A/N: Hello! I've been itching to try my hand at writing Astarion, but I've always been too afraid that I wouldn't get his character or voice right. I decided to finally take a crack at it anyway, so here we are!
Feedback makes agonizing over stuff like this all worth it in the end. If you enjoyed, please let me know! I'd seriously appreciate it so very much. I'd love to write more of these two. (But only if I was successful in getting Astarion right the first time LOL)
s/n: There's a scene from Community where Jeff says to Annie: "Disappointing you is like choking the Little Mermaid with a bike chain." And that about sums up the relationship between Astarion and Sabine.
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Oh Gods, she's being selfless again.
Astarion's eyes flicked upward before he could stop himself. Finger-tips finding the space where his forehead met the bridge of his nose, he pinched, releasing a tired groan.
He had no great love for the Grymforge. The heat was suffocating. The crackling and bubbling of lava, and the grinding and clanking of metal meeting hard was grating to his sensitive ears. Sweat wept profusely from his pores, a sensation he had an even lesser love for.
Through the clatter and smog, he was able to pick out bits and pieces of Sabine's conversation. He stood only a little ways off from where the tiny half-elf prattled with the now freed gnomes.
He heard something about their abducted leader, and something of her agreement to look into the matter.
Hells. She just can't seem to help herself, can she?
And of course there was Gale, dutifully by her side as she spoke, close enough that he could reach forward and touch her. Arms crossed over his chest, he stared at her with an affectionate smile, hanging on her every word. He seemed to fall deeper in love with her each day, despite his unconvincing arguments to the contrary. Whenever Astarion got him alone, and had the opportunity to needle him over it.
Astarion shook his head at the wizards obvious display.
He didn't know what was worse; how poor Gale was at hiding it, or how oblivious Sabine was to it in the first place. Another repugnant groan seethed through his teeth.
How dreadfully predictable.
Karlach was knelt by his side, busied with working her blade through a very expired Nere's neck. Severing his head from his shoulders, the meat and sinews gave way to the sharpened edge without a hint of resistance. The bone and cartilage of his spine, however, offered no such cooperation.
"What's the matter, Astarion? Heat gettin' to ya?"
He crossed his arms, shifting to rest his weight on his cocked hip. The heat off of the magmas surface was as visible as it was visceral. The black leather of his armor felt as though it was melting against his skin. His thin cotton shirt, now more than a little damp, clung to the grooves of his lean torso like a second skin. "Something like that." He grumbled, his eyes trained on Sabine.
Her sculpted backside to him, the gnomes still held her ear. One of them praised her kindness with sincerity. Astarions eyes nearly rolled out of his head.
Nauseatingly kind indeed.
The journey back to Ebonlake Grotto wasn't exactly a trivial one, and he was anxious for them all to be on their way. The Underdark was hardly cozy, but it was magnitudes more hospitable than their present location. He wished to be rid of the blistering heat, and the sulfuric assault on his nostrils.
To his relief, he wasn't left to stand there waiting for much longer. The gnomes at last dispersed, and not a moment later he and Sabine were face to face. She must have felt him burning holes into her back. Otherwise the displeasure on his face was plain the moment she turned to see it, not that he attempted to hide it.
Their eyes met, and he could see the gears turning in her head already. Those mismatched eyes of hers, so subtle you could almost miss it, ever wide and shimmering with innocence.
He remembered when he first remarked on them.
"What striking eyes you have, my dear."
The corner of her pout pulled upward in a smile. Measured, but genuine. When she next addressed him, she spoke so politely he almost missed the meaning of her words. "I could say the same about you."
Shortly thereafter he found himself being confronted by her - albeit, very gently - about his vampirism.
Innocent, a touch naive. But not dumb. I'd do well to remember that.
A product of her youth, he supposed. She was always so trusting, and so eager to be. An exploit to make her all the more easy a target, so naturally he set his sights on her.
Once he wormed his way in, his place would be secure. He would be secure. Comfortable, and safe. Niceties he hadn't been afforded in quite some time. The scars carved into his back aching in grim reminder.
Yes, she would do nicely. The young were always easy to seduce, the naive easy to manipulate. In order to do any of that, though, he needed to keep her alive. A challenge she seemed intent on posing.
As their modest troupe began to take shape, the others fast became protective of the little sorceress, of her gentle heart and exhausting optimism. A dangerous combination that often saw her thrusting herself headlong into trouble.
There was no true leader among them - an admittedly desirable change of pace, considering the former hierarchy he was all too recently enslaved by - yet that didn't prevent them from trailing after Sabine. She never looked before she leapt, much to his chagrin.
Astarion found he had to keep her safe from herself, as much as from others.
Sabine sauntered the short distance to him, hands clasped behind her back. Once Gale realized who it was that she approached, he decided not to follow. Finding Astarion as smug as ever, he responded with a look of weariness before regrouping with Shadowheart and Wyll.
Turning his attention back to the petite, wood half-elf that stood before him, her lips quivered with the threat of a playful smirk. The thick veil of her lashes fluttered up at him, as if to soften him. "The Ironhand Clan is a useful connection to have in the city, no?"
Astarion scoffed through a smarmy grin of his own. "Oh, are we pretending our altruistic endeavors are actually done out of our own self interest now? Spare me, little miss bleeding heart."
She grinned up at him. Damn her. "Does that make it any less true?" She countered, appealing to his inner magistrate. "I should think it's better to build bridges, rather than burn them."
"I don't... disagree with you." To her perpetuated smile, he sneered in disgust. More so at himself than at her. "You're a terrible influence on me, darling, you and your boundless generosity."
There was a thin sheen of perspiration coating her sweet face and chest as well. The ivory of her blouse and long gloves stained with ash. Just like the rest of their party, she hadn't made it out of their battle with Nere clean. The black of her simple eye make-up smeared down over her freckled cheekbones. From underneath all that grime, she beamed.
"Do you find me so despicable?" She teased.
"How soon you seem to forget our little talk about asking questions you already know the answers to." He sighed down at her, the ghost of his smirk lingering, before then catching sight of a tiny spot of blood gathered by the split of her lower lip.
His eyes darkened, pupils dilated. Perhaps the most pressing of all his desires to make it back to camp; his hunger.
He was in need before the start of that battle, and now that he was on the other end, he was drained. Reaching forward to cup her jaw, he swiped at the droplet with his thumb in a way that, to an outsider, might look affectionate. Loving even.
Fortunate for him, the only potential witness to the display was Karlach, whose full attention was still on the dead Drow's beheading.
The gash in her lip was accompanied by a large, nasty bruise that blossomed down from her cheek bone. Growing darker by the minute, it swallowed the faint dusting of her freckles there.
Earned from the butt of a crossbow wielded by a then invisible duergar, he nearly winced when he watched it happen.
The little half-elf was knocked clean on her rear, the wind ripped out of her with a sharp gasp.
He never strayed too far from her when things got intense, if he could help it. He needed her alive, after all.
Before he was able to return to her side, she had grabbed ahold of the duergars ankle, followed by a sickening screech and a fantastic explosion of white lightening. By the time Astarion blinked, the creature lay beside her in a smoking, acrid heap of furled limbs. Charred beyond recognition. Still on the ground, she huffed an errant lock of her toffee hair out of her eye.
He outstretched his hand to her. "Not the face, darling, never the face."
She accepted his hand with a smirk, before he lifted her back up to her feet, as if she weighed nothing at all.
"And since we're on the subject of your boundless generosity," he studied the tiny speck of blood gathered on the tip of his thumb, and swallowed hard his desperation. "Are you feeling well enough to extend it to me this evening?"
His fangs ached before he even popped the digit into his mouth. Beginning to salivate like a starved hound in response to her spiced aroma, now more pronounced than ever with it right before his nose. He inhaled, almost shaking, before at last bringing it to his lips.
He could always smell her. No matter how many flanked them, no matter how high the pile of corpses around them grew. Through all that blood and gore, the fetor of death, the scent of her could cut through it all. The little sorceress. He knew the instant her skin was pierced, almost tasting her on the air. Thick with familiarity, metallic and saccharine, luring him to her like a Harpy's song.
It had been three days since he last fed from her, which was really all that he could stand, and his strength suffered greatly for it. His reflexes were lethargic, his accuracy waning. It would do none of them any good if he lost his edge.
Guilt bowed her brows, as if she had any reason at all to feel guilty, and widened her doe like eyes. She cast them up at him like he was a thing to pity. "Of course. I did make a promise to you, after all."
He had half a mind to chastise her for that horrible look on her face then and there. Even as his words slithered from between his lips, cold and venomous, his silken voice made even his insults pleasurable to the ear. "Ah yes, you did, didn't you? Aren't you are a sweet one."
She recognized his condescension, but she ignored it. "Why haven't you been feeding? Surely you've needed it?"
She was right. He had needed it, needed her, fiercely. Each day he went on starving saw him ever closer to becoming feral. Yet something inexplicable happened the last time he fed on her, something that made him cease all together for the evenings that followed.
He got lost in her.
His resolve broken down by the dizzying intoxication of a full belly, in conjunction with the delightful little moans she let slip when she was at her weakest.
Noises she had never made for him before.
He heard her murmur his name somewhere in his fervor, the first warning that she was fading, but he was too far gone. His whole body burned. A stifling heat funneling into his each and every pore. Sweat dampened the curls at his collar, the curls her fingers had long since untangled from. The feeling of satiation warmed him from the inside, but his hunger demanded more. It had him nipping and tugging at her neck like a needy, unruly pup. Frantic, greedy, impatient. Gluttonous.
He gasped for air in between his suckling, the inside of his mouth slick and coppery with her taste. Cursing the Gods above when still, he went in for more. Chasing a satiation that evidently extended beyond the physical. Not even during their first time, his first time mind, did he find himself so voracious.
By the time he got a hold of himself, she was alarmingly close to unconsciousness. Her lips parted with a slackened jaw, her sun-kissed complexion as desaturated as parchment. Her vivid eyes turned foggy, and disconnected.
He said a great many things he didn't mean, namely the flattery he wielded. But his panic in that moment was as genuine as it came. By sheer luck had he reigned himself in in time.
He couldn't imagine what the problem had been that night. It plagued his mind unceasingly ever since.
He could have whined like a spoiled, bratty child for how badly he craved the taste of her, but he did not dare. Deep down, he feared his loss of control was symptomatic of a much larger issue.
One with which he was woefully unacquainted. One he was adamant in his refusal to even acknowledge.
"You needed time to recover, love." He cooed, using her as the excuse. "I've quite the appetite, as you know. If we're to keep up this delicious little arrangement, I need you at your best if you're to keep up."
She peered up at him, features wrought with suspicion, honey golden eyes alight as they searched him for some concealed truth. She looked at him like that a lot. After a moment, she seemingly abandoned her doubts, and gave in with an acquiescent purse of her lips.
"If I didn't know better I'd almost think you were worried about my well-being." Her small smile of self-satisfaction nearly ripped a growl from him. Only he couldn't discern if it was out of vexation, or admiration.
"My dear little nymph, of course I worry for your well being," he cooed, the scarlet of his eyes alight once more. Their gemlike vibrance pulled to the surface at the behest of the surrounding magmas glow. "I take precious care of all that is mine."
He was relentless when it came to the seduction of the little sorceress. Her naivety proved more a challenge than an advantage at times. That would only shield her from his charms for so long. He was a master of his craft, after all.
Even in the oppressive swelter that was the forge, even with her cheeks already flushed from battle, his suave declaration was triumphant. A roseate hue burned her cheeks. Even the pointed tips of her pierced ears blotched bright pink.
She swallowed hard, and recovered with a speed that almost impressed him. When she next addressed him, she did her best to do so with grace.
"Feeding on me makes me yours, does it?"
He couldn't stop the biting laughter that ripped from deep in his chest, a sound he knew that flustered her even at the best of times. "How adorable you are." He purred, before arching a strong, manicured brow down at her. "Doesn't it?"
He could still smell her blood on the air, and if it wasn't for the potential of prying eyes from their companions, he would have done a more thorough investigation for the source. Flitting his eyes over her body, and relishing how she fidgeted a little under his scrutiny, he was then drawn to the spot of dried sanguine that cuffed her dainty wrist like another one of her bracelets.
He gathered her hand into both of his, before turning it over to study her palm. When he saw the slash, angry and congealed, he clicked his tongue at her. "What's this now?"
"That same duergar," she said dismissively, watching as he lifted her hand to his mouth. "Before I realized he had been standing beside me, I had my hand raised in the middle of a spell. I gave him an opportunity, and he took it."
Taking care to be mindful of her wound, Astarion brought her palm to press it against his lips. She didn't go to pull away, but he held tight to her wrist regardless, cradling her open hand to his face. Her fingertips just barely grazing the ridge of his cheekbone, his touch was soft and his pressure gentle. But the way his scarlet orbs ensnared hers was nothing short of ruthless.
He placed a kiss to the gash, firm enough that it stung in response, but only a hint. Once he lowered her hand back down, there was a faint, vertical smear over his cupids bow. One he made a show of lapping away with a low, pleased hum.
"Do be sure to have Shadowheart see to you." Astarion was particular when he decided to exercise his suspected dominance, and that was deliberate. For when he instructed her, no part of it was a suggestion. He wanted to gauge how well she'd follow his lead. His grasp on her hand remained. "It just about breaks my heart to see an ugly bruise on such a pretty face."
-
Almost to a fault was she devoted to his hunger, to his severe appetites.
Sabine would never forget the appreciation glinting in his piercing eyes the night she discovered him. He put on a show almost tirelessly, for so many other things, except for that night.
She offered herself to him, selfless, and without stipulation. His relief for not being shunned over his affliction, and his gratitude for her generosity - her kindness - had been as raw and real as the razor points of fangs that sunk into the meat of her neck mere moments after.
All the previous times, he would come to her late into the evening, after everyone else had long since been received by slumber. And she was ready for him. In her thin night shirt and cradled amongst her pillows, kept occupied by one of her books. Laid down on her side, her wild brunette waves swept off of her neck, baring it in unspoken, reaffirmed invitation. Fighting to stay awake. For him.
Yet that night was different.
Not even the sound of his foot-falls just outside her tent were audible. She never heard him coming, and that was by design.
She could still hear the shared laughter of Gale, Wyll and Karlach posted up around the campfire, however faint. She had taken to setting up her tent just a little further and further away from her companions, so as to ensure her and her nightly visitor as much privacy as could reasonably be afforded.
She hadn't even finished undressing. Her jeweled fingers busy with the series of buckles at her leggings, her skirts bunched at the crook of her hip and swept over her thigh, out of the way. Strands of hair loosened from her pony-tail fell over her eyes, nearly obscuring him from view. No more than a black shadow creeping out of the corner of her eye, and the heady aroma of spiced bergamot, as he let himself in.
He must have been hungry, arriving to her tent that early in the evening with so many potential witnesses to his entry. Not that she minded who might know, yet she suspected he preferred the discretion.
However there he stood, in all his dark and ethereal reverence. An intimidating height, and broad shoulders that tapered down with the length of his lean torso. He radiated earned arrogance, a trait that from anyone else would turn her off completely.
With Astarion, it only served to further entice her.
The Underdark was greedy for light, and seemed to steal it the moment it appeared, necessitating more than just her usual handful of candles to be lit. Their flames danced across his pale face, illuminating his sharp, prominent features in a warm gleam that complimented the crimson of his eyes. Eyes that flicked over her being in excruciating anticipation.
Eyes, she then noticed, that had dulled a little in their faceted luster, and rimmed raw. The dark circles around his sockets served to heighten his fatigue. Given the nature of what he was, age did not dare touch him, ever blessed with perpetual youth. And though his beauty was undisputed, his face was now just a touch gaunt, making him look a little older.
Sabine would never prod the sensitivity that was his obsessive vanity by remarking on it to him, of course, but she felt the maturity to his features suited him well.
Ravenous hunger was quite becoming on him, it seemed.
He was already stripped of his heavier equipment, the loose black cotton of his shirt hanging open at the chest. His sleeves were folded neatly at the elbow, displaying long forearms, ropey with musculature.
Astarion was not one to look disheveled, but this was certainly the closest she had ever seen him to fitting that description.
She had just finished with the last clasp, and the leather that wrapped her leg from foot to thigh fell to the ground. That aside, she halted.
It was unclear to Sabine whether or not he anticipated finding her in a state of undress, but he stilled all the same.
"You'll have to pardon my eagerness, darling, I see I've caught you at an inopportune moment." He made no move to leave, however, the corner of his mouth twitching in a haughty smirk. Perhaps a test to see if she would have him leave, he found he was very pleased when she instead invited him to stay.
"Ever a perfect gentleman," she simpered as she strode with now bare legs to her blankets. "You've been more than patient, no need to keep you waiting even longer." She announced with the nonchalance as if what they were about to engage in was purely transactional.
Settling down to her knees, she arranged her skirts to lay more modestly about her thighs, before tilting her chin and giving him an expectant look. Her dark waves were still gathered up in a ponytail, her neck conveniently bare for it.
He approached her without hesitation, joining her on his knees. Bracing herself as she always did, he surprised her by first pinching her chin between his thumb and forefinger. Tilting her head, he examined the side of her face that up until recently was stained purple and yellow.
"Quite the accomplished healer, our Shadowheart." He mused aloud, satisfied with her unsullied appearance. "You can hardly tell where our duergar friend struck you. I'm impressed."
Sabine hummed in agreement, allowing him to continue his inspection. "It served me right, I was being careless."
"Mm, distracted by something, were you? Or perhaps, someone?" He goaded with a waggle of his brow. Her chin still caught delicately in his grasp, she laughed. A melodic sound. Natural, and unguarded.
"Yes, Astarion, even when contending with the threat of bodily harm, all I can think about is you." She sighed with the perfect amount of melodrama, and he smiled. But she wasn't finished. "I'm utterly obsessed with you."
"My dear, I'd be wounded if you weren't."
Astarion regarded her thoughtfully, looking at her now cleaned face in the dim flickering of candle light. The steady rise and fall of her chest, as she knelt before him and waited, with bated breath, to sustain him. She looked lovely, the little sorceress with too big a heart, and impossible purity. Her eyes, crystalline honey that were always so wide and full of him. The curved pout of her lips, like a porcelain dolls, now free of the bloody gash that he had used to whet his appetite. The longer he gazed at them, the more he wanted to nick them himself.
Then, as if to sour his mood, he heard the commotion of raucous laughter from their companions just outside, most notably picking up on Gales. More akin to the cackle of a Hyena, than a laugh.
And that's when it occurred to him.
He now understood why he faltered the other evening. It hardly made sense to him, but it was the only explanation that seemed suitable.
Best not to even entertain the possibility.
"Careless or not, you certainly made short work of him." He then gave a dramatic pout. "I only wish you had left him for me to dispose of." He was all theatrics as he carried on. "You've no idea how gutted I was to see my little treat brutalized in such a manner. That wretched duergar was a kill I would have infinitely relished."
"You don't have to worry about that. It wasn't the first time I've been attacked, and it won't be the last." Her eyes then sparkled. "Though I wouldn't recommend such a chivalrous display in public, the others may get the wrong idea about us."
My dear girl, that's precisely the idea.
"And how's your hand, then?" He kept charge of the conversation, guiding the pace and subjects, reinforcing his authority. "Did you remember to get that taken care of as well?"
"Astarion," she tread carefully, "I... appreciate your concern, but I know you didn't come here to fuss over me." She was quick to remind him of how direct she could be. He was quicker to forget. "Why are you stalling? Aren't you hungry?"
Because I can't afford to make another mistake. By the by, I'm terribly sorry about that, darling. It's just that ever since I've begun to feed from you, I've grown quite possessive of you. When I thought you were getting a little too cozy with Gale it made me ferociously territorial. Because if I'm not careful, everything I've been working very hard for is ruined-
He cringed at the thought. Though a confession like that might have greatly endeared her to him, he found his tongue fat and cottony in his mouth at the mere thought of voicing it. It could backfire. It could put him in a position of weakness, of disadvantage.
Instead of deigning to answer her, even with a lie, he deflected. With a blustering huff, as if affronted, "And here I thought you delighted in my conversation. We're in no mood for pleasantries this evening, I see. Very well." He inched closer, relying on his sudden and overwhelming proximity to still her tongue. "But you're right, darling, I'm famished."
It seemed she had more to say in rebuttal, but at hearing his need stated plainly, she opted for silence. With a deep breath, she held her eyes locked with his, and offered her neck. Never a hint of hesitation or unease, not even now. Not even after what had happened.
So trusting, this little half-breed, sorceress. So eager.
With a gracious smile, he leaned in closer, and placed his hands on her.
If he focused his hearing, he could make out the rapid thumping of her heart in the quiet stillness of her tent. The fluttering of her pulse, ready and willing to be claimed by him.
As was their routine, he found her hand and guided it to the soft curls at his nape. Some of it was selfishly driven, he liked the feeling of his hair pulled. Of her long, manicured nails scratching at the back of his neck, and the base of his skull. Yet ultimately, the moment he felt her grip loosen, and her fingers begin to slip, that was his sign to stop.
Sabine was a petite woman, diminutive even by common human woman standards. He stood a full head and shoulders above her, and she was thin. Boasting the amount of muscle you'd expect a young sorceress to possess. She just couldn't offer him as much, and sometimes required a days rest in between feedings.
They all needed regular rounds of restoration from Shadowheart, which thankfully aided in her replenishment, as did it heal his bite marks. He always chose the same spot on the right side of her neck. When they were still fresh and raised, the velvet ribbon she wore did well to conceal them.
She had expressed once or twice that she wished she could do more for him, but he insisted that what she gave was more than enough. "There's no need for me to make a glutton of myself, sweetness. Not when I have you on tap." He assured her with a wink.
But he was insatiable by nature, and once he got a taste for her blood, he was finding it harder to stop himself. Even when she began to grow limp in his arms.
Holding her at the back of the neck with one hand, and her hip with the other, they were in position to begin.
He breathed her in deep, appreciating the notes of violet and lily-of-the-valley from the oils she used when she bathed. She always smelled heavenly, and for that he was grateful.
Saliva gathered at the points of his teeth like venom before his lips even made it to her skin. It was worth noting that it did seem to grant her some relief, licking her wounds when they were more sore than usual.
Unable to bear the anticipation any longer, he drew his lips back in a snarl, and bit down.
Her pain tolerance was nothing to scoff at, but she always winced at the feeling of his initial piercing. He suspected it had everything to do with just how sensitive her neck was, a little quirk that made that moment all the more savory.
His penetration was sharp, and no matter how gentle he tried to be, there wasn't much else that could be done.
He felt her seize in his arms. Her strangled cry sounding out in the night, though she did her best to stifle it. Her claws flexing in his hair. Usually he took the time to soothe her through the brunt of the initiation, but once her blood bubbled up around his fangs and soaked his gums, he was beyond formalities. He dug in.
She felt his large palm as it swept along the curve of her spine to her shoulders, then back down again to cradle the small of her back. Easing her into him, into the stinging pain that spidered throughout her neck from the source.
The discomfort was short lived. The burning at her throat melted into a dull, almost sensual ache. The holes he'd gnawed into her neck throbbing and swollen around his fangs, as if holding him in place. She lulled her head back with a sigh, as her body went lax in his grasp.
Astarion's lips curved into a smile against her hot flesh, sweet and salty with her blood. Wrapping his arm around her waist, his other hand cupping the back of her head by the base of her ponytail, he swept her up off her knees. Swiftly lowering her to her back, he climbed on top of her, all without breaking his suction.
As much as this act was all for his benefit, he did genuinely enjoy this part most of all. When she gave herself over to him, fully and completely. None of her ceaseless questions, or childlike curiosity. Nor any lip, when she found it within herself to be cheeky. No walls, or barriers. Just trust, and openness for him to feast upon.
Trusting him with her very life, allowing him unfettered access to something as intimate as this. All when she had absolutely no reason to. Just out of the goodness of her own kind, and charitable heart.
That pesky heart of hers. For all my griping, it has served me well.
He focused on his pulling. Rhythmic, deep, slow. Suckling with steady pressure. Hallowing out of his cheeks to draw in as much as he could comfortably hold in his mouth. Savoring how the thickness of her coated his tongue, before ushering it down his throat.
Eyes having rolled back, he grunted into her wet neck as the puckered skin pulsed around the intrusion of his fangs. Not unlike how another opening would feel wrapped snugly around him. Utter ecstasy. The way her body gave way to his whims, and nourished him.
"As-Astarion," she mewled his name so sweetly, but also weak. He swallowed hard and retracted from her neck despite himself, but only a hair.
"Yes, love?" His usual velvet tongue was now hoarse, struggling to speak.
Her nimble fingers curled tighter in the crisp white of his mane. She arched her lithe little body up against the rigidity of his, rolling her pelvis against him as she did so.
"Don't stop." She moaned, and his whole mouth went dry.
He had received that plea many times, with many different lovers. And he was always more than happy to oblige. But hearing that during a feed? And from the little sorceress no less? To say it was a precipitous request was an understatement.
"What was that?" He couldn't help but gasp, incredulous at what he was hearing.
She whined, as her face burned with embarrassment. Now all ten of her fingers knotted in his hair, she tried to guide his head back down to her neglected neck. Her body trembled beneath him in impatience.
The last thing she expected was for her blurted demand for more to stop him completely.
"D-don't stop, please." Music to his hears. She squirmed. "I-I know you're hesitant because of last time, but please - I can handle it."
"Oh, my little darling," he crooned, "you know I can deny you nothing."
He was rewarded with more lovely sounds of her encouragement, as he sunk his teeth back in with an excited growl of his own. But her newly ignited desire didn't stop there.
He felt her knee graze the inside of his thigh as she slowly lifted her leg, fishing it out from beneath him. With a desperate, audible gulp as he continued to drink, he then felt her other leg follow suit. Opening herself to him, making room for him to fit himself between her thighs.
Following her lead, he lowered himself against her, slotting his knee against the crook of hers, and pushing up just so. Leading her to open her hips wider, so as to properly slot himself against her.
This newly achieved closeness made her see stars, her stomach knotting at the soft groan that seeped from him against her neck.
It was a bold maneuver from her, he was shocked. Asking for him to take it a step further, without asking, of course. A move in the right direction to be certain, but he wanted more from the little sorceress.
He then thought briefly back to Gale, and the girlish grins he so easily won from her. It complicated the situation. If there was even a hint of deviation from the long con he had so carefully crafted, all would be for naught. A precarious situation, indeed.
Astarion was as selfish as he was vain. If he was at last victorious in the temptation of Sabine, he wanted to hear it from her own lips. He wanted her to beg for him.
Resting a little more of his full weight against her petite frame, almost swallowing her whole, he dialed up his theatrics. He became louder with his sucks and swallows. He allowed a guttural moan to tumble out of him, like a common whore in heat.
"You're delectable," he whimpered, his voice cracking beneath the weight of his lust, and the tightness in his chest. "If you only knew the hold your taste has over me."
It was her turn to moan, writhing under him, her hips bucked up against his crotch. Hungry for friction.
"You naughty little vixen." His chuckle was a low rumble that vibrated against her tender neck, her punctures throbbing angrily, and now cold against the air with the absence of his hot mouth. "You do enjoy this, don't you?"
He already knew the answer, but she was too much fun to tease. He was no stranger to the sensuality of this act, no matter how much she worked to ignore it. A simple kindness among friends. Yet he could taste on her blood when her budding arousal began to flourish into full-fledged hunger.
She bit her lip, eyes squeezed shut. A pity. He was the one who was curious now, about how those large, innocent eyes might look at him, as she divulged the wants of her fragile heart.
Her blood smeared his lips, staining his cocky smile.
"Y-yes."
His smile widened, not that she could see. He wanted her eyes open, and on him.
Dropping his head back down to the crook of her neck, he flattened his tongue against his bite, lapping at her sensitivity and cleaning her up some. While at the same time, rubbing himself against her clothed heat.
Her skirts had slid up her bent legs to pool around her hips. Not much was left standing in his way of her aching sex, should he decide to take it. She cried out as if he had slid himself inside her.
A wicked idea then occurred to him. He could hold out on her. Dangling his pleasure, his touch, his continued intrusion, before taking it all away.
He could wind her up until she all but snapped, and then withdrew, until next time. Forcing her patience, her loyalty.
It was cold, he realized, but perhaps just what he needed to ensure she was wrapped around his finger. Far be it from him to pass up the opportunity for the upper hand.
Absence does makes the heart grow fonder, as they say.
One of her hands left his hair to claw at his back, gathering his shirt in her fist. Her thighs squeezed around his waist, huffing at how still between her legs he became again.
"Astarion!" She gave a frustrated yelp, and he snicked.
"Hmm, let's see now," musing aloud, he cocked his hips against her once more. "I wonder what sort of cute little noises I can pull from you if I do this." Tightening his movements, he rocked slow and deliberate against her. His pressure steady, he all but humped himself against her with sturdy snaps of his hips. The bulge of his groin nudging at her slick heat coaxed a squeak, before it shifted into a loud, salacious cry for him.
"How precious you are, crying out for me." He purred, stilling his hips, savoring her torment. "And I've barely touched you. What a sensitive little slip of a thing we are."
Though his body remained still against hers, he could feel the strength of her cunt contracting against his stiffness. And her liquid heat that soaked through her garment.
Her curiosity must have been contagious. Bringing his hand to her heaving chest, he slipped his palm beneath her left breast, and gave a firm squeeze. Teacup sized, it filled his grasp nicely, able to get the whole of it in one, dexterous hand.
He discovered Sabine quite liked that attention from him. Brows furrowing adorably above eyes that seemed locked shut, she threw her head back as a loud whimper rippled through her.
"I caution you to mind your volume," he teased, his tone husky and his words rich with mirth as they slithered through his lips to her ears. "the others may get the wrong idea about us."
He wanted them to hear her undoing at his expert hands.
He wanted her praying to him like he was the God she worshipped. And he wanted Gale to hear her.
"Astarion, p-please." She groaned into the humid air, the candle wicks steadily burning down around them.
"Please what?" He pressed, before bending his neck to once more get at hers. His hand still fondling her breast, his other slid upward to gather the base of her ponytail. Using it like a leash, he tightened his hold and pulled her head back. With the tip of his tongue, he traced a path from bottom to top, before taking her chin between his teeth and nipping playfully. "You beg so prettily, it'd be such a disappointment for you to stop now."
Her head was swimming. Every one of her senses invaded by him; his lavish musk, his weight, the sinful allure of his silver tongue. She didn't know which way was up. All she could do was cling to him, paw at him like a needy kitten. Let her body ask of him what she couldn't find within herself to speak.
Sabine tried once more to rock her hips up into his, to incite his grinding once more. But he would have none of it.
"Ah ah ah, use your words, darling." He drawled, almost drunk on her.
His gleeful condescending both infuriated and thrilled her. The rumbling of his silken voice, both his words and her flesh wet with her blood, yanked at her quivering center with insistence.
She swallowed hard against her sheepishness. At last allowing her eyes to open, she stared up at the ceiling of her tent, watching the shadows whip and swirl from the candles flames. "I want you," she breathed, "I-I want you to take me."
His hand left her breast, cold and aching. She felt his long, sinewy fingers snatch her by the jaw, forcing her head back down. Forcing her to face him.
"Look at me," he chided, authoritative, "and say that again."
His scarlet leer was molten, trapping her attention and pinning her still. Her neck throbbed almost as insistently as her womanhood, but both wept for him in equal measure.
When she at last pushed her request from her chest, tight and strained from the suffocation of all the heat, she surprised them both with how clear she spoke. How direct.
"I want you to take me, Astarion."
He dropped his hips, and playfully ground down against her in reward. She tossed her head as far back as his hold would allow, releasing a low, keeling whine into the stifling air.
She presented before him a single loose thread, foolishly expecting, hoping, he'd resist. Instead, he yanked at it, eager to watch her unravel beneath him. Once she got going, she couldn't stop.
What Astarion needed her to understand, was that he was not a thing that could be broken. But she could be.
He didn't just want her devotion, he wanted her submission.
Astarion dipped his head to nuzzle her beneath the jaw, rubbing against her, not unlike how an alleycat schmoozes someone for scraps. "Good," he praised, "very good."
Her jaw beginning to ache in his grip, he drank in the sight of her, flushed and excited and utterly at his disposal, before he leaned in and stole a kiss.
Astarion was quick to swallow her gasp, working his lips against hers. He sighed into her mouth, the sound deep and heavy with relief. Fingertips still affixed to her jaw, he eased his pressure, stroking his tongue along hers. Inviting her to explore his, coaxing her in to swipe along his teeth, and over his gums, just as he had done to her.
A searing heat ignited between her thighs from his kiss. It felt the way she often fantasized it might. Strong, and thorough. Yet even through the haze of lust, she felt something was off. Wrong. She could feel that he was still very controlled, even with his passions. Restraint was the very last thing she expected from him at a time like this.
Sabine wasn't left with her thoughts for much longer. Stinging pain erupted from her lower lip; a new, fresh split where the previous one had been. She whimpered, more startled than anything, and he hushed her affectionately.
"How do you want me to take you, my sweet?" The tip of his thumb stretched forward, brushing over the fresh mark he made. Dragging the bright, fresh droplet to paint her lips.
If for no other reason than to stroke his ego, he wanted to draw out every last one of her sinful confessions, all of which he was deservedly at the center.
Her nimble fingers wove themselves back into his hair, tightening against his scalp in a way that made his cock twitch. "I want to be full of you," she whispered, "while you drink from me. I want to satisfy all of your appetites."
Still so tender and romantic, even with her depravity. He smiled, pleased with her divulgence.
"You want me inside of you while I feed?" He reiterated with a purr. "Tell me darling, did you think about that during our previous engagements?"
He didn't think she could turn a deeper shade of pink than she already was, but she had been adept at proving him wrong. His eyes followed as the tip of her tongue darted past to lick her lips, blood and all, before sucking her lower lip between her teeth. She sounded shaky when she then answered; "y-yes."
He angled a wolffish grin down at her. "Of course you have."
She had been too distracted to notice his hand detangling from her ponytail, only to disappear between where their bodies were still joined flush, despite the layers of clothing still between them.
When she felt the tips of his fingers brush over her clothed cunt, her heart nearly burst through her chest. The beating forceful and erratic, she sucked in a sharp breath when he hooked a finger to push the material out of his way.
The air around them was anything but cold, but the moment she was exposed by him, her slick folds were rushed by a chill, making her twist and shiver under him.
First with his his pointer finger, and then joined by his index, he pet up and down her slit, exploring her heat. Clicking his tongue at her, his tone was anything but chastising as he remarked. "Gods you're soaked," laughing a little, unable to contain it. "Oh I'm going to have fun with you."
She parted for him without the barest hint of resistance. Her lips, swollen and tender, gave way beneath his fingertips, like pulling apart the petals of a rose. Her toes curled as he played with her. Hips squirming and thrashing, he was of the mind to pin her still.
Her channel, however, fought him. Her walls twitching and maddeningly tight, he knew that even if he abandoned his plan altogether and fucked her in earnest, it would take some effort on his part in helping her adjust. Astarion groaned to himself at the dawning realization, gently kneading with one finger at a time, working his way in.
"Little love, has no other man had you before?" He cooed, watching her face twist in pain, then reprieve, and then back to pain. She arched into him, her cheek now cupped in his palm, instead of being clutched in place.
"No." She pushed from her lungs. "N-never."
Astarion's chest tightened, the bulge at his loins beginning to strain with more insistence. This changed things entirely. A virgin. His specialty. "Then I am to be your first?"
She sucked his index finger in to the knuckle, twitching and spasming around his intrusion. Guiding it back out, nice and easy, he then hilted it again. In and out. Over and over again with a steady, driving rhythm. She was stretching nicely for him, he'd be able to add a second finger soon.
She gasped at the sensation as it dissolved into bliss. Those fingers. His fingers. Long and gentle and slender. Drawing noises from her she didn't even recognize to be her own. "Yes."
The whole of her being was unexplored territory. Untouched by anyone before. Until now. Until him.
"You promised yourself to me once already. We know your generosity is boundless, but what of your dedication?" Beginning to work his second finger alongside his first made her cry out, elongated and shrill. But when his thumb found her quivering nub, and he began to work it with slow, tickling circles, she nearly lifted a foot off the ground, if not for his body caging her in. "Will you promise yourself to me once more, darling?"
"Yes!" Almost taken aback by her fervor, he applied more pressure to his circling thumb. Fingers pumping at her entrance and curling inward whenever they were fully nestled inside her, she continued to sing for him. Worshipping him with her moans and howls, she promised herself to him again. "Gods, yes! I'm yours- all yours!" She couldn't get the words out fast enough, competing against the threat of her release that coiled white hot and blistering in the pit of her stomach, ever closer to exploding.
She promised herself to him without question, or hesitation. A testament to sincerity that was reserved for the most devout.
"Yes you are," he hushed, gazing down at her in approval, "aren't you?"
Speech was beyond her, opting to instead nod furiously in agreement. Forcing her eyes open, she looked up at him with such yearning he pitied her. She no longer belonged to herself, in that moment. She was all his. To manipulate, to pleasure, to dominate, to destroy. Whatever his whims, she would obey.
He had toyed, briefly, with the idea of stopping just sort of her climax. To bring her right up to the edge, before he abandoned her there.
But those eyes of hers. Those damn docile, trusting eyes. In that moment he could think of nothing more befitting of her alleged devotion than to reward her with an orgasm.
He could deny her nothing. Perhaps he was earnest when he said that.
It hit her like a storm. A fire that erupted from her center, and raged throughout the rest of her body, from the top of her head to the soles of her feet. Tears pricked the corner of her eyes while she shuddered through it, seized by the full-body sensation of burning from the inside. Her mouth opened in a silent scream, vision bleary.
Astarion coached her through it, reminding her to breathe. Brushing a strand of her hair off her perspiring forehead. He felt her nails break the skin at his nape, but he didn't care.
Sabine was his first taste of blood from a thinking creature, a privilege not to be taken lightly. He was her first taste of carnal pleasure. And she looked radiant.
He still held her face in his hand, stroking her freckles with his thumb absentmindedly as she came back to him.
Her eyes opened, slowly, as if she were awakening. To say she looked disoriented was to put it mildly. After allowing a moment of shared silence, he then broke it.
"Open." His command was firm, and simple.
And she opened.
He lead, and she followed.
The inside of his mouth was soaked with her. Clinging to the inside of his cheeks, and coating his teeth. He swiped the flat of his tongue over his top row, fangs and all. Bending his neck as his face hovered above her own, Astarion allowed the blood to drip from his mouth and into hers. Her walls pulled so violently at his fingers they were nearly popped from their sockets.
"So obedient," he remarked, slowly dragging his fingers from her tight cunt, grinning as she choked out a sob from the loss, "doing as you're told so well."
He lifted his hand before his face, the fingers that had been buried inside of her slick and glistening. He admired how the strands of her webbed between his fingers, and drizzled down his knuckles like cream.
"My my, I've made quite the mess of you, havent I?" Her eyes were glossy as she watched him suck his fingers into his mouth, licking the thick pearlescence from his digits with a satisfied hum. When finished, he cocked his head down at her. Dazed and a bit bloody, her chest heaving. "You poor thing, you look positively spent. I think that's enough for one evening."
He watched, able to see the gears turning once more. Confusion - and even a little pain - evident by the way her brows knit together. He had struck hard and fast. Before she even had the time to come back down, she was reeling again. Unable to understand why he was stopping.
He readied himself for a barrage of questions. When her lips parted, however, she let slip only one, simple utterance. Her voice small.
"Astarion...," she pleaded, "I want you."
That statement alone confronted him with his very cruelty, making him take pause. A part of him then weighed that decision. To deviate from the plan. To take her, now that she was meek and malleable.
But he abstained.
"Of course you do, darling." He cooed, his grin sickeningly sweet. "And if you're very good, and ask again very, very nicely, you shall have me. All in good time."
Her eyes widened in girlish confusion, as was her signature. "Why are you doing this?" She searched his face frantically, but he was impenetrable. His expression ever unreadable. "Have I disappointed you?"
"No not at all, quite the opposite in fact. You performed exceptionally." As he shifted back to his knees, he elaborated. "If you want me now, truly, not even time will be able to change that."
For the first time, not only was she at a loss of words, but also questions. Continuing to stare at him in longing, her breath hitched when he reached for her face one last time.
Cupping her chin in his palm, his thumb traced over the new split in her lip, as if reminiscent.
"I'm sure I won't have to worry about you being led astray. You have made a promise to me, after all." After his gentle reminder, his grin turned sinful. "And I promise you, little sorceress, I am well worth the wait."
Sabine stared up at him, looking as lost as he had ever seen her. Mere moments ago she felt like she was too hot for her own skin. Now she felt cold, and shirked.
"Oh, don't look so bruised, little love." The allure of his eyes, blood red and scintillating, drew her attention back to him with dizzying influence. "Scoundrel is part of the job description."
The word job washed over Sabine. She blinked, slowly, and remained silent. She was beginning to see now, the rules of the game revealing themselves bit by bit.
Kind, innocent - but not dumb.
As suddenly as he appeared that evening, he was gone again, even faster.
He had decided it would be a fine test of how well his plan was progressing, if not a little petty. His practiced ease of seduction was equalled only by that of his cruelty. If he had truly been successful in enticing the little sorceress, he'd know for certain soon enough.
The protection he sought. The place - cemented - among his allies, that he craved.
Astarion would finally know some peace.
An escape from the impending dread that lingered in every shadow. That laid in wait whenever he spent even a moment alone, with the burden of his thoughts. His memories.
And in turn, she would remain safe, and sated. This is what he knew, what he did best.
It provided for him without fail, time and time again. Why should this be any different?
All Sabine needed to do now, was remain loyal. To prove her devotion to him.
To wait.