Building a Ship to Wreck

That night, Lyric lay snuggled into her first feather bed in years. A pile of plush blankets with thick pillows lining the ornate boards at her head and feet topped off by a red coverlet that made it nearly impossible to see anything over the ludicrous pile of bedclothes. It was as if she were cocooned in linen, cotton, and wool to shield her. Which seemed unnecessary, to be quite honest, seeing as she was being kept far enough away from the night sky as it was by a slate roof and wooden beams.

But while there were three other beds arranged around the sides of the large lounging room on the top floor of the Elfsong Tavern, she was well aware that she remained alone. The others, her companions, had all claimed their own beds and spaces at the back and far end of the upstairs suite. The closest hint of any presence then was that she thought she could vaguely hear Shadowheart saying something to Wyll while Halsin snored obliviously in the corner behind the support wall somewhere far away by the bath.

It was all very comfortable, she had to admit, but…lonely. Everyone seemed to be keeping well clear of her so that she could rest and heal no doubt, but it made the large, heavily decorated room feel abandoned. She missed the intimacy of camp. Her friends and allies gathered around a roaring fire, telling stories, and getting into impromptu food fights with questionable mushrooms. Feeling them close at hand even when all had retired to their bedrolls. She sighed and rolled over, pressing her face into the backboard against the wall. At least by kicking the sheet over her head, she could make it seem a little bit like a tent.

Soft footfalls on the rug alerted her to someone approaching but then, with a wry smile, she realized that the barely audible sound was intentional. And it was for her ears only as Astarion snuck down the short hallway and up the three-tiered set of stairs to approach her bed. He meant for her to hear him coming and, as he had chosen his own spot in the nearest back corner next to the outer wall, with several folding screens surrounding the area, no one would really even notice he was gone.

She then heard a light shuffling and peeked out from under the duvet. There, in the dim moonlight with all other sounds muffled by the pub below and the incessant melodic repetition of the Elfsong's faintly disembodied singing voice, she watched as he undressed. With a manner of complete practicality, he pulled his shirt over his head and tossed it onto the nearby chair next to the desk, followed by his belts and pants. She noted that he was wearing nothing else in need of discarding, neither shoes nor britches, and thus simply paused a moment to let the silvery blue light streaming through the window limn the smooth curves of his body.

Lyric mumbled through an appreciative breath and raised the covers, inviting him to join her. Silently, he slipped into the bed next to her and gathered her up against his chest as she dropped the corner and the curtains fell around them once more.

"I wasn't expecting to see you tonight." She sighed, rubbing her nose along his collar bone affectionately. It was surprising to her, considering his undead state, that she just loved how he smelled. His pale skin permeated with hints of bergamot, lavender, and the tavern's rosewater soap.

"The Upper City could hear you tossing and turning." He stated softly. "I thought you might fall off the side at any moment and just roll straight out onto the carpet. Scare the whole floor awake."

"Mmm. I missed you."

"Hm."

"I thought for sure I would wake up and you'd be gone."

He nuzzled her hair, kissing the top of her head. "No. I'm not leaving…. not without taking you with me."

She almost snorted. "Well, that's ominous. Thanks."

"Hn. That's not what I meant."

"Oh, I don't know." Lyric wrapped her arms around him and began to run her fingers gently up and down the slope of his lower back. "That contract almost took us all in one fell swoop. To boot, I think we both got pretty close to ending up soul-bound to the eighth level of Baator in one of Mephistopheles icy archives back there. Together for eternity, frozen in a giant block of ice."

"Yes, I suppose so. But I prefer it under here. Much warmer."

"With Cazador much deader."

"That too."

"Are you…. alright?"

"I will be."

"You can talk about it, you know. If you need to."

"Like you talk about Olivet?"

She fell silent. It was clear what Astarion was getting at. She had warned him endlessly about her former commander and ex-lover, but she'd never really opened up to him about the real nature of that old relationship. Some things here and there, barked out unintentionally as emotion bubbled up to the surface, but they'd never truly talked about him in specific detail and the horrors he'd committed against her, the Bellewether, and the world. Almost all of what Astarion knew of him had come in visions, supplied by a careless tadpole.

"I'm not ready to face him, Astarion." She choked back the lump rising in her throat. "I'm just…not. I don't know how I could be. I…How did you do it? With Cazador?"

"I didn't." He replied quietly. "'Ready' is, I believe, the feeling you get after the monsters are slain. Not before. He'll never let you be ready to face him, because if you are, he may as well already be dead."

"Yeah, I know. I just…"

"I know."

They remained wound tightly together, warmed beneath the blankets, skin to skin, for some time; listening to the far sounds of their sleeping compatriots, the raucous carousing in the pub below, and the looping verses of the endless Balduran ballad. He held her tenderly and she returned it with her fingernails digging into his hip, her heel hooked around the back of his shin.

"I love you." She said. Her mouth pressed to his neck right where the curled locks of his hair would tickle at her forehead.

Astarion tilted his head down and lightly kissed her ear. "I love you."

He wasn't teasing. He wasn't lying or trying to make a fool of her. He wasn't even playing at seduction. It was just his words, and his heart. All of which he exhaled slowly, easing the tension in his jaw and across his shoulders. In that moment, she could feel a weight lifted off of him, a restraint unlocked.

"Lyric." He said, raising himself up to pen her between his forearms. This way he could cradle her neck in his hands and look down directly into her eyes. "Because of you, I think I might actually have a future. A real future for once. And not the one I've rather constantly imagined for myself. Skulking forever in the shadows, on the run from an insatiable monster there would be no hope of defeating. For the first time in two hundred years, I woke up to a world without Cazador in it and I can't even begin to tell you what that's like. I can only hope to show you soon enough. But you have to believe in that world too. That's what I've come to know. You have to see that future as I do now."

She smiled in a way he couldn't quite decipher, as she stared up at him and into his eyes.

"I do. I do see that future."

"Well then," he smirked, haughtily rolling his chin. "I'm looking forward to eviscerating your old prom date."

Lyric actually groaned. Only Astarion could make jokes out of something like getting mutilated during a ballroom masquerade. "Fine. Just don't make me wear that stupid dress again."

"Darling, what was left of that dress became one big red flag for the laundry service."

They both started to laugh, desperately stifling their snickers into one another's necks. Lyric could almost picture it; two poor halfling ladies staring in disgust at yet another adventuring party's version of 'dry clean only.'

As the mirth passed, Lyric did however find the position they were in both deeply relaxing and more than a little…inspiring. She lightheartedly nipped at his jawline but let her fingers play at his side a bit more seriously.

Without a word in response, she felt his fingers tighten in the hair at the nape of her neck as he lowered his head to press his cheek against hers.

"Mine." She thought she heard him whisper. "Mine. That no one can take away."

Lyric drew her hands up his back and onto his shoulders, somehow imagining that if she could only hold him close enough, wrap herself around him fully enough, that all worries would be crushed out of him to be carried away into the incense-thick air. But since that wasn't likely to work, she instead slid her cheek against his until her lips met the corner of his mouth.

Tentatively, she kissed the edge of his lower lip, just a tiny press of affection to coax him into turning his face towards her. When he did, Lyric kissed her lover slowly, savoring his mouth, his taste, and the teasing flick of his tongue. She then brought her hands up to entwine her fingers into his hair, again imagining that all her love and desire was seeping into him through her palms. She kept her chest flush to his, and when she brought up one leg to wrap it around his waist, Lyric was pleased to feel his hand hook around her knee to help steady their embrace. She'd also never been so happy to have gone to bed naked as she was now.

Even after the first few moments, Astarion did not abandon the languorous kisses, thoroughly enjoying the unhurried moments where he could do as he liked or pause and wait for more. There was no rush tonight. Nothing and no one was coming to disturb them. There was no ravenous master to feed and no interrupting servant who would come knocking to whisk her away. Lost in the moment, Astarion actually then did something Lyric had never known him to do before.

Carefully, but firmly, he took her hand and pressed it to the top of his inner thigh; a silent but powerful invitation to touch him intimately. Almost unnerved, Lyric immediately took him up on the offer and slipped her hand upwards to grasp him. He was already delightfully hard and hot, perfectly ready to give her anything she asked for. But Astarion had rarely ever allowed her to touch him so brazenly like this and it was an opportunity that should not go to waste. So, she closed her fist and stroked him soundly. The growl she earned in response was better than enchantments on sugar.

For Astarion's part, the warmth of her body and the heat of her affection was simply his for the taking. All he wanted was to melt away the sorrow and melancholy for a little while, but his plans for a slow burn were quickly spreading out of control as she pressed her thumb into the head of his erection and caressed him with enticing boldness.

He also explored her in kind. His fingers dancing down her spine and over the curves of her hips to grasp needily onto the soft flesh of her bottom. When he then pulled her against him, it was precisely with the intent to elicit the involuntary little gasp she had the habit of letting out whenever he did so. But she also squirmed afterwards.

"Don't think I don't know what you're doing." She huffed.

Astarion raised an unseen eyebrow. "You know damn well what I'm doing."

"I mean…mmmm…. causing trouble with a room full of everyone. Don't think I don't remember the last time you pulled this stunt."

He raised his head to meet her gaze, all the while tracing a line down her stomach. "No one can hear us, love. Not with all that racket. And even if they could, it isn't as if they wouldn't understand why."

He was right, of course. But just then, whether or not Astarion had a point ceased to matter. The pad of his index finger stroked across all of her most sensitive places with a feather-light touch. When he found her wet and as equally ready for him as he was for her, the wave of lust that rushed through him caused his teeth to clench and his fangs to ache with need. Thankfully, it was easy to ignore, as Astarion found he had other, much more inescapable, desires that required sating first.

The meaning of this joining was not lost on either of them, though, and Astarion continued to hold her sheltered in his arms, his chest lean and protective against her own. She shivered, but the sensation it was clear that Lyric most enjoyed was the delicate caress of his kisses against her shoulder and the strength of his arm holding her close. But it was not yet quite perfect. Astarion flexed into the rise of her body so that they could roll together, surging up and over as one until they were at least partially freed from the mounds of blankets and so that he could lay her in the center of the overly soft mattress.

The joy and pleasure it brought her was smooth and sinuous as Lyric relished the feeling of his entire body moving against hers. Then, she felt his mouth travelling carefully across her chest, appreciating her form as if he were an artist enthralled with a masterpiece. He sculpted the shape of her throat, brushed across the lines of her ribs, skimmed his nails along the tendons of her calves, before deftly undulating his knuckles against the hidden apex between her legs; reminding her of exactly where her fulfillment would come.

Not to be outdone, Lyric arched into his touch and offered herself to him without hesitation. But she also once more found him and took hold of his rigid sex. The ecstasy that Astarion offered was dreamlike and it lingered long after the simple act itself was over. But she wanted him to feel it now too; to watch him sigh in satisfaction and to be luxuriously content for hours in his completion. So, she stoked him again, this time holding the tip of his manhood against her slick entrance just enough that he could feel her excitement and hunger, but he couldn't claim it. He would have to wait.

Astarion had always been inclined to obey his instincts because they usually meant survival. His instincts to give in to bloodlust and feed, his instincts to dash to climax, lest the moment be taken away without warning. His instincts to fill the emptiness inside of him with anything he could find, because it was inevitable that it would be drained out of him later. But here, she was asking him to defy that intuition and to try, to be, someone he'd never had the chance to be before.

It was no easy feat, but Astarion had to admit, the reward was unparalleled. She touched him lovingly at first, and then with unwinding passion. Moving her body against his as she dragged her heels down the back of his legs, bit small red marks into his shoulders, and let the mounting fervor at her core make him almost as wet as she was. When she could move her hand easily over his straining cock, she finally freed him.

To her surprise though, he did not simply devour her as she thought he would. He was wild with need, that was obvious, but something had changed. Something profound. He loomed over her, the moonlight shining on his skin, highlighting the silhouette of his hair and neck, and the glittering intensity of his eyes. But he was in control. He knew what he wanted.

With exquisite finesse, he arched his lower back and spread her thighs with his knees. He then leaned down, keeping his hands braced on either side her shoulders, and took her mouth first. A deep, ravishing kiss that ensured her momentary distraction. Then, he bent slightly and slid inside of her in one steady, unhindered, motion. For Lyric, it was as if he had become an unending wave on the ocean; a surface swell in the movements of his kiss and a deeper current flowing into her as he answered her tension with a gentle, rocking thrust.

This was rapture.

His thrusts were deep but kept to a consistent rhythm, as if he were beguiling her soul into joining in their worship of one another. He stayed that way for some time too. Teasing her with wanton kisses all the while he moved inside her, unhurried. Every now and again, Lyric would feel his hand tracing the side of her face, her nose, her mouth, or her ears. Then it would be replaced with his mouth or the tip of his tongue, following the same path. Sometimes he would then even sift through her hair, splayed out on the pillow in a tangle of red tresses and beaded braids. But inevitably, her senses would be brought back to the feeling of his body against hers and the tight pulse of his cock as he continued to bury himself into her welcoming heat over and over again.

Together, they stayed in that exquisite place for as long as they could. Then, his teeth scraped her shoulder and nipped the point of her ear, a tiny bite of pain that was quickly soothed by his heated pants against her hair. Lyric raised her arms and hugged him close, lifting her hips into his wiry strength and desperate ardor. He scored her hips with his nails, and she stole his breath only to give it back to him as an impatient moan.

Finally, Astarion gave in and thrust hard, grappling onto her waist to hold her still as he fell back and lunged once and then twice more. He felt her stiffen, her arms locking him down as she grit her teeth and snarled through her release. The patience with which they had enraptured one another had, in that time, built to an unseen zenith and instead of exploding in climax, it overtook her like a stormfront. Her body twisted and thrashed, until the merciless lightning finally passed through her. Astarion thought he might have even heard a murmured threat or two, before she threw her head to the side and sobbed with relief, her body trembling joyously as all the pain she had endured over the past several days was replaced by blissful euphoria.

The call to his own release then became too much and Astarion bowed his head for the axe to fall. His loins tensed, he thrust again but this time involuntarily and felt his orgasm rip through him. He fell onto her, quieting his cry in the conveniently placed pillows, as his body convulsed. Much like before, the feeling of his seed pouring from him was almost shocking, and he surged into her several times as he spent every last drop of his essence within. He then felt a second crest of pleasure claw through him and was certain that the sound of reckless ecstasy that unexpectedly came from his lips was heard by someone who shouldn't be listening.

Lyric unwound her arms from his shoulders and lay her palms against his backside. She could feel the muscles quivering in effort, but it was a secret thrill of hers to hold him like this as he came inside her. He never felt so alive as he did right now, and truthfully, neither did she.

When he finally relaxed into her, softly growling through a round of over-sensitivity, she allowed him to slide from her body and drop back onto the other side of the bed. After a moment to regain his bearings though, he moved closer to the center where they could resume their previous state as residents of each other's arms. There, a long silence ensued, with only soft touches in query and in response to communicate the mutual understanding of what had just transpired.

As Lyric felt Astarion begin to drift into reverie however, she had one last question.

"Astarion? When…when this is over, will you stay with me?"

His skin was cooling but his tone was as hot as the Hells.

"Yes."