One moment, he’s lounging against a tree, half-laughing at Gale’s latest ramble. The next — a twig snaps nearby. His spine straightens. His head tilts unnaturally sharp. And his eyes? Red. Alert. Starving. No transition. Just predator.
The Shift Is Physical. Violent.
His elvish grace no longer looks delicate. It looks lethal. Tav once described it as, “Watching a silk ribbon tighten around someone’s throat.”
His Teeth Click When He’s Agitated
Like a predator baring warning. A little click, jaw twitching. You’ll hear it in the quiet moments before a fight. Tav once heard it and simply muttered, “Oh, he’s gone feral again.”
He Smells Fear
Literally. His nostrils flare. His mouth parts slightly. He can scent it like perfume. Tav once saw him smile — wide, teeth too long — just as a cultist backed away trembling. “Oh yes… you’re ripe.”
Then he steps forward, slow and graceful, and whispers:
“Run.”
After all, the chase is half the pleasure.
He Growls Without Meaning To
Not just in battle. When someone touches Tav without permission. When someone speaks of Cazador. It slips out low in his chest, a growl deep and ancient, not meant for words. Everyone hears it. No one comments.
His Hands Are Always Cold
Not icy. Not corpse-cold. Just… unsettling. Like marble left in shadow. When he touches your wrist, it’s like the blood in your veins pauses for just a second. He likes the contrast — your warmth against his chill.
He Stalks Even in Combat
While others charge, Astarion prowls. Circling. Waiting for the moment a neck is exposed or an enemy is distracted. And then—he pounces. Not a fighter, but a hunter. It’s never messy. It’s swift. He doesn’t brawl — he strikes, like a serpent through lace.
He Watches Like a Beast Studies Prey
He doesn’t just look at you — he studies you. The jugular. The pulse under your jaw. The way your chest rises when you panic. Gale once caught that look and quietly moved behind Lae’zel.
His Smile Is Not Always Human
Sometimes it stretches too wide. Sometimes he smiles with too many teeth.
And when he tilts his head — when he’s deciding whether to toy with you or tear you open — it’s pure predator, wearing lace and lies.
Eyes Like Knives in the Dark
They gleam when he’s fighting. When his blood is up.
When the world slips into slow-motion for him, those red eyes cut through fog and illusion — tracking prey with the patience of something who’s stalked forests longer than you’ve been alive.
They don’t blink. Not when he’s hunting.
When He’s Hungry, His Voice Drops
That usual flirty sarcasm? Gone. Instead, there’s this deep, low thing to his voice — velvet, but tight like it’s being forced through clenched teeth. Astarion doesn’t snap when hungry — he becomes still. Watching. Breathing slow. Every sense on edge. It unsettles even the bravest of the party.
He’s Stronger When He’s Angry
Not many people get to see it, but when he’s truly furious — not playacting, not sarcastic — something ancient floods up from his blood. His voice drops. His muscles tense. He doesn’t roar — he hisses, low and guttural, and the very air feels like it wants to step back.
He Doesn’t Break a Sweat — He Breaks Necks
Literally. No drama, no battle cry. Just movement: quick, quiet, final. There’s a predatory efficiency to it when he stops pretending to be “the pretty one” and shows what vampiric instincts can do.
He Has No Fatigue Like Mortals Do
It takes hours, days even, before he slows. While others sleep or rest, he stays unnaturally still — and when it’s time to move, he’s instantly alert.
It unnerves the others sometimes, especially Karlach, who once joked, “I swear you just power-nap with your eyes open like some kind of murder statue.”
Sometimes He Forgets to Breathe
Hours can pass. Astarion will sit motionless, unreadable, utterly still — not even blinking.
Only when someone speaks too close does he return to himself — with a blink and a hiss, like a cat waking mid-hunt.
……………………………………..
Thanks for reading! Hope you enjoyed it.
Alright, so here are my Astarion headcanons, everyone! I know he’s technically a spawn, but I love leaning into his full vampiric self.
What really gets me is the contrast between his angelic elven beauty and that feral, beastly vampire side.
It’s like—rawr—my adorable little murder baby has claws and everything. 💖
Summary: The Rogue of your group has been a flirt, he’s asked you for a night of passion… but you know there’s more to him than just the vampirism he’s kept secret. After you make a reckless decision in battle, there’s more than a fever’s heat between you as he tends your wounds.
CW: Act 1 AU romance, wound tending, temperature play, hurt/comfort, feelings confessions, first time as pair
📸 by @casualya
Prompt fill for @wtv-my-current-hyperfixation
Ao3 Link | Astarion Masterlist
Goblins. Why did it have to be goblins? So many and all at once, they seemed to come from every nook and cranny in this Selûne forsaken temple. Panting, you scan the carnage, a few echoing clangs of blades still come from across the great big space, the crumbling walls bouncing grunts and metal strikes. Heart racing in your chest, you try to follow it, feet slipping in the slicks of blood as you round the corner.
Astarion snarls, daggers in hand, disarming the Bugbear he has before him. “You’re mine!” he growls, plunging his blade up into its throat. Then he smiles, pulling the knife free, bloodlust shining like glee in his crimson eyes as he turns towards you.
Gods, he’s glorious all spattered in gore, the crimson on his face and in his hair making those matching eyes of his almost glow. He smirks, drawing himself up, hiding the way his chest heaves from exertion. “Like what you see, darling? I could hardly blame you… If I had known it was violence that got you going, maybe I would have asked you to my bed under different…”
His voice continues to purr, even as he saunters slowly towards you. But movement above on the wall catches your eye. “Astarion!” you gasp, staring right at a wounded goblin, his ugly drawstring bow aimed right for your vampire.
Quicker than a breath, he grabs his own bow, reaching for an arrow… only to find his quiver empty. “Bloody hells,” he growls, those hands twitching as he turns. Then you see it, the look of fear in his red eyes. The faintest sound of the goblins bowstring tightening thunders in your ear even at a distance. And those red eyes widen as he braces himself for the shot. His body is already exhausted, bloodied and bruised. And you think with your instinct, with your magic. With your heart.
Magic flares from your hands, your body rushing in the dank dark air of the ruins as you teleport. His place becomes yours, that arrow meant for him, thus, also becomes yours. Pain slices into your chest, numb at first, the shaft in your chest barely registering to your brain. Just an ache and warmth covering your breasts as you begin to bleed.
You hear your name faintly, distorted to your ears, but definitely called from those lips you long to kiss. Astarion yells for healing, cursing for the Cleric to come. The world narrows to the wet ache in your chest and the fading sound of Astarion’s voice in your ear. Suddenly you’re on your back, the sky above you peeking through the broken temple ceiling is so beautiful you think… and the last thing you see is a pair of crimson eyes and a fluff of bloodied silver hair as a face swims into your line of sight.
Then the world goes black.
You wake to a cool wet cloth pressed to your head by a corpse-cold hand.
“Godsdammit,” you hear that silken voice no longer silken cursing above you, “get up, damn you.”
That wet cloth passes down your cheek, the sound of water wringing into a metal pan pierces the haze of your delirium. “Hells damn it, why did you have to use your blasted magic on me, idiot,” the snarl is rough, distant, his handsome face turned away as he curses your selfless stupidity.
Something presses to your lips. A smooth glass bottle neck, the tingling taste of healing potion dripping into your mouth. “My last healing potion,” he mutters, “all because you were a damned fool to take that arrow just to save my sorry hide…”
“…it’s a handsome… hide,” you mutter, lips half-stuck together as you swallow the potion. You’re not even sure he could understand what you said let alone hear it. As you come to, you realize your skin is damp with water and sweat, your body wracked with shivers. Your skin is hot and cool all at once. Fever.
His hand clenches the bottle, those sure fingers shaking as the glistening red liquid dribbles down your chin.
“Hells,” he curses, wiping it away with the calloused pad of this thumb. “You’re awake?” He clears his throat, “I mean… of course you’re awake.” His gaze narrows, flirtatious and self-assured. “With these skilled hands attending you, you’ll be right as rain in no time.” He wrings the towel in the dish to press it to your brow. “Back on your feet and being foolish and selfless in no time.”
A few swipes of cloth, and he tosses it back in the basin. He turns his back, one hand reaching around to press awkwardly behind him, fingers digging through the worn fabric of his shirt. A strange motion, one you think has more to do with his internal dialogue than the one between you. You part your lips, voice dry and rough. “Astarion, I…”
“Save it,” he snips, “I can help tend your wounds, but I can’t fix stupidity. Foolish, selfless hero. Did you not get enough heroics killing goblins? Not enough finding the Archdruid and wiping out a Hobgoblin and a Drow? You just had to save my sorry ass too?”
His voice grows shrill. That collected purr, the one that rumbles deep in his chest and makes your thighs clench, has disappeared. He sounds frantic. Manic.
Afraid.
You never once imagined you’d see a vampire afraid before. You open your mouth once more but he just shakes his head and interjects again. “The gith went to hurry after the fabled Halsin to bring him here to heal you properly. Even Shadowheart’s powers could only do so much.” He grumbles, annoyed and irritated. He’s… sulking. As if he was the one shot.
“The hells is wrong with you?” you manage to grumble through your parched throat.
“You should have let me take that arrow.” He snarls, voice pressed and quiet. “I was the one dumb enough to run out of arrows! I was the one unaware of my surroundings! But no, you had to save me… to make me look like a fool.” He pauses, worked up into a frenzy, chest heaving and everything. “You… you swapped with me…”
You realize it’s a question… of sorts.
Before you can give answer, he shoves a skin of water in your hands. Then he moves to the flap of your tent. “Where’s that gods forsaken Druid? I need healing here! Now!”
You guzzle down the water, feeling it cool on your feverish skin. Sputtering, the noises draw Astarion’s attention back on you. “Fucks sake,” he curses kneeling back down beside you. His fingers feel like ice on your flushed and fevered face as he wipes the trickles of water clean. “You’re a fucking mess, Al becuase you had to play the hero. And see what heroics get you? An arrow in your chest and a fever as you recover. That will show you not to go around caring for others.” Those magnificent silver brows furrow as he turns to get fresh cool water to dampen your sweating face.
He grinds his teeth, that sharp corner of his jaw clenches and unclenches. Even feverish and sweating, you can tell there is so much he is withholding.
Your head swims as you watch him brood. Shivering, your delirium surges as you vaguely watch him turn his head and disappear through the tent flap. Rustling… footsteps… another cool glass bottle presses to your mouth. Another potion trickles down your dry and gasping throat.
“It’s an antidote, in case that arrow was poisoned, and Halsin is on his way. Just… hold on.” He whispers, more to himself than you. “This isn’t what you deserve darling… but me… I would have deserved this. You’re too good to suffer.” He’s definitely muttering to himself now. “Hells, you’re still burning. I need to get you cool, to stem the fever.”
You hear the sloshing of water and force your eyes open, raising a shaking hand to grip his wrist.
“You’re cool,” you breathe. “Your skin is… ice cold…” you pull his hand to your sweating face. The relief is instant, his undead body soaking in the fever-flush of your cheek.
Astarion gives a half-hearted, breathy laugh. “Any excuse to get my shirt off, I see? Though I remember someone not being entirely receptive to previous offers to view what lies beneath all this,” he taunts, a forced air of flattery. But the knit of his brows, the wet shine of his red eyes still betrays his worry. “No matter,” he continues, pulling off that cream ruffled shirt to reveal the hard planes of his body. “Better late than never.”
His fingers flex, peeling the blanket off your chest to reveal your breasts bound in linen. “It’s been some time since my body has been warm, let alone feverish, but I do know we have to keep you cool.” Graceful and stealthy, it almost feels like he sneaks up on you the way his body slides against yours, your chests pressed together. Your belly rises rapidly as you pant. Your fever, no doubt. Yes, that’s why your heart thunders beneath your ribs and why your breath is shaky and quick.
The more his corpse-cold torso presses into the softer flesh of yours, the clearer your head grows. Antidote or healing potion or just the cool comfort of his body… whatever it is, it’s working. You feel your senses steadying and your body ground itself.
But you can’t bring yourself to look into his eyes, settling for letting yourself be cuddled and cooled in his arms.
He holds you carefully, like a figure made of glass. The smooth, cool press of his body blankets you and the fever flush and pain of your wound dissipates. You feel almost back to normal. Except for a new kind of heat roiling in your lower belly.
You try to ignore it, but it only worsens the longer you lay skin-to-skin in Astarion’s arms. You try to force your breathing to even out, to will your heart to slow and your limbs to ease…
As if you were asleep, sneaking this moment in his arms. Something you’ve wanted for a while now, but have been too nervous to attempt. He’s always been too flirty, too cocky, or too seductive. You know there is much more behind his show of confidence than he’s revealed to you. So you close your eyes and listen to the slow thump of his undead heart.
It’s quiet as you rest, Astarion barely shifts, barely breathes as he cools you with his skin. Lost in his own broodings and musings. He rests his head on yours, so much intimacy, you realize he thinks you must be asleep. Then he breaks the silence, his inner dialogue escaping him, you realize with a smile.
His voice is like the whisper of cool silk on your skin, his nose pressing into your temple. “You know, I didn’t care much for you when we first met, and the jury’s still out on your heroic tendencies,” he murmurs into your ear. “I’m only saying this because you’re one foot in the proverbial grave, but… please don’t die. I couldn’t bear to have you die because of me. I couldn’t live with it… or… well, be undead with it…”
He laughs at his own joke, his own best audience with you barely conscious in his embrace.
“What’s a life for an unlife at any rate. You’re the first person to say that you cared whether I lived or died, let alone take action to save my life… or my unlife… oh whatever.”
He frustrates himself, his own words getting the better of him.
And you laugh. It’s faint, just a small giggle. But those keen pointed ears twitch at the sound, the hard planes of his belly feeling your own jiggle with your chuckle.
“Hells,” he curses, raising a hand to pinch the bridge of his nose. “You’re awake. You… heard all that?”
Slowly, you lift your head, meeting his hesitant and guarded scarlet gaze. He waits, cautious and careful. After all, he’s spent two centuries as a slave, and given all he’s revealed, it’s clear he’s waiting to see if you’re worthy of trust.
You can’t help but mold your lips into a reassuring smile. Your voice is stronger than he anticipated, the light in your eyes brighter and not with fever-glass. He smiles back as you reply. “You’ve borne enough pain in your life, Astarion. I figured it was time someone else could shoulder the burden. Besides,” you groan, wincing as you shift to reveal the bandages on your chest, “you don’t need any more scars…”
He stiffens. “What do you mean?” he blusters, a show of cocky ignorance. And you just calmly reach around to touch his back, riddled with strange scars.
“I saw you bathing last night in the stream. I… don't know what they mean, but I know you didn’t get them in battle.” Your voice trails off as he stiffens.
“It’s a story for another time… a reminder of Cazador, my old master,” he clenches his jaw, a signal that he’s given you all he will tonight. “At any rate those are wounds that have healed, unlike your festering arrow wound.”
You shiver as he pulls you closer against his cool skin. “At least there’s some plus side to being undead,” he teases, “though… I can’t think of many others.”
You give a feeble laugh again. “You… have many things in your favor. Your quick wit, your deceptive charisma, your determination when you finally find something you set your mind to, that is.”
That makes him laugh too, his hands winding to your back and sliding to grip your ass. He pulls you impossibly closer… and… is that his leg pressing between yours?
“You forget so many of my other advantages, darling. My refined good looks, my impeccable hair, my silver tongue… my mighty fangs….” The last attribute he shows off with a cheeky smirk before dragging them over your neck right in that spot where he’s fed a few times from you.
Your breath catches and your head swims again, and you're pretty sure that the antidote has healed you already. Your fever is lessened, and now your body just burns. That ache in your belly moves lower, settling its weight and pain between your thighs.
No, this is a sense of overwhelm, a heady rush of want and heat as he pulls you hard to press your fevered skin to his ice-cold chest.
You murmur his name against the smooth cool expanse of his chest as you bury your face again.
“Speak up, darling. I’d hate to miss a single sweet syllable from your lips.” Chilling fingers press under your chin, lifting you up to meet his guarded gaze. “Now that I’ve got you right where I’ve wanted you, I’ll ask you again. Why did you save me? Why trade your life for mine? A life for a life is no inconsequential trade…”
The air in your lungs burns. “That’s because what I feel for you isn’t… inconsequential.”
There. It’s done. You said it. The words that have burned in your belly and scratched at your throat every time you locked stares with the fucking vampire… you finally let them out. Finally admitting that you do… feel… something.
His chest is still, neither inhaling more exhaling, crimson eyes scanning your face for deceit or sarcasm. But no. You just stare back at him as your lower lip starts to tremble pathetically and your eyes prick with unshed tears. You wait an ungodly amount of time for him to finally exhale. His breath is cool, especially on your sweat-soaked cheek. “Truly? Is that what you learned from all this?” His words are meant to sting, but his voice quivers with stifled emotion. As if he’s trying to be the arrogant arse he usually is.
“Hells,” he winces, “you’re serious about this? His elegant hand gestures to the minimal space between your chests. “About… us?”
It’s all you can do to meet his stare and try not to cry.
“Not a tenday ago, and the very idea of being held in my arms made you cringe,” he teases, brow arched, conceited smirk on his thick lips. “I’d ask what’s changed, but…” he glances to where your bandages still cut into your chest, dried with blood. “Staring death in the face can give you a new perspective…. Like making you want to stare undeath in the face instead.” His brows furrow, his hand absentmindedly traces over his own twin scars.
For a moment, you think he’s being humorous at your expense, but there is only a far off glint of grief and suffering in his eye. You reach your warm palm to cup his cheek, his name a summons on your tongue. “Astarion…”
Your tone is strong, your breathing rapid, and no doubt he smells the hot arousal that has settled in your belly.
His name on your lips is all the encouragement he needs.
That piercing gaze returns, sharp and hungry. “Need I remind you, I offered you a night to escape all this madness and you… refused. So what’ll it be now, darling?” You feel a cool palm inside your thighs, his own leg gently pushing yours apart. And that gaze deepens in intensity, dilating. “Is this it? It’s what you want… isn’t it?”
You can’t move, can’t breathe, can’t even lift your head to reply. And that smooth, chilling hand travels higher up your leg.
“You’re burning up, darling.” Those arrogant, smirking lips press to your pulse point, just a hint of fang points stabbing into the same spot that’s starting to scar from his near-nightly feeding. “And… I don’t think it’s your fever. Far as I know, fevers don’t make one’s cunt this wet and needy…”
A whine slips past your lips, your body shivering again as your legs splay just a bit more.
“Perhaps I should reward you for saving me the trouble of being shot, a little something for you?”
Before he can slide his hand higher into your underthings, you reach to stop him. “Wait,” you hiss, panting with need even as your mind screams at you. “I… I don’t want this to be a transaction. I want to do this because I want you.”
Those red eyes flare wide, his pointed ears dipping and lowering. A flash of vulnerability even as he rolls himself on top of you.
“Of course you want me, there’s nothing more desirable in the world than a vampire…” the words that come from his flat-lined mouth sound bitter.
“No, no,” you insist, running your hands up to brace his face. “I want you because you’re charming and funny, you’re lonely and hurting, and… I want to make it better for you.”
He freezes, body still pinning yours to the ground, hips pushed into your sex, hands stuck at the back of your neck. “A life for a life, you already spared me an arrow, and now… you offer to help me again?” The words are barely audible, incredulous. If it wasn’t for the narrow distance between your mouths already, you would have thought it was just a voice on the wind outside your tent.
But that cool breath that sweeps between your open lips is all the encouragement you need. You pull him the slight distance between you. Just a kiss. Just a press of his full, gaping lips against your pursed ones.
That’s all it takes, as something snaps into place between you. Now, he’s the one feverish with need, the one beginning to sweat as his hands pull your head back, his mouth working ravenously into your kiss, and those trim hips thrusting his hard cock against your sex.
That grind of his clothed body into your underthings makes your pulse gallop, your heart nearly bursting more now than when a goblin arrow lodged itself near it. Your back arches off the ground, his grip turning your head just so, the perfect angle for his fangs. He bites and drinks as the freezing numbness of his fangs soothes your heat. And yet it makes you all the wetter for him. Your underthings are soaked, the fabric clinging to your folds, dragged to the side by his bulge as he dry fucks you and feeds.
“More, Astarion,” you keen as you buck your hips in time with him. And that sloppy, bloodied mouth lifts from your neck. His eyes are black, barely ringed with scarlet as he pants into your face.
“You sure you’re up for this, darling? Because once I start…" His voice is slick from feeding and rough with lust.
All you do is move your shaking hands to his leathers, finding the fastenings to free his pulsing, flushed cock. His lips quirk to one side, that blood-dripping mouth curling into an even hungrier smirk. “I am right glad you’re feeling so… lively after nearly dying,” he tries to smooth his voice back into that silken purr, but his body is wound too tight. His hand reaches to tease your folds and bare your cunt completely beneath him.
You smirk, pressing your parted lips to his. “Lively, but… perhaps I’ll try that little death you’ve offered me…”
Grit teeth and grinning, he presses that blunted tip at your entrance, a few shallow dips to test your wetness before he pushes all the way inside. Those red eyes close once he’s buried to the hilt. Just a breath of a groan or a laugh, you can’t tell which. All you know is that you will do anything in the future just to hear that sound again. For all his bluster and hunger, he pulls back and pushes in so agonizingly slow. For as quickly as he feeds on your blood, he fucks you tenderly, savouring the drag of his cock against your walls.
Grasping at his neck, you feel the dirge tempo of his undead heart quicken slightly, his skin, still cool, warms just a touch as it grows slick with sweat.
“Hells,” he groans with another breathy giggle, “you’re tighter than a Cleric’s tourniquet.” Those hips undulate, hands still threaded into the mess of your hair. “I fear I won’t last long, not with how much I’ve wanted this.”
His tongue licks at the blood that still sticks to his lips and chin. That thrusting pace quickens, and your hips rock faster to match. Fingers slip to find your clit, teasing it, circling it, pinching it even as his own thrusts grow erratic. You whimper and moan in excess until the heat of your fever dissipates, and the wave of hot pleasure floods you in its place. Your curl in on him, legs gripping and shaking around his waist, arms pulling his chest to bear down on yours even harder. You lose where your body ends and his begins, save for the heated flush of your flesh and his cooler, undead body.
He makes that same coveted noise, the one between a gasp and a laugh, and he does it right in your ear as he comes. He claws around you with the same tenacity as you, as if he can’t bear to be separated from you. Not now. Not that you’ve given him so much… life. Nearly your own life… in exchange that he might feel alive for now, and maybe forever with you.
Thank you to @astarionancuntnin and @nyx-knox for reading it over ✨💅✨
all my dreaming is only put to shame | kinktober 2024
𝓅𝒶𝒾𝓇𝒾𝓃𝑔: Astarion/F! Tav
𝓇𝒶𝓉𝒾𝓃𝑔: E
𝓌𝑜𝓇𝒹 𝒸𝑜𝓊𝓃𝓉: 7.3k
𝓌𝒶𝓇𝓃𝒾𝓃𝑔𝓈: masturbation (both m and f), guided masturbation, mutual masturbation, dirty talk, exhibitionism/voyeurism, praise kink, porn with feelings, yearning, soft Astarion
𝓈𝓊𝓂𝓂𝒶𝓇𝓎: She’s on a particular fantasy, one involving Astarion and some ribbon wrapped elegantly around her body with a touch only he is capable of as he brings her to her peak again and again and praise falls from his lips, when footsteps near her tent.
Footsteps that Rin is far too lost in her imagination to hear—unguarded and terribly vulnerable—especially when said person does not want to be heard, sneaking through the night with every bit of their prowess.
Her lips open on a silent moan and she's so very near completion when a voice cuts through the night, the exact one she had been fantasizing about.
“Well, now this is quite a surprise.”
✧· · ─── ·✧· ─── · ·✧
In which Astarion walks in on a decidedly private moment, but finds a way to make the most of it.
𝒶/𝓃: hello! I am back with my second kinktober fic! This fic features my tav Rin, a half-elf bard, who I write about in my longfic to eden. You don't need to have read it in order to understand and enjoy this fic, but I totally think you should because it's great ~enrichment~ and also has a lot of smut in it along with sassy banter.
the only pertinent information needed for this fic is that it takes place during act 2, not too long before Astarion's confession.
it puts the 'feelings' in the 'porn with feelings' tag. you've been warned 😎 please enjoy and let me know in the comments what you though!
read on ao3 | masterlist | to eden link
Darkened blonde locks lay in sinuous waves beneath Rin’s head where it rests pillowed on her bedroll, the beginnings of something like pleasure leisurely flowing through her veins as she sighs softly into the cool nighttime air.
It was always cold here with the shadow curse hanging over them, but in moments like this Rin finds she doesn’t quite mind the way the chill prickles at her bared skin as heat suffuses through her, the icy touch of it reminding her of a very particular vampire who so very frequently graces her thoughts.
Hands run down her body slowly, taking their time as she luxuriates in the feeling as fingertips run over her collar, her chest, her waist; the touch so light it’s barely there, but the spark it leaves against her skin as they trail is all too real.
But the hands are just a touch too warm, the touch neither artful nor elegant enough to ever belong to him as they softly caress over a peaked nipple, a shallow exhalation leaving her lungs as she brushes against the bud once more.
Astarion hadn’t come to find her tonight, but that was perfectly fine. She could find her own pleasure, as she had done time and time again before they were thrown together by fate and put on this quest.
Rin lets her hands drag down her skin, over the planes of her stomach and down into the valley between her thighs as she lets her legs open for her own touch.
She lets out a silent sigh as they glide through her folds, collecting her wetness on fingertips aching to run circles around her clit. She’s determined to take her time tonight, to indulge herself in a bit of self-care that she occasionally has a habit of not quite prioritizing in the way she probably should.
Astarion, for his part, does always tend to think that she’s too impatient, too rushed, in their nights together. So she’ll take a page out of his book and slow down and enjoy the journey for as long as she can manage before her patience inevitably runs out and she brings herself to her peak.
The tiniest bit of pleasure begins to bloom as she begins to rub gently at her clit, keeping her touch soft and slow against herself. Rin lets out a contented hum at the feeling, widening her legs slightly as she snuggles deeper into her blankets.
She lets her mind drift off into her imagination, the feeling of her hand perfect as she draws lazy circles over herself, slowly kindling the heat inside her with every swirl of her fingertips.
Rin has no shortage of things to imagine, either.
It’s easy to imagine a great deal of things when she thinks about Astarion.
She could imagine Astarion and his lips as they caress over her skin, pressing kisses onto every known inch of her, warming her up with every brush of them.
Or she could imagine Astarion and his elegant, beautiful hands and how those nimble fingers trace over every curve and indentation of her form with a reverence she’s never known from another.
Astarion, with that damned mouth of his, clever and arrogant and talented in equal measure, on her cunt as he tastes every bit of her inside and out.
Astarion who steals fruit and little delicacies for her when he comes across them and smuggles it into her tent, leaving it for her to find later like a treat.
Astarion who reads every inane little letter she writes to him and replies back in kind.
He’s almost, dare she say, likable when he allows himself to be.
Astarion, Astarion, Astarion.
It’s a chorus of his name in her head as she thinks of every little thing about him, everything she’s ever liked and enjoyed or delighted in about her companion, as she loses herself to her fantasy, indulging in the feeling of her fingers circling around her clit as she imagines they were his instead of her own.
Rin sighs into the night, lashes long fluttered shut against her cheeks as she gives herself over to her pleasure.
She’s on a particular fantasy, one involving Astarion and some ribbon wrapped elegantly around her body with a touch only he is capable of as he brings her to her peak again and again and praise falls from his lips, when footsteps near her tent.
Footsteps that Rin is far too lost in her imagination to hear—unguarded and terribly vulnerable—especially when said person does not want to be heard, sneaking through the night with every bit of their prowess.
She’s rubbing at herself intently, lips open on a silent moan and so very near completion when a voice cuts through the night, the exact one she had been fantasizing about.
“Well, now this is quite a surprise.”
At first Rin thinks the smooth sound of his words are in her imagination, once more getting a little too carried away, but when she smells the very real scent of rosemary and bergamot swirling around her, her eyes fly open, shocked to see Astarion standing in front of her with a sly look on his face.
“Astarion?!” She exclaims, snatching her fingers away from her most intimate place as she scrambles around in an attempt to locate her blanket—the one she is, unfortunately, currently lying naked upon.
She settles for closing her legs, squeezing them together tightly as her arms cross over her chest in an attempt to cover her breasts as she bolts to sitting.
It’s not like he hasn’t seen her naked like this before, but being walked in on in such a state has her feeling decidedly more vulnerable than normal under his reddened gaze.
“Were you expecting someone else?”
“I wasn’t even expecting you.” Rin narrows her eyes at him despite the heat rising to her cheeks under the weight of his gaze as he caresses her skin, Astarion taking in every bare inch as they brush over her; looking at everything from the full breasts she poorly hides behind her arms to her soft thighs now curled under her, expression nothing short of startled.
“That much is clear.” Astarion raises an elegant brow as he finally circles his gaze up to her face, amusement written onto his features as Rin glares up at him.
It was one thing for the object of your fantasies and deepest desires to simply be in camp, nearby and yet still so far away, separated from one another by distance and fabric (however flimsy it might be) and the vague illusion of privacy.
But it was another thing entirely for them to suddenly appear in front of you while you lay naked pleasuring yourself with legs spread and everything on view.
It felt as though she had summoned him here with her incredibly vivid and decidedly impure thoughts and the blush on her cheeks grows even darker, though she’s not entirely certain such a thing is even possible.
“Can I ask, Astarion, what you are doing and why the hells are you in my tent?”
The fact that she’s even having this conversation, stark naked, while he just stands there looking at her as though this was a perfectly normal situation is enough to almost send her into a fit, and she takes a steadying breath in an attempt to center herself.
“If you must know,” He sniffs, even the sound haughty. “I strolled over to see if you were busy, darling. I was going to offer to perhaps share a bottle of wine or even play a game of cards, but I can see that you’ve, ah, taken to entertaining yourself without me.”
Rin rolls her eyes at his choice of words and barely refrains from sending him another pointed look, forcing herself to stop glaring at him and settle instead for what she hopes equates to the serene expression of someone decidedly unbothered by being walked in upon whilst touching themselves.
“Well, I didn’t think you were going to visit me tonight, so I decided to…indulge myself.” The words are awfully embarrassing to speak to him, though she’s still not quite sure why. “Do you have a problem with that?”
She raises her brow imperiously as she holds her head high, attempting a level of bravado she certainly doesn’t feel still sitting nude in front of him. She should probably find her clothes, or at least pull her tunic back on from wherever she had thrown it, but she feels pinned under his gaze, unable to move despite the fact that it would be in her best interest to.
“Problem? Why, I find it quite endearing to know that just a few hours without my presence has you giving into such carnal need.” He smirks and the heat on her cheeks flares to life again. “So, by all means, my darling. Do continue, no need to stop on my account.”
A moment of silence passes between them as they just look at each other, neither Rin nor Astarion making a single move as he just stands there with a crooked smile still painted on his incredibly kissable lips, like he expected her to just open her legs again and have back at it.
“Astarion,” Rin starts, incredulous as her heartbeat stutters in her chest. “are you—are you asking to stay?”
“It’s perhaps not what I had in mind tonight, I’ll grant you, but I am far from disappointed at the turn of events,” Astarion continues, as though blithely unaware of the sheer chaos currently going on in her head. “So I’ll stay, if you’ll allow me the privilege of watching you.”
She’s never touched herself in front of someone before. No one had ever asked and she’s never volunteered to let anyone bear witness to something so…so personal and intimate.
“And if I were to ask you to leave?”
“Then I shall walk out of here and spend the rest of my night thinking of you.” Astarion says simply, not a trace of deception to be found, the smirk on his lips falling as his expression becomes unusually open.
It feels dangerous, somehow, to allow him to see her like this—yet another step they’re taking into the unknown. Their relationship has never been a simple one, nothing cut and dry about the way they’ve grown into each other’s lives like twin vines curling together, only becoming more entangled with every passing day.
And yet, there’s something about his words that threatens to devastate her, the truth of them dizzying and the mere thought that Astarion would ever choose to think about her one that sends her heart into a frenzy, the cadence of it picking up as she sits there frozen.
“You—,” Rin breathes, and she can’t believe she’s doing this, but there’s something almost sweet about his words and in his expression that spells nothing but disaster for her heart. “You can stay, then. If you want. But don’t think it’s going to be anything special.”
She’s not quite so sure why, but she trusts Astarion against her best judgment and has for longer than she would like to admit. She trusts him to have her back in a battle as much as she trusts him with her body, which is arguably poor logic on her part but she can’t seem to resist the pull she feels towards him that has her wishing to be closer to him in whatever ways he’ll let her.
“Oh, I’m not so sure about that.”
Astarion steps deeper into her tent with her newly-given permission, walking towards her bedroll and moving to sit, settling himself at the end of it. He makes himself comfortable, every motion elegant as he keeps his gaze steady on her.
There’s precious few feet between them now from where she’s still curled up on her bedroll; the lush, verdant emerald of her eyes meeting the jewel-like pomegranate of his own in a heated glance that has her looking away first.
“I don’t, I’m not—” I’m not really sure where to begin, Rin admits to herself, biting her lip as the slightest bit of nerves start to settle in the pit of her stomach.
She’s never put herself so readily on display for someone before quite like this and she’s not quite so sure how to—
“Why don’t you start from the beginning, dearest? Show me everything you’ve done to pleasure yourself tonight.” Astarion’s voice cuts through her thoughts, surprisingly soothing and almost reassuring, only a touch of his usual teasing nature present.
It was as good an idea as any.
“From the start, then.” Rin nods as her eyes meet with his again, a subtle heat flowing through her at the intensity flowing between them.
“From the start.”
And with their gaze still connecting across her bedroll, she does.
On a breath, Rin slowly lets her arm fall from her chest and bares the sight of her breasts to him and she swears that she can see Astarion’s eyes grow the slightest bit darker as he peruses her newly-freed skin.
He scans her form, taking in every inch of her that she’s put willingly on display for him and him alone in her tiny, darkened tent. Her breath catches at the way his eyes caress over her as if it were his hands touching her and not only his gaze, and something deep inside her tightens at that look in his eyes.
Astarion, she thinks, likely knew her own body better than she even knew it herself; an intimacy she’s not quite prepared to face the full implication of—she’s not yet ready to accept what it means to be known in such a way by another, as though her body were a map that he had singlehandedly made and studied, learning each of the rivers and valleys and mountains as he drew his fingers across every dip, peak, and plateau of her form.
“I was trying to take it slow tonight,” Rin breaks the silence as she trails a hand over her breast, like she had done earlier by herself, fingertips caressing over a the hardened tip of it. She keeps her touch light, but the intensity of his gaze as he watches the motion with rapt interest has a bolt of heat striking down to her core, still hidden between her closed thighs.
“Trying to indulge myself in touch first.” Rin’s hand slides over to her other breast, thumbing at the peak.
“Smart girl,” Astarion swallows as he shifts slightly where he sits, hand adjusting what she hopes is his growing length in his trousers. “You’ve been listening.”
She watches his face as she cups her breast in her palm, swiping her thumb across her nipple once more. “I have been known to do that, from time to time.”
“You can be very good when you set your mind to it, darling.”
Astarion clears his throat with a soft ahem as his eyes are still stuck on the sight of her breasts as she lightly runs her fingers against a set of still-healing marks upon the swell of one—the memory of his fangs sinking into her flesh around the peak and then sucking as he had drank from her the other night one that has another wave of heat flowing through her.
And from the desire blanketing Astarion’s features as he watches her brush over the bite, she isn’t the only one who remembers that night either; his hand covertly adjusting himself once more as he swallows hard.
Rin’s lips quirk up into a smile as she draws her touch over her ribs and down with aching slowness, her nails running over her skin delicately as she drags them past her belly button and lower, skipping over the place between her legs to run her hand up and down her thigh, reveling in his gaze following every movement.
“But it would be terribly boring if I were good all the time, don’t you think?”
“I suppose it would get a bit predictable.” His eyes trace across her skin, following her hand as she runs it back up her leg.
Rin bites her lower lip as she begins to lower herself down, her back hitting the bedroll as her hair splays around her in a sheet of golden curls. She can still see Astarion as she settles into the blanket, thinly-veiled desire shining in the depths of his rich crimson eyes.
From where he rests at the end of her bedroll, her center will be perfectly exposed to him whenever she decides to part her thighs, every inch of her on display for him to freely devour the sight of.
Her hand trails onto the soft skin of her lower stomach and Rin hesitates for a single moment, her breath catching.
Astarion had already seen every inch of her, all of her thoroughly tasted and touched and explored by him. He knows her body more intimately than anyone else before him, and yet she still felt somewhat shy at the prospect of him seeing her like this.
“You don’t have to, if you don’t want to.” Astarion’s voice is honey-thick with want as his eyes move from her hand upwards to connect with hers, scanning the planes of her face. “I can still leave.”
He can’t keep doing this to her—can’t keep acting like he actually cares for her when she knows better and it threatens to do something unspeakable to her already tenuous resolve in matters pertaining to him.
“I want you to stay,” Rin’s whisper is hoarse as she watches him. “Besides, it’s nothing you haven’t seen before.”
She doesn’t give herself another moment to think or overanalyze, instead parting her legs on a breath as she forces herself to keep her eyes on him instead of averting her gaze elsewhere.
She can hear the sound of air leaving Astarion’s lungs as his eyes cut from her face down to the place between her opening thighs, her hand still poised on her lower stomach just above the delicate skin of her center.
It may be dim in her tent, but she knows he can see all too well the intricacies of her, knows every inch already, but she still can’t help the blush flaring darker on her cheeks as he looks at her like this.
“Just because I’ve already seen you, my dear, doesn’t mean I don’t appreciate the sight.”
The words have her heart beating faster again, and she hates that he can no doubt hear it as the blood rushes fast through her veins, thrumming with an intensity at what sounds like adoration in his voice.
“I started like this,” Rin runs her hand down the last few inches towards her core, slick collecting on her fingertips as she glides them through her folds with barely a touch. “Just…indulging.”
She burns as his eyes follow her hand, desire flaring to life unbearably bright inside her as she lets her fingers dip low to collect some of the arousal pooling at her entrance before running them back up to rub it over the small bud at the top of her sex.
She glances between Astarion’s legs, his pants now very tight, and she can’t help a small smirk as satisfaction washes over her at the sight. She’ll never tire of the knowledge that she’s able to elicit such a response from him without even touching.
“Are you enjoying yourself, Astarion?” Rin lets her finger drift over her clit, her hips jumping as a little gasp escapes past her lips at the touch.
She doesn’t miss the way he begins to openly palm at the erection in his pants, Astarion stifling a groan at the sensation of his hand against himself. “Nothing not to enjoy, you sweet thing.”
Finally, Rin allows herself to circle her fingers around her clit, just as she had earlier that evening, widening her legs as she sighs at the heat building inside her.
It’s a strange feeling—though not unwelcome—to have someone else watching her every move. She never really saw herself as someone with exhibitionist tendencies but perhaps she’ll have to reassess that idea, at least when it comes to Astarion being the one with eyes on her.
She indulges in her own touch as he watches, still stroking himself through his pants, words occasionally tossed back and forth with one another until her ability to converse slowly drifts farther and farther from her mind as she gives herself over to the feeling building inside her—half-created by her touch and half-created by the intensity of Astarion’s attention on her.
“This is—this is as far as I had gotten before you came in,” She sighs as her rolls her clit, a shudder of pleasure running through her body. “Tell me what to do next, Astarion.”
“This isn’t about what I want to see. Show me what feels good, darling.” Her heart twists at the words as the feeling deep inside her tightens even more. “But certainly you must do more than just this when you touch yourself. Tell me, my darling, do you ever fuck yourself on those fingers of yours?”
A pulse of want cascades through her limbs at the mention, Astarion’s words heavy with hunger.
“Do you ever touch yourself, Astarion?” She sighs as she rounds on her clit one last time, lashes briefly fluttering shut in ecstasy as she sends a question back to him in lieu of giving an honest answer.
She’d rather show him.
“I’ve certainly indulged myself.” It’s the worst non-answer she’s ever heard from him as his eyes stay focused on the hand between her legs now drifting away from her clit.
“And what do you think about?” She trails her fingers lower, circling her entrance slowly as she collects more of her arousal on her finger before beginning to press it inside herself on a soft moan. “When you touch yourself?”
Astarion takes a sharp intake of air as he watches her finger slowly disappear as it sinks deep until it fills her to the knuckle and she pumps it shallowly.
“What, indeed,” He muses weakly as he brushes his palm harder against himself.
Astarion, for his part, looks as though he’s barely managing to restrain himself, tension coiled tight in his limbs as he watches her. A not-so-small part of Rin hopes that he will break that carefully held restraint and instead unleash the mounting desire she sees in his eyes upon her instead.
Because while it feels good, nice even, to finally have some relief it’s still far from what she’s become used to—her own fingers nothing compared to what his can do to her.
Rin lets out a low moan as she begins moves her finger, pressing deeper once more before pulling it out. She brings it up to circle her clit, the wetness glistening as her fingers trail across herself.
“What? No elaboration?” Rin smirks as she takes in the look on his face, his expression distinctly amorous. “You can touch yourself more than just that, you know. I wouldn’t mind the sight.”
Her eyes drift pointedly down to the hardened cock tenting his pants, another wave of longing coursing through her.
Astarion notices her shift in attention, naturally, and a trademark smirk graces his plush lips. “And miss a moment watching you?”
Rin laughs, the sound of it throaty as she drags her fingers back down herself and plunges two of them inside her, hilting them to the knuckle as she arches her back at the feeling.
She takes a shaky breath as her hips roll against her hand, pumping her fingers softly as she whines, the sound of them moving in the near silence of the tent loud as she searches for the place to make herself fall apart as effortlessly as he does.
“Does it feel good?” His voice is tight, pupils blown wide.
“It does,” Rin curls the two inside herself and she cries out softly at the feeling. “But not as good as your fingers do. No one’s ever made me come like you do, Astarion. Not even myself.”
The admittance has his eyes running up her body, over her peaked nipples and flushed skin to find her own.
The sight of his eyes on her spread cunt is one thing, a deep and heady feeling; but it’s the knowledge of his eyes caressing over her face that really makes her feel.
There’s something about the way he’s cataloguing every expression of pleasure that crosses over her features as though if he misses a single one he’ll never see it again, despite that he’s seen her in the throes of passion more times than she can count, that has her chest constricting and the heat inside her ratcheting up even higher.
“Tell me what you were thinking about before I came in. And be honest, love. I want to hear everything you have to say.” They’re shockingly desperate words from him that she wasn’t expecting to hear; and the use of that one single affection, love, has her heart beating infinitely faster in her chest unbidden.
“I was thinking about you,” The words slip out as a whisper, honest and true, and she wants to hate that she so readily admits it but simply can’t. “Your smile, your cleverness. How much I like it when you feed from me. How much I enjoy it when we spend time together. The things your hands and lips and cock do to me. I had so many thoughts, Astarion, but all of them were about you. They always are.”
Rin had long been pushed beyond the point of caring about the admission—she’s doomed by her feelings for him, feelings she knows he will likely never return, despite how the line drawn between simply being friends who fuck and friends who are more is muddied with every day that passes, long grown hazy with each lingering touch and moment spent together.
She watches as her confession falls over him, his eyes widening as he fixes her with a look of poorly disguised yearning of his own, eyebrows knitting together as he lets out a breath.
“You, my dear, are far too sweet,” Something shifts in his gaze, something she doesn’t have a name for, but the look of it has the desire in her turning dagger sharp. “Sweeter than I know what to do with.”
“I have faith you could figure it out, Astarion, if you wanted to.” Her hips roll against her hand, the rhythm she had set for herself speeding up ever so slightly.
Astarion’s eyes drift back down to her center, tongue slipping out of his mouth to wet his lower lip. “Add another. Let me see you full.”
She nods as she obeys, pulling the two fingers pressed deep inside her out just enough to fit a third. She keens when she pushes them back in, both her and Astarion’s breath catching when she bucks into her hand.
The heel of her palm brushes hard against her clit as she desperately chases her high, thrusting her fingers in and out of herself at a fast pace that has her thighs beginning to shake.
She finally feels filled, the slight sting of the stretch only adding to her pleasure as she moves her fingers in the way that he does, eager to finally come after so much buildup.
Her hand stutters when she notices Astarion in motion, moving to sit up on his knees before her. She’s sososo close and the brief thought that he’s maybe leaving threatens to derail everything she’s worked herself back up to with him present. “Astarion?”
“Don’t stop, darling,” Astarion whispers low as he instead begins to move toward her, crawling up the line of her body until he’s hovering above, caging her in as he balances on his elbows and knees, one of his hands tangling in her curls strewn upon her pillow near her head.
The other trails fingers down her arm until he reaches the hand she’s riding, the coolness of his skin a shock against the heat of her own as he finally touches her for the first time that night.
Even if he only touches her like this, it’s enough; she’ll take it and revel in the feeling of his skin on hers. He may as well be touching every inch of her with the heat that courses through her as she looks into his eyes, helplessly lost in climbing euphoria.
His hand presses against the base of the fingers she has buried inside her, pushing them deeper as she cries out, his touch a shock of electricity even only on the skin of her hand. “That’s my girl. Just like that.”
“Now, curl them just a bit,” Her hips move against her hand as she hooks her fingers inside her, pressing against herself. “And let me watch you come.”
His lips are terribly close to her own, and she wishes he would just lower them onto her own, wishes Astarion would allow her to revel in the taste of him as the pleasure brewing inside her jumps to a new height.
Another press of her fingers just right as the heel of her palm rubs against her clit is all it takes and she’s blissfully lost in the euphoria as her orgasm finally finds her at long last.
Ecstasy ripples through her body, coursing through her veins Astarion watches her as she comes hard on her fingers, hips writhing as her back arches into his chest. She tries to quiet the cries that fall from her lips as she tightens around herself but it’s hopeless, she’s far too lost in the feeling and sensation to give a damn.
Astarion whispers praise to her as she comes, words like perfect, lovely, and beautiful falling from his lips only serving to make the white-hot haze surrounding her that much sweeter. His hand stays poised on hers the entire time as she rides out the waves of her orgasm despite how her hips buck and her body shakes beneath him.
Her limbs relax as she finally comes down, tremors of pleasure still wracking her frame as she breathes heavily, watching Astarion under lowered lashes as she lays back onto the blanket, sated and boneless.
She’s still trying to catch her breath and calm her beating heart when the hand on hers shifts, Astarion gently pulling her fingers from her body as they wrap around her wrist before he directs them up towards his mouth.
Rin can’t help the sharp intake of air into her lungs as wraps his lips around them and sucks, tongue licking her fingers clean of her come as a low groan escapes from him at the taste of her.
His tongue slides along her skin, lapping up her spend as she shifts underneath him, heat already lancing back to her empty core at feeling of Astarion’s mouth on her skin.
“Delicious, as always.” He nips at the tip of one of her fingers once before letting go of her hand, and Rin thinks he might kiss her if the way he’s staring at her lips is any indication, as though the taste of her made him hungrier for even more.
“Astarion,” She’s mere seconds away from threading her hands into his hair and pulling him down so that their lips will finally meet when Astarion pulls away from her, moving to stand.
“Astarion, what are you—” She follows him up onto her elbows, alarm tinting her words as he rises to his full height, adjusting his length in his pants.
“Sleep well, darling.” His voice is heavy and tight with unfulfilled desire, as he backs away from her bedroll with slow steps as his eyes stroke along the sight of her laying there one last time before he finally backs out of her tent and into the night, leaving Rin laying there once again terribly, horribly, and utterly confused as she flops back down onto her bedroll, breathless and wondering.
✧· · ─── ·✧· ─── · ·✧
It had taken Astarion every ounce of stealth he had to leave her tent without being noticed, the raging erection in his pants not helping his situation as he had stuck to the shadows before finally managing to sneak back into his own tent.
He lets out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding, despite that he doesn’t even need the air to breathe, as he emerges into the familiar decor of his tent, swirling dark red accents a minor comfort to his addled mind.
With a deep sigh, Astarion drops to his knees onto his bedroll, his cock throbbing near painfully in his pants as he runs his hand over the bulge. He hisses at the feeling, holding back the need to buck his hips into his hand.
It had been an effort to restrain himself from touching Rin, but gods had he wanted to. How he had wanted to wrap his lips around her breasts and suck and lick at her skin, bite into her soft flesh and drink from her during the throes of her pleasure, bury his face in between her legs and taste every bit of her she’d let him.
And yet, he had held himself back.
Finding her flushed and naked, a hand between her thighs, had been quite a shock. He had not planned on walking in on such a moment, though he finds that he’s far from disappointed by the outcome.
Not when the sight of her laying open like that as she had let him watch her had been nothing short of beautiful and erotic; the image one that will no doubt be papered onto the walls lining his memory for years to come, should he be lucky to survive that long.
If he were a better man, he would have snuck back out, leaving her alone in her fantasy.
But Astarion is not a better man, and so he had happily interceded on her moment to take a piece of it for himself out of his selfish desire to have her in every way he could without having to admit it.
The horrible truth of it all was that he didn’t have any plan at all when he had ambled over to her tent, simply wandering to where she had settled in for the night in search of her company.
He should have thought harder about what he was doing before entering her tent, just as he should have noticed the familiar scent of her arousal lingering in the air; but that seemed to be the exact issue.
Astarion seemed to be unable to think around her these days, all logic fleeing from his mind. Instead, he was acting on pure impulse and giving into the whims of his desires left and right wherever she was concerned, his plan and everything else be damned.
Astarion was grateful she hadn’t noticed him right away when he had entered her tent, giving him a moment to compose himself from the sight of her to slip on one of his seductive guises, fitting onto him as easily as a well-worn coat.
It was a disguise that he had donned for far less time than he meant to, losing his composure within mere minutes of seating himself down at the end of her bedroll and watching her simply run her hands over her skin.
It was undoubtedly pathetic, but as Astarion palms his cock, still painfully hard from where it’s hidden behind his trousers, he decides that it’s not nearly quite so awful as him running out of her tent was.
Gods, how he could have fucked her tonight. Could have had her crying his name as he pleasured them both into absolute oblivion.
Instead, he fled her tent like some boy who didn’t know what to do with the sight of a naked woman lying in wait.
And for what reason?
Because was too overwhelmed with feeling and emotion that he couldn’t bear the sight of her a moment longer without giving in to an urge he’s not yet ready to put a name to?
Because the want to kiss her intimidated him so incredibly much that he simply had no choice but to run, lest he be pulled in by her spell?
Unacceptable.
But no matter the amount of self-loathing he carries, it doesn’t stop him from peeling his pants down just enough to free his cock, barely paying attention as he pulls his shirt over his head and throws it to the side before laying back on his bedroll as his hand finds his length, twitching and eager between his legs.
He can still taste the remnants of her come on his lips and tongue, ever the sweetest flavor, as he pumps his cock once in his fist, holding back a moan at the touch as his hips buck into his hand.
Rin had been thinking about him.
Thinking about him as she had touched herself, and while he knew the admission shouldn’t be surprising—he had engineered his way into her thoughts, after all, with the help of his foolish plan—it still hit him like a hard punch in the chest, pushing the air out of his lungs and sending his brain into a frenzy.
Of course she had thought about all the things he could do, he’d practiced and perfected his skills plenty over the past two centuries and he’s poured every ounce of that knowledge onto her, but to know that she also simply thought about him as person begins to undo something inside him that had been tangled up for a long, long time.
And what do you think about?
Astarion had never been more tempted to tell her the truth.
He had bit down on his answer, it would have been far too incriminating to admit that he, too, has had a great deal of thoughts these past months and all of them have been about her.
Slowly, Astarion begins to work himself; long drags of his palm against his hardened length as precome leaks from the tip of him in clear, shining beads. He lets his hand drift over the crown of his cock to collect the wetness before positioning his hands just how he likes it—one at the top to work the head of him, and one at the base for the rest.
Sometimes, he fantasizes—imagining things like her wrapped in silk the same color as her eyes, the sheen of it luminescent in the candlelight as it hugs around the circle of her waist and stretches across her breasts, the darkness only serving to make the halo of soft curls that cloud around her that much brighter. He likes to imagine her atop him in this particular fantasy, whispering scandalous things into his ear as she works his cock in slow, deep rolls of her hips, his hands running up and down the indent of her waist as he marvels at the sight of her, something akin to a goddess of pure light in the unending darkness of his existence.
Astarion’s hips jump into his hand as he releases a low moan as his fists speed up at the thought of it and his brow creases in pleasure.
Other times, he thinks back on the nights he’s already had her—reliving the feeling of his cock buried deep in her cunt as they knelt together, every inch of their skin touching as she meets his every thrust, the feeling of her lips on his nothing short of exquisite as they had kissed. He can still smell the tang of her blood, can remember the way she had tasted when his tongue had found hers, can still feel the way he had hit the deepest parts of her as she had come apart in his arms with the loveliest of sighs and moans, his name never sounding more beautiful than when it falls from her lips in ecstasy.
He can feel the tightening in his stomach as he fucks his hands but he wishes it were hers instead touching him right now, asking him how he liked it and how else he wanted it, all of her normal irreverence gone and replaced instead by an aching sweetness that she only ever shows to him.
When Astarion finally comes in his hand, ropes of pearly white decorating the milky skin of his stomach, he comes at the thought of simply her—no one particular thing, but instead the sum of everything she is and everything he’s ever dared to admit to himself that he likes about her.
The look on her face when she serves him a quip she thinks is particularly clever (even when it’s not); the image of her smile; the desperation in her eyes when she had asked to be kissed; the feeling when she runs her hands through his hair; the act of her simply being there for him while he talks and processes everything he’s ever been through—it’s all too much, more than someone like him can bear to handle as he moans out loud his completion and pleasure wracks through his every limbs, muscles shaking and head bowing back into his pillow as he works himself through it with hard strokes of his cock.
Astarion pants as he comes down from his high, tension emptying from his limbs as his come begins to cool on the skin of his hands and stomach and he simply lays there and breathes in the cold nighttime air, eyes staring hopelessly up at the fabric of his tent.
Where is he supposed to go from here?
He certainly can’t go back to acting like none of it matters. He tried that already and it was a spectacular lesson in failure.
It’s an answer he doesn’t know and an answer he has no real way of figuring out; and so he will spend another night ignoring it until he’s once again faced with the brunt of whatever it is brewing in the cavity where his dead heart lives.
Astarion is, by nature, always cold.
It was simply a part of his condition by being an unfortunate member of the undead. His heart no longer beat and there was little warmth to be found in an existence without blood to pump through his veins.
Most of the time, it doesn’t bother him.
After two centuries surviving in the chill of the Szarr Palace, he had learned to handle the bitter cold and the feeling of it against his skin, unable to ever find comfort under his miserable excuse for a blanket. The few bits of warmth he had ever felt during those years were from the measly blood of rats, barely enough to heat his nose much less fend off the chill of life after death.
Now though, now Astarion knows a bit more of what it means to be warm.
Astarion understands the warmth that floods his veins when he drinks mouthfuls of Rin’s blood, delicious and sweet as he swallows it down, the same way he now understands the warmth of the intimacy he finds when they lie together, kissing and touching and moving as one.
But on a night like tonight, the cold eats away at him—biting through his pale flesh down to his bones as it leaves him bereft.
He should have stayed, should have finally allowed himself to indulge in the warmth of rest she’s offered within the circle of her arms. She’s made it clear he’s always welcome to, and the draw of that simple, innocent act stands to be the one thing that eventually will wreck his resolve.
But he can’t give in.
Not yet, at least.
Instead, Astarion will simply dream of it—imagine once more about what it must be like to curl up beside her with their arms wrapped around one another as they drift off to sleep under blankets, warmer than he’s no doubt ever been before.
F!Durge who is a Great Old One warlock with Astarion: 3. “I want to please you.” Preferably during the graveyard scene with her telling him that
“Please…”
UA Spawn x f!Reader | E | Smut Asks Prompts
CW: public sex, body worship, whimpering vampires
Kinktober Bingo: tittyfuck
A cool summer night… a single white star flower… and freedom.
Sweet, blissful freedom.
He lays on you, knee hooked inside your own, spreading you open so as to grind his hardening length against your sex. This time is different from your other trysts… this time, you look up at Astarion, his pale skin still damp from washing the remnants of Cazador’s bloodspatter from the battle. From the final act of vengeance.
You can hardly believe you’re here, on his grave in the dead of night. You would pinch yourself to make certain this was real, but the weight of his lean frame grinding against your cunt is enough to convince you. You’re here, and so is Astarion.
His body is everywhere, a crush of sinew as he presses you and spreads you into the dirt.
“My love,” you whimper, caged by his strength, his fervor.
“It’s you I want… all of you, every last piece of your heart and soul, your body and blood…” he raps, tongue tangled with yours, hand fisted in your hair. You can feel his hunger, his desperation, and after today, you wish nothing more for him than peace and freedom… and love.
“Astarion,” his name tumbles in a whisper from your lips as they work against his. “Lay back.”
“Why, when I have everything I’ve ever wanted right here?” you can hear his dripping confidence, feel his lips twisting in a conceited grin.
Summoning all your strength, your powers, you grab his shoulders and roll. He grunts, dust flying as your bodies tumble end for end once... twice… until he stops. The irony of where he lays, head of silver curls just brushing his headstone, it makes your heart stop. Those wide, red eyes stare up at you in shock and in awe. “You’re full of surprises, aren’t you?” he chuckles, hands now grabbing at your hips, his own resuming that slow grind up into your clothed cunt.
Your pointer finger presses over his cracked lips, dry from the salt of his tears today. “Hush, love,” you soothe, “you know what you want. Now I’ll show you what I want… I want to please you…”
“Excellent,” he growls, voice scratching his throat in rough and husky tones.
“I want… every part of me to please you,” you respond. Your voice is quiet, sweet. The movements of your body are in total control, trying to move with grace against the desperate buck of his hips into you. Your two hands cradle his face, your fingers thread through the damp silver hair at the nape of his neck. “Starting with these lips of mine, the ones that can’t help but whine and whimper when you touch me…” you breathe into his mouth, your warmth invading his chill, heating him as he cools you. Your kiss is gentle, tasting of innocence and affection, just the brush of your warm, fleshy, pursed lips on his.
You feel his breath hitch, the slightest gasp at the contact, as it breaks his streak of hunger with its adoration.
You grind, slow, torturous rolls of your folds over his leathers… and the slightest breath of a whimper from his lips snaps something inside you. You sit up, grab him by those limp ruffles of his collar and yank him upright with you. He snarls at your sudden aggression, lips pulled back to the right to bare his fang.
You trail rough, open mouthed kisses over his chest and stomach, hands tugging that old silk off his torso. Eagerly, he gives you aid, his pale skin pearlescent and luminous in the moonlight. Your breath catches as you slot yourself between his thighs. A creature of darkness, those red, unearthly eyes making your cunt clench with desire and your heart race with natural fear.
And you love it. You crave it. You want to tame the monster and please him until he’s nothing more than a purring pet nestled between your thighs… “My fierce… devoted… vampire,” you murmur, planting kisses down those etched diagonal lines of his hips. “So strong… so hungry… so free…” you continue, nuzzling the throbbing hardness beneath his pants. You can feel it stiffen, sense it twitch as you sniff it, kiss it, suck it barely through the fabric. Your teeth nip through the soft leather, earning you a low growl and a rumbling, “Hells, my love.”
“Does it please you?” You ask, nibbling him as he twitches against your lips through his pants.
“What do you think?” Astarion laughs breathlessly, his hands working to unfasten the straining gap. But, your hands stop him. “Naughty,” you chide him, bringing his fingers to your mouth to suck and nip those too. “You are figuring out what you want… you want me. And I, what I want is to please you. Not let me… allow me… to please you.”
You slink his leathers down just enough for his cock to emerge, hard and pulsing and ridged with those familiar veins that weave perfectly around his length. Barely stopping to wet your lips, you suck him in, the taste of salt and musk, that addictive flavors you know by heart now covers your tongue. “Hells,” he groans, leaning back on the ancient headstone. “You really are lucky I don’t need to breathe or you’d steal my breath, darling,” his silken voice catches in his throat, husky and deepening as you take him into your mouth. You want to feel him on every inch of you, your skin screaming to press against his smooth cool body.
It’s a desperation, a drive to satisfy him and please him as he has never been before. Your hands slip your breasts from the collar of your shirt, the buttons loosening to let them spill out. And all the while you bob your mouth up and down, letting his cockhead brush the back of your throat. His shaft is slick with spit, drenched from your lips.
Perfect.
The warm softness of your breasts cradles his cock as you press them around that slick shaft. Crimson eyes wide, his fang bites his own lip to give a trickle of his own blood down his chin. Gaze devouring the sight of you in his lap, he groans, hips bucking to thrust his cock up into your tits. With every plunge upwards, you suckle the weeping head of his cock. And it takes all your strength, your concentration, to keep your breasts pressing snuggly around him.
His nails dig into the dirt, clawing their way deeper in total… complete… ecstasy. “Love… my love,” he grunts, eyes wild with desperate need, blood trickling down his chin.
“Pleased?” You whisper between sloppy kisses on his cockhead.
“Very,” he snarls in reply, one hand reaches to yank the back of your head, fingers knotted in the small, fragile hairs at your nape. He pulls you forward, crushing your mouth to his. Copper and metal tickles your tongue as you taste his own cut lip. His hands lift the skirt of your gown, lining you up just right, cock pushing and pulsing against your soaked underthings. “Keep pleasing me… please,” he purrs, desperation tasting so sweet on his darting tongue.
You shift over his cock, a single pull of your clothing and she slots right inside your dripping cunt. Then, you ride him with abandon. There is nothing else in the world… no enemies, no threats, no tadpoles. Not even strangers spending late night vigils by their loved one’s graves. At least… you wouldn’t know. Not with the way you are keeping vigil on his grave. He fills you, buried to the hilt as you start to bounce. His nails dig into the crest of your hips, lifting and slamming you back down, matching the thrusts of his hips. He rolls them, matching your downs with upward snaps, thumb wandering into that sweet heated crux of your thighs to catch your clit. You hiss, grabbing his wrists. “I was supposed to please you, my love,” you hiss as he circles your aching, tingling nub faster.
“But making you come, watching you fall apart on my cock… nothing would please me more, darling…” he purrs, that voice no longer velvet as he huffs and growls, rough with his own exertions as he fucks you. Those arms wrap around you as he pulls himself to sit up, your body slamming down with wet squelches as you bounce on his lap. Only now, in this position, he can taste you, kiss you… bite you.
Fangs on your skin, buried in your neck… the ice and heat are nothing compared to the searing drive you have inside you to please him. To make him come undone, to love you and to feel your love in return.
It’s a warm whirlwind of pleasure and pleasing, of desire and disastrous mess as you come on his lap, and he fills you with his seed. As he bites your neck and slurps down your blood between ragged breaths once he’s come inside you.
You catch your breath, damp foreheads pressed together as he grips his hands into your ass. His cock is still hard inside you, warming now with desire and fresh blood. Hips lift slightly, a silent request for you to move more. Move again. And then his lips whisper one word against your own.
Summary: You burn, in heat and needing to mate… and your Master is more than willing to help his *dearest pet*
CW: Cw: Breeding for impregnating, bdsm, master/pet, slight degradation, PiV, reader in heat, faced fuck, mating press, ascendant stamina 😈
Ao3 Link | Astarion fic Masterlist
The very air tastes of him, you stick your tongue out. He’s been in this room, the sweet sweat of his body still lingers as he passed this way recently. Your mind is a mess, a primal mush of need and pheromones.
Your bare feet step blindly, compelled by your core. Your cunt clenching in time with your progress as you wander up the stairs. “He’s here,” you say to yourself, voice hissing as you pant in heat.
For you are in heat.
Your blood sings for your maker. Your folds seep with need. Your skin is damp with sweat and flushed with desire. Only his cock will make you whole, only his cum will douse the inferno.
You make it to the bedroom, hearing his movements within. His heart is skipping, contented as he moves, your vampiric hearing hones in on that low pitter patter of your creator, a rhythm as familiar as the march of eternity.
Noises sound almost underwater with the way your pulse beats, even undead your heart is in a frenzy, and it’ll stay that way…
…until you flood your cunt with seed, letting it take root and make your belly swell.
You whimper his name, your mouth salivating his scent thickens. “Astarion…” Throat thick with spit-slick, his name sounds like a high-pitched growl from your lips as you wet them. Then you enter his bedroom, his lithe form eagerly prowling from the far side of his bed, those massive wooden posters now wound in red silk ropes that extend to the center.
The candlelight flickers over his pale skin, caressing the lines and angles of his bare chest and leather-clad legs. Fuck, it makes you drool, a thin line of your saliva dripping down from the corner of your mouth. He moves with stealth, assured he knows exactly what to do, a plan in place as he prepares his bed for you.
Those pointed ears twitch as you enter, a sinuous smile creeping over his lips as he turns in your direction.
He lifts his head, scarlet gaze fixing on you as his nostrils flare. “Mmm, pet, you smell… delicious.” His hand closes around your wrist, a firm pressure, a guiding pressure. It steadies you as he pulls you to his bed and lays you down. His touch is warm, even on your burning skin, fingers leaving trails of fire as he positions you spread eagle, your arms resting comfortably above your head. The silken rope soothes you as he binds your arms, the tug of your limbs just painful enough to ground you…
To make you present to his attentions and pull you from your cloud of lust.
A single nail trails down the inner flesh of your arm, following the rises and dips of your body and leaving a trail of molten heat in its wake.
“Dearest pet,” your master’s voice caresses your very mind as he peers down at you, scarlet eyes aglow from his power, “what a beautiful feast spread so willingly for me.” More of his fingers now wander down to your breast, bare as the day you were born, squeezing it to dig those nails delightfully into your skin. Releasing you, he brings a finger to flick just nipple.
And your cunt starts to leak into the sheets. A keening cry slips from your slack mouth. “More,” you whine repeatedly.
And he is more than willing to satisfy.
“My favorite sound, the desperate cries of a whore, just unraveling for her master,” he purrs, chuckling as he climbs over your body. That frame of unmatched, ascendant strength cages you in, hands by your head, leg splaying your cunt wide open to feel his bulge as he lowers it. That clothed cock slots perfectly where you ache in delicious pain.
Instantly you grind, wrapping your legs around him. Friction, you need it, your body screams at you. Hormones racing in your blood to have him release his cock and pound you.
But you feel his anger before anything else. “Bad girl,” he growls, his sudden movements making you gasp as he pushes up, hands pinning your thighs back to the bed. “You are mine to fuck, mine to pleasure, mine to breed.”
He looks down on you, his twisted delight at your insolence is etched on the angles of his face. Lips part in a wide-fanged grin, and his fingers work the fasteners of leathers. “My sweet pet, it’s that time, hm? Those days where your urge to fuck outweighs your hunger for blood.” He drags his hands down your chest, scoring his nails just lightly to heighten your senses.
“Gods, I love this time of the year,” he groans, eyeing you like they prey you are, “helpless and mindless and ready for a good fuck, is that it, pet?”
You whine as he works himself towards your sly smile on his knees, until you’re looking straight up his torso.
The sight makes you buck your unburdened hips. “You’re going the wrong way, master…” you manage to choke out. Then, you watch as his hands deftly free his cock, the buttons almost popping off as they open. He’s flushed, rock hard and leaking.
That length bobs as he looks down at you, a sadistic smile on his plush lips, his thumb sliding into your mouth to pull it open. “First, you’ll suck me, then, if you’re eager, I’ll breed you… fuck you so full of cum your belly swells.”
His own hand runs down his torso, nails dragging over the rises of his muscles until he grips the base of his cock.
“Is that what you want, pet? Want me to fuck a child into you again… make you swell with my offspring? Or are you too mindless and drooling to reply?” He gives that wicked, rumbling laugh as he presses his precum-slick slit to rub your lips. To mark your mouth as his to fuck.
Bitter sticky fluid touches your tongue and instantly your body hums to life. “Yes, Master,” the words barely make sense to the ear around his cock as you suck him in. The weight of him traps your tongue as you try to speak, the all-too familiar veins of his shaft caressing it as he thrusts home.
Fingers and nails grab your head, hips snapping to fuck your mouth. He begins with only a few slower slides into your mouth before he snarls, losing control as he plunders that warm cavern. The muscles of his pelvic slam into your forehead and nose, his balls slap against your chin and neck as he ruts down your throat.
“Such a pleasing cocksleeve, such a willing whore,” he snarls in deep chested tones, voice roughed with his efforts. “You make such a beautiful vessel for our offspring. I can hardly wait to see you swollen… to make you bounce your beautiful, rounded body on my cock again…”
Tears leak from your eyes at the memories and images he conjures, his words that mix of praise and insult only making your cunt throb harder. You keen around his cock as it jabs the back of your throat. So hard and leaking, you can feel him readying to blow… your hips buck against nothing. Just a constant slow slap of your ass back on the bed to remind him where he needs to come.
“Heh,” he pants, his laugh more of a growl, a feral sound from his throat. “Eager, my treasure?” He slows, one last thrust deep enough to make your neck strain open until you gag, and he pulls his length free. He is too graceful to scramble, that lean pale body sinuous as he slides back between your thighs, his mouth covering yours to taste yours.
Spit and early cum on your tongue that you selfishly thrust inside his mouth, a gratified hum rattling your teeth as he groans in appreciation. “I do so love the taste of you… after you’ve tasted me…”
You chuckle, that aged line far from faded in its ability to make you clench.
But this time at last you clench around something… that blunted tip of his cock teases at your entrance, coaxing your own pathetic noises. It slides in so easily with how much slick there is. But, he’s determined to make you insane with lust. Only an inch inside you… then back out. Only a bit more… he thrusts, fast but shallow.
And you swear your womb is throbbing, your cervix screaming to be rammed until he floods you with what you crave.
“Master… master…” his title, his name tumbles pleas after plea as you yet endure this torture that only makes you weep from your eyes and your cunt.
At last, his hands find purchase under your knees, folding you in half and raising your entrance to the ceiling. Still seated inside you, he thrusts deep, mounting you to fuck. “Of course, my pet,” he pants at last. “Who am I to deny you what your body truly craves?”
All control snaps, all sense of restraint evaporating like the sweat that sticks to your whole body as he fucks. His mouth consumes yours, tongue addicted to the taste of your essences mingled. Your two made into one… just as he is about to do inside you.
To fill you with him to make something new… a bit of him and a bit of you…
“Fuck, Astarion,” the very idea of swelling with his offspring makes you clench as he bottoms out over and over again.
“That’s it, pet. Make room for Master so I can give you our child,” his voice rumbles in your ear. His head nuzzles against your neck, his fangs scraping and not biting your skin. Every thrust is a grunt, vocal cords fraying as he grows louder and tougher. His chest vibrates against yours as his hips snap. He chases his release, but not at the expense of yours.
The way your whole body pulses with the need for him… to take him deeper and harder, it makes you rock your hips and tug on the restraints on your arms.
“Mine… mine… MINE,” he growls into your ear, one hand leaving your leg to claw hard into your breast once more. A merciless squeeze around its fullness, a playful nip in your neck to taste you blood, and he sends your careening into orgasm.
All you know is the bloom of heat and the slap of wet flesh between your thighs. It soothes you, calms you… and finally with a roar, he completes you, seed pulsing and flooding your womb to take root again.
“Good… good… girl,” he rumbles the final word. A single, tender kiss on the underside of your ear is his one soft sigh of affection before he pulls out. He gives you a few more shallow thrusts however, just to be sure his cum is deep inside you.
Those crimson eyes scan his work, long nailed fingers raking up your ass to gather the seed that drips out before he shoves it back inside your channel. “Really darling, now don’t move a muscle. We want this to take, don’t we?”
That smirk that flashes down at you makes your walls clench, making more of his cream leak back out.
“Tch,” he sneers. “If you’re going to be so stubborn about it,” he leans in to whisper against your lips, “then I’ll just have to be more… persistent this time around.”
Your world spins as he flips you, twisting your bound arms to splay you on your belly.
And you grin, already sliding yourself up on your knees, face down into your sweat-soaked sheets. Ass in the air, you’re ready for more.
Ready to be mounted and mated. Ready to make room for him.
My dear, could you write something with spawn!Astarion x reader using 15 and 18, pretty please?
Love your work!!
(just realized I sent this without saying if it’s with spawn Astarion or ascended Astarion lol)
“Oh for a skeleton key…”
Act 1 Astarion x f!Reader | Smut Asks Prompts
CW: Astarion being a smug bastard, is that a lock pick or are you just happy to see me?
“Can you tell me what you did wrong?” he’s laughing in your ear, his voice making you smile even as you search the store of the Zhentarim in the Underdark. In your hands is the evidence of your failure—your last lock pick, broken into useless pieces.
“Isn’t it obvious?” you sneer back at him, annoyed.
“Doesn’t mean I wouldn’t like to hear you admit it…” he gloats. “Just speak true… darling. Say you need me and my skilled fingers….”
You roll your eyes so far back you wonder if they’ll stick. “I’m not gonna say it…” you huff, folding your arms over your chest.
“Shame,” he purrs, “that chest looks promising, let’s hope for gold…” He leans in to kiss your cheek. “All you have to do is say please, my cheeky little pup, and I’ll help you crack it open.”
You just give him the most annoyed, teasing, disgruntled look you can muster, even if your heart is pounding to be so close to him. “You can’t guilt me on this. You should really just help because it’s the right thing to do.”
“Ha!” He laughs so loudly, the spores of the closest mushroom burst and make you a bit befuddled. Or maybe that’s just what it’s like to be so close to your vampiric sometimes-lover. “You should know by now, when have I ever done anything just because it was the right thing to do…” His tone is melodramatic and mocking, arms twirling as he mimes a bow. “Astarion the altruistic is a fairytale,” he teases, pulling you close to him again. “Astarion the devilishly handsome… the dexterous god amongst men…”
“You’re not that good,” you huff again, careful not to roll your eyes at him again.
“Better than you… you need practice with your hands, darling if you’re going to lead us to our survival against the Absolute.” He pats himself, pulling out one pin of a lock pick to slide effortlessness into the chest’s padlock. Then, he flashes you that smug, fanged smirk. “Oh dear, I can’t seem to find the other piece to my tool…” his hand grabs for yours and presses it into the waistband of his pants. “Be a dear and look for it for me, while I do all the hard work and keep this pin in place.”
“What?” you snap, his hand sliding yours into his pocket.
“Time to demonstrate your own dexterity, darling. I know I have that other pin somewhere on my person,” he chuckles, that arrogant, seductive laugh of pure sin. “Fetch it for me, and I’ll take care of your little lockpick problem.”
You feel around his pocket, his leathers so tight, you barely have room to move around in it… you can feel a few gold coins… some gems he’s nicked along the way… and then something presses into your palm.
And it isn’t a lockpick.
Your swallow is so audible, even you can hear it bouncing on the cavernous Underdark walls.
“Oh… for a skeleton key,” he taunts as he has while picking locks an innumberal time. “Found it yet?” he mocks. “You do know what you’re looking for?” He thrust his hips into your hand, his one freehand holding you by your arm, the one digging into his pocket. “A reminder? It’s long and dull at one end… and it’s an incredibly powerful tool when wielded with my skills…”
You snarl, disgruntled and having had enough of his smug attitude. As you pull your hand from his pants, his grip stays you where you are. “Ah, ah, pet. Don’t you want this chest looted? If you stop…” He pushes your hand back into the depths of his pocket where you feel his erection fully twitching in anticipation. “If you stop, I stop. And if I stop, you’ll never get the reward of what’s inside…”
