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They are so sweet to him, so tender. It makes him feel vulnerable, but not in the usual way that disgusts him. He is used to lust-filled stares, licking lips and flushed cheeks. Feeling beneath a partner as an object of desire. Not at all like how they made him feel: loved.
They had a habit of touching him. It put him off at first; he would tense under the touch as an instinctual scowl bared his teeth. But after a while, he noticed they did that with everyone. It became much less personal, and just something they did when deep in thought and close to someone. Their hands are always gentle, regardless of where they were placed. Shoulders, back, arms, knees. He thinks back again to the first time, when he flinched, and saw that they were not even paying attention. And when they caught his surprise, they immediately rescinded with a quick apology.
When he drank from them, they were always still aside from the initial flinch. They settled in with a deep sigh and a steady palm at his waist. And when he finished, they always asked, "How do you feel?" as if they weren't the one being put out.
It was when they made love that their darker desires shined. They loved to flirt, loved to play and giggle and blush, and make him laugh in return. Their fingers would graze gently across his flesh so goosebumps would rise which was a feeling he was not used to. They liked being soft, so it was up to him to push, and their giggles would cease as he entered them. He loved the evolution of sound from sweet to depraved. Soft touch switching to a grip until nails dug in without thought. Initially, they would turn away, sheepish, red; but when they did find his gaze again, it was always met with love.
It was unique. Astarion hadn't experienced a relationship like this before-- at least, not in a long time, not one he could remember. He liked it, but sometimes found himself wishing for a little something more. Something akin to when he would sit before them and ask, "Be my mirror," and they would oblige with perfect words.
"Your jawline is so sharp." They draw a finger down the line of it, starting from the lobe of his ear and down to his chin, pushing it delicately upwards. "You have high, regal cheekbones." They pause to softly kiss him there. "Your face is practically mathematically perfect. The curve of your brows leading down into a straight nose." They draw a fingertip down the length of it, starting by gently poking the center of his forehead which makes his eyelids flutter shut. "It does end in a cute little button, though. Boop." Astarion opens his eyes and mouth to protest, but they've silenced him with a thumb to his lower lip. It runs across with a certain amount of weight, just enough, they know, to make him shudder. "Perfectly pink, full lips, hiding a dangerous smile." They pull his mouth to theirs. "Not to mention, that piercing stare..."
When their eyes meet, it's like all their emotion is being poured into him. Tender, caring, understanding, eyes so full of admiration that it makes him feel a little bit more like himself. He thinks himself the tiniest bit selfish, pining for more of their praise.
A peculiar set of robes enters camp. When they study it, loose in their hands, he can see a new kind of spark in their eye. And when those eyes flicker swiftly in his direction and away again, he's filled with a desire to chase it.
He puts it on that same night. Waltzes up behind them, calling out to say, "Darling, what do you think?" They turn with an innocent smile and it is thrilling to watch their fond curiosity fall away for something darker, hungrier. It's almost embarrassing how quickly their pupils blow out as they fall quickly to his exposed thighs.
They swallow-- visibly, audibly, as their stare locks with the sway of his hips. He's never had their attention so rapt before, and something about it is so, so much different than the lust from handsome strangers. He can't think of the last time he's been so genuinely aroused like this.
It takes a very full moment for them to pull out of the enchantment his legs seem to have them under. They catch his amused expression, showing him just how red they've gotten.
"You look great." They choke out. Astarion stifles a chuckle under the sound of their awkward cough. "You, uh, planning on wearing that out?"
"Do you think I should?" He turns slightly to show off his ass. It takes everything in him not to laugh when their eyes go straight to it, practically bulging out of the sockets. "Perhaps not. I don't want to cause too much of a distraction for you."
"What?" They tear their brazen stare away from his supple flesh. "No, I-- you... you can wear whatever you want."
"Hm..." He runs a flat palm up a well-defined thigh, capturing their full attention once again. "Are you sure, dear?"
The heat he feels emanating from them is so unlike any he's felt before, not from others, not even from them. Their jaw is clenched tight, nostrils flared. He can see how tightly they are gripping their leggings. Astarion grins.
"Are you feeling alright? You look positively flushed."
They move fast. They stand to face him, fully, staring down with an intense hunger. They whisper, "Can I take you?"
A violent shiver races down his spine. He wants to say yes, but he also wants to keep playing. Wants to see how long they'll let him push before they crumble. "Take me? Where? Whatever do you mean?"
Their hands are suddenly grabbing at his arms. Not too tight, but he can feel them shaking. "I-- I need--" The words come out hoarse from a dry mouth; they pause to swallow. "Let-- Let me worship you."
A line like that has never been directed at him. He's the one saying it, and hearing it, like this, from a lover so kind, it makes his head spin. Catches him off guard in a most divine way. He manages to steady his vision as well as any tremble in his throat when he answers, "Of course, love."
They're leading him out into the woods, his hand practically limp in their hot grip. They're avoiding trees, branches, and bushes with a swiftness he has never seen in them before, and the sight of it is humorous to him. He cannot help but laugh, practically giggling like a love-sick virgin. His nerves trill with an excitement he hasn't felt in an awfully long time.
They turn on him so unexpectedly it sends his undead heart lurching forward against his ribs. They grab him, pulling him in to press against his back. Hands travel down across his garbed belly, hot when they reach the cold, exposed skin of his thighs. Astarion gasps when the fingers delve inward, under the cloth to stroke the inner muscle. Gentle, but needy, creating circles as the tips get closer to his groin.
"Oh, love," he moans, tossing his head back against their shoulder. "I wish I could have done this sooner."
"Take it off." Their words are husky in his ear. "I can't--" They're tugging desperately at the chainmail. "I don't know how to do it."
"Mm... I could..." He keeps playing, trying to drag it out more. "Beg me too."
They bite. They've never bitten him before. It's so sudden that it jolts his whole body, a groan erupting from his diaphragm. There are teeth now at his ear, chewing, and a raspy growl reverberates within. It is such a vicious sound from a normally tender lover that it makes him throb. "Please?" The growl is a whisper in his ear. It is more of a demand than a plea.
Astarion huffs and wiggles in their embrace, feeling terribly unlike himself. Unusual, but not unwanted. "Oh, alright. Since you asked so nicely."
He pulls away just enough to begin undoing the straps. His lover stands there in a slight hunch, breathing near primal as they watch. Free from their hold, Astarion finds his wits and sways his hips. He watches their jaw lock tight at the sight of it. He can practically hear the grinding of their teeth and it makes him laugh.
"Don't be so impatient."
They fall to their knees so abruptly, Astarion is certain they are going to beg. Instead, they're crawling on all fours towards him, tucking under the split dress. He can't get a word out in time, just another high-pitched moan when their teeth chomp at his inner thigh. Their hands are sliding up his hips, fingers crawling under the chain to caress more of the skin beneath.
They kiss, they lick, they bite, and the whole while Astarion is blind to it all. He has no possible way of predicting what they'll do next, can't see their position from beneath the armor, and it makes him shiver.
"Love--"
Another bite, harder this time, grips his flesh in time with strong fingers that match. Astarion cries out. When they release, he only knows they're moving by the course of their breath, and his own catches when it brushes on the underside of his groin. A light kiss is planted on one of his testicles before it is sucked into their hot, wet mouth.
His knees buckle-- when's the last time his knees buckled? He feels so suddenly out of his league with hands grasping foolishly at their body from beneath the robe. He's feeling desperate and it is so unlike him, to feel so wildly horny without purpose.
When they finally emerge, they are looking up at him with the most serious expression they've ever worn. "Take it off."
Astarion can't get it off fast enough. His hands are shaking, actually shaking, and it's an issue when trying to get these damn hooks and buckles. He curses, deeply, breathlessly-- good Gods, is that panting sound coming from him?
At the same time that he's finally sliding it off, they are pulling him down. Down to the ground, shoving him back, tearing the rest away quickly then attacking his neck. He grinds his hips up to theirs, yowling, hands gripping into their nightshirt. It feels so unusual to be stripped completely bare, writhing under a clothed lover. It's usually him putting in all the work, ripping and tearing and biting and this turn has him feeling some kind of way. Who would have thought he would be so privileged as to one day feel these magic hands gliding down his form? Fingers curling to raise gooseflesh in the wake of nails. He squirms, he thrusts, he grips, he pants.
"Darling..."
They nip gently at his collar as they start to work their way down. The lips find a nipple and it is immediately sucked into their hungry mouth, tongue tracing circles up to the peak. Then they move to the other, sucking that in too as fingers round the previous, perked in the cool night air and unrelenting touch.
They're back up at his neck. Gods, why? He thinks, wishing they'd go lower. But he soon finds his prayers answered in the form of their hand, poised for a singular destination as the palm slides down the pane of his abdomen. It dips in between him, lifting his arousal to press a finger at the center of his scrotum.
He mewls, bucking as the fingers work; curling inward and sliding down, then back and forth, back and forth. A fingertip presses hard at the base of his cock, drawing shapes into the muscle that causes the organ to twitch. The whole while he's groaning mindlessly.
They grip at its head, gently twisting to coat the palm in precum. He jerks up into it only for the touch to leave, to smear across his belly. It's a torture unlike any other, a kind he finds himself wanting more of.
"Please." He whines. They don't even smile, so focused on their work, kissing him as they finally, finally start to go down. "Please." Again, he whimpers. Their voice comes out almost uncaring as they ask,
"Please what?"
He jerks up into nothing, wishing desperately for something, anything. "More."
They settle just above his dick. The tip brushes accidentally against their chest and just as he raises to meet it they lift away with lips still pressed tenderly into the line of his hip.
They breathe out to his skin, "Patience," and it's then that Astarion understands just how much the tables have turned. They say, "I want to make you feel good," then press the broad of their tongue against his inner thigh. So close he can feel their breath linger on the most sensitive part of him, but they drag up and away from it, following the deep v-cut. "Trust me."
It is such a terrifying feeling when Astarion realizes he does. An idea he doesn't even have the will to process at the moment. Instead, allowing himself to be caught up in the pleasures they provide, which again, in any other instance, would claw at his decayed heart.
This is not the first time someone has kneeled before him. Usually, it is a position that grants him the brief fancy of feeling powerful, no matter how short-lived, no matter how laughable. So why does he suddenly feel so vulnerable? And how has it come to be that he finds it so enjoyable?
He watches keenly while they sit between his legs. Each one being stroked by a loving hand, from the hip to the shin and back again, pausing only briefly to circle the knees. All the while they continue pressing delicate little kisses upon his stomach.
Astarion pleads again in a shiver, "Please... please..."
Without warning their tongue laps at the base of his cock and licks upward, to the head until it springs free to strike at the underside of their chin. They hover over it and stare into his eyes with a dark and focused gaze.
"Please what?" It seems they desire a more specific answer than before.
"Please... put me in your mouth... I need..."
Their head tilts, mouth opens, and their teeth grasp the length of it. It's like a threat, canines just grazing a thick vein. Astarion shivers again, moans, bucks slightly to feel the ridges. It's a frightening display.
"Tell me to suck you off." They say after planting a kiss at the head. "You want me to suck your cock. Say it."
"Suck my cock." He repeats, voice a complex mix of whiny and husky. "I want you to suck me off. Please. Please..."
At his command, they take the full length of him into their mouth, but they do not close it. He just feels the warmth ebbing around him. With a whimper, he pushes upwards until he skims at the back of their throat. Then they back away.
"Keep talking." They say, though their eyes never meet his. They're too fixated on his arousal. "Say anything."
During many endeavors, he's done just that. It's not hard; finding the right thing to say in the moment comes naturally. But this is new to him, has his brain all hazy and full of tingles. He's not quite sure how to think anymore.
"Ple-ease--" He enunciates quite clearly. No more playing. The sound is real, it is weak. "Swallow me, I need to be inside you, need to cum, please, please, please--"
He cuts off into a heady moan as they accept him, lips curling halfway down the shaft. Their hands return to the base, taking the pliable flesh between thumb and index, gently squeezing.
"Gods--" Astarion throws his head back, hands finding their hair and pushing down on them while his hips shove up. There comes a vibration, a whimpering hum as he does this-- a sound of pleasure with a warning hidden within. They bob down on him again, and when Astarion finally finds the strength to look down upon them, they're showing him watery, pleading eyes that are somehow still filled with dominance. He gasps, working himself up to speak again.
"You're so good to me." His voice cracks. "You're-- you're so-- Gods. Sweet thing, precious thing, sucking me so well--"
He realizes then that as he praises, they take him in further. He pauses only to whine as he can feel the head press at the back of their throat again. The look in their fierce gaze urges him to go on.
"That's it, dear." He's trying to sound menacing, but his inflection turns upwards at the end, punctuated by a whimper. His hands remain strong, though, despite the shivering throughout his arms as he presses them down further. "Take all of me. You can do it. All the way in, I want to go all the way in."
A shameless wet slap replies as his hips make contact with their lips. Being squeezed by their tight throat is almost too much to bear and he yelps. He picks up his pace, practically throwing himself into them as he grunts and moans in time.
"Good, good, good, very good." He's dribbling mindlessly. "So good, so good, I'm-- fuck--!" His voice pitches higher, higher, "I'm cumming, I'm-- cum--!"
Fingers clutch, nails digging into their scalp as he thrusts up one more time. He is captured in a full-body quake that leaves him feeling near paralyzed. There is nothing more than this, convinced in the moment there never was and never will be. His mind tingles gloriously, numb to everything else but the orgasm wracking through him that escapes deep into their throat. When the high begins to dissipate, he is still mindless in his actions, thrusting up again while he holds them steady, again, again, shivering, shaking, whimpering.
Finally, his ass plops down to meet the cold earth. His chest rises and falls with intense breaths he's surprised to find he somehow needs. He manages to roll his head down to peer at his lover, whose face is wet and screwed up in a delightful sight he's never witnessed from them before.
His fingers untwist from their hair as they slide off him, releasing with a small pop. They take a moment to lick at the head; the action makes him wince, and they only laugh at his reaction.
They come to crawl up over him. Looming above, cheeks flush and shiny while they're smiling down at him. So fondly. So proudly. So loving.
"You looked really good in that dress."