You don't say no.

It doesn't change the fact that you don't say yes. But he would turn you into a fool if you refused, and you refuse to be a fool.

So when your robes are peeled off, you take the liberty of parting your own thighs. You paint an eager smile on your face as you tear at Astarion's shirt, and trousers. He pushes you back, and his lips trail down your breasts, your stomach, and then finally land between your legs.

With the first swipe of his tongue, your eyes close. Your mind is set free, if only for a moment.

"I've always been good at this," he insists.

"For all the wrong reasons," you tell him, half-heartedly scrambling to get away, yet partially enticed by the devotion in his eyes.

"Just lie back down." His fingers pause on your bare knee. "I promise, I won't bite."

You smile, but it fades the moment he pries open your thighs. "You know that you don't have to. I can wait—for however long you need."

"You've been waiting a while."

Your knees immediately slam together, shutting him out. "We're not doing this."

"I'm better, Lilith."

You pull one of his warm furs over you. "I'd rather you just come lie with me."

He lifts the furs, and lets them drape over his back as he climbs on top of you, his chest brushing yours. "Let me do this."

His hand inches down your waist, over your pubic bone, and…

"Astarion," you manage to say, your eyes staring at the ceiling of his tent, "the moment you feel—"

He kisses the words from your mouth, and then disappears beneath the furs.

You gasp when a finger enters you, and you're on the four-poster bed again. His tongue is fast, and thorough, and your hands claw at the sheets. Hells, what a needy thing you have become.

But you're not here. No. You're—

"Gods," you groan, a hand searching for him beneath the heat of the furs. Frustrated, you yank them away to find him grinning at you from between your legs.

"I'm not done yet, darling. And I know you're not either."

"But you won't even let me make it up to you."

"This isn't a debt that needs to be paid." He kisses your inner thigh. "This is something I want to do for the woman that I love. So let me do it."

But when you don't give him any indication that you want to continue, he crawls back up, and stretches out beside you. After a while, in the quiet of the night, he says, "You're too gentle with me."

You glance at him, placing a kind hand on his cheek. "Maybe you're not gentle enough with yourself."

He repeats, "I'm better, Lilith. I am."

You blink, and you feel hands all over your torso. Astarion shifts to his knees on the bed, and he pushes your thighs until they almost touch your chest. He leans over you, his cock prodding. "What a delicious little thing you are."

All you can do is gasp when he thrusts into you.

"After our little spat last night, I didn't think you'd be so… willing," he whispers breathily onto your shoulder.

You curl your fingers in his hair and pull, aligning your eyes with his. You're a treat, love. "How could I say no?"

He fucks you into the bed, but you barely register it. Your attention is fixed on his eyes. There's fear in your chest whenever you look into them now, but you must do it. You must, you must, you must.

When he tries to flip you to your front, you quickly tell him, "No, I want to look at you."

He pauses, his hands gripping your hips, ready to tip you to the side. "Why?"

You're filthy when you need to be. "I want you to watch when I come all over your cock."

And he loves it. He loves it so much that he brings his face closer to yours, and continues at a punishing pace. Again, you hardly feel him as you let your concentration hone in on his eyes. There is so much power and wickedness running through them that you find them utterly captivating.

And you continue to memorize every detail. From each miniscule vein to the intricacies of the color, you paint the picture in your mind. Astarion's eyes were always two red rubies, and now so are yours. He is your only reference point. Your only mirror.

"How pretty," Astarion groans, his hands fisting in your hair.

Indeed, you think, as your eyes pass over his again, again, and again. You peek at the candlelight behind him, and then tighten your hold on his shoulder. "I want to ride you."

His approval is a growl as he throws himself to the pillows and pulls you on top of him. At this angle, and lighting, the red in his eyes is a softer, gentler shade. You admire it as you sink down onto him, cataloging all the ways the light changes its appearance.

Maybe you stare for too long, because he pulls you down to his chest. "You're insatiable, my dear." His nails are harsh on your back. "Your anger is where your passion lies, and your fire. Tell me—how angry are you with me?"

You don't lie. "Furious."

"Good."

Your skin crawls, and you push up on his chest, bringing your hips down quicker, and quicker. You want this over with, because you need to be alone. You need time to—

Astarion flips you onto your back. From his pace, and the bruising grip on your hips, you know he is close. But to your surprise, he doesn't command you to come with him. This is fine, because you bite your lip, arch your back, and scream for him anyway. You refuse to give him a single reason for why he should tie those invisible strings around your limbs. You will move, and act, and behave to his standard, but you will keep your agency.

Because soon, the strings won't snag on you anymore. You will make sure of it.

Afterwards, when you're lying with him on the crumpled sheets, head spinning with ideas, methodology, and experimentation, Astarion murmurs, "You must want something from me."

You blink back to focus. "What?"

"I know a manipulative fuck when I have one." He smirks at you, fingers lazily dancing over the curve of your thigh. "Out with it, Lilith."

Momentarily, you panic. Perhaps you've consistently underestimated Astarion's perception during sex. But you know of a topic that will satisfy, if not infuriate him enough to be pacified. "Sylas Vore."

His fingers pause, and his eyes harden, along with his tone. "You want Sylas Vore. I would be very careful about your next choice of words, my love."

You fight your smile at the blatant jealousy. "I want to see him. Will you take me to him?"

His eyes flicker down to your neck, and chest. There's dried blood on you, and on the sheets, because of course he bit you. Eventually, his thinned lips turn into a smile. "Searching for allies, my dear?"

You run your fingers through your hair, letting the strands fall over one shoulder. "I would like a friend. You leave me during the day, and it gets terribly lonely."

He watches you closely, maybe trying to unravel whatever game you've chosen to play. But there is no game hidden in Sylas Vore. You leave Astarion to untie the knot he's bunched together himself.

"After dinner," he finally concedes. "We can take a trip to the dungeons."

You glance over to the tub at the corner of the room, your nails itching at the dried blood on your skin. "But first, perhaps a bath."

As Astarion gets the staff ready for dinner, you sit in the tub, absently wiping a washcloth over your neck, bloodying it and the waters. But with your other hand, your fingers flow through an intricate pattern of combinations. Again, and again, and again, you practice them, with a clear visual in your brain, your magic pulsing beneath your skin.

Your hand dances. Up, and down, ring-finger to thumb, and a swirl of your index finger. One way, and then the other. Your vision darkens, and lightens, darkens, and lightens.

Red, red, red.

Your lips twist up.

Pretty red little rubies.

A/N: We're already using sex as a tool, aren't we?

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