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pursuitseternal · 22 days

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“The Seventh Day:” filled with self indulgent A!A behavior (Astarbation) in “Antics of the Newly Ascended”

Ascended Astarion x F!Reader | E | 1.9K of Astarion self-love

🎨 by @marimosalad full nsfw on X 🍆💦

Summary: Left behind, Astarion occupies his Ascended self first with some uncharacteristically (selfishly-motivated) selflessness, followed by some self-served reward in anticipation for your return home.

CW: Male masturbation (Astarbation?), panty sniffer/theif, he’s trying to be a helpful (selfishly), self-indulgent Astarion, Reflection Appreciation™️, he would be such a messy partner (in so many ways)

Previous Ch | ao3 link | Masterlist

The Seventh Day…

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“Oh… darling, I’m hurt. I thought we had something special…”

“You always say that, and you’re always hurt…” you fold your arms and tilt your chin up at him.

“Am not,” Astarion fires back, petulant like a child, until he realizes everyone is watching your exchange. He straightens his spine and picks the pretend lint off the cuff of his sleeve. “You go right along… you’re the leader after all, and if you think you can finish your business without the Vampire Ascendant in your ranks, then go, have fun…”

You level that glare at him that lets him know you see right past his facade to the bullshit underneath.

“No, really,” he purrs, “you go, I’ll just stay here while… you do all the hard work.” He gives you that arrogant smirk and tilt of his head, that makes you war inside whether you want to slap him silly or fuck him senseless. He can see it… in your thoughts, in the way your heart pounds slow and harder as his eyes look down your armored figure. “I’ll just stay here, tend the home fires and find little ways to comfort myself over your absence, darling.”

He flashes his fanged smirk at you, your nostrils flaring wide with irritation and lust. “Don’t make a mess,” you taunt. “Enjoy your alone time.” With that you spin on your heel and your chosen three follow.

Wyll in particular laughs loudest. “Don’t worry, once he finds a mirror, he’ll be entertained for hours, I’m sure.”

The group chortles as they shut the door to their rooms in the Elfsong, but not before you throw one more look over your shoulder at your lover. He’s just smirking, irritated and conflated despite his wounded pride, making a show for you in that one moment of unbuckling his armor to drop it at his feet.

You shake your head and smile, all the irritation you have melted into love as you blow him a kiss. Then you shut that door.

The instant the door is shut, Astarion grimaces and throws the rest of his armor to the ground in a huff. Petulant? Yes, but also hurt. He looks around the empty suite of rooms, collecting his armor, he decides to actually put it away properly for once back in his rooms. Your rooms. Besides, he has no interest in watching Scratch nap by the fireplace, or risk any of the other ‘strays’ who have joined along the way come up and bother him.

With a discontented sigh, Astarion slinks his way into your rooms alone. That open chest for his armor is so close inside the door, but he sets it down on the floor. See how she likes that… he smirks, imagining your usual comments made under your breath about his messiness as you insist on tidying up. You’ll have to step over it when you come back exhausted and bloodied.

A slight pang of guilt tweaks his gut, his eyes settle on it again, that pile of his armor… the stack of messy clothes—yours and his— discarded hurriedly last night before your fucked… A slight disgruntled smile crosses his face. Maybe… just this once…. He could entertain himself in a different way.

He starts putting the armor in the trunk piece by piece, and with each one he starts to think about how much you will smile as you see your rooms.

Another piece in the trunk… he can almost feel your blush color your cheeks at his thoughtfulness. Your gratitude will be palpable… and you will want to shower him with affection… willingness… Astarion sighs to think about how you will positively reek of sweat and blood and arousal when you see what he’s done for you, his darling.

He closes the lid of the storage chest with an eager groan, that ache in his groin blooming slightly just at the thought of what will come once you’re home. You’ll positively worship at his feet for taking such good care of you…

That ache burgeons into a full erection at the image he’s conjured in his mind. With one final grunt, he picks up the pile of discarded clothing from last night, setting it properly in the basket, one rumpled thing of fabric at a time in the corner to be laundered later. One hand adjusts his erection, the other holds the last piece of fabric from the floor. Your undergarments.

He pauses, catching your scent in the air just as he wraps his hand around himself…

… he’s just trying to fix that hardness… he tells himself. But he can’t help but give that cock in his grasp a little rub.

He hisses, trying to catch his breath, but his nose only fills with your scent stronger the longer he holds your small clothes in his grip.

“Fuck it,” he growls to himself, unceremoniously sitting himself on the edge of the bed, surrounded by a tidy room. Surely, he deserves his own reward. And your own laziness last night to dispose of your underwear properly has just gifted him with a great incentive. That soft fabric, inundated with your musk, makes his mouth water. He just… has to…

He presses it to his nose, his cock freed from the top of his leathers as he slowly starts to caress it. It feels so good in his hand: the perfect length, the flawless width, the impressive hardness he always gets that makes every vein rise to the surface like marble. The masterpiece of a body that he is, he smirks to himself.

Another deep whiff of that delicious scent, he looks to the side, that large mirror so perfectly placed across from the bed, his idea. His eyes flit between watching his own cock pulse in his fist, staring at the perfection is his own reflection, and closing his eyes to take another deep lung-full of your scent.

Intoxicating, the beat of his own warm hand matches that pulse of his heart, a pounding so insistent in those veins. So steady and growing more pronounced even as he still works himself into bliss. Astarion gives a contented sigh, his thumb catching over that sweet, weeping slit to wet his cock head with early cum.

Indulgent, the way the faded ghost of your musk compliments his own as it grows with every leaking stroke he makes over his own shaft. No wonder you two are so destined for greatness, so perfect together… your bodies made for one another on some primal level, right down to your scents.

A few breaths catch in his throat, the corner of his eye now fixed on that mirror. He pauses to pull his shirt up higher, his leathers down lower, wanting to see more of himself, a body that has ruined so many… Small wonder, he laughs a bit darkly, a bit proudly. The edges of his abdominals protrude, just right, that deep v of his muscles drawing the eye inexorably to that now-glistening cock. Even his balls, so smooth and round and tight now as he feels the pleasure building deep in his core.

For once, now, this body is his to savor, to command and pleasure.

“Ahh…” the thought of reclaiming himself makes his cock leap almost out of his own hand. “Delicious,” he groans to no one but himself. Leaning back, he lets his hips buck into his hand a bit, just for a little extra show… a little more stimulation as his mouth starts to hang slack. He lets that fabric treasure of your underwear slip off his face, just a bit, so he can admire the way his own fangs glint in the sunlight.

Now, those weapons behind his lips, those fangs, those are something just for him, a decadence no one gets to enjoy but you… and himself now of course. With a groan, he longs to sink them into flesh, to feel that first burst of blood as it breaks through skin to coat his hungry tongue. And in his carelessness, he finds it, nipping his own lip to taste his own ascendant blood.

Rich… full… powerful… familiar… he groans. Incredible that you get to drink from him, what a treat for his consort and for himself. The thought of you suckling from his own neck, the play of your breath on his skin as you feed, shivers run down the base of his spine, making his muscles clench and his cock buck harder into his hand.

You’ll be so touched when you see what he’s done for you, his little act of humility to gain your immense gratitude… fuck… it’ll be worth it. The back breaking labor he’s done to please you and make you smile and see his love for you still, even with all he’s become.

Your eyes will sparkle, your lips will arch in that come-hither smile you give him… you won’t be able to resist letting him take you right then and there, however he wants…

His eyes flash to the mirror, the paint of blush on his cheeks and tips of his ears…. It makes his fist grip tighter, his hand beat faster to chase that pressure that needs release. The breath catches in his lungs, his teeth gritting as he feels his balls tighten and cock thicken as he strokes faster and faster…

Another glance at his beloved reflection— that slow seep of pearly cum leaking from his cock… perfection, seduction incarnate, he smirks to himself as he arches and his head cranes backwards. Grunting, sighing, he licks his lips as that pressure in his balls bursts at last, a few more erratic bucks into his fist, as he forces his eyes open to watch.

He juts his hips out forward, almost off the edge of the bed, angled just right to watch his cum explode out gloriously. The reflection, the pulsing he feels, the warmth that drips on his hand…

Head hanging down, tongue licking his lips, he watches as his cock twitches a few more times, that release overwhelming him as he huffs with open mouth. Drips of his cum spatter here and there on the floorboards, the few offending signs of…

The door swings open, you stand panting in its frame, a bit bloodied but none of it your own. Your sharp eyes take in the scene… your love panting, cock in hand, rosy post-coital cheeks flaring a hot pink as you catch him in his indulgence. And all you can do is smirk, knowing you have the upper hand on him, shaking your head as he starts to sputter excuses.

Then you notice what he holds in his other hand, your discarded undergarments from last night. Now your cheeks flame so hot, you’re pretty sure even your undead pale skin is blushing. “What…” but you swallow the question. Why ask it… you know full well what he was doing with your intimates. “I’ll skip the question and just point out that I left you alone for an hour… and you’ve made…” you smirk wickedly as you cross to kneel before him, “… such a mess.”

“Actually, darling, you’ve failed to see that I cleane—”

But before he can get whiny and defensive, you silence him, wrapping your mouth around his still, weeping cock. You moan around his length, not giving it lots of force, just a lazy bob of your head, a slow lick of your tongue. A few swirls of your lips laps all the extra cum from his velvety skin. Then you pull off of him, grinning with all your own self-righteous taunting. “That’s… how you clean, my lord.”

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pursuitseternal · 6 months

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“Tempting:” nsfw update to “Our Blood is Thicker:” ETL Astarion x Tav (OC)

Astarion x Fem OC | E | 5.2 K Astarbation and longing

Summary: Bloody from their battle, Cordehlia tales her party across the river, to wash away their scent and to wash away the stains of her violence. And while she wishes to bathe, Astarion has other ideas. Other, more tempting, ideas.

CW: Astarbation, romantic voyeurism, caught with his hand down his pants literally, lost memories recovered, shared night watch with feelings, trauma dumping (mutual), hurt comfort, ear stroking, How To Pet Your Angsty Vampire ™️

Previous Chapter | AO 3 | Astarion Masterlist

Chapter 3: Tempting…

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“Who knew you were so bloodthirsty?” Astarion purred as the party paused to catch their breath and clean their weapons.

There was no more threat. And it felt good for him to be free, to be spattered from the fruits of his labor. Well her labor too. He looked at her glorious form. Her pale skin was blood spattered and sticky. Her chest heaved under that light armor, but she knelt by the monster hunter’s body, praying for his speedy passage from this life. However misguided it may have been.

Cordehlia gazed at her hands, red and tacky as she tried to wipe them in the dead grass. “It isn’t a thirst for blood. When you’ve battled as many armies as I have… when you have made it to victory by the sheer force of your will, you learn to try to find some sort of…”

“Pleasure?” Astarion guessed.

“Healing?” Gale offered at the same time.

The she-elf’s lips quirked at their replies. “Both I suppose.” She avoided the wizard’s eyes. He looked so… concerned, worried.

“I’m sure your battle-wisdom saw the Gur’s death as the only solution,” Gale whispered, bending down to crouch near her, wiping his own bloodied hands on the grass, even if he had seen little blood against the Gur. “I worry though, if your… attachment to the vampire can influence your choices.”

She gave a smirk. “Of course he’s an influence,” she chided, a bit defiantly. “But as are you all. I haven’t stained my hands for centuries with the blood of Orcs, Humans, Sorcerers, and Aliens to ignore the lesson of never abandoning one of your own. And besides, Astarion is not a monster…” she spat the last words. As if the allegation were aimed at her… perhaps it was. Perhaps her pride bore the wounds from long ago, from giving so much to someone who… she shuddered to think of it more.

“It is reassuring to hear of such fierce loyalty,” Gale grinned. “I’d like to think you would do that same for me… for all of us.”

“Of course,” she nodded, a hint of gravity to her tone. “Now, perhaps we get away from the stink of bloodshed and make camp, I’m sure I’m not the only one starving and needing to bathe.”

“There is a narrow river nearby,” Shadowheart joined in. “Good for both washing and losing the stink of blood.”

“Good work,” Cordehlia smiled. “Lead the way then.”

The cleric smiled, heading deeper into the trees.

They moved quickly, pausing only once they heard the soft rushing of water. It was easy to cross, shallow and narrow and clear in the faint sun. But Cordehlia couldn’t help but notice Astarion’s hesitation before planting his feet in the running water.

Hesitation that melted to joy the instant he stepped in. He was… elated. Giddy. Speeding in his stride to join at Cordehlia’s side.

“You seem happy,” she smiled.

“Another gift of the parasite, it would seem,” he crowed. “It doesn't burn like hellfire. I haven’t stepped into a river since… well,” he looked at her from the corner of his crimson eyes, flashing his fangs down at her. “You know.”

“More than you probably do,” she gave him a sad smile. “You loved the water.”

He fell silent, nothing but the sounds of the water’s gurgle and the splashes they made trudging to the opposite bank. The forest was dense, thick, leafy bushes, wide-trunked oaks, so lush and fertile and green.

It made Cordehlia long for home.

It made the longing in her heart for her past all that more painful.

Numbness crept around her, making her skin itch with her victim’s blood. Making her soul crawl with shame at … the monster she had become. Her cheeks burned, every word the wizard had whispered at her… he knew. He saw it in her soul, and Astarion only drew that creature out to play all the more.

The reflection of the same temperamental, vicious, thirsty beast that clawed beneath her skin. For the good of her kind, she had fought. For protection, freedom, for a land of their own again where they could dwell in the light and dance beneath the stars.

It had been… selfless, she had thought, becoming a fighter, a commander, skilled with the blade and graced with the wisdom of her years.

But as she watched Astarion lingering with his boots in the rushing waters of the river, a wide smile on his face as he watched the foaming bubbles swirl at his feet… her heart tore in her chest. Aching.

Being a vampire didn’t make him a monster.

Not any more than being blinded by rash judgments made her.

He hadn't chosen his fate. But she… she did. To escape the pain and grief and loss.

And as she looked at her blood spattered hands, her stomach soured. “Don’t you have anything better to do, Astarion?” She snipped at him.

His giddiness irritated her. Infuriated her. And he rounded with that coy, insufferable smirk. “Oh, I’m sorry,” he purred back loudly, “what, too many clothes on for a romp in the river for you? I’d be happy to shed a few layers if you wish to join me…”

He plodded up the bank, stopping short. He threw of that heavy doublet, letting it land gods knew where.

Hells, his shirt was soaked. Sweat or river water, it didn’t matter. It was sheer, clinging to the rises of his chest, every definition of his hard stomach….

But she was not in the mood. “Go be helpful, you rake. I need to bathe,” she snapped, pointing in the direction of the others, where the sounds of chatter and clattered chests and unpacking echoed.

“Alone?” he crooned, tugging at the hem of his shirt.

“Yes,” she bit, roughly unclasping the buckles of her armor from her chest to toss away as well. “Gods, yes alone.”

“If that is what you wish,” he purred, eyes sweeping over her own bloodstained chemise. That crimson gaze paused where she felt it stickiest, where it hugged her hips and clung to her breasts. “But since we are alone, it seems… Perhaps you might allow me a bite?”

“What?”

“Just a little, it was so taxing, that fight. You know he wanted me dead… it is a miracle I’m still standing, you know….” Oh how his voice dripped with the honey of manipulation. That sweet edge of guilt softening his ask. “A little of your blood goes a long way for me, you know. And as a spawn,” his teeth flashed, that leering smirk that made her hot in places she wished it wouldn’t, “I’m always, always hungry.”

She hissed a breath, exasperated. “Be quick,” she shushed.

He was quick. Quick to hold her to him with a single arm around her back, hand pressing just above the rise of her ass. The other cradled her chin, turning her perfectly, so softly with a caress of his fingers before he sliced those razored fangs into her neck.

She shook, breath catching and not in just pain. It was still so wonderful, her body stretched and pressed against his. Missing the way it had always felt against her flesh. Hard where she was soft. Tall where she was shorter. Lithe where she was sturdy.

And before she had wished for its ending, he pulled away, licking his lips of her blood. “Just as delicious. I doubt I will ever tire of tasting you, my darling Cordehlia.”

“Leave,” she hissed, wiping her hand over the red wetness that trickled down her neck. “Please,” she added as a single tweak of hurt twisted his brow. As if he really had meant what he said. As if she spurned something that was true. “I feel disgusting. The sooner I wash, the sooner I’ll feel more inclined to a… delightful disposition, I’m sure.”

“You look far from disgusting,” he smiled softly, his eyes losing that lurid sharpness. “Blood spattered… heart racing with the thrill of the hunt… a hint of excitement to have me near, I would even guess. It made you taste all the more wonderful.”

“Please leave…” she sighed. Tired. Her hands fumbling with the rest of the pieces of her armor.

“As you wish, my darling,” he nodded, the tones of a perfect gentleman in his voice, as he turned to head up the bank. Pausing only to grab his coat from the ground before heading into the thick forest.

But there was more than mere reluctance that seemed to compel him to stay.

It was her.

And now, with her blood in his belly, coursing with its fire and flavor and passion in his veins. He throbbed.

In a way he didn’t remember experiencing.

He stopped behind the foliage. Frozen by the sounds of splashing in the river.

And that throbbing grew worse. Lower… prominent. Hard.

Just like last night. The only other time he felt this. That blessing of consuming living blood for once. Her blood rushing right through his muscles, hardening his cock with need. He had been determined to ignore it last night in the dark, his belly too hungry for thoughts of sex or self pleasure. Only thoughts for more blood to fill him.

But now, he wasn’t so distracted. Not from the sweet splashing of water as she swam so close.

Those sounds were… tempting. She was tempting.

For once, he wasn’t hard because he had to be. Wasn’t compelled to seduce or flirt for any reason other than he wanted something.

Someone.

He stopped, crouching into the greenery, slipping soundlessless to the edge of the water. It was so easy. So tempting.

Why not indulge… why not let himself find pleasure for once for himself. Not for his master.

The river was so close, the ripples lapping the shore even at this distance from their source.

From where she rose from its surface. Her skin so pale, hair darkened and wet. One knee into the earth, he crouched with all his stealth and felt his cock pulsing. As if her blood was calling back to its mistress.

By the hells… he had never wanted anything more.

It would be so easy still, just a few laces holding him in where he was so well concealed.

Fuck it, he decided. Fuck it, if he couldn’t fuck her.

And she was so enticing. And frustrating. So stubborn and soft and defensive of him and accusatory of him. All of it. It made his teeth set on edge, made his muscles long to push her against the nearest tree again. To put a blade to her throat or sheath his cock between her legs, he didn’t know which drive was stronger.

But it didn’t matter right now. He could finally do something for himself.

And what was the harm… he would bring her under his charms soon enough. It was what he did best.

Gods… he twitched the second his fingers gripped around his own cock. A spasm of pleasure rippling right to his groin. It would take long, he chuckled to himself as he slowly stroked up and down. Palming the seeping seed from its head, he spread it around a bit. This would be rough, but he couldn’t remember the last time he sought his own pleasure.

This was long overdue.

That’s it… he groaned, watching her slowly rise from the river, watching the water droplets trickling over her pert breasts, running like a stream between them as she stood. He grit his teeth and beat faster. Jealous of the water.

She rinsed her hair, fluffing it to catch in the beams of sun. If she wasn’t a nymph… a goddess of the waters herself the way she moved just as fluidly, as elegantly. He closed his eyes, pressing that image into his mind forever.

Her creamy skin and fiery hair… the thrill of having watched her for so long… of finally seeing more of what laid beneath the cursed swatches of fabrics and yards of gowns that clung to her curves. She was so close, he could hear her breathe… if he strained his hearing. Hoping he was far enough away that the water splashes would hide the dry rubbing of his cock in his fist… He would promise a million lifetimes just to make her his. His for a million lifetimes…

He was close, that tug of climax digging at his groin as he watched her bathing.

Until he heard the sound of boots too close.

Astarion gasped, his cum spilling into the dirt, his cock pulsing and twitching as more seed dripped and shot before him. So good… so very good. He couldn’t remember when he last felt so… happy. Sated.

And then, he gasped again as the cool kiss of a blade caught along his jaw.

“What’s this… a rogue caught sneaking?” Cordehlia hummed in amusement, drawing around from behind where he crept in the undergrowth.

Astarion laughed, low, quiet and tired. “Don’t tell me you’re not flattered, darling…” He glanced to how his cock still stood proudly in front of him. Long and pale and achingly hard in his hand. “…tell me you’re not impressed.”

“Impressed to find my rogue caught literally with his hand down his pants?” She scoffed, “please.”

He looked her up and down as he began shoving it back inside the band of his breeches. That dirty tunic of hers was haphazard, hastily thrown on. And nothing else, he noted with a pang in his groin again. Her mouth may be turned down at the corners, but he watched her pulse in her neck race, observed how her eyes dilated as she looked him over as well. “My my, Cordehlia,” he purred, standing from the ground, arching a single brow, his voice twisting in mischief as well as his mouth. “You’ve seen this before haven’t you?”

She smiled. The minx smiled, casting her eyes away as she resheathed her blade. “A lady doesn’t speak of such things, Astarion.”

“Ah, but you are no lady…” his smirk flashed to show his teeth, “least ways not for me, isn’t that right?”

“You know,” she chimed, clearly changing the subject. “You’re not as creative as you might think.” She just kept smiling like a fool. Swallowing a laugh. Like this was terribly funny. “I suppose you don’t remember,” she giggled. “But this isn’t the first time you have been caught with your weapon out watching me down by a river….”

Those images… she had looked so young… and he… he felt the same. When he had heard the sound of boots in the grass behind him… “Something strangely similar, no coincidence if it happened twice,” he crooned. Her smile faded as she looked into his eyes. “But… wasn’t it your father that caught me last time? I see you’re just carrying on your family legacy.” He smirked as he stood to square his body, daring a step to close the distance between them. “Unless there was something else you were just too tempted not to see…”

He leaned in, creeping in on her, close enough to glance down the collar of that wet chemise. “So, my sweet, what happens next?” He murmured, tempted to wrap his arms around her, to pull her flush against him where she could feel how she still made him hard. And he wasn’t so sure if it was only because of her blood in his body.

“Next?” she hummed, crossing her arms over those pert breasts. “For us?”

“You read my mind…”

“Oh, that’s simple,” she crooned, arching back slightly to look right up into his face. Her lips pouted, her eyes batting those long lashes at his smirking, arrogant, conceited grin. “We go to camp and finish helping, and then you are taking first watch since you haven’t lifted a finger helping in the slightest.”

“B-but...” he sputtered, a whine in his voice as she turned and began to walk away. “I do need rest too,” he fairly whimpered.

“I understand,” she threw a grin over her shoulder, finally breaking back from the forest onto the path. “Which is why I will rest first and come relieve you tonight.”

That’s when she reached the rest of her discarded clothing and armor. Astarion held his breath, watching as she bent over to pick it up from the ground.

“Sweet hells,” he sighed. That hem of her shirt sliding up the backs of her thighs, barely covering the swell of her ass, teasing around what laid between her legs. He forced himself to look away. Not for her sake. For his. One second longer, and he was sure something would be staining the insides of his trousers with cum.

And all he could do was keep his eyes on the grass and listen to her soft giggle as they kept moving.

—————-

Night was quiet, even if the evening had been eventful. Another member of the party appeared out of nowhere. A human warlock come for one of her own, but with her charm and her persuasion and her insight, Cordelia managed to convince the newcomer, Wyll, not to return to his mistress with Karlach’s head in hand.

And now, the Blade of Frontiers had joined the company. One more mouth to feed, Gale had grumbled, lightheartedly, but still a little grieved.

Of course, Astarion had been quick to point out that he didn’t count, of course. A joke that sent everyone giggling nervously, no one more than Cordehlia who avoided the heated look he flashed at her through the mirth. But aside from that near little slip up, he had not made any mention of their agreement. Instead he made a big show of heading out to hunt before his turn at first watch.

By a little after nightfall, as the rest of the party began milling towards their beds, he returned. And not empty handed. With a smile, he handed a pair of rabbits to Gale, some whispered something of a joke that made the wizard laugh quietly.

An unfamiliar sight. An unusual exchange.

And then he sauntered over before where she sat on her bedroll by the fire. “You look so deliciously surprised. You know, I can do something thoughtful from time to time.”

“I knew that,” she taunted in reply. “I just didn’t know if you did.”

He giggled. High pitched and bubbly.

At once, the sound filled her heart with joy. And pain. “I’ll relieve you soon,” she cleared her throat, sliding her legs into the warmth of her bed. “Don’t get yourself… or us… into any trouble.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.” He withdrew a single step before he paused again. “You know, you don’t have to sleep out here, if you do not wish it.”

She said nothing, turning her back towards him as she rolled onto her side.

“I have a perfectly good tent, comfortable, luxurious even in comparison, you would be more than welcome to occupy.”

Still nothing from her.

“After all, if we are sharing watches, it would only make sense to share more than just a duty. It’s not like I would be there with you while you slept...”

“Good night, Astarion,” she replied. Conversation ended.

He sighed. Continuing on his way back towards that aforementioned tent. And soon, Cordehlia fell into that less-than-restful sleep.

She woke to darkness, a night thick and starless. The fire still crackled, but it seemed faint. Weak.

Soft.

Stretching out her aching legs, her sore back, she slipped from her bed. Finding him at the edge of camp, perched comfortably on the pillows that he had set in the entryway of his tent. His mouth turned softly as she drew before him. A smile as she approached. “Cordehlia,” he whispered her name.

“You better rest,” came her terse reply.

“When there are so many other wonderfully tempting things to do in the dark, my sweet?” he purred, patting the cushion beside him. Beckoning her to sit.

Cordehlia bit her lip. Gods, after sleeping on the earth, if a pillow under her ass didn’t make her body cry and make her mouth water. Carefully, slowly, she sat. Giving enough space between them.

“Nice to see you do indulge yourself from time to time,” he whispered, sliding his body to view her. Simultaneously closing that distance between them just a bit. “I doubt I shall rest for an hour at least,” he drew closer as he spoke. His breath cold on her neck. “Any suggestions for how to pass the time?”

She twisted to face him.

Oh, mistake.

She thought herself ready for something like this, but… the way his hair shimmered in the distant firelight, the way those full lips of his parted and tweaked in the gentlest of smiles…. The way he was so very, very close.

She wasn’t at all stealed over in body, heart, or soul for such a feat as this. She closed her eyes, shutting them firmly as he gave her that soft, low giggle.

Not helping.

“Talk,” she cleared her throat, “ahem. We could talk. Or you could ask me questions of what was from … before.”

Her eyes opened to see him withdrawn. Those hard lines returning to his face, his shoulders stiff and squared as he gazed into the dark behind her.

“I suppose it would help you to know more… given that I’ve already had one monster hunter sent on my trail. I’m sure my old master will be relentless…” then he fixed the intensity of his eyes into hers.

Fear.

Loathing.

Panic.

“Cazador won't stop until he has me back.”

She froze. Careful not to fidget. And yet, he trembled. Eyes wide and voice pressed with rage.

“Of course he would send the Gur after me… that was why I… died. The case that would launch me into power and fame and rise to popularity. Banishing them from the city, making them keep their kind beyond all the walls of Baldur’s Gate, as far as my jurisdiction would allow. That night, I was attacked. Beaten. Left to die in the streets.”

It was Cordehlia that now shivered. The chill of death seemed to steal over her heart as she listened. It was… worse than she had ever imagined. The facts of his death, those she had found all those centuries ago. But this…

“That’s when… he found me. Cazador Szarr… he offered me eternal life, to keep me from bleeding out in the sewer of the street. Little did I know just how long eternity would be as his spawn.”

He fell silent. Chest heaving, throat choking as he tried to swallow. Then he began to shake.

“Shh, Astarion,” she instantly reached for him. As she had a thousand times in their lives.

But he hissed, flinching. “Don’t,” he panted. “Don’t touch me.” His voice little more than a hiss. “Not now… not right now…”

“It’s alright,” she poured her low, soothing voice over him instead. “I’m here,” that made him look up at last. “You’re here…”

His eyes were wide. Wet. Gods, what had they done to him.

“Shhh…” she cajoled again. “If you let me, there was always one thing I could do to help you when… you would feel like this.”

My love. Her heart wanted to add.

He still shook, but he managed a nod. “Gently,” he pleaded.

“There was never another way between us before, Astarion,” she whispered. Slowly she raised her hand, letting her fingers, lighter than air, trace their touch behind his ear. The soft pads of her fingers rubbed over that pointed edge of his ear, softly held between her thumb and finger.

Instantly he stilled. His shaking ceased. His shivers dissipated. Her touch was warm, calming and tender as she caressed his ear.

Slowly.

Lovingly.

His mouth hung open but no words came out. They just couldn’t.

“I can’t even recall how many times you would be worked into a frenzy… by your parents… by my parents… by your overwhelming need to be praised…” she continued quietly, her voice ringing with remembrance. Those soft memories that she had buried deep inside her, finally sliding out as she whispered them for his ears alone. “I tried it once, when you were…” she swallowed, the edge of pain now in her throat as he watched the same contorting her beauty, “when you were resting your head in my lap…”

His eyes flickered, that same sultry fire returning behind their crimson color.

Holding her breath, he did what she most feared… lowering those thick, unruly curls over her thighs.

That same weight pressed into her lap, that same comforting heaviness his body always gave her. Her hands continued to play around his ear, twirling and stroking into his hair.

The night breeze around them… the faint flicker of firelight… if it weren’t for the chill of undeath on his skin, the lack of pulse in his neck as he laid on her legs… she could close her eyes, savoring the balm of him. As if no time had passed. As if they both hadn’t bloodied their hands and dived into the darkness.

He rolled onto his back, eyes closed, breath steady. And her hands couldn’t help but to share the same soothing attentions to both sides of his devastatingly handsome face.

“I…” he started before swallowing. “We…” he tried again, almost pushing back against the way her hands caressed into his hair. But the spell was broken, having worked its charms. He sat up, those eyes narrowed again, peering at her with that pretense of rakish flirtation. “You’re full of surprises aren’t you?”

Her mouth twitched. As if she had a million flirtatious things to reply. But instead she just patted him on his cheek and smiled slightly. “You really should be getting some rest, our kind does still need some sort of …”

He caught her hand in his, his fingers gripping her firmly, keeping her body close to his. Crimson eyes scanned over her, heavy-lidded and lustful. “Resting at night is still such a novelty. Creatures of the dark aren’t used to… resting after sunset.”

Cordehlia smiled, carefully trying to slip from his grasp. But he held tight. She hummed, a nervous smile on her mouth. “Then indulge me and try it. I need you strong come dawn. Druids and Tieflings will abound, and I’ll need a rogue who is sharp in his mind and strong in body.”

His smirk widened, predatory and bright as she held her breath to see those fangs so close. “If you wanted me truly strong you would offer me more than just rest,” he rasped, gaze flickering where her pulse raged in her veins.

She swallowed, “More blood? What was earlier then?”

“Oh that? That was just a little treat… from my little treat,” he leaned closer, his breath so close she could feel it inhaling the skin of her neck.

“You are insufferable.”

His body went rigid, every muscle taught as he barely brushed against her arm, her shoulder. “Well, since I can’t be inside you, darling, the least we can do is for you to be inside me….”

Gods, her belly dropped to her knees, every nerve inside her catching fire and melting, pooling her desire to gather between her thighs.

“I don’t think I’m quite recovered from earlier,” she managed to reply. Only to feel a small, cool bottle shoved into the hand he still held. “What’s this?”

“You know your potions, She-elf,” he chuckled as she looking at the faintly glowing ruby liquid. “Nicked a potion of healing off the Gur’s body.” His brow arched, adding just that little darker edge of wickedness to his leer. “Can’t say I won’t take care of my treat…”

She opened it, instantly swallowing it down. Instantly feeling that hazy ache in her head clearing from his continued feeding.

Only to have him pull her flush against his chest, to have him place a gentle kiss on the bend in her neck before slicing into it with his fangs.

She groaned, subtle, letting her body arch against his, letting his hands cradle the back of her head, fingers knitted into her hair. Her eyes fluttered shut, her mind swept away by the feeling of his lips on her skin, the press of his body against her breasts, and then there was that new sensation. The dripping, pulsing of her blood as he swallowed her down, the way she could feel how her essence fed him. Strengthened him. Sated him. Pleased him.

She groaned again, this time she just couldn’t hold back the sound of how much she enjoyed this. It was… lewd. Pleasured. And instantly, he broke from her veins to smirk at her. Just for that moment, before he returned his mouth to her skin.

This time, he lapped at her with his tongue, tracing wet swirls with his spit through her blood.

She began going limp, but not from blood loss, he realized, from ecstacy. From pleasure. Her body couldn’t hide behind her barbs or anger or deflective questions.

She wanted this. She wanted him.

And gods, as her blood filled him, he felt alive, aroused by its strength, its potency. How it filled his aching stomach, soothing his hunger. How it hardened him in the groin again, making every little shiver and shift of her body as it brushed his lap all the more agonizing and tempting.

He gripped into her shoulders, pushing her away. Lest he take too much. Of her blood. Or her body.

And he didn’t want that.

“Thank you, Cordehlia,” he spoke, steady, even tones. “I enjoyed that immensely, and by the sounds of it… you did too.”

She said nothing, just gazing at him with those large, bright silver eyes. He could get lost in their brilliance. Warm and inviting. Like he had stared into them for a hundred years already. Maybe he had. “I… I think I will rest now,” he stood and began to draw inside the flaps of his tents, ignoring the way she trembled as he left. Ignoring the way his breeches were far too tight with how hard she made him.

“I trust you are no longer hungry,” she bid after him. He paused in the middle of the little gap in the doorway.

“Oh, don’t underestimate yourself. My hunger for you will only deepen,” he smirked down, a slight bow to his head, where she still lounged on his cushions. “Good night.”

For as much as he didn’t want to leave her alone, he didn’t want to go too far. And it was just too tempting… with the nearness of her body, the scent of her skin… like spring rain and meadow flowers, like all that was golden and shimmering and good in the woods.

He laid down in the dark of his tent, praying that at least those pillows would smell like her before dawn.

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