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Astarion eyed the looming statue as he stretched his tent in yet another godsforsaken location they’d decided to call camp.
Indoors this time, which should have meant they would at least be safe from the elements and possibly any other threat that decided to simply pop up at night.
But the stony walls and the absence of the stars above him just reminded him of being in a crypt.
Still, at least the place had ambiance. With candlelight stretching into the dark corners, the atmosphere improved marginally.
An audible grunt came from somewhere to his left as Gale deposited a massive stack of books onto a neatly spread rug.
Sometimes he would position his tent close to Astarion's. The vampire wasn’t entirely sure if it was a conscious decision. Perhaps Gale simply didn’t fear getting bitten in the night. Not because he trusted Astarion enough, no he'd been clear on that front, but perhaps because he knew whatever arcane bile pumped through his veins instead of blood would be unpalatable.
No matter. Gale’s proximity was still vastly preferable to Lae’zel’s, with her insufferable weapon-sharpening at all hours of the night.
"Alright, let me see your spellbook."
Thiriann's voice came suddenly from Gale’s camp.
Astarion peeked over to see the wizard looking positively miffed at her request.
"One does not simply ask a wizard to show you his spellbook," Gale huffed.
"Oh, come on, don't make this into a big deal," Thiriann scoffed, rolling her eyes. "I need to see which spells you know and what you have prepared. So we’re better coordinated."
"Fine. But it's only fair if I see yours in turn."
"Fine by me. There you go." She casually tossed him a small, red leather journal, one clearly worn down by constant use.
Gale handed his own over with immense caution. His was much neater, meticulously preserved, and he held it as if it were the rarest treasure in all of Faerûn. Thiriann, however, shared none of his fanfare. Ignoring the human’s obvious distress, she flipped it open casually, already getting on with her task.
Gale clearly debated reprimanding her, but curiosity got the better of him, and he hastily dug into her journal instead.
Astarion really should have looked away and minded his own business. But it wasn't as if he had any pressing business out here.
Look at them, he thought, a familiar bitterness curling in his throat. Two peas in a magical pod.
She tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear, looking younger somehow. Almost cute.
"This hypnotic gaze spell is new," Gale noted, tapping a page.
"Yes, I found a scroll."
"Didn’t we agree to disclose it when we found new scrolls?"
“I thought a former archmage knew hypnotic gaze.”
“I do know it,” he huffed indignantly. "But that doesn't mean—"
"So you didn't need the scroll after all."
Astarion snorted a laugh under his nose before remembering that pretending not to eavesdrop meant he couldn’t just randomly laugh at their conversation.
But then he saw it happen. Thiriann’s lips twitched, stretching into a beautiful, brilliant smile directed right at the wizard. Gods, the sight of it could take a man's breath away.
It became blatantly obvious to Astarion that he hadn’t seen it often. And it certainly was never directed at him.
He knew she wanted him, of course. She wasn't subtle about it, and he was a professional at seduction, after all. Despite her obvious disapproval of his general antics, she still couldn't resist him.
They'd lain together several times by now, and he knew she was very much open to more.
Granted, he wasn't entirely blameless for the constant frowns she sent his way.
He might have been purposefully pushing some of her buttons. Trying to scandalise her with his nature, to show her he was dangerous in his own right and wouldn't go down easily.
Sure, he could have sat quietly, nodded happily at every word she said, and followed her around like an obedient pup. But he was free now, despite how unlikely that was, and he would not hide who he was.
For the most part, she'd been taking it well.
She'd talked with him and played his hypothetical games, even when he was being intentionally difficult. She’d even read his scars to him…
She had a giant, bleeding heart for everything, and that was exactly why he had chosen her. It had been all too easy to appeal to her good graces.
The reality was that, for the first time in two hundred odd years, he didn't feel like he was facing the world completely alone.
There was absolutely no reason for him to care who she smiled at. Or slept with.
He could have just as easily picked out other people to bed. Secure his safety in the camp further. Lae’zel had even propositioned him the night of the celebration and once more after that. But he’d brushed her off both times.
The thought of it was somehow even less appealing than it was before.
It simply wouldn't be beneficial to his plan to sleep around. And the fact that he hadn't actually thought to pursue anyone else was irrelevant, surely.
No, one secured ally was more than enough. Even if she seemed interested in bedding others.
It wasn't as if they were actual lovers. As long as he kept providing the best, and he knew he was the best, he would be safe. That was all that should matter. That was all that did matter.
He saw her turn around the massive column, heading straight for his tent.
"Gods, you’re beautiful," he breathed as she approached.
She visibly faltered. Her lips parted slightly, a flush colouring her cheeks almost immediately.
"I—uh..." she stammered.
Astarion had to bite the inside of his cheek so as not to giggle. She had forgotten what she wanted to say.
He’d noticed this happening more frequently lately, whenever he caught her off guard with a flirtatious remark, she became entirely unravelled. It was endlessly entertaining. Almost endearing, really. Plus, it boosted his ego magnificently.
He waited patiently for her to gather her wits.
"You can feed on me tonight," she finally managed, clearing her throat.
"I was so hoping you'd say that. When you're at rest, darling, I'll eat you right up."
She nodded stiffly, her blushing cheeks now rivalling the colour of their barbarian friend.
She walked away, heading off to talk to someone else or do gods-knew-what, and Astarion found himself sitting in the sudden quiet, genuinely disappointed.
What was happening to him?
He didn’t even know what he was hoping for here. For her to stay and talk to him? To read wizardry journals with her? Talk for hours on end about who picked whose nose and created a golem?
No, that wasn’t him. This wasn’t for him.
Maybe he should just call the whole plan off. She didn't seem the type to turn on him if he stopped sleeping with her, what with her big, bleeding heart and all. But sex and seduction were what he knew. It was what he did best. His only real talent. She wouldn't pay him the time of day if he didn't provide.
The thought left him strangely crestfallen.
Still, she came in the evening, just as she did most evenings, offering her neck. That he could not refuse even if he wanted to. The mere mention of it brought a potent wave of hunger so strong he salivated.
He let her into his tent, trying and probably failing, not to seem too eager.
She lay down on her back on his wooden cot, and he couldn't help but be reminded of the very first time she’d let him drink from her. His first happy memory in a long, long time. He knelt beside her, but unlike that first night when he’d tried to maintain a respectable distance, he now minimized the space between them.
He hovered over her, his arms and knees supporting his weight, not quite touching her but leaving mere centimetres between their bodies. Her breath hitched. The rapid pulsing of her heart visible in the delicate vein of her neck.
In all his long, misspent existence, he’d rarely seen a sight more beautiful. In this brief moment, both she and her blood were only his.
His teeth sank into her on a reflex he'd started developing.
For one indescribable moment, pure happiness flooded his senses, and the cold, harsh realities of the world vanished into insignificance. His eyes fluttered closed, a low groin ripping from his throat with every soft pull against her neck. His mouth was filled with the sweet, coppery nectar, consuming him in utter bliss. He whimpered, biting down harder, lost to the euphoria.
All too quickly, she was tapping his shoulder, calling him back to reality. He let go willingly, already anticipating the next time.
He drew back slowly, watching her panting, her eyes glazed and her chest heaving as if she’d been running rather than simply lain there.
Oh, he knew that look all too well.
Then, his eyes drifted down to the wound.
Why was it so beautiful?
His mark on her suited her better than any jewellery ever could.
It was bleeding. Crimson rivulets trickled down, painting her skin in vivid life.
"Forgive me," he said flippantly, not particularly remorseful. "I might have made a bit of a mess."
She nodded. And then, she tilted her head further to the side, offering the wound to him once again.
What kind of man could refuse such an invitation?
He bent down, his tongue licking first at the intact skin near her clavicle, then slowly drawing upward to the puncture holes left by his fangs. He licked over one and she gasped, her chest lifting and colliding with his. He could feel her hot skin against his own where his shirt fell open.
A part of him wanted to bury himself in that warmth, to let it seep into him as her blood had. He would be soon enough, he supposed, though perhaps not in the way he craved.
His length ached with desire. It always did after he fed on her. The first time, he’d been too elated, bathing too deeply in disbelief and relief, to let his body get ahead of itself. But ever since she’d let him feed on her during their intimacy, it was as if a switch had been flipped in him. His disobedient cock would harden every single time, her lifeblood rushing straight south the moment he swallowed it down. On a few mortifying occasions, he’d gotten half-mast from the mere smell of her neck.
At least this effect didn't occur when he drank from goblins mid-battle. Small miracles, he supposed. There were some things one simply could not conceal in leather pants.
No, this reaction was reserved for her. And while it was embarrassing to feel like a green boy again, at least it had its uses.
He lowered his hips, barely the tiniest movements, and let her feel his hardness against her thigh at the same time his tongue swiped over the second puncture hole.
Her reaction is just as strong as the first.
She let out the tiniest groan, clearly bitten off halfway in some attempt of preserving modesty.
Her hands settled on his hips, however, in a completely immodest fashion, encouraging him to keep rubbing himself against her.
The friction felt incredible. The heat of her skin seeped through his trousers as he began to roll his hips against her, but it felt base. Undignified.
Before he knew it, his mouth was on her nipple. He wasn’t sure when he’d drifted that low or when he’d apparently divested her of her shirt, but he didn't dwell on it. He gave the peak a series of teasing sucks followed by the occasional flick of his tongue.
She was moaning now. It was barely audible, muffled by the hand she had clamped firmly over her mouth.
He wanted to hear her. In his tent, separated from the wizard’s by a single pole, he wanted her moans and whimpers to echo through the stone walls of these ruins until the entire camp knew exactly how good he was making her feel. But he hated the idea of performing for them. Of any of this being for them.
So when he removed her hand from her lips, he pressed his against hers, swallowing her sounds.
He kissed her deeply as he settled between her legs.
She pushed her fingers through his curls, deepening their kiss. She licked into his mouth, inviting his tongue to fight with hers.
With his length pressing directly against her core, he tilted his hips just so, applying pressure to the sensitive nub there.
Another small gasp escaped her, and this time it sounded almost like a mewl. Trying to cover the sound with boldness, her hands left his hair to roam his chest through his shirt, feeling the ridges underneath his clothes, the hard landscape of muscles she knew to be hidden just beneath a thin layer of cotton.
Deciding to oblige her, Astarion pulled back, sitting on his knees as he fluidly pulled his shirt over his head. Even in the dim light, he heard her breath hitch audibly and he smirked. Unlacing his trousers to release some of the pressure there, he drove right back down into another bruising kiss.
Ever since their first night, she avoided touching his scars. He wasn't sure if it was an attempt not to hurt him, which was ridiculous, of course, but he found himself quietly appreciating it.
Despite the fact that the wounds had healed long, long ago, there was still a sense of potent vulnerability whenever they were touched. It was as if his body remembered the agony, prompting him to flinch against contact, which he had to fight every single time.
Her hands had found purchase against his lower back, and despite her gentleness, her long nails scraped against him when she lost control, occasionally so hard that he could smell blood.
He bit her lower lip, returning the favour, tasting her all over again.
She didn’t seem to mind or notice all that much.
There was something oddly, terrifyingly pleasant about the feeling of her naked chest pressed against his that he wasn't sure he'd ever felt with anyone else. Like they simply... fit. But examining why that was felt far too intimidating.
Like if he let that thought form, he'd never be able to unthink it again.
So instead he pulled back once more, and this time took her pants and undergarments with him.
Her arousal glistened even in the dim light, and he allowed his ego to swell just a touch.
He bent down to taste her, letting the taste of her sex mix with the metallic tang of blood on his tongue. It made for an erotic blend, one which he knew no one else could appreciate like he could.
And it provided the perfect distraction so he could divest himself of his own pants and undergarments, which was never a graceful affair once one was already horizontal.
It was a neat trick of misdirection he had perfected long ago.
He’d barely managed to free himself when her hands tugged at his shoulders, pulling his lips back to hers.
He’d barely managed to undress when her hands tugged at his shoulders, trying to pull his lips back to hers.
She was clearly impatient to have him inside her.
Usually he tried to tire her out, bring her to bliss as many times as he could , but clearly tonight she was refusing to let him linger.
He’d just have to keep things interesting in another way.
The moment their mouths met, he slid his length against her core, and they both groaned at the friction. Suddenly, she shifted their positions, rolling him onto his back so she could take the lead and slide her heat over him.
But Astarion flipped them right back. Control had a way of slipping through his fingers during their trysts, and he was determined not to let that happen tonight. He guided her onto her side, sliding closely behind her, bracketing her body with his own.
"Astarion, what—"
Her words died in her throat as he pressed his cold lips to the sensitive nape of her neck and his cock against her ass.
She gasped and reached back to thread her fingers through his hair once again.
"That feels so good..." she moaned as his lips trailed all the way to her shoulder. Each kiss sent a shiver down her spine and electricity through her lower belly. Instinctively she pushed her ass harder against him, and a wicked idea struck him.
He lowered his hand from her breast and slipped it between her asscheeks. Finding his target, he gently glided his fingers along the puckered hole.
"Do you use this for sex?" he whispered against her ear, his voice raspy and unpolished.
He applied just the smallest bit of pressure, rubbing circles against the tight ring of muscle.
"Yes," she gasped out, trembling against him.
She rarely craved it, but with every passing second his fingers lingered there, the desperate desire to be filled grew until she was practically shaking.
"Would you like to?" he whispered again, dragging his tongue along her earlobe, feeling a shudder run through her.
"Gods! Yes, please," she begged, pushing back against his hand.
He'd never tire of her pleas, he was sure.
Perhaps one day, when he was feeling particularly bold, he would take his time and make her beg properly.
Seeing her surrender control to him so fully was intoxicating.
He bit down on her shoulder, trying to suppress the urge to rut against her. He needed this to be perfect. He needed to be unforgettable.
"Grab the bottle," he instructed, eyeing the small vial of grease he kept near his bedding.
She blinked through the heavy haze of pleasure, her eyes taking a moment to focus before she reached out with trembling hands.
Much to her disappointment, Astarion lifted his hand from her, presenting his fingers.
"Coat them."
She uncorked the bottle, seeping the slick fluid onto his fingers, using her own hands to spread it evenly. Knowing exactly where those fingers were about to go made the entire act feel incredibly lewd. She bit her lip trying to stifle a whine.
"Good girl," he purred in her ear, and she did whine out loud this time.
She whispered a quick Prestidigitation spell to ensure everything was clean, and Astarion almost laughed.
She really needn't worry about things like that. It wasn't as if any of the drunken idiots he’d picked up over the centuries had ever cared about hygiene.
But he appreciated the gesture. The intent she had to make this more pleasant for him. Not many people ever had.
He wasted no time bringing his fingers back to her hole and slowly pushed in. First just one finger before quickly adding another. She was tight, really tight, but also her texture felt different. Where he expected smooth silky texture, he was met with multiple ridges. They were soft and gave way easily, so hopefully there wouldn't be any discomfort. If anything, his curiosity piqued at the thought of what she would feel like wrapped around his dick.
He scissored his fingers again and again, trying to stretch her out as much as possible as she writhed and whimpered against him.
Finally, he pulled out, transferring the excess grease to his own weeping length. Giving himself a few slow strokes, he spread the grease and precum before he positioned himself at her entrance.
His tip sank easily past that tight ring of muscle. He felt it quiver, felt her clenching around him. It was obvious she wasn’t used to it as her body struggled to adjust against the foreign intrusion, but he let her take her time. Sliding his hand down from her belly, his fingers found her clit, teasing the sensitive nub, and sure enough, she began to relax around him. He slid a little deeper, fucking her open with small thrusts, each one making it easier and easier.
"That’s it, darling. You’re doing so well for me."
She keened at his praise and leaned more back to him, her hips chasing his cock, eager to please.
His thrusts became deeper, each one going just a bit further until he bottomed out fully inside her.
He paused, giving them both a second to catch their breath.
She was tight and so very hot around him. His hand grasped her hip, tilting it further towards him. Her back arched as she gasped, the new angle perfect for hitting just where she needed.
His fingers continued their pace on her clit as he began to thrust in earnest. The sensation was on the verge of overwhelming, not so painful that she'd want it to stop but so intense that she could barely process it. Noticing her struggle, Astarion gentled his movements, switching to a slow and deep rhythm.
Every time she whimpered, he would pause, his hand on her hip making gentle, soothing motions until the overwhelming feeling lessened.
He was being incredibly gentle with her. So much so that she couldn't help but melt against him, letting go of the last of her reservations and trusting him to guide her through.
The feeling began to ebb from uncomfortable to nothing but pure pleasure. She could feel her orgasm building, and he must have noticed because he sped up his motions, giving her exactly what she needed.
At some point, Thiriann’s voice had faded into distant background noise, blending with the constant dripping of something in the chapel ruins and the low wind rustling past his tent.
His body had slipped into an automatic, practised routine, drifting somewhere between exhaustion and performance, until a mild jolt pulled him back to reality.
Thiriann moaned as if the sound were ripped from her. It echoed so loudly in the chamber that any worries he’d had about the camp hearing them were instantly rendered useless.
Panic and irritation flaring, Astarion’s hand flew to clamp firmly over her mouth.
"Now, now, darling, let's try to not wake the others," he tried to tut, but the words came out as a grunt as she squeezed him, right as he was beginning to pull back.
She nodded against his palm. He could feel her small gasps getting caught in her throat as she fought to contain them with all her might.
Every single day, the entire camp ran at her beck and call. They went where she said, opened what she wanted, helped whatever pathetic soul she deemed worthy.
But now here she was, so eager to please him. Perfectly obedient.
It should have been satisfying. It should have made him feel powerful. Instead, he just felt angry.
He wasn’t good enough for her.
But in this fleeting moment, she was his. Only his. It should have felt like enough.
Why wasn't it enough?
"Hells, dammit..." he muttered under his breath.
She must have noticed the change in his tone, because she turned to him, her eyes trying to seek his out in the dark. She reached up gently pulling his hand from her mouth.
"Astarion? What's wrong?”
Her concern slid somewhere between his ribs, bypassing his defences like a blade. It only irritated him further.
Still, he put on his charming smile, it came easier than breathing did.
"Forgive me, my dear. You're simply so irresistible, I find it rather difficult to restrain myself."
He must have failed to convince her because she scrunched her eyebrows.
But to his relief, she didn't push.
"You don't have to," she whispered softly. "I can take it."
If only it were so easy.
If only he could just release all the festering anger, the centuries of misery, degradation, and fear.
Through the euphoric haze, he felt her hand.
Astarion looked down and saw her fingers sliding through his, holding on tight.
His heart lurched, attempting to beat in his chest.
Why did their joined hands feel so different from their joined bodies?
He couldn't contain the whine from his throat as his climax hit.
The pleasure coiled violently within him before releasing like a tidal wave, spreading all through his body. His cock pulsed and pulsed as he filled her with his come, emptying as deep inside her as he could go while his hips stuttered to a halt.
Only after the aftershocks began to recede did he notice how hard he was holding onto her.
The fingers on her hip lifted to reveal angry red marks his grip had left behind. Tiny, crescent-moon indentations marred her hand from where he had squeezed her far too tightly, digging his nails in.
Shame began to fill him at the needy display, yet he couldn’t stop staring at their entwined hands.
It made him feel strange. Like his whole body was hit with reverberation, but without the pain. As if he were vibrating inside, from his chest all to his head.
Part of him wanted her to go, to let him wallow in his shame in peace.
But another, greedier part wanted to keep her right here. Not just so the others would see her walking out of his tent in the morning, but because... because she was warm. Because he knew if they were attacked in the night, he had someone willing to defend him sleeping at his side. Because lately, the nights felt so much colder when she wasn't there.
Gods. He actually wanted to cuddle, didn't he?
He was just about to tell her to get out, anything to rid himself of the suffocating tightness in his chest, when she turned to him, her glowing blue eyes focused intently on his face, searching for something. The air suddenly felt charged in an completely different way.
He felt exposed. Cruelly seen.
The distance between them shrank until he leaned down and she met him halfway, capturing his lips with hers. They met with a sort of quiet desperation that easily rivalled the passion of their earlier kisses. Like a moth to a flame, he couldn't pull away, and he had no earthly idea why. He just dived into her lips over and over again until his felt swollen, all while the heat of her hand against his burned with distracting bliss.
Perhaps she'd put a spell on him. One of her tiefling magic tricks.
But he'd been under the influence of compulsion before, and this felt nothing like it.
Where compulsion made him feel like an outsider was pulling and pushing on his very essence, this was bubbling up from deep within his own chest.
She moved away. Always her walking away. Always her.
And then she smiled. A bright, little smile that completely illuminated her face. It was softer than any expression she had ever given him. Softer than the ones she usually gave when she played his little hypothetical games.
Watching it, Astarion felt something in his chest physically shift, as if a bolt of lightning had struck his core and shattered outward through his entire body. His breath caught hard in his throat.
It just wasn't fair. To feel his dead heart flutter in his chest despite it not moved a beat.
How was he not supposed to feel as she kissed him so?
How was he not supposed to feel when he had her like this? When her warmth seared into him.
She looked at him for one final lingering moment, and he almost wished she would just remain silent. Because he knew the moment she spoke, it would be over.
He would have to slip the mask back over his features, and whatever this was would become merely another memory he desperately tried not to think about in the morning.
As if he could ever forget a single memory of her.
"Can I stay with you tonight?" she whispered.
"Why, darling, you know you're always welcome in my bed. You may stay for as long as your little heart desires."