Work Text:
You heave a long sigh as you stretch your arms over your head and roll your shoulders, working away the aches and pains of another long day of travel. Tonight, your wayward band of companions have settled down in the remains of an abandoned inn somewhere outside of Moonrise Towers. They're hardly luxurious accommodations, but the place had seemed relatively safe, and there were plenty of soft beds to accommodate you all, always a welcome option over a dusty bedroll and the cold, hard ground. The building was one of the few structures in the area that still had a roof and all its walls intact, more or less. In these parts, that was nothing short of a miracle.
After ensuring that there were no enemies lying in wait within the premises, Gale had suggested you all sleep in the large, shared bedroom; better for safety in case of an ambush, as he had explained.
You couldn't disagree with his logic, but nevertheless you had wanted a little time to yourself, wandering upstairs and out on the balcony of the master suite after getting dressed for bed. You had had a lot on your mind, lately, and you didn't want to pass the opportunity up while you had it. You might not get another opportunity to relax like this for quite some time, and you had learned to take the little joys where you could since escaping from the wreckage of the nautiloid.
Now you find yourself leaning over the railing, bracing yourself against the old wood and chipped paint, your eyes passively scanning your surroundings. Because the sky is completely overcast, there is no moonlight reflected on the water's surface, and the lake is almost eerily placid. You certainly don't enjoy thinking about what the shadow curse might have done to whatever was living there, what sort of monsters might have taken their place.
A gentle breeze caresses your skin and you shiver slightly, rubbing your arms vigorously to rid yourself of the goosebumps that suddenly appear. After a long afternoon spent within the walls of the Moonrise Towers and their unsavory inhabitants, the quiet calm of the evening is a welcome reprieve, as you and your companions take the time to rest before planning your next move.
You close your eyes and relax, letting your mind wander...
“Enjoying the view?”
The voice immediately startles you out of your reverie and you can't control a yelp of surprise as you whip around, embarrassed to be so caught off guard.
“A-Astarion,” you stammer, your heart gradually slowing its wild beating. “You shouldn't sneak up on people like that.” A smirk of satisfaction finds its way to his mouth. The smug bastard. Damn him for being so light on his feet, you think, doing your best not to give him any further satisfaction. If you do, you're sure you'll never live it down.
“What if I had fallen over?” you protest in a pathetic attempt to save face, gesturing dramatically to the balcony railing. “I can't imagine you'd have an easy time explaining my mangled corpse to the others.”
Astarion steps closer, his face the perfect mask of wry humor that you're so accustomed to. “Come now, darling,” he says, pretending to be offended. “You wound me. You don't think I'd let anything like that happen to you on purpose, do you? And besides,” he adds, shrugging nonchalantly, “if you'd actually become that clumsy, I doubt you'd be of much use in battle. You'd probably be doing us a favor by removing yourself from the equation, really.”
You try to scowl at him in disapproval, but you must not have been successful if the look on Astarion's face or the quiet laugh he offers in response is any indication. You'd say it was almost condescending if you didn't know him any better, but there is a hint of affection in his scarlet eyes as he looks down at you before approaching the edge of the balcony and standing next to you. He's so close that you can smell his distinct scent, something faintly reminiscent of bergamot and rosemary. It's comforting.
“Gods,” he sneers, scrunching up his nose as he looks out over the dreary scene before the both of you, “this place is dreadful, isn't it?”
You smile at him, thankful for the change in conversation topics, and nod your head in agreement. “I can't wait to leave this place behind.”
“As do I.” He sighs and runs a hand through his hair, his lips drawn back, one gleaming fang just barely visible. “There's hardly anything here for me to feed on besides rats and other filthy vermin, and you would not believe how foul their blood is.”
“I can't even imagine.” You wouldn't mind offering yourself to him again, if he asked, and you turn the thought over in your mind, considering, but before you can act on it, he's speaking again, drawing your attention back.
“And, by the way, speaking of vermin...”
You glance up at Astarion as he pauses; he seems almost hesitant, his expression pensive. “I didn't get a chance to thank you,” he finally says. “For earlier.”
“Hmm?” You tilt your head inquisitively, searching your mind for what he's referring to.
“For what you did back there, back with that vile Drow who wanted me to bite her.” He almost spits out the words, and you can plainly hear the disgust in his tone. “You stood up for me when you didn't have to. Thank you for that.”
There's something about the melancholy way he expresses his gratitude that makes your heart ache, as if he believes he isn't worth the effort, that maybe you were regretting losing out on whatever potion Araj had offered as a reward. Although you don't yet know much about Astarion's past, what glimpses he has shown you reveal a life of trauma and self-loathing, and you realize that, even though he is temporarily free from Cazador's influence, old habits die hard. You suspect that he has convinced himself that he is utterly unworthy of the freedom he has been granted by the tadpoles, not because he truly believes it, but because it is the mechanism that has, so far, guaranteed his survival.
But the way he seems now, allowing himself to be... vulnerable, to let you see more of the real Astarion behind the façade... it's nothing if not encouraging. You decide to risk opening yourself up to him just a little bit more, hoping that he will return the favor.
“Of course I did,” you say, reaching out clasp his hand between both of your own. Your touch is gentle but insistent, grounding him in the moment as you gaze into his eyes, which have darkened in contemplation as he considers your admonition. “There's no way I would have let you go through with it if you didn't want to, no matter what she was offering. Nothing would have been worth that.”
Astarion's eyes widen slightly, but he says nothing, clearly surprised by your response, by the vehement admission in your voice. Undeterred, you continue, hoping your words get through to him the way you intend them to. “You should be free to make your own decisions and choose your own path,” you say, baring your emotions raw. You hadn't intended to become so emotional, but you've grown quite fond of Astarion these past few weeks you've spent together, and you can no longer bear to see him continue to suffer as he has for so long. No one deserves that, least of all him. You know he doesn't want your pity, but you want him to know that you value his autonomy, whatever he chooses to do with it.
“I didn't know you felt so strongly about the matter,” he says thoughtfully, his voice barely above a whisper. “This whole time I've been acting purely on instinct, doing whatever has come naturally. I can't remember the last time I had the luxury of thinking for myself,” he says, a grim look contorting his naturally handsome features into something you can only describe as distinctly un-Astarion. “To tell you the truth,” he says with a wry laugh, “I've forgotten what it's like.”
“It's okay,” you say, squeezing his hand reassuringly, “These things take time. I'm here for you. I... I care a lot about you, you know.”
“Really?”
He sounds incredulous, like he doesn't believe what he's hearing. You don't know if he's ever been important to someone outside of being a means to an end for Cazador and his cruel intentions, a plaything to be taken advantage of and discarded once it's served its purpose. Until now, that is.
“Of course,” you insist. “How could I not?” You seize the opportunity to step closer to him, and you see him visibly flinch as if bracing for a blow, but before he can stop you, you wrap your arms around him and press him tightly to your body in a full embrace, your heart once again racing in your chest. After a moment you feel the tension in his shoulders ebb away and he relaxes into you with a heavy sigh, his relief more than evident.
He rests his forehead on your shoulder, breathing in your scent, and you feel him tentatively return the gesture, wrapping his arms around you and holding you close. You stay there for a while in each other's arms, the closeness of your bodies a comfort for you both. Astarion is warmer than you remember from your last encounter with him, but you suspect the blood from whatever poor creatures he drained dry outside of the inn is the cause of the lingering warmth in his body. It is an altogether unique experience, one that you have ashamedly been longing to experience with him.
“From now on,” you tell him, reluctantly pulling away, “I hope you'll feel comfortable enough to tell me what you want. I promise I'll never force you to do anything that you don't want to, no matter the circumstances.”
“What I want...”
Astarion considers your words carefully, and even through the darkness, you don't miss the flicker of a smile on his face as he gazes down at you through half-lidded eyes.
“What I want,” he repeats, closing the distance you had put between the two of you and brushing a stray lock of hair out of your face and behind your ear, “is you. Us. This. Whatever this is. You're the only one who's ever seen me, the only one who's ever looked at me with something more than fear or contempt.”
He rests his hand on the side of your face, cupping your cheek the way a lover might, silently asking for your permission. You look up at him, your eyes wide; he's taken you by surprise yet again, but you can't help but feel elated by what he's asking of you.
You can't lie to yourself about the way you feel for him, the way your heart skips a beat when you steal glances at his painfully beautiful face when you think he isn't looking, the way you've been thinking about him constantly after your night together at the Tiefling party. What admittedly started out as lust has blossomed into something so much more, and you almost can't believe that your feelings have apparently been requited. You are certain that Astarion could have anyone he wanted, and yet, somehow, he's chosen you of all people.
And you can deny him nothing.
“Yes,” you say, almost breathlessly, and Astarion slips his hand beneath your chin and tilts your face upwards, capturing your mouth in a kiss. Your hands find purchase in his shirt as he coaxes your mouth open with his tongue and you happily oblige, letting him slip his tongue inside.
Astarion is surprisingly gentle. The last time the two of you shared a kiss, it was full of passion and lust, of desperation to entangle yourselves in one another, but what you're experiencing now bears almost no resemblance. He takes his time with you, exploring your mouth and savoring the kiss. When you find your back pressed up against the wall, a small noise of surprise escapes you and you can feel his grin against your lips, the light prick of his fangs a subtle reminder of who and what he truly is.
But you've never thought of him as a monster. Even on that first night, you had willingly offered him your blood because you trusted him. Foolishly or not, you had believed him when he said he had no intention of harming you. You know the sentiment holds true even now - he has you practically caged, but the erratic beating of your heart has nothing to do with fear and everything to do with the anticipation of where this kiss might lead you.
Astarion deepens the kiss, and you thread your fingers through his hair as he coaxes a soft moan from your lips. The sound seems to unlock something in him, and he pushes you even more firmly against the wall, wedging his leg between your own. A searing heat has already begun to build within you, and you instinctively grind against him, desperate for any relief from the ache you feel at the apex of your thighs.
Astarion huffs a laugh and lazily traces his lips across your jawline and to the shell of your ear, his voice downright predatory as he whispers, “My, my, what an eager little thing you are...”
Another moan tumbles from your lips, louder than the first, and you buck your hips again, but it's not enough. You feel his mouth buried in the crook of your neck, his fangs bared, a promise of things to come. For now, he turns his attention to your nightshirt, his fingers deftly unhooking all the buttons as the garment now hangs loose and open, barely covering your chest.
“Let's see what other sounds you can make for me, darling.” He practically purrs the words, his voice sending a jolt of electricity down your spine in anticipation. When Astarion slips his hand beneath your nightshirt and palms your bare breast, you suck in a breath, trembling beneath him.
“That won't do,” he admonishes, before his fingers find your nipple and pinch, just enough to hurt in the way he knows you like it.
“Ah... Astarion-!”
As you cry out his name, a sound of satisfied pleasure echoes low in his throat, and you almost melt from the way he's looking at you. Greedily. Hungrily. And you have no intention of stopping him from having his fill of you. In fact, you want nothing more than to surrender yourself to him completely.
“That's a good girl.”
The words ignite an inferno within you, and you pull him for another kiss, the familiar desperation taking hold of you once again, and he rewards you with his lips and his tongue and his teeth, one hand cradled behind your head as the other mercilessly continues to pinch and tease your over-sensitive breasts. You writhe against him, feeling his growing hardness through his pants, yearning for more contact.
As if he senses your desires, Astarion begins to trace his free hand down the center of your chest, deliberately, achingly slowly. The centuries he has spent perfecting his technique are glaringly apparent, and you all feel no shame in begging him for what you want, what you know you need.
“Please, Astarion,” you whine, breaking the kiss.
“Please what?” he teases you back, his fingertips featherlight as they stop just above your waistband. “You'll need to be more specific.”
You know he's enjoying himself a little too much, but gods if you could fault him for it. As long as he continues to make you feel good, he's welcome to have his way with you.
“Please touch me,” you say, breathlessly. “I want... I need you to touch me.”
When his hand slips beneath your underwear, you vainly try to hold back your moans of pleasure, his fingers gently spreading you apart and finding the part of you that has been crying out for his touch. He traces lazy circles around your clit and you bury your face in his neck, your legs suddenly feeling as though they might buckle beneath you.
“So wet for me already,” Astarion muses playfully, “And I've barely even touched you. How scandalous.”
You cling desperately to him as his fingers continue to explore, applying pressure in all the right places and eliciting a string of filthy curses from your lips. Finally, you regain some clarity and you tip your head back, indicating to the bedroom on the other side of the wall.
“B-bed... now... can't feel my legs...”
The sensation between your thighs dissipates immediately as Astarion hooks his arms under your legs and hoists you up effortlessly; you wrap your arms and legs around him as he carries you back into the master suite, your nightshirt getting discarded somewhere along the way. As you extract yourself from him, he lays you almost reverently on the bed before stripping his shirt and climbing on top of you and straddling your hips. The lantern in the corner you had lit on your way in casts flickering shadows across Astarion's finely sculpted chest and you marvel at how breathtaking he looks, his eyes dark and wild, his hair tousled and unkept from your wayward fingers.
“Just look at you,” he croons softly, his eyes tracing a path across your body as you lay beneath him. You can't help but notice that he stops to pay particular attention to his favorite places - your flushed face, the column of your throat, your breasts. “Simply exquisite.”
As Astarion leans over you, you reach for him and pull him down, the ceaseless urge to feel him inside of you momentarily dulled by the tender way he kisses you, slowly but insistently as he grinds your hips together. He pauses only briefly to press his forehead against your own, and with his eyes closed, he looks strangely at peace in a way you've never seen him before.
Your heart swells and you know that you love him - no matter how deeply his feelings for you run, you love him all the same, and you wish for nothing more than his happiness. Astarion, your most treasured companion.
This time when you wrap your arms around him, you find your fingers tracing the scars carved into his back, and his body grows taut as you feel him wrestle with the way such a bold gesture makes him feel. You hear it then, a single word echoing faintly in your mind: safe. You don't know if the thought is your own or one that Astarion has shared with you through the tadpole bond, but either way he soon relaxes once again, his mouth tracing kisses across your face and neck.
That's right, you think. I am safe with you, just as you are safe with me.
You feel dismayed as he pulls away from you, but when his fingers hook under your waistband and tug your pants and underwear down and off in one fluid motion, your words of protest immediately die in your throat.
Astarion coaxes your legs open before settling himself, and you watch, open-mouthed and gasping as he buries his face between your thighs, and you feel the wet press of his tongue against your most sensitive areas. When his lips close around your clit and his tongue swirls around the swollen bundle of nerves, you cry out and buck your hips, the sensations of pleasure shooting through your entire body. He uses one hand to grab you firmly by the hip, his vicelike grip holding you in place as he continues to drive you wild.
“Astarion... Astarion...” His name is like a prayer on your lips, and you can't help but cling to it like a dying man clings to water in the desert. He hums, clearly pleased with himself, the vibration threatening to send you over the edge. When he moves his free hand to slide two fingers inside of you, you cry out again, threading your fingers through his hair and holding tight as if you don't dare to let him go.
The feeling of his lips and tongue on you and his fingers pumping inside you are too much to bear, and you find yourself quickly approaching the edge of what you are sure will be the most intense orgasm you have ever had. Astarion seems to sense that you are growing close, and his pace intensifies, his fingers curling inside you as he finally finds the sweet spot. With a desperate moan you finally come undone around him, your thighs shaking from the intensity of your orgasm, the intense pleasure of it all surging through every inch of your body. Your breath comes now in heavy gasps, and you lay there, utterly spent, as wave after wave of ecstasy washes over you.
“I do so love those sweet little sounds you make for me,” Astarion says, his voice simultaneously too close and too far all at once. When you open your eyes at last, you see him there at the edge of the mattress, completely naked now, his hand wrapped around his aching cock. The tip shines wet with precum in the flickering firelight, betraying his arousal, and you feel immense delight at how eager he looks to lose himself in you once more.
“Fuck, Astarion,” you manage, your voice less steady than you had intended it to be.
“It would be my pleasure,” he drawls, twisting your words in his own expert little way and pumping himself a few times before guiding his cock to your entrance and pushing only the head inside you. He grabs your hips and positions you for better access, lifting one leg and spreading your legs apart once more.
You bite down on your lip to stifle your moan as you feel the achingly perfect way his cock stretches you out as he slips himself inside, the motion effortless because you are so thoroughly wet and pliant. He doesn't miss the way you attempt to keep yourself quiet.
“Are you embarrassed, love? Afraid the others might hear you?” His voice is teasing and sly; he knows the answer to your question without you having to answer, but you humor him all the same because you know he wants to hear you say it.
“Y-yes...”
Even as you admit this to him, he begins to thrust his hips forward, pushing himself deep inside, purposefully drawing more moans of pleasure from your lips.
“Let them,” Astarion says, his pace steady, his own moans mingling with yours as he savors the tight warmth enveloping him. “You don't think for a moment they haven't noticed the way you look at me, do you?”
Shit. And here you thought you had been so secretive. He had known the whole time - of course he had - and, apparently, so had the rest of your party. The only one oblivious was you. This, of all things, makes your cheeks flush hot with embarrassment, but Astarion only laughs, the realization nothing short of an amusement to him.
As he begins to chase his own pleasure, Astarion suddenly picks up the pace, his hips snapping rhythmically as he fucks you, his cock bottoming out with every thrust. You can no longer bother with the effort of keeping yourself quiet as you whine and tremble beneath him, your hands fisting in the sheets as your head lolls back into the pillow.
“Look at me,” he says, voice low, and you obey his command, gazing up at him from beneath your lashes. His chest heaves as he surges into you, firelight casting dancing shadows across his figure, and you briefly think that you've never seen anything more magnificent in your entire life before the thought becomes a blur interspersed with his own thoughts of more, more, more that travel through the tadpole bond.
“Ohhh...” you moan out in a lazy drawl, “Ohh gods...”
He's brought you close to the edge of oblivion again, and your whole body tightens beneath him. You're so close, now, all it would take is just a little bit more...
“Astarion,” you manage, “I'm...”
He anticipates what you're about to say and his pace becomes agonizingly slow, and you do nothing to hide your whine of dismay as you search his face for an explanation, your breath coming in short gasps as you try in vain to grind yourself back against him.
“Not just yet, love,” Astarion croons, and in one easy motion he slips his arms beneath you and pulls you abruptly up and into his lap so that you're straddling his thighs, his cock still buried inside you. “I was hoping you might indulge me just a bit further...”
You watch as his eyes travel to your neck, the red of his irises an impossibly deep shade of crimson, and you can sense the hunger within him.
“Yes... yes,” you tell him, knowing that there had never been any other answer. “Anything, everything, as long as it's you.”
You brush the hair away from your neck, baring the column of your throat to him, and he slots himself against the crook of your neck, his lips searching for the right spot. In the meantime, he thrusts himself lazily into you and you are more than happy to comply, doing all you can to move your hips along the full length of his cock while still allowing him access to your throat.
The bite comes quickly, and you cry out, the white-hot sear of pain gradually ebbing into a dull ache of pleasure as you feel him begin to drink deeply from your veins. It's a strangely intimate act, and as the weariness of the blood loss begins to overwhelm you, you cling to him, your hips moving automatically, ceaselessly as you share this moment with each other.
When Astarion has had his fill, he pulls his mouth away, and you can feel the faint trickle of blood as it drips down your neck. He runs his tongue along the trail of blood, savoring every drop before sighing contentedly. Newly invigorated, he gently rests his hands on your hips, aiding you in your thrusts as he guides you along his cock, pulling almost completely out of you before slamming back into you, slowly at first but then with a growing desperation that matches your own. He won't last much longer, and neither will you at this rate.
Dizzy from the bite and the adrenaline, you bury your face against him, calling his name over and over again as you grow closer and closer to release. All it takes is for his fingers to find your clit again before you lose yourself completely, throwing back your head and arching your back as the intensity of your orgasm claims you once again, your entire body electric with pleasure as you rock against him, babbling incoherently.
The feeling of your tight wet heat around him is too much for him to bear now and he follows you over the edge, your name a guttural groan deep in his throat as he spills himself inside you. With a few more quick thrusts, he pulls out of you and lays you back onto the mattress, but he doesn't shift from where he kneels on top of you, his eyes tracing every curve of your body as if committing this moment eternally to memory.
You are utterly exhausted, and your eyes flutter closed as he settles himself beside you before you reach out instinctively for him. He allows you the small pleasure of holding his hand and lacing your fingers together as he presses featherlight kisses along your face, the act strangely domestic but nonetheless a welcome one.
“Get some sleep, love,” Astarion says, his voice laced with honey and something you are sure can only be genuine affection for you. “I'll be right here if you need me.” Satisfied, you feel yourself sink quickly into a deep sleep, perhaps the best you've had in weeks, safe in knowing that, at least for just this night, no harm will come to you. The last thought on your mind is of Astarion, his face a vivid reflection in your mind's eye, and you can't help but feel at ease.
---
When you awake the next morning - or whatever passes for morning in this place of constant darkness - your eyes open slowly, your body rousing from slumber as you become aware not only of where you are but why you are there. Reminders of the night you shared with Astarion come flooding back in an instant and you feel suddenly wide awake, sitting up with a start. Beside you, the mattress is empty, and you begin to feel disappointed before Astarion clears his throat from across the room and you follow the noise to where he stands, adjusting his clothing as he dresses for the day.
He hadn't broken his promise, you realize with relief. He had spent the entire night with you, though you doubt he got much if any sleep, as he told you once before that sleep was mostly irrelevant for his kind anyway.
“Good morning,” you say, offering him a tender smile. “How long was I out? I haven't slept that well in ages.”
“It's hard to tell in this place,” Astarion shrugs padding over to hand you your discarded sleepwear. “But long enough, I would imagine. The others are already up, at any rate.”
You can hear the faint sound of chatter and the distinct noise of cookware coming from the lower level of the inn, carrying with it the savory aromas of meats and whatever else your party is preparing for breakfast. Your stomach suddenly rumbles with hunger, and you dress quickly, sliding out of bed and instantly being met with the ache in your limbs that can only come from a night spent in the throes of passion. Your fingertips trace the puncture marks on your neck and you groan, realizing that as soon as you join the others, they will be painfully aware of how and with whom you spent the night - that is, if the noises Astarion had so expertly coaxed out of you hadn't already done the trick.
Astarion, ever-observant, senses your plight and you can tell he's barely holding back his laughter. He is positively elated. You scowl at him, half-hearted, but still deeply embarrassed.
“You think this is just hilarious, don't you?”
“Of course I do, darling, you do know me ever-so-well,” Astarion quips back, his eyes crinkling with delight as he regards you fondly. “Now then, shall we? We wouldn't want to keep everyone in suspense.”
He guides you to the door and towards the staircase, and your mind frantically tries to form a plan of action for what is surely about to be a truly mortifying moment. In the meantime, somewhere in the back of your mind, you also begin considering how you plan to make Astarion pay for his transgressions; after all, if you're never going to live this down, neither will he.