfect like this, it was so good, why did it have to end? He could have been happy.

Hands brushed over his shoulders, small hands. Cool with the cavern’s chill, pointed nails that skimmed against his skin, never quite hurting him. “Oh, darling,” Astarion said. “Come back to me, won’t you?”

Wyll sobbed harder. Astarion wrapped his arms around Wyll and began to kiss at his shoulders, a thousand kisses along his neck and ears and spine. He remembered, slowly, how much he loved Astarion. That he wasn’t alone anymore, that Mizora couldn’t take him anymore. That he was loved.

“Astarion,” he whispered, awed.

“My sweet prince,” Astarion murmured back. “You were magnificent. You were amazing. Come back to me, I don’t want to do it alone.”

“It was so good,” Wyll tried to explain, even though it hadn’t ended yet. He was still sheathed around that great cock, belly still soft with Ansur’s spend. It was less though; the skin less strained, the pressure less immense. He pushed on his midsection, felt it give under his hand just a bit before it met the resistance of Ansur’s scales.

“Ritual sex magic with a dragon? I imagine it was great,” Astarion said, tangling his hands with Wyll’s so they could rub them over the matted hair on his stomach together. “One might even say magical. Personally, I prefer my bones all where they belong and the cocks in me strictly eight inches or shorter, but I know you’ve got a taste for the impossible, love.”

“I don’t want to leave you,” Wyll said. It seemed very important to let Astarion know that, though his mind was still circling the idea of being kept, being taken. Being surrounded by warm scales and kept safe in a den where nothing could hurt him. Not needing to do anything except be used, be desired, be treasured. The tears just wouldn’t stop.

Gods, how could he possibly say any of that to Astarion, who had been taken, been used, been treated as worth nothing except his body? He was disgusting.

“You are not,” Astarion said, kissing the back of his neck, then down the column of his spine. “Wyll, darling, you don’t want to start a competition of disgusting fantasies. Because I will win. And you will never be able to look me in the eyes again. Why wouldn’t you need to be taken care of? You’ve been fighting for your life since you were a child.”

“I was seventeen,” Wyll protested.

“Practically an infant,” Astarion said. “Now, I’m not a dragon. I can’t impale you on my cock and carry you around like a little rag-doll, not without strategic use of several potions. But I’m going to take care of you. I’m going to treasure you. I’m going to do everything in my power to keep you from being hurt. I know it’s not good enough, but – let me try?”

“Of course,” Wyll said. “Of course, Astarion, I love you. I want you. You don’t have to promise me anything, you don’t have to protect me. I just – it was just a fantasy. I got carried away.”

“Wyll Ravengard, of course I have to protect you,” Astarion protested. “Who else in this rotten world is going to do it? You’re mine now. My treasure,” He squeezed Wyll and the pressure within him sang. Wyll gasped, letting his head fall back onto Astarion’s shoulder.

“I may have carried you further than I intended,” Ansur rumbled. “I had...forgotten. How little of my seed it took to send Balduran into a mindless stupor the first time we mated. I perhaps neglected to account for the way he grew tolerant of it over time. You have my apologies for any grief our mating brought you, my heir.”

“Your apology is not accepted,” Astarion snapped. “Remember next time you’re reborn not to drug any poor sods out of their mind before you go all feral dragon sex on them. Now be a good dragon and tell me how long Wyll needs to stay like this and how to put him back together.”

Ansur chuckled. “An audacious spawn, to reject the apologies of a dragon. But the mate that my heir deserves, nonetheless. He must absorb the rest of what he has taken to consume its magic and then you will be free to go. This seeming will not last much longer, when it goes, the transformation of his body will go with it.”

“Hours? Days?” Astarion demanded.

“Less than hours,” Ansur said. He twisted his head to lay against the ground, looking off into the distance. His eyes closed. “I grow tired.” And Wyll remembered that it was only the dragon’s magic that held him to this plane, the magic that his body was now consuming. Ansur’s scales no longer seemed to glow as if they were lit from within, the darkness of the chamber around them casting the bronze and green into greys.

“Ansur,” Wyll called. The dragon’s eyes flickered to life once more, looked into Wyll’s soul. “Thank you,” he said. “I will never regret this. I will carry your gift and your story and I will do so with honor. I swear this on our city and my soul.”

“I know,” Ansur said. “And that is why I chose you.”

His eyes darkened, and Wyll knew he would not see them lit again. He tried to mark the moment, catalog every detail of it, though the haze of Ansur’s magic still lingered within him, shivering. He would obviously remember the sex, there would be no forgetting the sex. But he wanted to remember the way Ansur’s talons had felt against his skin, the scent of his breath, the majesty of his voice, the tragedy of his loss. He wanted to remember the way Astarion kissed him, heedless of the mess he’d made of himself. The way he looked on him like some precious thing.

Astarion never stopped touching him, gentling his hands against the swell of his stomach, petting at his arms, kissing the tears off his face. “I would massage your poor legs,” Astarion told him, “but I’m scared to death they’ll pop right off. Just a little longer now, dear. A little longer.”

When Ansur faded, it happened slowly. Like time turned sluggish in the aftermath. He was there, feeling the press of Ansur inside of him, savoring those last moments of wonder. Then he was drifting, Astarion’s arms around him the only thing real and solid.

Then they were on the ground in front of a pile of bones, and Astarion was holding him in his lap, and he felt incredibly peculiar. The world seemed too bright and too dim all at once, and his skin was telling him nothing except that it was cold and he was both damp and naked. The dance of dust motes on his skin and the shivering of his bones was so distant it seemed like a dream. He ached, but in the way that one ought to ache after marathon sex and not the way one should after being split in half by a dragon. “Fuck,” he said. “I was so high.”

“You were incredibly high, darling,” Astarion said. “It was delightful. Except for that maudlin bit at the end, I will treasure the memory forever.”

“Am I normal again?” Wyll asked, pressing anxiously on his ribcage, feeling the bones stay exactly where they were supposed to be. He couldn’t believe he hadn’t been freaking out earlier when they were moving. That was weird and wrong and bones should not do that.

“Hmm.” Astarion squeezed his hips, then made a quick inventory of other, more intimate places. “Well I think you’re going to have bruises for days, you poor thing. Gods know you’ll love that, perhaps Shadowheart can be convinced to let you keep a few. But your hole seems shockingly un-ruined. A bit tender, but you love that too, don’t you?”

Astarion paused. “I should say that you have a few...scales. And, well.” He took Wyll’s hand and guided it to his face, to Mizora’s sending stone. But when Wyll’s hand brushed over the eyelid, there wasn’t the unyielding burn of stone beneath it. He closed his other eye and blinked back tears as he saw – actually saw – Astarion smile at him. “They’re brown again,” Astarion said. “Absolutely shocking, I would have thought an egoist like Ansur would have needed to gift you eyes that matched his...there might be a glimmer of bronze in there though. They sparkle.”

And so maybe Wyll was still naked and crying when the rest of them finally showed up to check and make sure he hadn’t been eaten alive. It had been a very long day, full of gifts he could not possibly have asked for. A real fairy tale ending...if one made the mistake of taking a fairy tale from his father’s secret bookshelf.

Oh hells. His father. Who had told him about Ansur and was expecting their return with either an allied bronze dragon or word that the myth was indeed nothing but myth. Who was going to see that his son was suddenly more dragonborn-looking than he had been that morning.

“We are telling Duke Ravengard that Ansur gave me his magic,” Wyll said firmly. “We are not mentioning how that happened.”