Chapter Text
Lucy sinks into the warm water with a huff, and then a sigh. It’s been a long gods-damned day… night… She isn’t really sure what time it is, exactly.
At least Strix offered her the bath in her own chambers, for the last thing that Lucy wanted to do was spend a full hour biding her time coated in dust, bat guano, and whatever desiccated rat bits had undoubtedly found their way into her hair and underneath her fingernails while that bitch Míriel hogged the simple wooden tub that all three spawn begrudgingly share. Well, begrudgingly on the part of herself and Míriel, anyway. Samson just seems happy to have a bath at all.
“Gods, I hate it down there,” she mutters, even as the warmth of the water and the scent of herbal salts work to take the edge off of her mood, helped along by the sound of pouring wine.
Strix passes her a goblet, looking on sympathetically from the side of the bath. “What in the hells is he having you do down there, anyway?”
“Well, technically, he hasn’t actually said what it is we’re doing. But I think it’s rather obvious…” Lucy shoots her expectant companion a knowing look; sighs, and then goes on, “He’s having us build a sex dungeon. Or rather, refurbish a filthy old dungeon-dungeon into a sex dungeon.”
The other woman’s brow rises so high, it seems likely to detach from the rest of her face. “You’re not serious…”
“Oh, I’m entirely serious! And no one more serious than he, apparently. Just roused us all from bed early because he decided out of the blue that he must have a sex dungeon—and in two tendays, no less. Two damned tendays, Strix! It’s completely ridiculous!” Lucy takes a long drink, stewing. “He really hasn’t said anything to you about it?”
“Not a word,” Strix replies, regarding her with a mixture of morbid curiosity and residual disbelief.
Lucy snorts. “I suppose that isn’t actually all that surprising. I’m sure that he knows you would laugh at him.”
“Oh, I’m sure I’ll get the chance.”
The two share a sardonic chuckle, while Strix sips her wine. Then she asks, “Why is he having you three do it, though?”
Lucy had indeed—and as pleasantly as possible, given the circumstances—asked the same question. “Apparently it’s too top-secret of a project for ordinary laborers. As if he’s suddenly worried about people thinking him a libertine...”
“A little late for that, isn’t it?”
Lucy takes a long, beleaguered drink. “I swear to the gods, the man is utterly indefatigable when it comes to watching other people work. He even brought a chair down for himself! Just sat there like a king for hours, nitpicking, while we slaved away preparing for the installation of his dungeon-chic throne.”
At that, Strix abruptly pitches forward in a fit of coughing, seeming to have aspirated her wine. “Dungeon chic?!” she wheezes, aghast, upon finally managing to clear it from her windpipe. Most of it, anyway. “He did not actually say that…”
“Oh yes, he did.”
“Hells… I should probably stop having sex with him.”
“We should all stop having sex with him.” Lucy exhales, and then begins to chuckle. “To be fair, he quite literally compelled Princess Míriel to shut up, when she wouldn’t stop complaining. And the bitch has her magic, so she hardly had to touch anything down there in the first place! Or, you know, labor…”
She shakes her head slowly, with a devious grin spreading across her lips. “I know you don’t like it when he compels us, but hells, was she pissed! It was hilarious... Silver linings, I suppose.”
Strix only half-hides her amusement behind her goblet—it is, after all, objectively funny. And Lucy, for her part, is already feeling better. She relaxes deeper into the water and lets her eyes close, while a few, easy minutes pass in silence, until Strix begins to speak.
“I wonder what he’s planning...”
“For the sex dungeon?”
“Mhmm.”
While her eyes remain shut, Lucy says, “To fuck in it, I assume.”
That elicits a snort of laughter from her companion. “I doubt he’d put in this sort of effort unless he was specifically trying to impress someone, though. Someone important. And in two tendays, specifically? Ugh,” she groans. “He must be throwing a party... Although he typically would have started nagging me about it by now.”
“Perhaps you’re not invited.” Lucy finally opens her eyes, as Strix rolls her own.
“Don’t you dare get my hopes up. I can only imagine how insufferable his guests of honor are going to be this time, if he’s making a fucking sex dungeon…”
Lucy considers her companion with interest, as an idea begins to stir in her mind. “It could work out in your favor, though, if you play your cards right,” she says carefully. “Especially since he presumably expects you to put up a fuss about going, or to mock him, or what have you. But you could surprise him. Play along. Extol his unparalleled extravagance, and lordly dominion...”
She giggles, and then clears her throat. “The best time to ask a man for something is within three minutes after he comes, you know.”
Strix makes a silly face at that. “Three minutes? That’s oddly specific…” She seems skeptical, but a little curious, too. And sure enough, a few seconds later: “Ask for what…?”
“Jewels, pretty dresses. Whatever it is you want.”
Lucy takes a moment to reflect on what her friend might want from him, given his existing propensity to lavish her with all the jewels and pretty dresses she will tolerate. The obvious choice, she determines rather quickly, is getting out of the damned palace.
So, she gives Strix a conspiratorial smile; then suggests, “What about a villa…?”
The next day…
Though there is, in general, nothing that brings Astarion more joy than the face of his beloved, he was not expecting it to be the first thing he laid eyes upon as the dais rose to the main floor of the palace—or second thing, technically, after her boots—nor is he, in this instance, especially pleased that it is. But he puts on a grin all the same, and does his best not to look like he’d just been caught doing something he wasn't supposed to.
“Darling! How are you?”
Strix doesn't even bother to answer, nor does she wait for him to step fully off the platform before proceeding with her own interrogation. “What were you doing down there? I thought you avoided the dungeons.”
Internally, he bristles at her words; for while he has indeed been in the habit of avoiding the dungeons since he came to occupy the palace as its sovereign, this isn’t something that he has ever explicitly related to her. Externally, though, Astarion remains collected and pleasant, starting off towards his study at a brisk walk, with Strix remaining doggedly at his side.
“Whatever do you mean? I just needed a walk to clear my mind, somewhere quiet.”
"Nothing like a nice, relaxing stroll through Cazador’s dungeons…”
“No, not his dungeons. My dungeons,” Astarion snaps, already losing patience for her obvious needling. “Is there something that you need from me, my love? I do happen to be rather busy at the moment.”
“Where’s Lucy?”
“How should I know?”
Strix clears her throat, appearing to suppress a smile. “You wouldn’t happen to be, oh, I don’t know… forcing your spawn to refurbish you a sex dungeon, would you? Perhaps even one with a throne…?”
Astarion winces in a way that he very much hopes much is not perceptible. “Is that what she told you?” he asks, kicking himself for not compelling all three of his spawn into silence for the next two tendays. But when Strix only shrugs, he adopts a peremptory tone and lengthens his stride, as though that might actually be enough to shake her off.
“To be clear, it isn't a sex dungeon—merely a private, suitably dramatic sanctum of pure, carnal lust and the pursuit of our collective ecstasy. The spawn are assisting me in provisioning it.”
Strix opens her mouth to speak, but he goes on before she gets the chance. “If you must know, I’ll be entertaining a few, rather important guests in a few tendays time. And before you ask—yes, I do expect that you will be there.”
A sidelong glance reveals her raising her eyebrows. “What, you expect me to fuck—”
“No, I simply expect you to be present. I do respect your sexual autonomy, as I should hope you know by now, and—”
“So, you just want to show me off?” Her voice is playful, and warm; and Astarion, bracing himself for an argument, nearly does a double take.
“Something like that,” he replies, with a creeping smirk and a mood that is suddenly much improved.
“Well, you can show me off however you like. In your sanctum of pure, carnal lust, or whatever you want to call it…” She slips her arm around the small of his back as they walk, letting her hips brush against his.
“However I like, hmm?”
“Mhm. Any ideas?”
Astarion slows his gait, then stops altogether, regarding her with interest. In truth, he had not gotten that far yet, having been preoccupied with orchestrating the cleanup and provisioning of the sanctum in question, and with fine-tuning the blend of sophistry, cajoling, and appeals to pathos he had assumed would be necessary to secure her attendance. But she has apparently deigned to make it easy on him, this time. For once. And he has full faith in the potency of his own imagination.
So, in the meantime, Astarion just hooks his fingers into the waist of her leather breeches, drawing her in close. “Oh, darling,” he purrs, “I’m afraid you’ll just have to wait and see.”
Strix chuckles, as he bends his head to nip at her plush lower lip, the prelude to a slow and sensual kiss; stepping backwards as it deepens, towing her with him, until he makes contact with the side of the hall. She hums, rather enticingly, and his hands slip to her backside, groping her into a tight embrace, flush against his body.
The footsteps of an approaching servant stop abruptly, then reverse their direction. His tongue grows amorous, and his cock begins to stiffen, as Astarion considers the merits of taking a break from the toils of supervision. Surely his spawn can be left to their own devices a little longer, without mucking something up…
Then, much to his dismay, Strix withdraws, and takes a half step back. “Don’t you have somewhere to be?” she asks, smirking. “I thought you were busy.”
He gapes at her, for a moment; then rolls his eyes, and pulls her right back in. “Little love,” he tuts. “No one is that busy…”