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There was a suspicious lack of fear coming off of his worthless spawn as he approached the estate, and Cazador was already thinking of how to make the death of his lover as memorable as possible. To prove a point, if nothing else, at this point.
But Astarion was anxious, not afraid; foolish thing, did he not remembered the last time one of them thought they could search for comfort in a mortal?
In a drow, of all things... Cazador was disappointed, Astarion once again proving that he always was able to come up with something new, just when his master thought that the boy was as pathetic as he could get. Oh well. It has been a while since he properly punished his least capable spawn.
He and his other children waited in the lobby of the palace, since Astarion wasn’t sneaking his lover in through any of the ‘secret’ passageways; Cazador assumed they could be more direct for this, as he stared down his spawn, before his eyes judgmentally turned to the spawn’s sin.
A drow... or was it? Cazador admittedly hasn’t met too many of them, only his former master and his... ugh. Friends, and it has been quite a while since, but he didn’t remember ever seeing one with eyes this unnerving. But it was no real elf, so he decided that the original assumption was correct. Might have been some weird cross-or in-breeding, then.
Who knew what went on down in Menzoberranzan. (Cazador did. He simply didn’t want to think of those horrid nights ever again.)
“Cazador Szarr. An honor.”
The drow spoke first, with a bow to his head that seemed all but sincere, and Cazador nearly recoiled in disgust at how the man stared at him. How he dared speak so casually. Walk in as if he owned the place.
“Pleasure’s all yours,” he replied instead of a shout, just a tad more shaken than he wanted to be; all those years, and he was still not prepared to face an underelf with the destain they deserved.
How did one even get out of the Underdark?
The drow dared grin at him, look around the place, the spawn, and even if he didn’t know they were vampires, he must have been so incredibly dull to not be aware of just how surrounded he was with predators of the highest order. And if he did know...
A shiver traveled down Cazador’s spine, one he hasn’t felt in the longest time, but he collected himself.
Or at least attempted to, because then the drow reached forward and grabbed his hand in his filthy paw, shaking it as if- as if Cazador was just someone! The creature smelled of sewage and death, and it dared to just-!
And then he spoke, before Cazador could as much as react, and suddenly, Cazador wished he had just ordered Astarion to bring him his lover’s heart himself, instead of bringing him here for the theatrics’ sake.
“Love what you did with the place since good ol’ Velioth left, really,” the drow’s eyes burned into the vampire’s as he said the name, the name noone should know, should dare to utter in front of Cazador. “Is that imported wood? A bit moody, but guess it suits your lovely family, eh?”
“My- what?”
He could hear his own voice pitch higher than usually, the cursed name still ringing through his ears, still shocked from everything that has just happened, so quickly, so senselessly.
He found his hand still in the iron-like grip of the drow, and yanked it away, and thankfully –thankfully? Was he thankful already??- he was released. He forced himself to stay in place, to glare at the disgusting man with disgust instead of more... unpleasant feelings that pooled in the back of his throat.
“Where did you-“
Cazador never got to finish, not with how the drow’s voice cut through his own with ease that was downright embarrassing.
“I’ll cut to the chase, Cazador Szarr, buddy.” Astarion. He was going to kill Astarion, after he’s done with whatever freak he dared bring into Cazador’s house. “But you might wish to shoo your spawn away before you and I talk; it’s only humiliation if other people are there to see it, after all.”
Astarion was going to wish Master had killed him after this, actually.
“Who exactly do you think you are, underelf?!” He finally barked at him, at the smug intruder who carried himself as if he had any right to exist here. Cazador was planning on taking this slower, act more refined, but something about the drow just really got under his waxy skin.
The gnome wipe of waste that he sometimes called his spawn let out an undignified noise, no doubt from feeling Cazador’s pure anger (just anger, just rage, nothing laying underneath it), but Cazador wasn’t having it – he glanced towards the gnome to promise him a detached tongue in the very near future.
As soon as he dealt with the overly cocky drow, of course.
“I demand-“ he turned back towards him, but the drow has moved closer in that quick moment Cazador wasn’t looking, and Cazador was suddenly three hundred years younger with words frozen on his tongue.
The drow’s eyes appeared red and bright when a shadow fell over his face in this manner.
Like ones of a vampire, but-
Cazador couldn’t move when the man, the creature, moved in, and he felt its hot breath against his cheek; he hasn’t felt like prey in centuries, but it was as if he were back in the kennels, shivering in front of a starved hound with an appetite for freshly dead flesh.
“A thrall can’t erase a mind, vampling.” His voice was deceptively sweet, a mockery of softness. Cazador felt sick. “They will already wonder about Vellioth; do you want them to witness more? You summoned me to talk; talk we shall, then.”
He wasn’t leaving space for Cazador to refuse, and while the vampire wanted to, so badly; something was familiar in the expression the creature was making. A challenge. A dare for him to give a reason to make it worse.
“What will it be, buddy?”
Oh, Astarion was going to suffer.
Cazador, before he could change his mind, shouted at his spawn to leave, then watched them scramble in that oh so pathetic way of theirs... It gave him a moment of comfort, as if the image reminded him of just who and what he was. Cazador Szarr. A true vampire. Master of thousands, slave of none.
Powerful and mighty.
Then why did he feel such unease upon being left alone with the drow?
“Do you keep all your meetings in the lobby?” The drow’s hand, hot and heavy, landed on Cazador’s shoulder like a shackle, and something in him recoiled at such a raw level that he nearly stumbled away.
“Do not touch me,” he hissed, wishing his voice hadn’t been this squeaky in his moment of what he aggressively decided to call disgust.
The drow just stared at him. Smiling. Mockingly. Familiar in all the wrong ways.
“... My office is over there.”
“After you, Szarr.”
With his head raised high, Cazador tried to keep his dignity intact, doing his best to ignore the horrible feeling of the drow’s eyes on his back as he followed him to the office; wasn’t he planning on killing the man? What happened?
The drow closed the door behind them. There was no click of the lock, and yet, Cazador felt the atmosphere get tenser as he turned to face him.
“How-“ he coughed, to fix his voice, watching as the vile creature took in the extravagant room; the books on the shelves, the thick curtains over a blacked out window, the trinkets and vials of blood on the expensive table, the vampire lord that stood in front of him. “...How do you know of that name, underelf?”
“Is that what you called me for?” the drow cocked a brow, and Cazador nearly defended himself as if that wasn’t a completely stupid question to ask.
“Who are you.”
The man’s soft laugh was... it was wrong, Cazador of all people knew what sadism sounds like, what a beast looks like when it hides under a face of a mortal man, behind pretenses of chivalry and what he assumed the drow thought was humor.
“You summon me here, and not even know who you call upon? Tsk, Szarr, tsk~”
The drow took a step forward, his grin revealing sharp fangs at the sides, two pairs more than a vampire would’ve had.
Cazador wanted to run.
“I summoned my spawn’s lover; that is all you are in my eyes.”
“And how nearsighted you turned out to be.”
“Wh-“
Breath he didn’t need hitched in Cazador’s throat as the drow passed by him, close, so close he could hear the man’s heart pumping living blood through his veins, could feel his knuckle brush ever so gently across the back of Cazador’s cold hand in a manner far too casual to be accidental.
The way he sat down in Cazador’s chair was so familiar, so wrong and right and-
“Vellioth?”
It couldn’t be. How could it be. But-
The drow laughed, in a way that sounded far too youthful to be Vellioth, and Cazador felt embarrassment heat his cheeks for even considering such an impossibility.
“I’m no reincarnation, buddy. Nor the real deal, nor a possession, nothing your self absorbed paranoid brain cooked up in there.”
Of course it wasn’t him, perhaps... perhaps all drow just acted like utter creeps, Cazador decided, and the momentary terror has stepped away in favor of rightful anger.
“Stop playing games then, and explain yourself. What do you have to do with my spawn?”
The drow simply smiled. “Nothing you would be concerned about, I assure you.”
“It is my spawn, I have the right to know anything I want about him.” Something stopped Cazador from taking a step closer, even as the intruder started ever so casually looking through his paperwork on the desk; it felt like bait. Cazador knew that type of a trap. “Has he whored himself out to you, is that it? He is free to rent, if that is what you want.”
He had no idea why he was trying to negotiate with a complete stranger, but... for the first time in a while, Cazador didn’t feel like the apex predator in the room. There was blood-lust unlike that of any vampire in his eyes, and Cazador was not enough of a fool to ignore it.
“Sure, that is a fine way to put it. I’d like to keep seeing him, though.”
“He has duties to attend to.”
“I have no doubts about that, and no desire to try and take him from your rule – I am aware of how things work with spawn and sires. He’ll be free when you’re dead.”
Which will be never, Cazador bitterly thought, hand gripping his staff tighter.
“And have you come here to accomplish that?” He didn’t believe this to be a vampire hunter, no... which was worse, in a way.
“Depends.” Bad answer. “Are you going to attack me? Call for help?”
“If you are threathening me, I must tell you-“
“Because if you are,” gods, was it easy for that deep voice to cut him off, it made the hair on the back of Cazador’s neck stand, “not only will you lose, no matter who you call, no matter what spawn or werewolf or servant i have to pull apart, I will get to you, but you will fall out of favor of a god, and I truly advice you not to do so.” The drow’s eyes narrowed, corner of his lips curving up. “Mine is a hard god to please, buddy. You have no idea how lucky you are.”
It was Cazador’s turn to laugh, same hollow laugh the drow must have heard in Astarion before, the little shit caught it from him.
“And what could I have possibly done to get in favor of Lolth, underelf?”
He was not ready for how fast the man was able to move, going from complete, relaxed calmness, to casting Misty step to right in front of him, that rough hand encircling Cazador’s throat before he could as much as blink.
“Not Lolth, vampling,” the man smiled. “Bhaal.”
Cazador’s staff, ready to swing, stopped mid-air, as if the word was a commanding spell.
“... a Bhaalspawn,” he finally uttered, suddenly so, so aware of the hand on him that burnt too hot against his cold skin. “Your... your kind’s been eradicated, after the crisis-“
“I’m from a fresh batch,” the creature, the awful, disgusting creature, smiled at him, and before Cazador could as much as process the information properly, he found himself thrown against his own desk and as he tried to pull himself away, the monster’s hand was in his hair and shoved him down until he was bent over like an whorish secretary. A child to be spanked. An unruly spawn.
“You-!”
“New and improved, actually,” the halfgod continued, positioning himself behind the vampire, hot and heavy presence over Cazador’s lithe corpse.
That casual, cheerful tone was all the worse when it spoke right into Cazador’s ear“Drop the staff before I fuck you with it, and not with the end you’d prefer.”
It was immediate. Cazador wasn’t in his office anymore. The hand in his hair was darker, and the lips against his ear colder, the threat the same. He didn’t even hear when the staff fell to the floor, he only knew that there was a clawed hand caressing the back of his, until their fingers intertwined, in a way that left Cazador pinned.
Ink spilled, he noticed, despondently. He should clean that up, after.
“I don’t care for what you do with Astarion, vampling.” His –that’s right, his- spawn’s name brought him back just a little, enough to recognize that the tone of the hand holding him was not his sire’s.
“Then why-“
“Stop talking.” As if compelled, he did. “I am not here to interfere with what you do with your spawn when he’s here; but you will let him return outside, like he did so far. He’ll perform his duties, worry not. You with me so far, buddy?”
The hand in his hair pushed down further, all the pressure of the Bhaalspawn’s weight pushing on Cazador’s already sharp cheekbone.
Unable to nod, the vampire managed a “yes,” however breathy his voice might have been.
“Good, good boy.” The mocking praise sent a terrible, disgusting wave of heat down to Cazador’s loins, much to his growing horror. “You will also not punish him for what is happening right now; it was you who invited me to your home, not him.”
“Y-yes.”
“And,” that casual, cheerful voice was back; the Bhaalspawn sounded so young, to think of it. It made it worse, someone with all that power, and no maturity to wield it, Cazador bitterly thought. Vellioth once said the same to him, during the eleven years of impalement. “Next is the matter of payment.”
Cazador tried unsuccessfully to turn his head, to look up, but the grip was unyielding; at least the creature released his hand, so that he could ball it in a fist that wasn’t going to hit anything.
“Payment?”
“You summoned the scion of Bhaal himself, buddy. I don’t work by the hour, sure – but my time ain’t cheap. I should have you gutted for wasting my time, burnt and boiled until there is no flesh left on your pearly bones~”
Claws traveled down the side of Cazador’s neck, over Vellioth’s bite mark, down the vampire’s lean side, settling on his hip. Cazador prayed it was going to stay there, not go lower, where his shame was hardening under the desk.
“~but Bhaal is nothing but merciful, and you can pay your way out of it.”
“How much?” Cazador asked immediately; it wasn’t worth arguing. Astarion wasn’t worth dying over. And the Bhaalspawn’s hand was moving lower.
The number that left the creature’s foul lips was so high Cazador almost protested in outrage. Almost, because the Bhaalspawn suddenly reached around him, big hand cupping the vampire’s erection through his pants, and the world froze up for just a moment.
“I always wanted an undead toy, Cazador~” the awful man purred in his ear, those fangs tracing it in the most dangerous nibble. “It’s your one time chance to choose if you want that to be you, or your spawn. Pay, and I’ll keep using him. Deny me, and... heh.” He moved, palming the vampire through the fabric, running his fingers by the side of his painfully hard cock. Cazador had no idea since when he was like this. Perhaps since the drow’s mannerisms, the sadism and the joy of suffering that filtered through a smile.
Perhaps since he thought Master was home.
“I’m sure I’ll find a way for you to pay me back.” The creature’s tongue licked over his neck, and Cazador couldn’t help but whimper when it caressed Vellioth’s claim of ownership. “How does that sound like, hm, vampling? I’d chain you up in my temple until you beg me for Father’s mercy, to be given to Him as a gift~”
“S-shit, I’ll-“
“Or perhaps you’d like it.” Clawed fingers roughly stroked him, the heat from the Bhaalspawn on his back was awful, heavy, and part of Cazador, a part he has wished, lied to himself about forgetting about, made him lay still and take it and moan, his hips bucking back against Vel- the Bhaalspawn’s. “Yes~” ever so gently, the creature’s fangs pressed against Cazador’s throat, as if he were going to bite.
“Perhaps this is what you want, still, vampling. You still think I’m him, don’t you? Ve~lli~oth~, oh how sad of a sight you are~”
“I’ll pay, gods, I’ll-“
“Sweet thing~ Better Astarion than you, isn’t it? Don’t worry,” the drow’s hardness pressed against Cazador’s backside, and the hand in his hair turned to a fist, suddenly yanking him up until he stood with a strong arm around his mid, and a hot voice in his ear, words spoken in elvish. “I’ll treat him worse than you ever could.”
The world went white for a moment.
Cazador found himself supple and sobbing, slack in the Bhaalspawn’s arms as the man was holding him, humming a song Cazador didn’t care to think of the origin of. His pants felt horribly sticky and his stomach felt heavy, his chest hollow – he shivered with disgust when he realized the bhaalspawn has been licking the tears off of his cheeks.
“Get... get off of me,” he managed to say, in a voice he wasn’t sure if it was pleading or not, but in either case, the creature obliged, and didn’t comment on how he almost fell before he caught himself by the table.
“I’ll send someone to collect your debts, Lord Szarr,” the halfgod smiled, once again casual and almost friendly, if it wasn’t for the sick enjoyment in his eyes.
Gods, the amount was an atrocious percentage of all that Cazador owned, but he wasn’t really in a place to argue, was he?
“Oh, and the needles you took from Astarion.”
He didn’t even attempt to fight this one, it was far too... much of a nothing. Cazador’s been through enough shit for his most annoying spawn, anyway. The wretch better be grateful.
He handed the small, ugly box to the Bhaalist, unable to look him in the eye as the question still bugged his mind, even as the other man started to walk out.
“Pleasure doing business with you, then~ I’ll walk myself out, ya look like you need a moment to collect yourself there.”
“W- wait.” He couldn’t leave without knowing.
The Bhaalspawn looked over his shoulder, one hand on the door handle. Cazador’s voice got stuck in his throat, hand still supporting his weight against the mess of his table.
“How... How did you know? About Vellioth?”
The spawn blinked, once, twice – and laughed.
“Oh, that? No idea who Vellioth is, buddy, other than that he was the owner of Szarr palace for a little bit.”
“... what?”
The man’s grin was the most infuriating, cruel thing Cazador has ever seen.
“Found his name in old city’s architecture archives, he signed to have some re-modellings for this place done just a few decades before you became the owner.”
“Then- then how?”
“Lucky shot in the dark,” he laughed, and Cazador felt the hot flush of humiliation creep into his cheeks again. “Gods, you were so easy to read, it really wasn’t hard to guess what he was to you judging from your reactions. You looked like you’ve seen a ghost since the moment I said his name, and then I just rolled with it. Must say, comparing to whatever you two seemed to have had, Astarion suddenly seems hella well adjusted.”
Cazador... collapsed.
Relief, anger, disappointment... They all mixed together, and it was just a tad too much. He was going to pick himself up in a moment, sure... but sometimes, he missed the voice of a compellment.
Sometimes, he missed the voice of who was now just a skull in the basement.
The Bhaalspawn winked at him, opening the door.
“Bhaal appreciates your contribution to the city’s death pool, and your generous payment for the time wasted on your family drama.” His smile suddenly dropped, and if Cazador had the energy for it left, he’d flinch. “Next time I have to come over, I will be leaving with your head, Cazador Szarr.”
The doors slammed behind him, and Cazador listened until he couldn’t hear that annoyingly cheerful humming anymore.
The only good thought he could think of in that moment, was that at least it was Astarion dealing with a bloody Bhaalspawn on a regular basis, it seemed. Sounded like a fitting punishment for getting involved with one in the first place.
Cazador fixed his clothes and bitterly stood up.
Now, to remember which spawn it was that told him about this, and started the whole mess.
He had some choice words for it.