Chapter Text
The first year after everything, Astarion had mostly focused on relearning good touch. It was so wonderfully novel, and he spent a lot of time ludicrously happy. He could learn to enjoy his body again. He could learn to enjoy it again with Wyll even.
Granted, there were a number of nights Astarion said no, and then some failed attempts at sex, and then a few attempts where Astarion just wanted to see if Wyll would stop if Astarion did say no.
There was also, occasionally, the times Wyll was the one who couldn’t that night. This shouldn’t make Astarion feel better, and yet it did.
Astarion didn’t want a savior anymore. He wanted an equal. And Wyll made him feel like a person. In return, he tried to do his best to use himself as an excuse for why Wyll should have nice things. Oh, Astarion wanted to spend a bit of extra money for the fancy inn. Astarion wanted them to have matching outfits. Astarion wanted Wyll to eat well because then his blood tasted better.
Wyll cottoned on, but he still didn’t ever have the heart to refuse Astarion.
But after that first year, well, things had been going good. Fantastically. To the point that perhaps Astarion wanted to try other things in the bedroom. He spent a ridiculous amount of time figuring out how to phrase things in a way Wyll would understand.
After all, it was hard to explain some of the fantasies. Yes he’d been a puppet for two hundred years. But also Wyll had been there when Auntie Ethel had said that deep down, Astarion liked being leashed, and, yes, okay, he did. Not by Cazador. Not by so many people who had actually held that leash, but despite Cazador—or maybe when Astarion was feeling particularly self-loathing he wondered because of it—Astarion did maybe like a person in the bedroom to take charge for a change.
Look, normally it was Astarion seducing people, which meant a lot of work went into it. How to look, what phrases to use. Even when Astarion was the receiving partner, it was him putting in all that hard work for seduction.
Was it that shocking that when Astarion fantasized, he didn’t have to put any effort in at all?
Okay, maybe it was shocking. Hence why it had taken over a year to even tell his husband about perhaps some additional things they could be doing, for fun, and for orgasms. Doubly so with Wyll’s own personal history of sexual trauma under Mizora, which, by the way, Wyll was a bloody hypocrite about, because Wyll always wanted Astarion to feel like ‘he could tell Wyll anything’, but then getting Wyll to admit Mizora had abused him was like pulling teeth on one of Godey’s half-hearted days when he wasn’t really putting his absolute lack of muscles into it.
But, one night was a particularly good night. Astarion had some blood and some wine and then some more blood, and he was feeling particularly safe.
They were snuggling just outside of the tent, waiting the arrival of dawn. Astarion still hated touch from everyone else, but Wyll snuggles were as addictive as silkroot and just as synapse melting.
It was here in the safety of the wilderness, with no one to judge him because Wyll would never, that Astarion finally broached the question.
“Have you ever considered a touch of roleplay in the bedroom?” Astarion asked. “For us. I enjoy our little time together, but it could be a fun little element to add in.”
Wyll, cutting straight to it, asked, “What kind of roleplay?”
“Oh you know, classic scenarios,” Astarion said, toying with one of five dead squirrels in a pile. “A thief gets caught at night by the shopkeep. A dragon and their sacrifice. Maybe, you know, a monster hunter seeing if the spawn can be rehabilitated.”
They were all revealing fantasies. All of them contained that element of being caught and toyed with and punished.
Wyll didn’t pull away, but he had a strange expression that Astarion couldn’t puzzle out.
“I’ve heard people have those fantasies before,” Wyll said. “I don’t entirely understand them.”
It wasn’t judgmental though, just curious.
And of course Wyll wouldn’t judge Astarion, not for sexual roleplay. Astarion knew what Wyll would judge him over, and that was sacrificing a few thousand people for power, but then Astarion didn’t do that, and he got kissed breathless over it.
“Never been one yourself to fantasize about some sexual roleplay despite all those books you read?”
“I didn’t say that,” Wyll said, and that had Astarion’s eyebrows raised. “I just don’t entirely understand the point of them.”
“Orgasms,” Astarion said, and Wyll laughed at that, hand half over his mouth. “They’re, you know, fun.”
“Rehabilitation is fun to you?” Wyll asked. It wasn’t mean. It was, perhaps, reflective. And that was exciting, wasn’t it? That Wyll might have his own secret fantasies he hadn’t been sharing with Astarion, even if he might be a little confused about what they were.
That was fine. Sexuality was confusing in general.
“Of course not,” Astarion said. “But it’s not really happening, any more than people die in the stories you read, or the training dummies die when you smack them with a sword. But pretending can be enjoyable.”
What Astarion didn’t say was he hadn’t had ‘normal’ fantasies in as long as he could remember. They’d all disappeared somewhere. Being with Wyll was different, blessedly different, but the few times Astarion took himself in hand, the only thing that could get him off was the idea of being constrained and forced.
And Astarion didn’t like to examine that too hard, thank you. That was, apparently, what Auntie Ethels were for, and she was well-dead.
“Hmmm,” Wyll said. “Sell me on the idea?”
“Okay, so,” Astarion said, hands gesturing wildly, and, whoops, he was still holding onto the dead squirrel, best put that down, “you’re a monster hunter. This should be familiar enough to you. You’ve killed my master, what a shock, but I’ve been trapped in a cage and can’t get away. You can’t just let me out. What if I’m bad and all? So you need to see if I’m fit for polite society. If I can control my blood lust. And, maybe you’re an unethical monster hunter, oh no. Not too unethical. You aren’t heartless. You might let me live, if I give you reason for that. And that reason will involve, unshockingly, orgasms. Sometimes I do a good enough job that you open the cage and leave me there, wet and used. And sometimes you take me captive.”
And, sometimes, Astarion in his fantasies wouldn’t be let out. He would just be left in the cage, and the monster hunter walked away. Astarion didn’t know if that was an actual kink thing for him or his relentless pessimism and feelings of never being able to escape even infecting his fun fantasy ideas.
At this point, after this long, Astarion couldn’t tell, and also he was tired of examining whether it was bad or not. It was what it was.
Wyll didn’t seem sold.
“It’s fine,” Astarion said. “Again, it’s just fantasies. We don’t have to do any of them.”
“I just would never do that,” Wyll said, meaningfully. “I can’t think of a scenario where I would, even if I didn’t know you.”
Gods he was so sweet.
“I know that,” Astarion said, putting a hand on Wyll’s. “It’s just pretend.”
Wyll hesitated. “If it’s something you are interested in, I mean- I have some, ah, strange desires of my own that are hard to grapple with, but it’s hard for me to picture myself doing that.”
“I know you wouldn’t,” Astarion said. “But some other monster hunter might? Some sort of hypothetical sex villain?”
Wyll brightened suddenly. “Oh! I’m not Wyll in this! Or the Blade of Frontiers. He wouldn’t do that either.”
“Exactly,” Astarion said. At this point, he was used to Wyll rolling with his persona being both Wyll and also not Wyll at the same time. “You are some scoundrel monster hunter that would, just for the scene.”
“Okay,” Wyll said, with far more enthusiasm than he’d shown so far. “I get it now.”
And it was an equal parts wanting to pry and find out more about his husband, and an equal part that Astarion didn’t like being so vulnerable alone, and if he had to go through the mortifying ordeal of mentioning fucked up fantasies, then so did Wyll.
“So what are yours?” Astarion asked.
Wyll flushed, looking away, shoulders raised slightly. “They’re- hard to parse. And hard to explain properly, but, in a similar vein to yours?”
Astarion waited patiently.
“There’s a monster hunting me,” Wyll said. “I’m not the Blade in these. I’m just Wyll, with no magic or sword to protect me. And the monster wants to, ah, corrupt me? Specifically with charming magic. But they also want me to enjoy myself. They take great pleasure in that I’m getting pleasure from it.”
Astarion could see how that would be a struggling point, yes. Wyll was still, still reluctant to fully open up about what had happened with Mizora, and whenever he did, it was usually with a lot of minimizing that didn’t actually make Astarion feel good.
But they were both works in progress. And they had nothing but time.
“Well I’m a vampire. Spawn, sure, but still a vampire,” Astarion said. “I could stalk you for an evening.”
Wyll flushed harder.
“See? I would never,” Astarion said. “But some sort of sex villain vampire could.”
“So, monster hunters for you?” Wyll asked, giving him a sly look.
Astarion grinned and began to spell out his fantasies in detail.
—
They didn’t do anything that tenday. Or the next. But a month later, they were taking a breather in a town. Astarion insisted on the occasional time off, and Wyll seemed to deeply appreciate it even if he never called for it. It was a decent sized town, with enough drow in the area that some shops were even open at nights. Astarion and Wyll had split up to purchase supplies before meeting back at their inn.
And then Wyll, in the absolute shiest voice, asked if Astarion was still wanting to have some of those monster hunter fantasies met.
“Of course darling,” Astarion said, hand over his unbeating heart. He had, for about a century now. Monster hunter was a classic fantasy that had gone through so many variations and perversions it nearly felt like old hat. And yet the prospect of maybe being able to live it?
It made it feel new all over again.
There were a few negotiations first, a few additional preparations. Wyll didn’t want to go too hard for their first attempt at this, while Astarion wanted to make sure there would be at least a few elements of humiliation. Wyll asked Astarion if he wanted to know where they were going to end up, and Astarion said no, don’t ruin the surprise.
The real delightful torture was Wyll was doing this for him.
Wyll didn’t seem one to delight in dominance. He delighted in hand-holding and sappy poetry books, even if he had his own wicked little fantasies. But Wyll also had been making plans and preparations purely because it would make Astarion happy to be thoroughly ravished, and it was sweet and endearing, and the thought that Astarion was going to live through one of his scenarios was already making his dick hard.
Astarion didn’t eat all day, and when Wyll wasn’t looking, bled out some of the blood he had in his system. Not a lot. Astarion knew the feeling of starvation like a second skeleton, but he wanted to be at least somewhat hungry for the scene.
Somehow, losing blood did nothing for his state of arousal, which was embarrassing.
And then, that evening Astarion, feeling like his heart was hammering even though it was still, drank a potion of angelic slumber, and he fell asleep.
—
Sleep was a strange, alien thing, a blinking of consciousness. A complete lack of awareness. Astarion had been in the room in the inn, and now, blinking groggily, he was somewhere else. It took a moment for him to stir, to feel out his limbs and open his eyes.
He was actually in a cage.
Wyll had found, somehow, a gods-be-damned cage just like in the majority of Astarion’s fantasies. How utterly sweet of him.
Astarion nearly started giggling, but he didn’t want to ruin the scene.
He looked around the room. He was in some kind of barn, hay scattered on the floor, though there weren’t any animals right now, and Astarion dearly hoped Wyll lied to the owner on why he needed a barn for an evening. But the smell of animals was deeply present, and reminded Astarion of that ache in his gut. He was salivating, but he couldn’t get anywhere.
The cage was small enough Astarion couldn’t stand or fully lay out, and he was missing his outer layer of clothes. Even his boots were missing.
A delightful shiver ran down his neck.
He was vulnerable and rather exposed, wasn’t he?
He looked around the room again, and then a third time, and that was when the invisibility dropped on Wyll, who had been sitting right next to the cage the entire time.
When Astarion startled backwards, it was a true startle response. “Shit.”
Wyll looked at him as if he was seeing through him, as if he was Dalyria inspecting critically for gangrene. Another delightful little shiver ran through Astarion’s spine. He wanted mostly to congratulate Wyll on somehow finding a good cage in this town and also ask him how hard he blushed when getting it, but it was scene time now.
He wasn’t a well-seasoned adventurer, comfortable in blood and coin alike.
He was some little spawn in a cage with a monster hunter on the other side.
“Who are you?” Astarion asked, making sure to scuttle away from his husband and not towards like his animal brain wanted to do. “What do you want with me?”
“I thought you would have figured that out already,” Wyll said, so matter-of-factly, and so not-Wyll that Astarion was almost taken for a pause. “Your sire’s dead. Can’t you tell?”
Yes, quite. The absence of Cazador was still a lovely novelty, a nothing that Astarion could fill with whatever he pleased.
“That was you?” Astarion asked, a touch breathy.
Wyll inclined his head.
“Are- are you looking for gratitude?” Astarion asked. “Because you’ll have it, in spades. I-”
“I’ve seen a lot of feral spawn,” Wyll said, casually, and that was a stake in his hand, exciting. Gods, stakes shouldn’t make him hard. They really shouldn’t. This was going to be so embarrassing if he ever met another vampire hunter. “Most of them can’t seem to control themselves around the blood. I can’t tell if you’re going to be safe for people.”
“I am,” Astarion said. “I swear. I’ll be good.”
Wyll grinned, and again, it was an un-Wyll like grin. “We’ll see about that, won’t we?”
The grin wasn’t his, and the way Wyll was sitting wasn’t his either, but the way his hand was on the stake was so entirely Wyll that it was, bizarrely, reassuring.
“I’m hardly biting at the bars right now, right?” Astarion said, placing his hands on them. “See? Perfectly harmless, I swear. And- And I haven’t been fed in a tenday, and I’m still me, see?”
Wyll snorted. “You are restraining yourself with one person, sure. But when there’s many? When tempers have risen, and blood is rushing? But don’t worry, corpse. You don’t bite me tonight, not once, and I don’t stake you. You don’t bite me, and I will presume you’re tame enough to be about in polite society.”
“Okay,” Astarion said quickly. “Sure.”
Wyll’s gaze was, again, unlike him in a way that shouldn’t be thrilling. But he’d said himself that the Blade of Frontiers would never.
Right now, Wyll was very much not the Blade of Frontiers.
“Take your shirt off,” Wyll said. “Slowly.”
“I- Okay?” Astarion asked. He knew where this was going, but surely a vampire hunter wouldn’t want to fuck a corpse. But he slowly stripped out of his shirt, nipples hardening in the cold air. He waited there as Wyll, no, the tiefling hunter just stared at him appraisingly with his one good eye.
“Your trousers next,” the hunter said.
Astarion hesitated. “Where is this going?”
Even in the fantasy, he already knew. But one couldn’t help but ask anyway. It was a pointless endeavor, as futile as clawing at the bars of his cage.
“Best way to test for it,” the hunter said, dispassionately. “Blood doesn’t pump harder than during sex. If we fuck, and you behave yourself, then clearly you do have self-control, and nothing bad needs to happen. But you would have to behave.”
Astarion shuddered slightly. But, but it was fine! Okay. So. One night of behaving himself in return for freedom? For forever being free of Cazador?
An easy trade.
Astarion shrugged out of his trousers and undergarments next, feeling terribly on display, and even more so when the hunter grinned when Astarion’s cock was already stirring.
“Really?” the hunter asked, pleased.
There was a delicious sting of humiliation, and gods, he felt on display in the best of ways. Naked, when W- the hunter was still fully clothed. Trapped in a cage, with just enough hunger that his limbs felt slow.
“What next?” Astarion asked.
“I’m going to open the cage,” the hunter said. “You run, I stake you. Understand?”
And the hunter raised a finger and traced an arcanic gesture, and Astarion could feel the the whisper of paralysis slide in and out through his limbs. It took all of his willpower to not just immediately start moaning like a two-bit whore.
“You can’t run anyway,” the hunter continued. “It’s futile. So. You going to behave for me?”
Astarion nodded, and then for good measure put his hands on his knees. The hunter grinned at that, and then he unlocked the cage.
(Astarion was going to have to discuss a scenario with Wyll later when Astarion did get to run and get tackled to the ground or paralyzed and ravished that way. Gods. Gods they were going to get to have repeated performances.)
But in this scenario, Astarion remained still.
“Good,” the hunter said, and then he began to undo the front of his trousers and nothing more.
“I’m- I’m good with my mouth, sir,” Astarion said, hopefully. His head was feeling delightfully light, like all the thoughts and burdens were one by one being lifted out of him. There was nothing he could do, and therefore he didn’t have to stop fretting on how to get out.
The hunter snorted. “This is about seeing if you can control yourself. You haven’t earned that yet. I’m not putting my dick anywhere near those fangs. Turn around.”
Oh.
He was going to get fucked while still inside the cage.
Oh Astarion could kiss Wyll.
There wasn’t room enough in the cage to stand, but if he turned around and knelt, ass up, face down, he could still be inside the cage while leaving room for the hunter to fuck him.
“Lower,” the hunter said, and Astarion’s dick throbbed at that, and then he pressed his face into the dirt and hay.
His limbs felt like they were possessed of electricity, like his head was no longer fully his right now. He was shaking, but the hunter just put a hand steadying on his waist.
“Still good?” the hunter asked casually, and Astarion nodded, a little frantic, and Wyll laughed a little, almost breaking character.
Astarion could only see the walls of the barn from this angle and the bars on the cage, but he heard the sound of a stopper, and then he flinched as he felt oil drip onto and down his ass. He was trying to keep his breathing steady, not wanting the hunter to see how badly he was shamefully affected.
The finger wasn’t rough, but it wasn’t gentle either, and quickly there were two fingers in there, stretching him out, pushing oil further inside of him. It wasn’t as slowly and teasing as Wyll normally did. It was almost mechanical, route, an impassionate task.
He forced himself to stay still, to stay good, but the hunter positioned himself, and then pushed in all at once.
Astarion made a noise like someone had punched him in the stomach, but a touch higher. It was so much, to go from the fresh loss of his sire, to being filled so quickly, far more intense than it should be.
“Really?” the hunter asked. He then snapped his hips in again, a bright starburst of pleasure, and Astarion moaned this time, shamefully. He pressed his face into the dirt to hide, a useless gesture.
“This wasn’t even supposed to be for you,” the hunter said in a dark mirth, and he slammed in a third time, and Astarion’s fingers clawed into the dirt. “Well, doesn’t defeat the exercise.”
And because this was really Wyll who knew Astarion’s body so well at this point, he knew the right angles to make Astarion weak, to make Astarion into this pleading thing. And because right now he wasn’t being Wyll, he had no qualms in setting a harder pace than normal, roughly fucking Astarion into the dirt.
He couldn’t see, face hidden, but he could hear the wet slapping of flesh, feel the hunter slam into him with Astarion’s pleasure an afterthought, which only made it curl all the brighter.
He was getting painfully hard, making these hitching sobs, unable to stop himself from bucking his hips back into each thrust to get the hunter’s dick that much deeper inside of him.
And he could smell Wyll, smell the arousal coursing through his blood, and gods there was something to this wasn’t there? Astarion’s mouth watered, his fangs piercing his lower lip, and the ache in his stomach pulsed in time to the ache in Astarion’s dick.
One of his hands scrambled back towards his own cock, and the hunter’s hand slapped it away, a delightful ripple of sensation against skin.
Astarion whined at the denial of it.
“This isn’t for you,” the hunter said. “It’s not my fault you haven’t been touched in so long.”
Wyll was doing such an excellent job of being in character, some distant hazy part of Astarion’s brain thought. Excellent sex villain.
Almost to punish him, the hunter picked up the pace, and Astarion could feel dirt and straw digging into his face, tangled up in the pleasure of being so thoroughly taken.
The hunter paused, and then reached forward and slid his arm in front of Astarion. He could almost feel the blood pulsing away in there, vibrant, rich, full of life and pleasure, if only Astarion bit down. Right there for the taking, and the hunger begged to be sated.
Astarion whined again and tried to push his face away, but the arm followed, and his cock hurt and his teeth ached.
“Please,” Astarion begged, and he didn’t know which one he was begging for.
“This is about self-control,” the hunter said, snapping his hips in again, and Astarion gasped against the dirt.
His cock was so wet at this point, and he could feel orgasm on the horizon as pleasure and pressure continued to build and build and build with each casual thrust of the hunter’s hips.
The hunter shifted his grip, raising Astarion up slightly, but in such a position that most of the weight was on Astarion’s forearms. His muscles trembled from it, and he remained still. The new angle allowed the hunter to push even deeper inside of him, and Astarion felt used in the most delicious of ways.
And then all at once, the hunter was spilling inside of him, in spurts.
The hunter pulled out with Astarion still unfinished.
Astarion whined, still achingly hard, and he tried to rut against the ground, before the hunter slapped his ass.
“Stop that,” he said, and Astarion forced himself to be still.
“Can’t even keep up with what’s supposed to be going on?” the hunter asked. “Never met a spawn as desperate as you.”
Astarion’s whine was higher now, as the humiliation went straight to his cock, and he felt like he was going to die of this. He wanted release, of any kind, so badly.
He wanted the hunter to strike him again, but instead again the hunter waved his arm in front of Astarion’s nose, and again Astarion found himself whining. The hunger and arousal were inseparable from each other, and each only built the other higher. He found his mouth opening instinctively, but he kept himself still against the ground. He could feel the hunter’s spend slowly dripping from his ass.
“That’s something at least,” the hunter said. “At least you can remember your manners, spawn. Might not be a lost cause after all.”
“Please,” Astarion gasped out, fingers not quite touching his cock. “ Please, sir. Please.”
The hunter sat back on his heels and gave Astarion a strange look. “Fine.”
And then the hunter’s hand reached down and stroked Astarion’s cock. It took, shamefully, three entire strokes, and then Astarion came. Climax made the world swim and narrow, as his fingers scrambling against the dirt, and pleasure cleared out what few thoughts had been remaining in his head.
Leaving him utterly empty and spent, a wet and used thing in a cage.
He was drifting, completely unmoored now. The afterglow of pleasure had made a home in him and wasn’t allowing any little thoughts to make their ways back inside his empty head.
He smelled the temptation of blood again, and he didn’t stir.
There was a warble of sound, and then Astarion was being carefully lifted up and out of the cage, light as a feather. He was deposited on a bedroll, and just Wyll now began to lovingly clean him off.
“Come on,” Wyll said. “You were fantastic for me. You can have my blood now.”
Astarion made a complaint noise, but his stomach was still aching, and this time, this time he bit down, and gods Wyll always tasted like what divinity should. No celestial could compare. His blood was alive and suffused with happiness, and Astarion got down multiple swallows before Wyll had to take his arm away and then put a soft blanket over the both of them.
Astarion drifted for a bit, happily cuddling into Wyll’s magnificent chest, while Wyll told him a number of little sweet things. The contrast of the roughness and the humiliation to the softness now only made Astarion drift further. He felt sated in every way possible.
“Well,” Astarion finally said. “Hm. Yes.”
“Yes?”
“Yes.”
Wyll laughed. “I’m glad it worked for you.”
Astarion suddenly felt fretful, emotion crashing back into him like a wave. “And- and did you have any fun? I hoped you got something out of it.”
Wyll looked thoughtful as he kept tracing circles on Astarion’s chest, touch so grounding. “To a degree. It was a strange sensation. I enjoyed myself at a number of parts, but I felt more that I was trying to keep everything running exactly so. It was like concentrating on a complex spell, but in a fun way. It was strangely fascinating, watching you react so strongly to everything I did.”
“Well you did a great job. No notes. Honestly, this character you came up with felt compellingly real.”
Wyll flushed harder than he did during even sex.
“Wyll,” Astarion said, delighted. “Wyll what is it?”
“Look,” Wyll said, staring resolutely at the ceiling. “I wanted to do a good job, and I wanted to really get into the mind of this sex villain for you. So. I wrote a ten page backstory for him-”
Astarion dissolved into giggles, and then felt bad when Wyll looked a touch crestfallen.
“No don’t give me that face. No it’s sweet. Wyll you spent so much time on this! And I loved it. You are such a dear man. And I didn’t even get the sex villain’s name.”
Wyll looked a touch more hopeful. “Well. Maybe if you wanted at some point, he can show up again.”
“He’ll have to,” Astarion said, snuggling against Wyll. “Really there’s too many spins on this scenario I’ve fantasized about for a while now, and- and I’m really happy to get to finally do them with someone I trust.”
“Because I would never,” Wyll said, all sweet innocence, but now that was a game too.
“Exactly. You would never, and that’s why we have sex villains. Though next time maybe I can do something for you instead.”
Wyll flushed again, tail swishing across the ground.
“I’d like that,” Wyll said, low, vulnerable, but pleased.
Astarion pulled him back in for proper cuddling. They’d definitely need to clean up the barn so the owner really didn’t find out what they were doing, but for now Astarion was content to drift safe in the arms of his lover.