More creepy and unsettling, creature Astarion please.
I beg of thee. Vampires are meant to be an uncanny valley type of thing. An undead creature of the night that passes itself as just the right amount of living and mortal for you to let your guard down. I need more examples of his vampiric nature showing once he's grown comfortable enough, and I need it now.
An Astarion who is so silent in his movements that you often got jump scared by it in the earlier stages of your relationship.
You'd be lounging around on the sofa. Reading a book, lost in thought, all serene and cozy beneath a nice knitted blanket-- just having an all around nice, relaxing time when you see movement out of the corner of your eye. You glance up for just a moment, to the space before you that was previously unoccupied, and his entire face is suddenly hovering right in front of you.
Just waiting. Not moving. Pupils blown so huge that there's barely any color left to his eyes. Fangs are peeking out over the bruise-purple skin of his bottom lip. He's pallid. White as a corpse. Definitely in need of a good feeding.
His intentions were entirely innocent. He really only meant to ask you a question, and here you are being all dramatic and jumping several feet into the air and throwing your book off to the side in a panic. Thankfully, you're able to catch yourself before you full on shriek in his face.
(You love him and his ghoulishly handsome face, you really and truly do, but you sincerely thought for a moment that he was a spectre come to take you to the afterlife.)
Astarion, who routinely forgets to breathe. Yanno, like it's nothing.
You're well aware of the fact that vampires don't need to breathe. It's more of a force of habit than anything else, really-- something left over from when he was still mortal, he says.
Although, during bouts of intense emotion, or some sort of uh, stimulation, the focus on something so trivial gets put on the backburner for a bit.
The two of you will be sharing a particularly passionate kiss (or worse) when you feel the rapid rise and fall of his chest stop short. It's like all of the air has gotten caught in his lungs, and he ends up making these creaky grudge-like sounds in place of his usual low moaning. A clicking in the back of his throat in place of a sigh. If you play your cards just right, there might even be a rattling from deep within his chest that almost sounds like a purr.
When he finally does breathe, usually due to a well executed nip to his bottom lip, or the gentle brush of your fingers against one of his ears as you play with his hair, it comes out as an animalistic hiss. A sharp, choking gasp that sends goosebumps down the length of your arms.
How you catch him watching you sleep.
How you'll wake up in the pitch black of your bedroom in a cold sweat. Your hair is stood on end, a fearful shudder threatening to rattle your frame. A spike in your pulse that has your sleep addled brain doing somersaults in your skull. All of your instinctual alarm bells go off at once, telling you that something must be terribly wrong. Something must be watching you.
You try to blink away the bleariness-- try to shake off the fog of sleep for long enough to get your bearings, and catch a glint in the dark so ominous that for a moment you're scared stock still.
Something is watching you. Someone, rather.
Astarion's eyes gleam back at you in the dark like a wild animal's might. A bobcat, maybe, like the ones you'd often find stalking pray outside the tree line of camp all those nights ago. Pupils that glow a filmy, holographic orange despite there being no light to reflect off of them.
You don't notice until after you've taken a second to calm yourself that he's hovering over you. The bed just barely dips from his weight as he supports himself, and you'd be baffled by it all if you had any braincells left.
"Go back to sleep, darling." His voice is so soft, even over the pounding against your eardrums. Soothing. Tranquilizing. And though your eyes do begin to feel heavy, you're not exactly in the mood for rest anymore.
Especially not when he's pressing cold, feather-light kisses down the length of your throat not a moment later.
Please, I beg. Give me more.
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