A week long festival from the 17th to 23rd of March dedicated to the warlock to whom we all contractually owe our hearts - the Babe of Frontiers, Wyll Ravengard.
Create fanworks! Try out all his new kisses! And send feedback to Larian so that they know how much you love, appreciate, and desperately want to see more of him.
We've got prompts for every day of the week, including NSFW, but don’t think you have to follow them - we want to see all your Wyll centric fanworks. Use #wyllweek or #wyll week to tag your works.
And remember to submit feedback to Larian here so that they know we the people want to see more of our hero, our Duke, our good friend and sometimes lover, Wyll Ravengard.
late because i had a thing this afternoon, then my queue ate the first version of this post lol, so here it is, my third and final fic for Wyll week!
today's prompt was "alternate use for the tadpole," it's roughly 2.4k of plotless smut, and you can read it on ao3 right here
There was something about Wyll, something Kilian had noticed during their time spent on the road together.
Every word of praise he got, no matter who it came from, did something to him.
Kilian didn't actually notice until recently, as they started spending more one on one time together. Every time Wyll received praise, he practically radiated pride, Kilian could almost envision a wagging tail.
And when the praise came from Kilian himself, well… Wyll seemed to like it in a different way. The shy smile and glance away, the subtle but not quite subtle enough biting of his lip. It was all very cute, and it made Kilian want to hold him down and see just how far the praise could take him.
On a night like any other, Kilian got the chance to do just that.
He and Wyll would occasionally stay up together, drinking and sharing stories from their pasts, Wyll with tales of fearsome monsters and hard-won battles, Kilian with salacious stories of his early twenties. It was a bit underhanded on Kilian’s part, because on the one hand he wanted to respect Wyll’s desire to wait, but on the other hand, part of him really wanted to rile him up enough to let Kilian between his legs.
With his recent discovery of Wyll’s thing for praise, he wondered if he had at last found the key to Wyll’s proverbial chastity belt. It would just take a little storytelling and embellishment on Kilian’s part, but he knew he had it in him. What was embellishment if not lying with plot?
“Have I ever told you about the cleric?” Kilian said, having waited for a lull in conversation to voice his little fabrication.
Wyll took a swig of the wine they were sharing and looked at him curiously.
“No, I don’t think you have,” he said. “Is this another notch-in-the-bedpost story?”
“Mon ange, those are the only interesting stories I have,” Kilian remarked dryly.
“Not true!” Wyll furrowed his brow and gave a kind smile. “I quite liked the one about your sister and that, uh… he was a noble but I can’t remember what you said… ugh, what was he? Duke?”
“Marquis,” Kilian smirked. “And the fact that you cannot remember tells me it was not an interesting story.”
“Aha, but I remember that he gifted her a room of flowers she was allergic to, then her throat almost closed up and she had to be physically stopped from casting fireball to destroy them,” Wyll said, smiling all the while. “The nobleman’s title was inconsequential to the story.”
Kilian stared at him blankly, and Wyll just kept smiling. It was almost annoying how good he was at this. Almost.
“Tell me again how I don’t remember?” He nudged Kilian with his elbow.
Kilian grumbled and batted him away. “Do you want to hear the cleric story or not?”
“Sure, love, tell me about your priest kink.”
Kilian snatched the wine bottle from him as he laughed, and took several swallows of the tasty red.
“Gods, you are a pain in my ass,” he said. Any guilt he felt for taking advantage of Wyll’s little thing for praise vanished in that moment. Wyll wanted to tease him? Well, he would tease Wyll right back. “So the cleric… he was this cute little half elf. Lovely brown skin, gorgeous, dark red hair, and just the prettiest eyes, the color of sunshine.”
All true. Kilian had met this cleric through a mutual “friend.” The three of them shared many a steamy evening together, enjoying each other’s bodies. He would leave the third out of his story, Wyll didn’t need to know that particular detail.
“He was so sweet but had a voracious sexual appetite,” he continued. “I could barely keep up.”
“Based on your past stories, that’s really saying something,” Wyll chuckled.
“Make a man with no need to rest between orgasms and he will inevitably tire out those that do.”
Wyll’s brow furrowed.
“He had a cunt,” Kilian clarified.
“Huh,” Wyll blinked at him. “That would do it.”
“I took it as a compliment,” he said. “I was clearly satisfying him if he wanted it so much.”
“This is starting to sound like a brag,” Wyll said flatly.
Kilian cringed. “Pardonne-moi, I got carried away.”
Wyll waved his hand dismissively.
“To get back on track…” Kilian started. “He may have been running me into the ground in terms of frequency, but soon after we met, I discovered something about him that often gave me the upper hand during our late-night liaisons.”
Wyll put the wine bottle on the ground beside him and leaned closer. “Yeah?”
Kilian looked him square in the eye and said, “‘Good boy.’”
Wyll froze, his eyes widening almost imperceptibly.
“I- I’m sorry?” he stammered.
“I would call him a good boy,” Kilian smiled.
“Oh…”
“He loved when I praised him,” Kilian said. “It would always make him melt. Good boy , you’re doing so well , be good and come for me .”
With each word, Wyll looked more shy, and Kilian only grew more bold.
He pressed his hand flat to Wyll’s chest. “Can you be good for me? Hm ?”
He could feel Wyll’s racing heart.
“Kilian…”
“Yes, mon ange?”
“Are you… are you doing something to me?” Wyll asked.
“Is something I am saying affecting you?” Kilian asked in return. “Would you like to be praised?”
Wyll stammered, “I- well- I don’t- I don’t know, I-”
Kilian took his face in his hands and leaned in close.
“Because I could,” he murmured. “You are so good, Wyll. So, so good.”
Wyll closed his eyes and exhaled slowly.
“You like that?”
Wyll nodded, biting his lip
“Oh…” Kilian cooed. “My sweet boy.”
He pressed his lips to Wyll’s in a soft kiss, then another, and another. They could never do just one kiss, not when they were alone. There was typically a stopping point, but that night was different. Wyll was softer, more pliable, giving Kilian the perfect opportunity to swing a leg over his thighs and settle in his lap.
Wyll didn’t protest. In fact, he seemed to be very into it, wrapping his arms around Kilian’s waist and gripping his shirt as he continued to ravish him with his mouth. Their kisses grew more heated, and before long, Kilian was rocking his hips against Wyll’s, while Wyll slid his hands up the back of his shirt.
Feeling his warm, rough hands on his back had all sorts of filthy ideas running through Kilian’s head. Wyll underneath him, stripped naked, writhing and squirming and clawing at his skin as Kilian plowed into him relentlessly.
Or should his hands be tied? Kilian always did love a spot of rope in the bedroom. Maybe a blindfold too.
He wished he could show Wyll all of it, see what he liked, because as of right then, the only thing that he knew Wyll liked was praise. And Kilian himself of course.
No. There was a way to show him. They wouldn’t even have to take their clothes off.
“There is so much I want to do to you, Wyll,” Kilian whispered into his mouth.
“I- I… I want to know, but…” Wyll bit his lip and looked away.
“I can show you…” He pressed their foreheads together. “If you let me in.”
“Let you-”
Kilian tapped into the little wriggling guest in his head, reaching out to Wyll in an attempt to enter his mind.
“I will let you in too,” he said. “We can share.”
Wyll chewed his lip and held his stare, until finally, Kilian felt the barrier come down. He could see Wyll’s thoughts, loose images that, at the moment, were all Kilian.
“Good boy.”
A burst of elation and arousal. That boded well for Kilian’s plan.
“Do you want to see?”
Wyll nodded.
Kilian closed his eyes and concentrated on the scene in his head.
They were on Kilian’s bed, back at his family’s estate, stripped down to their chemises. Kilian teased a kiss, barely brushing Wyll’s lips, squeezing one of his pecs as he slid his lips along Wyll’s jaw, until he found the smooth skin of his throat.
Wyll sighed and carded his fingers through Kilian’s hair, but his soft, relaxed noises of contentment shifted as Kilian reached down and cupped him through his pants.
Kilian divested him of his shirt, and skillfully undid the fastenings of his pants before pushing him onto his back and removing his own shirt. Wyll lied before him, panting and disheveled, staring up at Kilian with a look of pure lust, pure hunger.
“Let me see you,” he said, running his hand down his chest and stomach, sliding it down, down into his underwear. “Show me what you’ll give me.”
“Mm, say please,” Kilian smiled sweetly, tilting his head.
“Please,” Wyll obeyed. “I want to see you.”
“Good boy.”
Kilian could feel Wyll’s growing arousal tickling the back of his mind. Time to turn it up a notch.
Ever the tease, Kilian slowly undid his pants’ fastenings, hooking his thumbs under his waistband, before pushing them down his thighs, along with his underwear. Wyll’s hand moved in a slow, steady motion between his legs, pumping his cock as Kilian revealed himself.
“Your turn.” With just those words as warning, Kilian reached forward, and tugged Wyll’s remaining clothes from his body.
At last, Wyll was laid out before him, naked, skin glistening with sweat, body ready to be taken.
And Kilian would take him, but only when he begged for it.
He pressed kisses to the insides of Wyll’s thighs, nipping and sucking, getting closer and closer to where he knew Wyll wanted it, skirting around his swollen cock, teasing and teasing until Wyll was shaking, his chest heaving.
Only when his fingers dug into the sheets did Kilian dive in and drag his tongue up his length.
Wyll cried out as Kilian took him in his mouth, fingers weaving into Kilian’s hair as he bobbed his head, groaning and gasping as Kilian expertly worked him over.
“Kilian…” he sighed.
He was leaking profusely, panting and squirming, moments from coming, so of course he let out a needy whine when Kilian abruptly pulled off.
Kilian hushed him, pressing kisses to his hip, stomach, ribs, making his way to Wyll’s chest and wrapping his lips around a nipple. He swirled his tongue around the sensitive bud, steadily stroking Wyll’s cock all the while.
Then his fingers trailed down, further between his legs. Wyll gasped when he pressed them to his hole, groaned as Kilian slowly pushed inside him. They went in easy, already slick, and Wyll spread his legs just a little wider.
Kilian thrusted into him, searching for that place inside him that would make him so, so wet. Wyll panted in time with his thrusting, until at last-
“Fuck-!” His back arched, his fingers dug into Kilian’s arm, he writhed and cried out as Kilian relentlessly fucked into him, zeroing in on his prostate. “Kilian! Kilian! Stop, I can’t-!”
Kilian pulled his fingers from Wyll’s body, leaving him gasping as he was robbed of his climax yet again.
Wyll looked up at him with hazy eyes, watched as he rose onto his knees, rid himself of his last piece of clothing and slicked his cock.
“Tell me you want it,” Kilian purred, rubbing his cock against Wyll’s hole.
Wyll groaned.
“Fuck me,” he said between breaths. “Please, fuck me.”
Kilian grinned, biting his lip-
“Good boy.”
-and slid his cock inside Wyll in one smooth motion.
He fell forward onto his hands, caging Wyll in as he rolled his hips. Wyll was silent, save for his heavy breathing, as he acclimated himself to Kilian.
“You feel amazing, mon ange,” Kilian said softly into Wyll’s ear. “It is like you were made for me.”
Wyll turned his head, their noses bumping as he tilted his chin up.
Kilian chuckled warmly, and pressed his lips to Wyll’s again and again as he thrusted into him. Wyll’s lips parted for Kilian’s tongue, eagerly meeting him with enthusiasm.
He cried out suddenly, throwing his head back. Kilian sunk his teeth into Wyll’s exposed throat as he thrusted harder, and Wyll clawed at his back.
“Gods…” Wyll groaned. “There… right there…”
Kilian fucked into him relentlessly, his pleasure only growing as Wyll fell apart beneath him.
Wyll’s moans grew in desperation, Kilian could tell he was close. He railed into him without quarter, chasing his high, seeming to hit Wyll’s prostate with almost every thrust.
“Be a good boy and- fuck- come for me.”
He clawed at Kilian’s back, gasped and panted as his pleasure grew and grew until at last, cum shot out of him, spattering up to his neck, the white contrasting beautifully with his dark skin.
Kilian was moments behind him, pressing as deep inside Wyll as he could as he came, filling him with his seed.
He opened his eyes as he severed his connection to Wyll, just as Wyll, too, opened his eyes. He looked at Kilian with a hint of something he’d seen maybe once before. Lust, hunger, need. And sure enough, when Kilian shifted in Wyll’s lap, he could tell they were in similar states of arousal. Wyll inhaled sharply.
“That was… quite the show,” he said, sounding out of breath.
KIlian smiled and pressed closer, wrapping his arms around Wyll’s shoulders.
“I wanted to give you a clear picture.”
“And… that’s what’s awaiting me, is it?” Wyll asked.
“I am open to edits,” Kilian said. “But yes, whenever you want it, mon ange.”
Wyll glanced away and bit his lip.
“And if I said I wanted it now?”
Kilian blinked. “I thought you wanted to wait.”
“I don’t want to wait anymore.” He took Kilian’s face in his hands. “I want you, Kilian. I really, really want you. We might die tomorrow, and I don’t want to die without actually… feeling you.”
“Well, when you put it like that…” Kilian put his hands flat on Wyll’s chest, pushed him onto his back, “I cannot help but agree,” and captured his lips in a deep, passionate kiss, filled with promise.
600 words
wyll/dark urge
companion piece to my body, a mistranslation :)
It's a little like fighting.
(At least, the way they dance, all sharp edges and blood in the mouth.)
It's a little like fucking.
(At least, the way he dances, all slow hips and intent dark eyes.)
They
(all concentration, all control)
move, and Wyll
(all confidence, all—)
moves with them, sliding back a step to leave them in the warmth of his shadow. It's instinct that has them reaching for him, mirroring him as he raises his hands;
it's instinct that has them catching him as he spins into their arms, swandive, swallowtail;
instinct, that has them draw him close, his head tipping back against their shoulder as he laughs, leans into them.
“See?” he says, voice light, breathless, reverberating through them, and they tighten their hands until his body is flush against theirs, until his cheeks flush and his chest hitches. “You are good at this.”
“I'm not sure.” He moves away, and they release him unspoken, let his hands raise theirs as he spins beneath their arm, curve of his horn grazing their wrist. “You seem to be doing most of the work.”
“It's about having a good partner,” comes the easy reply, the easy motion as he pulls them forwards, one-step-two, ungainly and awkward but he smiles at them all the same, runs his hands up their arms all the same, links their fingers all the same. “I wouldn't do this with just anyone, you know.”
Backstep, sidestep, just-barely-miss his feet as he moves in their space—
(feel his laugh brush their throat)
—hands on their waist to turn them, confident and encouraging, nevermind their inertia, the weight of them sin-skin-bone against his hands as he pushes and they spin away, miss the warmth (miss the moment) and—
—instinct, always.
Instinct, a killer.
Wyll moves, quicksilver quickstep, weight shifting down the length of their arm and momentum carries him past them, spins them, carries them tangled with him, counterweight-wide their hand on his waist:
instinct, in the end.
They reach him as he falls, arches back, spine a graceful curve, the swell of his horns brushing the ground. He's a lodestone in their arms, everything in them pointing Wyllwards: their heart pendulums, swinging on its leash, and for a moment they're falling and he's falling beneath them, bearing him down with all their weight into the black earth as gravity swallows them both.
And then:
muscle, marrow, brandhot against their palms, they catch him.
the fall ends, and he's safe in their hands. Laughing, breathless, warm weight on their shoulders as they pull him upright, inelegant and abrupt. He drapes himself across them, fingers linked behind their neck, turns their too-sharp too-fast movements into something less frenetic, smoother, more intentional. Beauty to their beast, sunlight on the shadow of them.
“Don't do that,” they say, once he's settled firmly in their grasp, once they can feel his laughter echo in their ribs. Wyll tips his head, horns clacking softly off theirs as his hands drift, as he meets their eyes blackred, blackblue.
“You weren't going to let me fall,” he says, smug. Certain. Placing all too much faith in them, as always, a Blade to their heart. He grins up at them, hands at their neck, chest against theirs. Too intimate for any courtly dance as he scrapes his nails over their throat, draws his hands down their arms, sways into them slow-slow-slow.
It's a little like fighting, and a little like fucking, and as in both, they follow their instincts.
His lips are soft, and he smiles into their mouth, and they, the only rhythm in their heart a wardrum, find themself smiling back all the same.
Summary: Infected by an illithid tadpole, his father kidnapped, his body changed. Wyll has a lot on his mind, but insists on carrying that burden alone, as he always does. However, during a break from their travels in the underdark, he receives some advice from an unlikely source that makes him look at his situation in a new light.
[ID: A six panel comic page of Wyll and the artists character, Kaltar, from BG3.
In the first panel Wyll is looking a bit dejected while talking to Kaltar. "Horns this sharp will po the balloons, you see."
The next panel Wyll looks down and rubs the back of his next as he continues. "And sweetcakes don't taste half as good as raw eggs with this blasted forked tongue."
In the third panel Kaltar reaches over to take Wyll's hand in his while he responds. "I don't think you'll find a more horn friendly crowd out there, Wyll,"
In the fourth panel Kaltar pulls Wylls hand to his lips as he continues. "And if you want something sweet"
Next panel Kaltar is winking "I'm right here."
The last panel Wyll is blushing and laughing. END ID]
Wyll Week Day 6: Alternate Class / Alternate Dialouge
I could honestly rewrite this entire conversation because I want Different Options to respond with.
Day 5 of WyllWeek and we got some CANON DIVERGENCE!
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the
Organization for Transformative Works
Took some creative liberties with the ‘Heart of the Gate’ prompt and made a ‘What If Wyll Never Took A Deal With Mizora’ Feat. Bard!Wyll interacting with the rest of the team!! Enjoy!
alrighty here we go, ~3K of basically pure smut, you have been warned
this is technically a sequel, you can read the first part here
today's prompt was "praise kink" and you can check the other tags here
“Well done, Wyll.” Wyll’s father clapped him on the shoulder, his eyes gleaming with pride as Wyll tried to catch his breath.
Kilian stood not far in front of him, also panting, the rapier Wyll had managed to knock from his hand lying off to his side. His skin glistened with a healthy sheen of sweat, and when he pushed his hair back away from his face, Wyll was hit with a bolt of lust so powerful, he almost forgot his father’s praise.
“Thank you,” he said, looking away from Kilian in hopes of tamping down the urge to jump him.
“Better luck next time,” Ulder addressed Kilian. “Though you may need more than luck.”
“You have taught him well, your highness,” Kilian replied with a courteous bow. “I was a fool to underestimate him.”
“Indeed,” Ulder huffed.
Wyll cringed. Not that he expected his father to refute Kilian’s self-degradation, he just wished sometimes that he had more tact.
“I will not make the same mistake twice.” Kilian retrieved his rapier from the floor and pointed it at Wyll. “How about a rematch? This time I will not hold back.”
Kilian looked so good, disheveled and in his readied stance, that it took a moment for his request to register.
Wyll glanced at his father, then gave his head a quick shake to center himself.
“I’d prefer if you made an effort this time,” he smirked at Kilian.
Kilian’s lip curled into a crooked, snarling smile, and of course Wyll found it exceedingly attractive. He was in a mood.
“En garde!” Kilian exclaimed, lunging at Wyll.
Wyll raised his blade in time to block, then parry Kilian's blow. Something seemed to have lit a fire in Kilian, he was not this good a moment ago.
“Come on, Wyll,” Ulder scolded from several steps back. “You know how to-”
He stopped abruptly, and between swings, Wyll glanced over to see Counsellor Florrick entering the parlor and approaching his father. Perhaps there was urgent business, and she would pull his father away, at last giving Wyll and Kilian some time alone.
Kilian took advantage of this momentary distraction, jabbing Wyll in the chest with the blunted tip of his rapier.
“Point for me,” he smiled smugly, raising his blade and tapping Wyll beneath the chin with it.
Wyll scoffed and batted it away.
“What’s going on?” he asked, turning to his father.
“As much as I’d love to stay and watch, I’m needed elsewhere,” he replied. “Keep practicing, and don’t let yourself get distracted again. I taught you better than that.”
“Yes, father,” Wyll nodded, watching intently as his father and Florrick left the parlor, shutting the doors behind them.
He looked to Kilian, whose eyes drifted to the door, then back to him. Wyll’s father had wanted to sit in on their “sparring match,” so they had to put their true plans on hold. As far as anyone knew, the Magnier family’s male heir had hit it off with Wyll at his sister’s engagement party, and he visited with the intentions of a friendly crossing of blades. Neither of them had any intention of revealing the true nature of their “hitting it off.”
Wyll had been fully prepared to have his chances at another passionate encounter with Kilian squandered, so he was unbelievably grateful for whatever mess transpired in order to pull his father away.
They stared at each other, panting, blood pumping. The two of them gave it a few moments after Ulder left, just to make sure he was really gone, then Wyll couldn’t hold back anymore, and neither could Kilian.
Wyll moved first. He pushed Kilian into the far wall and kissed him like a man starved.
The anticipation and adrenaline combined into a powerful aphrodisiac, both of them were hard within minutes. Wyll couldn’t help his wandering hands, rubbing, stroking, squeezing whatever they could on Kilian. He would’ve been more embarrassed about his desperation had he any blood left in his brain. Alas, it was all in his cock, so he was more focused on getting his hands on Kilian as much as possible.
“So eager,” Kilian purred, when they parted to catch their breath.
“I can’t help it,” Wyll panted. “I’ve been wanting to do this for weeks.”
Kilian clicked his tongue and cooed, “I missed you too, mon ange,” then kissed him again, hands sliding down his back and grabbing his arse.
There was something Wyll had had in mind for this tryst, something he had talked about in the past with the older boys who worked around his father’s estate, something he had read about in a saucy novel or two that his father didn’t know he had.
“I want to suck you off,” he blurted out, as Kilian started trailing kisses down his neck.
Kilian paused and looked at Wyll.
“Awfully bold of you to offer,” Kilian leered at him. “I would not say no to that. Have you done it before?”
Wyll sheepishly glanced away.
“I could show you,” Kilian offered.
“I… learn better from instruction, just-” Wyll lowered himself to his knees and looked up at him. “Tell me what feels good.”
Kilian ran his fingers along Wyll’s jaw.
“I will tell you now, before you do anything,” he started. “Do not try to take the whole thing right away. It is highly unpleasant for both of us. I do not get off on gagging people with my cock.”
“I understand.”
“Good.” Wyll inhaled sharply at the sudden feeling that overtook him. It was just minor praise, but he wanted more of it.
Kilian eyed him shrewdly, but didn’t say anything, so Wyll moved on.
He groped Kilian through his pants, squeezing him, feeling the shape of him. He reached up and pulled them down, until he was faced with Kilian’s cock. It somehow looked bigger now that he was so close.
Wyll took hold of him and dragged his tongue up along the underside, tasting his skin, before taking the velvety head in his mouth and sucking. Kilian leaned back and sighed above him.
“That’s it,” he said. “Move your head, in and out, and use your hand on what you cannot- mm… get in your mouth.”
Wyll did as he was told, stroking and bobbing his head, feeling Kilian’s hard flesh glide over his tongue. He was rewarded with a low moan, and a gentle hand on his head.
“Good,” Kilian said softly. “Good boy.”
Wyll’s cock throbbed, and his heart sped up. He glanced up at Kilian, and snuck his hand down into his own pants when his eyes were closed.
Wyll savored the feel of Kilian in his mouth, so warm and solid. He didn’t know when they would get to do this again, and he found he loved listening to Kilian’s little sighs and moans of pleasure. Wyll was doing that for him, Wyll was making him feel good. He was earning that praise.
“Oh, mon ange…” Wyll looked up to see Kilian leering down at him. “Enjoying yourself? Or do you like when I call you a good boy?”
Wyll shivered, his eyes involuntarily closing as he stroked himself.
“I am happy to keep- mm… doing that,” Kilian continued. “After all, you are doing so- oh… well. Ah… just like that, mon ange, just like that… do not be afraid to use your tongue.”
Wyll pulled back and lapped at the head of his cock, looking up at him questioningly.
“Yes, like that,” Kilian said softly. “Good boy.”
Kilian groaned as Wyll sucked the head back into his mouth, swirling his tongue around the tip. He tried not to recoil and grimace as precum hit his tongue. It was unpleasant at first, but it was physical proof that it was good for Kilian, and that made all the difference.
Wyll continued along that route, reveling in every noise Kilian made, sucking down the proof of his pleasure, until Kilian was panting with it.
“Look at me and breathe through your nose,” he said, pulling Wyll’s hand from his cock.
Wyll was pretty sure he knew what was going to happen, but he still wasn’t fully prepared when Kilian took hold of his head, and began to thrust. He breathed through his nose, just as Kilian had told him, but still had to fight the urge to gag as Kilian pushed his cock to the back of his throat, over and over.
There were tears streaming down his cheeks from the strain, precum and saliva dripping down his chin. He surely looked a mess, but to be used like this, to bring such pleasure to the man he was servicing was thrilling.
Then Kilian pulled out.
“I am going to come in your mouth,” he said, steadily stroking his cock. “Open.”
Wyll didn’t protest, he didn’t mind, so he opened his mouth, basking in the wonderful feeling that came forth as Kilian said, “Good boy.”
Above him, Kilian stroked his cock faster, more frantically. His breath came in short gasps, until at last-
“Fuck-”
Cum splattered onto Wyll’s lips and tongue in one, two, three bursts. It made Wyll feel dirty, and so, so good. He leaned forward and took Kilian’s cock head in his mouth, suckling him and licking him clean, all while looking up at him to watch him come undone.
Kilian let out a shaky breath and caressed Wyll’s cheek, eyes burning as he looked down at him.
“I think… it is your turn now, mon ange,” he purred.
“My turn?”
“Get on your back,” Kilian smiled.
Wyll obeyed, shifting his legs out from under him and lying back onto the floor.
Kilian kneeled between his legs, running a hand over Wyll’s cock. He had flagged a bit toward the end, but he assumed he’d be back at full mast in no time with Kilian working on him.
He sat back on his haunches, cleaned himself with a wave of his hand, and resituated his clothing. If it weren’t for the mess still on Wyll’s face, no one would know what had transpired.
“You want to, um… turn that spell on me, now?” Wyll asked with an awkward chuckle.
Kilian smirked and leaned over him, caging him in with his arms. Before Wyll could take in this new, exciting position, Kilian was kissing him, licking his own release from Wyll’s mouth.
“It is a cantrip,” he mumbled against Wyll’s lips.
And then he was back on his haunches.
With a wave of his hand, he cleaned Wyll’s face of the remaining mess.
“Lift your hips,” he said, running his hands over Wyll’s thighs and squeezing them with an almost possessive look in his eyes.
Wyll lifted his hips as he was told, and Kilian yanked his pants down to the middles of his thighs. He’d never felt more exposed, or self-conscious. No one had seen him like this. Ever. And now Kilian was seeing him. His seemingly unattainable crush was seeing all of him.
It hadn’t quite sunken in yet that he and Kilian were… lovers? They had something going, though Wyll wasn’t sure how deeply Kilian’s feelings ran. He definitely wanted to fuck Wyll, but whether he’d ever swoon for Wyll was a mystery.
Kilian took hold of his cock, pulling him from his reverie.
“I did not say last time…” He idly stroked Wyll’s cock. “But you are lovely, mon ange. Every part of you.”
“Th- thank you,” Wyll mumbled, his cheeks heating even more than they already were.
“I want to try something with you,” Kilian said. “Tell me, have you ever played with yourself here?” He pressed his fingers back behind his balls, and slowly slid them down until they reached-
Wyll startled.
“Sh…” Kilian soothed him. “I will take that as a ‘no.’”
“I- is there a benefit to doing that?” Wyll asked.
“Oh, mon ange…” Kilian lowered himself to his stomach, getting his mouth dangerously close to Wyll’s cock. “I will just say, there is a spot inside of us, and when something presses against it, it feels…” Kilian dragged his tongue up his cock. “Incredible.” In one smooth motion, he sunk Wyll’s cock all the way down into his throat.
Wyll cried out. Whatever Kilian was describing was moot in the face of this new, wonderful sensation. The wet warmth enveloping his cock was like nothing he’d felt before.
Kilian pulled all the way back, letting Wyll’s cock flop onto his abdomen.
“Keep your voice down, mon ange,” he purred softly. “We do not want to be caught. Can you do that?”
“I'll try,” Wyll said, voice still unsteady.
“Good boy.”
Wyll shivered. “Just… warn me before you do something like that again.”
“Of course,” Kilian chuckled darkly, leaning over Wyll again. “Then let me ask you something.”
“Yes?”
“How would you feel about something inside you?”
Wyll’s face burned, his eyes widening.
“You mean-”
“Just a finger,” Kilian reassured him. “And you can say no. You can always say no.”
“Just a finger?”
Kilian hummed.
“I-” Wyll was curious after what Kilian had told him. He was nervous, of course, but found his curiosity and desire outweighed his nervousness. “Yes. I want to try.”
“Alright, then open your mouth for me.” Wyll did as he was told, and Kilian slid his pointer finger into his mouth. “Good. Now suck. Get it nice and wet for me.”
Wyll closed his lips around Kilian’s finger and began sucking it, just as he said, laving it with his tongue as Kilian ducked back between his legs and took Wyll in his mouth once more. The soft noises of pleasure building in Wyll’s throat were now muffled by the finger in his mouth, an added bonus.
Kilian worked him slowly, something Wyll was thankful for. He could more easily savor the feeling, of course, but also anything too vigorous, and he’d be coming embarrassingly fast. It was his first time experiencing this, and of course Kilian was good at it. That was certainly a benefit to being with someone more experienced.
Wyll moaned softly as Kilian pulled his finger from his mouth, then pulled off of Wyll’s cock and looked up at him.
“You said you wanted warning,” he said, trailing his slicked finger down between Wyll’s legs and gently pressing it to his entrance. Wyll inhaled sharply. “This is it. Now, try to relax for me.”
Kilian leaned in and pressed kisses to his inner thighs, carefully pushing his finger in.
Wyll’s breath came in short gasps as Kilian slowly breached him. He thought he heard himself whimper, but he was feeling a little dizzy and out of it, so he wasn’t sure.
“Kilian…” he breathed. He desperately wished he had something to hold onto.
“Sh… mon ange,” Kilian murmured. “You are doing so well, such a good boy. Just relax.”
Wyll bit his lip and his cock jumped. He moaned as Kilian took him in his mouth again. He thrusted his finger slowly, rubbing Wyll’s inner walls.
He was waiting for the moment when he would understand, when Kilian would find that place inside him that he claimed felt incredible. It was an odd sensation, new, not uncomfortable, but not exactly pleasant either. That was, until-
“Kilian!” Wyll gasped as Kilian brushed over something inside him that made a strange, not all that unpleasant feeling radiate low in his belly.
“Found it,” Kilian chuckled, before popping Wyll’s cock back in his mouth.
He pressed against that same place inside Wyll, rubbing it and shallowly thrusting his finger until Wyll was panting and gasping, whines and whimpers trapped in his throat as he felt himself hurtling toward his climax.
“Kilian,” he said, getting his hand into Kilian’s soft black hair and trying to coax him off his cock. “Kilian, I’m close.”
But Kilian wouldn’t budge. He kept sucking Wyll’s cock, rubbing inside him. Wyll didn’t want it to end. He wanted to keep Kilian there, with him, so they could keep getting lost in each other.
Unfortunately, his body had other plans.
Slowly, then all at once, his orgasm crested. Kilian pulled off just in time to miss his release, stroking him through it, laying open-mouthed kisses just below the head of his cock as he came and came and came.
Kilian pulled his finger from Wyll’s body and sat back on his haunches, wiping the drool and precum from his mouth.
Wyll let out a deep breath and rubbed his face.
“How do you feel?” Kilian asked, putting a hand on Wyll’s thigh and squeezing.
“That was intense,” Wyll mumbled. “Give me a minute.”
“Of course,” he smiled. “Let me clean you up.”
Wyll had his eyes closed, but he heard Kilian speak a single word, and then the warmth of the cum on his skin faded.
“Don’t know what we’d do without that spell,” he said dryly. “Excuse me, cantrip.”
“It has helped me many times in the past.” Kilian’s voice moved, and Wyll no longer felt his warmth between his legs. When he opened his eyes, Kilian was lying on the floor next to him.
Wyll smiled. “Hello.”
Kilian huffed and smiled back softly. “You should fix yourself, in case someone walks in.”
Wyll chuckled, and resituated his clothes, then turned to Kilian.
“Happy?” he said flatly, a wry smile on his face.
Kilian smirked and pulled him into a quick kiss, before pulling back just slightly and saying those two words that made Wyll’s heart skip a beat.
A little Regency AU drabble for Wyll Week in which Wyll tries to be the perfect heir, talks politics with a friend, and dances with a certain pale elf who has been watching him from the shadows. Prompt: "The Blade of Frontiers."
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The pale elf was watching him again.
Wyll tried to pretend he hadn’t noticed. He was supposed to be regaling Councillor Florrick’s guests with yet more tales of his time as the Blade of Frontiers, not ogling handsome strangers. And the man’s scrutiny should not have bothered him. Ever since his return to Baldur’s Gate it had felt as if all eyes were on Wyll whenever he entered a room. Some of the gazes were approving, the stares of people who looked at Wyll and saw a newly-eligible noble bachelor restored to his father’s good graces, the perfect target for a courtship. Other gazes took in his horns and the ridges on his cheeks and arms with loathing or fear; those gazes saw a devil, and little more.
The elf, however, did not seem to fall into either category. He watched Wyll with an air of weariness, of sorrow, of vague disdain. He tried to pretend he was not listening when Wyll described battles against goblins or encounters with a hag, but Wyll could see the way his eyes slid to the side, keeping Wyll in his sights.
Perhaps I am imagining it.
He knew he was not.
“Another stirring tale,” his friend Alys Towerfell told him once he’d finished the story and the crowd had begun to disperse. Wyll could see envious eyes on them the moment she favored him with her attention; Alys was a half-Drow beauty who happened to be the heir to a very large fortune, and Wyll knew that half the room would give their right arm for a conversation with her. To him, however, Alys was merely an old friend, the solemn teenager who used to read eight-year-old Wyll storybooks when their parents gathered for dinner.
“I have many more stories to offer before the evening is over,” Wyll said wryly. “Councillor Florrick and my father requested it specifically. Apparently, my tales of heroism are just what they need to swing the correct number of votes their way.”
Alys slid a companionable hand into his elbow and began to guide him into a turn about the room. “Ah yes, the city defense measures,” she murmured. “Lord Gortash cornered me earlier. He has many ideas about them. Most of them, somehow, seem to involve the city placing a large and lucrative order for steel golems of his own creation.” She scowled. “I do not trust that man. I don’t know how his golems work, but mark my words, there’s something amiss in their construction.”
“You’re right, I’m certain,” Wyll replied. Alys was a gifted sorcerer; if she said there was something wrong with a magical construct, he was not fool enough to bet against her. He was going to say more, about city politics or the golems or perhaps about Lord Gortash’s general oiliness, but a flash of white curls in the far corner distracted him.
The pale elf was lounging against the wall, sipping slowly from a wine glass, looking out over the assembled company like a predator evaluating prey.
“Alys? Do you know that man?”
Alys’s mouth twisted thoughtfully as she spotted the object of Wyll’s gaze. “Mr. Ancunin. A fixture of recent gatherings, but not someone I know well.” She arched an eyebrow at Wyll. “Do you desire an introduction?”
“Yes.” Wyll realized, a beat too late, what that answer implied. “That is to say—he seems to be watching me closely of late. It would be best to know his intentions.”
Alys bristled, her shoulders drawing back and her chin tilting up as she narrowed her eyes at the elf. Wyll felt himself half charmed and half amused at the sight. Alys had always considered herself something of an older sister to him, and had resumed that role almost instantly upon his return to the city. But the sharp expression was gone a breath later, replaced by her usual elegant poise.
“I agree.” Her drow-lilac eyes locked onto the elf. “Let’s see what we can do.”
To any onlooker, it would have seemed nearly accidental. Alys guided them around the room, chatting with the guests, continuing her conversation with Wyll. And then, when they were a pace or two away from the elf, she stopped and blinked as if she’d only just noticed him. “Why, Mr. Ancunin! What a pleasure to see you again. May I present Wyll Ravengard, only son of Duke Ulder Ravengard?”
“You may—and the pleasure is mine, darling.” The elf swept an elaborate bow. “Well. Haven’t you found yourself a handsome suitor.”
Mr. Ancunin’s eyes met Wyll’s as he straightened, and Wyll felt his breath catch in his lungs. It was a momentary reaction, fast enough that Wyll could almost pretend it hadn’t been there. The elf had been handsome from a distance, but up close… up close he was more than merely handsome. The other man’s gaze was nothing short of piercing and the smile that played around his lips was sharp and playful and wicked.
“You flatter me,” Alys said with a light laugh. “In truth, Mr. Ravengard is simply an old friend kind enough to keep me company.”
“As if you lack for company,” Wyll teased. “Every line of your dance card is full, whereas mine is woefully empty.”
“Well. That won’t do, will it?” From somewhere deep in his evening kit, Mr. Ancunin pulled out a pencil and his own dance card. He met Wyll’s gaze and arched one elegant eyebrow. “As it happens, my own card is rather bare. If I may be so bold?”
Wyll bit back a satisfied smile as he handed over his card. He had laid the trap, and the elf had stepped right in. “I would be honored.”
As Mr. Ancunin finished writing his name on Wyll’s dance card, the soft chime of bells sounded throughout the ballroom. “Just in time, it seems,” the elf murmured. He offered his elbow. “Shall we, Mr. Ravengard?”
The gleam of satisfaction in Mr. Ancunin’s eyes made Wyll wonder if he had been too quick to assume that he was the one laying a trap.
They took their positions opposite one another for the opening dance, studying each other all the while, pretending they were not. Mr. Ancunin was elegantly dressed in black with purple trim, a choice that highlighted his fair skin and pale curls. Wyll managed, just barely, to avoid tugging at the collar and cuffs of his own gold-and-white clothing. Even now, after nearly six months back in the city, he felt ill at ease in a noble’s garb.
As the music began, however, he felt his discomfort fade away. He had always loved dancing and he knew he was adept at it. He suspected Mr. Ancunin might be the same; the other man had shown a catlike grace as they made their way to the dance floor. But to Wyll’s surprise, as they began the steps, Mr. Ancunin moved with just a hint of hesitation—as if he were fighting to recall exactly what his feet were supposed to be doing and what came next.
Wyll’s object had been to learn more about the other man, to try to determine why he was being watched so closely. But seeing Mr. Ancunin ill at ease put him off-balance. Made him want to take the man’s hand and guide him through the dance rather than use the opportunity to press him with questions.
Spotting Wyll’s scrutiny, Mr. Ancunin flashed a smile, a quicksilver thing that did not reach his eyes. “When I woke this morning, I could never have imagined myself taking to the floor with the legendary Blade of Frontiers,” he murmured as their hands met for the first time, Mr. Ancunin’s black glove stark against Wyll’s white. “You’ve been amassing quite the audience for those stories you tell—all the tales of daring and heroism and mortal peril.”
There was an edge of mockery to his voice that set Wyll’s teeth on edge—and that sent a feeling of shame twisting through him. He enjoyed recounting his adventures for those close to him. But he was less comfortable doing so in public. He did not want to be thought a braggart or a fool.
I am doing it for the city, he told himself. Not my own glory.
“Do you have a favorite?” he parried, trying to act nonchalant as they spun round each other. “I believe I’ve noticed you listening. Once or twice.”
“Only once or twice?” Mr. Ancunin asked softly. “You should pay more attention to your surroundings then, my dear Blade. I don’t know what I find more astonishing: the number of stories you seem to have, or the fact that somehow, I believe them all to be true.” His mouth went tight. “A real hero. A creature that by all rights should not exist. And yet, here you are.”
Wyll wanted to reply, but the dance’s next steps took them away from each other, sent them weaving through the other couples until they had reached the end of the lines. When they faced each other again, Wyll met his partner’s gaze.
“I did what was necessary. Nothing more.”
Mr. Ancunin chuckled. “I think you almost believe that. Remarkable.” He stepped forward once more, met Wyll’s palm with his, resumed their steps around each other with more confidence and rhythm than before. “Perhaps it was necessary, all those risks and heroics and the years in exile. But few others would have done what you did. Which makes you, Mr. Ravengard, that rarest of things: a good man.”
The words nearly took Wyll’s breath away. It was as if Mr. Ancunin had stripped his soul down to its essentials and given voice to his greatest wish: to be a good man. A protector of his city. A defender of the weak. A worthy heir to Ulder Ravengard.
It was a wish he’d felt slip further and further out of reach every day he had worked with Mizora.
“I’ll make no such claim for myself.” He could hear the rough edge to his voice. “I hope I have helped those who needed it. Defended the city I call home. But I—”
“Too honorable to take a compliment, Mr. Ravengard? You’ve been so good for everyone else. Doesn’t it get tiresome?” Mr. Ancunin was teasing now—but his tone was not entirely playful. His voice softened to something near a whisper as they completed their turn. “Has anyone been as good for you?”
Wyll clenched his jaw. He did not allow himself to think about things like that. What mattered was doing the right thing, giving all he could. He did not keep score. He did not expect things in return. But—gods. It almost sounded as if Mr. Ancunin was offering something, and though Wyll did not quite know what it was, part of him ached to find out.
And with a flash of insight, Wyll realized that was exactly what Mr. Ancunin wanted. To put him off balance, to intrigue him, to draw him in. To what end?
“Why, it almost sounds as if you’re concerned, Mr. Ancunin,” Wyll said, letting warm amusement creep into his voice. “Or are you offering to be the one who evens the scales?”
The expression moved across the elf’s face so quickly Wyll might have missed it. But it was there: a twinge of revulsion, something close to a flinch. It was quickly replaced by a smile that did not reach his eyes. “And if I am?”
“Then I would decline,” Wyll said easily. He thought about telling Mr. Ancunin that he’d seen the expression, that he could sense the other man didn’t truly want a dalliance, but he worried that insight might scare the elf away—and Wyll very much wanted to know what this man was up to.
“Doing good is its own reason and its own reward,” he said instead. “Though I suspect you’ll call me tedious for saying it.”
“Dear gods. You actually do believe that,” Mr. Ancunin said wonderingly. “How utterly astonishing.”
As they stepped back to their places in line, their hands parted—but Mr. Ancunin’s fingers rested against his for just a heartbeat longer than they needed to, and Wyll did not pull his own fingers away.
He bent into his most elegant bow as the final notes played. When he straightened, Mr. Ancunin was watching him with those bright, knowing eyes, a half smile pulling at the corner of his mouth.
“It’s been a pleasure, my dear Blade. Until next time.” He lowered his voice. “And I do hope there will be a next time.”
[ID: Sketch of Karlach and Wyll from BG3. Karlach is picking up Wyll and they are both smiling like they're posing for a picture. Wyll has a peace sign up. They are wearing their epilogue clothes. END ID]
Wyll Week Day 4: Blade of Avernus/ Blade of Frontiers
Gonna be honest i kinda just wanted to draw him and Karlach
