He’s a busy man, your vampire. You wish he were home with you more often. But on the other hand, it does make his return that much sweeter.
He keeps himself well-fed, though he greatly prefers your blood to anything else.
When he comes home to you, he lifts you off your feet, spinning you and kissing down your neck until he finds the exact right spot that makes you shiver and roll your head to the side, offering him your life’s blood.
Blood and sex are intrinsically linked for him. No sooner do you nod your approval for him to drink from you than he has you flat on your back, fangs in your neck, with his rock-hard cock pressing against you.
After he’s had his fill of your body and your blood, he’s warm, soft. His favorite thing is to cradle you against his chest and listen as you tell him about your day.
Tav and Kerry get to know each other. Astarion has a hellofaday and comes home to a surprise.
CW: References to physical, emotional, and sexual abuse. Nothing graphically described or excessive, but, yeah. It's there. It's unmistakable.
---
Tav was drunk.
She wasn't knee-crawling drunk. Nor was she commode-hugging drunk, though, if she kept up her current pace, it wasn't impossible.
No, as Tav stood at the far end of the kitchen island, she felt she was channeling the gods. She was strong. She was fearless. Her muscles vibrated with the barely restrained energy of a racehorse, champing at the bit. Her objective, sliding further in stockinged feet across the hardwood floor than the strikingly handsome tiefling dating her husband.
"… TWO! ONE! GO!" Kerry shouted, and Tav took three huge running steps before planting her leading foot to slide across the polished floor as fast as she could. She pinwheeled her arms crazily, laughing and wobbling along before finally careening into Kerry at the opposite end.
He almost caught her. His arms closed around her in a bear hug, but her momentum was too great, the floor too slippery. The room tilted as her feet slid out from under her. Kerry, his feet also clad in socks, lost traction, prompting a surprised yelp of "oh shit!" before both of them crashed sideways into the refrigerator and slid down its stainless-steel surface to land in a giggling pile of tangled limbs.
"Oooowww," Kerry whined, gingerly touching his wounded upper arm. Tav, still laughing and trying to catch her breath, had somehow ended up across his lap, draped over him like a rag doll.
"How'd I do?" she panted.
"A new record in amateur floor speed skating," he said, twisting to see if fresh blood was seeping through the bandage on his shoulder. "Perfect tens, except for the Damaran judge."
"There's just no pleasing that guy," Tav said with a disappointed sigh. Turning in Kerry's lap, she asked: "Can I at least look at it?" She'd watched him prodding the russet stain on the bandage with one tentative finger. "I do know something of healing. Beyond using magic on it, I mean."
"What are you going to do? Kiss it better?"
Kerry's eyes widened, and his cheeks flushed a violent red when Tav's mouth broke into a wicked smirk. It was both the right and the wrong thing to say at the same time - too close to a truth that had been growing between them since their argument ended that morning.
"Of course not," she said, eyes sparkling. "But I could at least make you feel good. Just a little. Please?" She sang the end of the question, and the air around them thickened as it did in the moments before a thunderstorm cracked open the sky. Kerry sighed with resignation. Poor guy. She'd have thought being in a relationship with Astarion would have made him far more resistant to wheedling.
"OK, fine. Just a little."
Before he could change his mind, Tav leaned in, her breath warming the gauze beneath her lips.
"No fortune found, nor faith divine, comes close to topping the fruit of the vine…" Tav sang, her voice warm and low against his bicep. His breath caught, and Tav could see the tension of pain release as the magic flowed through his skin.
"Careful," he murmured, though who he was warning wasn't clear.
"I am being careful," she said. "I won't get you in trouble."
It would have been easy to kiss him. The whisky they'd shared was making a convincing argument for just that. She'd be bold, turning her head just enough to be able to reach him. His fine golden eyebrows would crease with concern for a second before he leaned in. The first kiss would be quick, tentative. Just testing the waters. Then it would slow and deepen, their tongues meeting, sharing breath as Tav let him guide her onto her back. He'd settle his weight onto her, his hands and that delightful tail exploring any scrap of her skin they could find.
It wouldn't be right, of course. Neither of them would feel right about it after, no matter how far it went. Without Astarion there, without his approval, it would be off. Hells, getting tangled up on the floor together as they were was pushing it. But Tav still wanted it. She wanted to learn what Kerry tasted like, to ask for and be granted his touch when and where she wanted. It was wrapped up with and around the embers of need that burned in that deep, hollow place below her belly, making her skin hot, her heart race, and making her ache to be touched.
The fantasy that had sprung to mind vanished just as quickly as it had come with the sound of a key in the apartment's front door lock. Kerry coughed, squirming away from her as if they'd actually been caught in the act, rather than toeing the edge of it.
"I say, what in the hells is going on here?" came Astarion's bemused voice.
—
Astarion hesitated.
He'd let himself into Kerry's spaces more times than he could count. It wasn't anything new. And what was on the other side of that door stood to be much better than the day he'd just left behind. Tav, despite all odds and a thousand years away, was back. And still, standing in that quiet hallway, listening for any sound within, he hesitated.
What if she blamed him? What if she were angry that he hadn't somehow known she was alive and come for her? What if the cult had hurt her so badly and so deeply that there was nothing left of the woman who'd saved him countless times? What if she and Kerry, in a fit of mutual rage and loathing, had gotten into a fight, and they were both dead, sprawled haphazardly amid a scatter of gore and debris?
He dismissed this last possibility as unlikely. Perhaps it was arrogant, but they both knew who they were to Astarion, and he didn't think either of them would want to destroy someone he loved. Besides, he'd have smelled the blood from the elevator.
He did find the two of them in an awkward heap together. They were on the kitchen floor, giggling and drunk, jumbled up beside the refrigerator. Tav's lips hovered over the gash on Kerry's shoulder, the faint eucalyptus-and-ozone smell of fresh magic lingering in the air.
Kerry was smiling, eyes closed. The tip of his tail caressed the back of Tav's calf as it had so often done to Astarion's when they were cuddled together. His nose brushed against Tav's still-damp hair.
It was surprising, to say the least. Kerry had been so angry and so hurt. Civility, let alone whatever this was, seemed like a lot to hope for. But Tav had a remarkable knack for winning people over. Astarion himself was proof of that. Despite his insistence that his feelings were nothing more than a clever game he was playing for protection, she'd wooed him as easily as if falling in love with her had been his idea, his grand plan all along.
"I have good news and bad news," Tav said, smoothing her disarrayed clothes into place. Astarion couldn't stop the smile that spread across his face if he wanted to. This was a Tav he knew. The terrified, humiliated woman who had clung to his side as they fought their way out of the ballroom the night before was gone. Direct, strong, confident - these were characteristics he recognized.
"Oh? Good news first. You know how I detest the bad." Astarion offered each of them a hand to help them up.
"The good news," Tav said, attempting to disguise a small stumble with preening, "is you are looking at the world's first Amateur Floor Speed Skating Champion."
"Brava, darling. I always knew you could do it," Astarion said. If his heart still beat, it would have been bursting. In the days following the defeat of the Netherbrain, when they all had to figure out who they were again, especially Astarion, Tav had made the supremely wise decision to choose silliness. There were nights when so much weighed on him that he could have easily fallen into a well of despair if Tav hadn't subverted his gloom with playfulness. He took it as an immensely good sign that she was doing the same for herself.
Tav squeaked in surprise when Astarion pulled her into his arms and dipped her as if they had been waltzing. She felt good, solid and warm beneath the thick jersey of Kerry's borrowed t-shirt.
The next logical step was kissing her. The necessity of it was as inescapable as gravity. All day, between the meetings and the video calls and the emails, so many gods damned emails, he fantasized about kissing her. Part of him wanted to devour her like the romance stories said - to kiss her like he was a man dying of thirst, and she was the only water in sight. He'd been fantasizing about it for centuries, and yet, when she was there, real in his arms, he paused.
She'd been weak and dazed the night before - hollowed out and numb. She was leagues better now. After rest and, whew, a lot of whisky, and, ew, some kind of food heavy on garlic, onion, and cilantro, she was much closer to the Tav that had lived in his memory for too, too long. But he remembered all too clearly those first few ragged hours, when true freedom still felt like a rouse, like someone would come along and yank it out from under him. He suspected that fear would never leave him, not entirely. And yet, compared to what Tav had been through, his piddling two centuries of servitude seemed like a drop of water in the comprehensive ocean of suffering.
Worse, it wasn't over. Orin may have enjoyed siccing her goons on a ballroom full of defenseless, useless wealthy people, but that wasn't why she did it. Gortash certainly wasn't going to give up on keeping Tav hostage so easily. There was a whole symphony yet to come. The gala, he suspected, was simply the overture.
But then, she smiled at him, soft and reassuring. It was a smile he knew, one he'd seen when he would wake from his meditations, cowering against the bedframe and convinced Cazador had found him again.
Something in the vicinity of his heart lurched, and Astarion's throat tightened. She was still in there. Despite everything, she was still her and nothing else mattered - not gods, nor evil plots, nor ghosts - neither freshly slain nor long buried.
Gods, he didn't want to cry. Blubering like a small child was not something a suave, strong, sexy vampire did with a beautiful woman in his arms. But it was too late. He could already feel the tears burning in his eyes.
"I missed you," he whispered. It felt foolish. It felt trite and like he was so woefully understating the truth that he'd blown past cringy and was coming around the far side back to something genuine. Something real.
Tav righted herself and rose onto the balls of her feet to reach him. He traced the side of her nose with his, breathing in her air, his lips tingling with the brush of hers against them as she spoke. "I missed you, too."
Her hands found the sides of his face, fingers bracketing his ears, making them twitch as she held onto him and gently pulled him down to her. It made him wonder what he'd been worried about. Kissing her was as natural as breathing. Of course, it turned out all right. She arched when he wrapped his arms around her ribs, pressing as much of her to him as he could.
He could break the spell, drag them hurtling back into the here and now and the fresh hell of whatever they'd stumbled into this time. But Astarion had always known that he was a selfish creature. He tightened his arms around her, partly to stoke the heat building and tightening in his abdomen, but also to keep her from pulling away, from bleeding through his fingers like sand, from vanishing again like a dream upon waking.
"What's the bad news?" he murmured, keeping his eyes closed, not wanting to relinquish the quiet dark space that had sprung up around them.
"Ahem," Kerry cleared his throat behind them. "There were casualties." He was making a show of rubbing his wounded shoulder, as if physical pain was the cause of the annoyance he wore all over his face.
"There usually are when you play games with Tav," Astarion said, hooking the front of Kerry's t-shirt with a finger. Kerry came easily enough when Astarion tugged him close, pinning Tav between them. He wasn't sure if it was the alcohol or being obviously interrupted that made Kerry strangely pliant, but Astarion didn't mind. He couldn't. Not when Kerry was kissing him as if it were a competition he was intent on winning. Not when the only two people he had ever truly loved were in his arms.
—
Kerry was confused.
Whisky, anxiety, jealousy, lust, and shame were all boiling in his gut, making it hard to think. Kissing Astarion seemed like the right thing to do. It seemed important to remind them both he, Astarion's partner, was still very much present.
Never mind that, though his arms were around Astarion's neck, his tail had, quite on its own, wound its way around Tav when she tried to squirm out from between the two of them. He didn't even realize he'd been holding her until she leaned back against his hip in return.
Warmth rushed up from somewhere in Kerry's stomach when he pulled away to see that the goofy, smitten expression in Astarion's eyes hadn't faded. Astarion wasn't upset about how he'd found them, or if he was, he was very good at hiding it. Regardless, he wasn't going to take the pass he was getting for granted. Kissing Tav was almost a mistake, one he wouldn't put himself in the position of making again, stupid, stubborn tail be damned.
"I missed you, too," Astarion said, grinning.
"You better." Kerry didn't quite trust himself to say more. Saying more would be opening the floodgates to a verbal diarrhea of "I'm sorrys" and "it didn't mean anythings," and over-explanations that just made him look more guilty.
In an effort to calm his busy brain, Kerry stepped back, clearing his throat again. He needed space and air that didn't smell of coconut and lavender with some indistinct beachy undertone the shampoo manufacturer called "palm breezes." He'd have to get new shampoo. He couldn't smell it again. Not now that Tav had used it and associated herself with it forever in his mind. Not if he wanted to leave his near lapse in judgment behind. And oh, gods, now he was thinking about kissing her again, and the erection he'd thought had receded was coming back, and Astarion would know and-
"Darling, did you hear me?"
Astarion was looking at him expectantly, the corners of his mouth twitching with the same bemused smile he'd had on when he walked in. Kerry blinked dumbly at him for a second, swimming up through the haze of self-flagellation to grasp at the thread of conversation.
"Yes!" he answered too loudly. "Yeah, meetings today. Uh, how'd it go? What did, um, what did Francesca say?" His eyes darted around the room, landing on anything that wasn't in direct eye contact with Astarion.
Astarion's half-grin broadened. "I was asking how your day was," he said slowly, "but we can talk about mine first. Are you sure you're all right?"
Tav drew a breath that was trying not to be a laugh and turned away to busy herself by pouring another couple fingers of whisky into her tumbler. Wordlessly humming the song she had sung when she healed him seemed criminally unfair and unnecessary.
"Sorry, yes. I'm fine," he said, rubbing his forehead. "Day was fine. We got off to a hard-ROCKY start, but it's fine. We're fine." Tav barked out a laugh and inhaled a sip of the alcohol at the same time, coughing and sputtering as it went down the wrong pipe. Astarion moved to pat her on the back, but she held up a hand to stop him, gasping, but better.
"I'll say it was hard," she croaked, still chuckling and trying to massage the alcohol burn out of her trachea. "This man was standing bare-ass naked in front of the window when I came out this morning. No shame. Just launched straight into an argument with me."
"Did he now?" Astarion asked, half-smirking, half-frowning. The blush on Kerry's cheeks deepened to a hot maroon.
"Thank you, Tav," Kerry said, glaring. "Thank you for immediately ratting me out and embarrassing me again." She snorted.
"You did that yourself, mate," she said, her old Baldurian accent deepening. "I'm just the messenger."
Astarion was clearly trying to look annoyed. He was glaring, arms crossed on his chest. His lips were drawn into a tight line that was intended to be menacing until his mouth wobbled and his warm, throaty laugh, his genuine laugh, erupted. Tav slid an arm around Kerry's waist, dissolving into giggles herself as she hugged him.
"Oh, fuck you both," Kerry said, blushing deeper and trying not to let the laugh building in his throat escape. His hand found its way to rest on Tav's shoulder, squeezing her back. If it was wrong, it didn't feel like it.
"Why in the hells did you do that?" Astarion managed to choke out when his laughter had tapered off enough for him to speak. Kerry shrugged.
"Seemed like a good idea," he mumbled.
"How in the hells was exposing yourself to your partner's wife and getting into an argument with her a good idea?"
Kerry was about to say something about being upset and drunk and not thinking clearly when Tav jumped in.
"I wasn't complaining," she said, her eyes flashing wickedly from Kerry to Astarion.
"I bet not," Astarion said. "He's just your type." Tav bit her lip, smirking. "Still," Astarion continued. "Arguing with our host? After he gave you," Astarion paused to sniff the air, "hellacious-smelling food and, apparently, a concerning amount of alcohol? Rude, darling. Very rude."
"Well, we got tacos after we kissed and made up," Tav said. She must have seen the color drain from Kerry's face. "Metaphorically," she added hurriedly. "We - we didn't kiss."
Astarion gave a skeptical "mhmm." Unconvinced. He narrowed his eyes, looking from one to the other. Kerry held his breath, unsure if Astarion bought it. It was the truth. Barely.
"Hm. A pity," Astarion said, shrugging. "I'm glad the two of you are getting along now."
Kerry relaxed slowly after Astarion sat down with him at the kitchen island and began recounting his day. Tav, on the other hand, seemed to need to be in constant motion. She had made an effort to be polite after the argument ended, staying where he could see her—keeping her nose out of things that looked personal. But with Kerry and Astarion talking, she wandered back into the guest room to give them some space.
"Well, you might have guessed already, but the dig is suspended," Astarion began.
"Not surprising," Kerry said bitterly. "Not fair, but not surprising."
"No, not fair at all," Astarion agreed. "The University is in a full panic. The police don't know why the gala was attacked. None of the cultists they caught will give them the same answer, making none of them credible. Gortash is missing. Orin escaped in the confusion when SWAT breached the ballroom. Francesca is throwing out every response to a public catastrophe she can think of. And we're just stuck in the middle."
"What a gods damned mess," Kerry muttered. "How long are we shut down? The way we left things, it would keep for a weekend. Longer than that, we're risking real loss. Vandalism. Theft. Erosion."
"Undetermined," Astarion sighed. "Francesca wasn't sure if the site would ever reopen. She's already had donors pulling out."
"Fuck," Kerry hissed. "Not to be selfish, but this is my dissertation we're talking about here. My career is on the line."
From the guestroom, Kerry could hear his ancient guitar, the one that had been gathering dust for most of a decade, being tuned.
"I know, darling," Astarion said. "Mine too. But it's all still so murky. We don't know anything yet."
"Yeah, speaking of mysteries," Kerry began slowly. "Did you talk to Tav at all before you left this morning?"
Astarion's hand reflexively went to his wedding ring, twisting it slowly around his finger. "Some. Last night, before she fell asleep." He held his hands out to study them. "She didn't really want to talk."
In the next room, a song was coming together on the guitar. There were a few blue notes here and there, but the strains of something old and familiar emerged as Tav learned to play the instrument. She hummed along as she searched for the right chords until soft, melancholy lyrics about longing and dreams, set down by a river, joined the plucking strings.
"I don't know what you had planned. For tonight, I mean," Kerry began, slowly, carefully. Astarion looked up from contemplating his palms with sharp, intense eyes that made Kerry feel as if he were a particularly ugly bug being pinned to a display board.
"I shouldn't be saying this," he said.
"Is this more jealousy?" Astarion asked.
"No! No, not at all," Kerry replied over the roar of blood in his ears. "She's great! Like, really great."
"I'm sensing a 'but,'" Astarion deadpanned.
For something to do to keep his hands from twisting together, Kerry scratched at the nape of his neck. "No, not a 'but.' Not exactly." He was blushing again. He could feel it, along with that same spiraling sensation he had when Astarion walked in to find him and Tav almost kissing. It was the feeling he associated with a secret growing, getting too large to be safely contained behind his lips and teeth. It was time for honesty, but gods, Kerry didn't want to be honest.
He had a choice between two truths to tell - spill Tav's secrets or his own.
"I like her," Kerry forced out. "Maybe too much." His skin was surely burning at this point. The tips of his ears felt so hot that they had to be literally on fire. What in the hells was wrong with him? He was a grown adult. He wasn't a pre-teen, being badgered by one of his childhood friends, asking him if he just liked Tav, or if he like-liked her. So why did this knot of apprehension insist on tightening around his gut? Why was he so gods damned anxious?
"Well, I hate to ruin your big reveal, darling," Astarion said. Kerry glanced up at Astarion to find him smirking, a chuckle barely contained. "But I did get that impression when I walked in to find her in your lap."
"You're not upset?" Kerry asked, hating the pleading that had crept into his voice, uninvited.
"Upset? That the two people I love most in the world are attracted to each other? Gods, no. I wasn't joking when I said you were her type." Astarion shifted in his chair, his eyes drifting back to his palms, though Kerry was almost certain he wasn't actually seeing them. "This wouldn't be the first time the two of us shared romantic interest in someone," he said. His voice was dreamy, wandering off down the paths of memory.
"There was a wood elf," Astarion said slowly. "Halsin. He was…-" Kerry could see Astarion's throat bobbing, working on the words that seemed stuck there. "He was very special to us." Kerry wanted to squeeze Astarion's shoulder. He wanted to ask about this Halsin, how he knew him, if he had loved him. But before he got the chance, Astarion shrugged it off, closing the topic.
"Delighted as I am that you've come around on Tav, I don't think that's what you really wanted to tell me."
The knot in Kerry's gut shifted and tightened around his chest. Astarion was right. He hadn't meant to tell him how he felt about Tav. He'd been stalling, and of course, Astarion knew it.
"Tav told me something this morning. Something about what happened to her." Kerry said with a low, gusty breath. "She didn't go into details, but she admitted it when I guessed." Astarion's face had shifted into an impassive mask. Kerry hadn't seen this face often, but he'd seen it enough to know he didn't like seeing it, to know there was something deep and dark and painful hidden behind it. Astarion didn't speak. He only nodded for Kerry to continue.
"The people who were keeping her - she said they hurt her. Beat her. Abused her. She said they did 'things' to her against her will. She didn't say what, but ..." he trailed off, leaving the worst unsaid.
Kerry plucked up the courage to meet Astarion's eyes again, and he instantly regretted it. He should have kept his big mouth shut. He should have let Astarion and Tav navigate the aftermath together. It was their relationship, not his. Astarion loved her. Kerry liked her. Maybe too much. But it still wasn't his place, even if he wasn't entirely sure where that was anymore.
The one thing he was sure of was that he had fucked up.
"You're right. You shouldn't have been the one to tell me any of that," Astarion said quietly. His anger hummed in the air, like a sound just outside the audible range, unsettling and indefinable.
"I'm sorry. I was only trying to help. I didn't want you to get hurt. Either of you."
"I know." Astarion sighed. "I know you were, darling. But I know something of being held captive, too. Of having 'things' done to you." He took Kerry's hand in both of his, kissing the knuckles. "But what's done is done. And I did, sort of, pry it out of you. I'm not angry with you," he said, though he looked as though the words still tasted bitter. "I just wish you'd let her tell me in her own time."
The notes of Tav's song floating out of the guest room slowed and dissipated until they stopped altogether. When Tav emerged, her eyes and the tip of her nose were red.
"Sorry," she said with a tiny sniffle. "I should have asked first. I just haven't touched an instrument in so long. Couldn't help myself." Both men sat up a little straighter.
"Totally fine," Kerry said, hoping he didn't look and sound as guilty as he felt. "It was beautiful."
—
"Enough."
Tav spoke so softly from the depths of her armchair that she wasn't sure if they heard her. With the sun headed for the horizon, the three of them had settled into Kerry's living room. Admittedly, Tav had started to tune the two men out as they talked about "the dig" and what needed to be done. They were planning a "road trip" from Waterdeep to "the dig" because Tav couldn't fly without ID. Tav would need clothes. And shoes. Maybe a "phone," whatever that was. Tav needed this. Tav didn't have that. Tav, Tav, Tav, TAV! She was getting sick of the sound of her own name.
She heard them earlier, of course. She heard Kerry telling Astarion about how that morning's argument had ended with her alluding to all of the horrible, disgusting, shameful shit Gortash and the Bhaalists had done to her. In a way, she was grateful. The hardest part, admitting she'd been too weak to stop them when they …- did what they did to her, was over. She didn't have to find words for the things she never wanted to think about again. It was done for her. Though she'd have liked to think she was brave enough to tell Astarion herself, she was grateful that she didn't need to just yet. One night, perhaps, but not tonight. Everyone is a coward when it comes to exposing their deepest hurts. Tav found she could forgive herself for that.
What she could not do was watch them pretending they hadn't had an intimate conversation about her when they thought she was out of earshot and then treat her like she was some rare and delicate artifact they'd dug up that might disintegrate at any second.
They talked about her as if she weren't there, or worse, as if she were a problem to be managed. They took turns saying something they belatedly thought was damaging to her somehow, and then darting sheepish looks at her, as if waiting for her to start sobbing. Worse, if they kept it up, she just might.
Every soft, pitying look whispered, "Be careful with Tav, she's been broken." Each sideways glance at her was a reminder that she'd been damaged. Sullied. Violated. Even if they didn't know the exact extent and number of each insult and injury, they could imagine it all and still give her those soft, sad, pitying looks that all meant so well.
One of the worst parts of everything she'd endured was the helplessness and the powerlessness of it all. It was an ill-fitted suit of clothes that bound and hitched, scratched and dug in at all the wrong places and inopportune moments. She'd worn it for way too long, and she hated every second of it.
Well, no more.
"Enough of what, my sweet?" Astarion asked, smiling softly as if he were trying not to frighten a small child.
"This!" She stood, throwing her arms out to encompass the room and everything beyond. "I'm so tired," Tav continued. "I'm tired of talking. Of sitting around all day doing nothing. Of the two of you casting furtive glances at me, like - like you're waiting for me to do something, like I'm going to explode."
"We're not -" Astarion started.
"Yes, you are!" Tav interrupted. "Don't think I don't see you, Astarion. Looking at me every thirty seconds. Checking up on me with that look in your eyes."
"What look?" And he was wearing exactly the look she was talking about. The big, round vampire puppy eyes, with his brows arched up all the way up into his pompadour hairline. Just so very fucking concerned. For a mad second, Tav wanted to grab him by the front of his shirt and shake him. She wanted to scream.
"I'm not some fragile little flower, you know?" was what came out after a few measured breaths.
"I know that," Astarion said quietly.
"I'm not!" she said, scowling at Kerry. Poor kid. He didn't deserve her rage. Apart from a brief interlude of understandable unpleasantness, he'd been nothing but kind to her. And here he was, caught in the blast radious of her ire. Tav turned her back to him before he could feel like he had to respond to her.
"I've fought gnolls and goblins! Undead - I killed scores of them! I killed fucking Gortash! With fucking fireworks!" The longer Tav went on, the louder she got.
"I know, darling, I was there. Remember?" Astarion said. His eyes had narrowed, and a small, impish smile tugged at the corners of his generous mouth—the prick.
"And Ketheric Thorm! Orin, too! When she was in that big monster slayer form!"
"Yes, darling, I know. You're very strong." Astarion's lips broke into a grin. Humoring. He was humoring her, as if she were a cranky child up past bedtime that needed to be coddled.
Tav didn't want to be coddled. She wanted… to feel strong. Powerful. She wanted to feel steady, like the world wasn't slowly tilting on its axis to send her sprawling onto the floor without a burly teifling there to catch her this time.
Out of the corner of her eye, Tav caught Kerry, glancing back and forth between them, looking more confused by the second.
"I killed Raphael." She pointed at her own chest. "I killed a gods damned Illithid Netherbrain!"
"Well, we all did that, but you were instrumental. It has to be said." Astarion's hands settled on Tav's hips. Without meaning to, she stepped closer, between his knees. He hadn't eaten yet. She could tell by how cold his hands felt through the cotton of her shirt and the slippery, synthetic fabric of the shorts she was borrowing. As much as she hated for him to go hungry, feeling that icy touch exploring her skin had always been something she savored. When his stroking thumbs brushed under the hem of her shirt, she couldn't suppress the little gasp she made.
"I was instrumental," she said, frowning. Pouting. Astarion was distracting her with his stupid, pretty eyes and his stupid, cool, teasing touches, and that stupid, lecherous grin he used when he was thinking the same things she was, but she didn't want to admit it just yet. "I don't need to be treated with kid gloves," she said.
He leaned forward. If he breathed, Tav would have been able to feel his breath on her stomach as he spoke. "No, I don't think you do," he whispered.
Those gods damned fingers of his slid up her sides, dragging her shirt up his forearms. His lips brushed the slight curve of her stomach, just below her navel. The dainty, cold kitten licks of his tongue exploring her abdomen were just a little too high, too soft to be anything but frustrating. The way her hips leaned toward him was just a little more lurid than she wanted.
"But something tells me that it's not just anger that has your heart beating so loudly." He punctuated the end of his sentence with kisses from her navel to the waistband of her shorts, riding low on her hips.
Of the many things Tav had forgotten about Astarion, the particularly infuriating nature of the leering grin he turned on her to distract and disarm her rage was one she hadn't been at all prepared for. Her breath caught when he snagged the end of the drawstring on her shorts between his blunt front teeth, tugged, and the waistband loosened with it. He brushed the tip of his nose against her lower belly, nudging her shorts lower and simmering heat in her core higher.
Yes, she was really angry. Genuinely enraged. But Astarion, whose skilled perception apparently hadn't dulled even a little over their time apart, still read her like a cheap romance serial. He squeezed her ass and gave her hips a little shake. "Well?"
"Can't it be both?" She asked. "Can't I be both angry and…?"
Astarion let the grin he'd been restraining loose. "And what, my sweet?"
"Are you really going to make me say it?" Tav could feel her ears growing hot and pink. Ohh, shit, she didn't have nearly enough whisky buzz left for this. On her best days, her courage faltered when he turned those red, liquid eyes on her and asked her to, gods forbid, tell him what she wanted.
"Yes," Astarion said. Tav could swear he was purring. "After a thousand years, I think I deserve to hear it said out loud."
"Fine," she growled as she climbed up to straddle his hips. Gods above, she'd missed this. The feeling of his hips between her thighs, of settling her weight on him. His hands curling around her hips and ever-so-gently pulling her tighter against him. Her fingers threaded through the hair at the nape of Astarion's neck. "Astarion Ancunin,"
"Yes?"
"I would very much like you to fuck me. Please."
"Drizzt's balls," Kerry swore. "That's it. I'm out."
"What?" Tav asked, turning to him, genuinely confused.
"I have been really patient," he began. "I've kept you safe, drank with you, got you food. Loaned you clothes. Played weird, silly games with you to cheer you up." He shoved himself out of his chair, waving his hands as he spoke.
"I'm starting to really like you, Tav. But you, neither of you, seem to get how truly fucking weird this is for me." When neither of them spoke, he began the subconscious ritual all men seemed to know of patting pockets to make sure they had what they needed before leaving.
"If there's one thing I feel no social obligation to do, it's to sit here and watch you dry hump my partner while propositioning him for sex," Kerry finished. The sentiment was familiar, but even Tav, distracted as she was, could see the conflicted emotions simmering behind his eyes. She smiled then, hoping it was coming off genuine and honest.
"Would you like to join us?"
---
As always, thank you for reading! Thank you for waiting! The next one will come out much quicker! I promise!
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You're often exhausted when you get home from work. Some nights, all you want to do is fall into a nest of softness and sleep for the rest of the week.
It's a good thing you have your own attentive tentacle monster at home.
Always happy to see you, it's as if he can tell exactly what you need the moment you open the door.
As soon as your shoes are off, he's wrapping his many, soft, strong arms around you, guiding your tired body into his bed.
Those dexterous appendages easily slip buttons and open zippers and manage to get you naked and warm and comfortable before you've fully reclined into his mass.
He adores massaging his slick tentacles over your sore muscles, working out any areas of tension.
He loves stretching your limbs, gently urging you to let go of any stress or reservations in his gentle but secure grip.
And when you're finally fully relaxed, without a care in the world, he gets to enjoy his favorite part - bringing you to climax again and again while he fills you completely.
Notes: I have many, many irons in the fire. Some might say it's more irons than fire at this point. This is an excerpt of an as-yet untitled sci-fi story I'm working on.
Word Count: 2,500-ish
"Gods, Vir…" Kenna whined. Her hands, fisted in the bedsheets, clenched again as her lover withdrew his long, thick, forked tongue and ran it slowly up through her inner folds. He'd been feasting on her like this for nearly an hour, "savoring her nectar," as he put it.
The mandibles on either side of his jaw, vestiges of bygone generations of Kithrace, had been a surprise the first time he'd gone down on her. "Some human women find this… unsettling," his rich, low voice rumbled. The smirk on his lips and in his deep indigo eyes issued a challenge and warning at the same time. But she hadn't found them unsettling. Gods damned convenient was what they were. Once he had spread her thighs and then parted her slit with the two large fingers of one hand, the firm, diminutive protrusions framing his jaw comfortably spread her labia, granting him unprecedented access with that marvelously skilled forked tongue of his.
Not only could he hold her pussy open to him as long as he wished, as long as she would allow, but it left his hands free to explore, which was precisely what they were doing. He cupped her breasts with each hand, pinching and pulling her nipples to mimic the way the fork of his tongue was teasing her clit. With each gentle tug, the friction of his tongue and fingers on those most sensitive parts of her had her writhing madly.
Viratas chuckled, the vibration of the sound tickling her oversensitive skin. "Are you ready for more, beloved?" he asked. Gods, just the sight of him as he lifted his head from her nethers was enough to undo her. The first time he had eaten her out, he had made her so wet that her slick had dripped, literally dripped, from one of his mandibles. The shine of it on his pale blue skin, that same wicked smirk and glint in his eyes as he licked his lips and crawled up her body to kiss her was a mental image she went back to again and again when she was missing him in that way.
Kenna struggled up onto her elbows to see him better. She would never tell Viratas this, but a break from his tongue, just long enough for him to settle his massive frame above her, was exactly what she needed. A gentle relaxation of the tension he'd been steadily building, and building and building, just for a moment, so that she could fall into him and with him completely was what she needed. She nodded, and he shook his head, tsk-tsking at her.
"You know our rule, beloved. Let me hear you say it."
"You've been sucking my soul out through my pussy for the better part of an hour," Kenna complained. "Don't you think it's a little late for verbal consent?"
Vir sighed, resting his chin on her pubic bone. "Anything less than enthusiastic, verbal consent…"
"…is a no," Kenna grumbled. "Fine, yes. Please. Viratas Dori'maan, please, with sugar on top, would you please please fuck me until I can't remember my own name?"
"I was hoping for something a little more romantic." Vir's grin broadened as he rose to his knees to leave wet, sticky kisses in a trail up along the ridge of her pelvis and over her stomach. His weight settled easily against her, heavy and comforting, as he bracketed her shoulders with his elbows. One large hand cupped the top of her skull as he stroked a sweat-damp lock of her blond hair back off her forehead with his thumb. "Li'raahn," he murmured. Kenna didn't know much of his language, just enough to get by, and it was mostly professional language and context. But she did know this word. He'd whispered it into her ear hundreds of times. He had cried it out amid a string of unknown profanities as he reached his orgasm, and kissed it against her forehead as she fell asleep in his arms. It was the Kith word for "love."
He took his time, kissing softly against her temple, suckling the lobe of her ear, nuzzling against her jaw. All the while, his hips shifted slowly against hers, letting her get used to the feel of their weight and pressure, to the length of his cock slotting neatly between the folds of her sopping wet sex.
Kenna couldn't hold back much longer. She linked her fingers behind his neck, over the hard carapace that ran like plated armor from the top of his forehead down to the small of his back. Her legs wrapped around his hips as she rocked with him, trying to coax the head of his cock lower, to let it notch into her opening and pry her open for him with a stretch that she welcomed and craved.
WhenVir's lips finally found hers, Kenna met them with a searing, sloppy kiss. As she plunged her tongue into his mouth, tasting the sweet-salty bite of her cyprine fluid on his lips, she thrust her hips upward, forcing the flared head of his cock past the ringed muscle of her entrance. Their twin groans of pleasure harmonized, his providing the baritone to her alto. He liked to be still when he first entered her. Vir liked letting her stretch around him - liked feeling the whisper-soft flutterings of her vaginal muscles as they relaxed to accept his girth with the glacial slowness with which he filled her until the head of his penis pressed against her cervix and she could take no more of him.
But Kenna wanted none of that soft, respectful lovemaking. He chuckled darkly against her neck as she writhed under him, thrusting her hips up, all but shoving him deeper into her body. "It seems I am my own worst enemy," he grunted between burning kisses. "Have I worked my little love into such a lather that she can't wait for me?"
"You had your chance to be slow and soft, Star Man," Kenna growled as she took the skin just below his jaw between her teeth and bit. He groaned his appreciation, his hips thrusting down hard against hers. The force of his full length driving deep into her punched her breath out in a lewd gasp, silencing any further snark. Pain flared, sizzling through her brain for just a second until it melted into the delicious sensation of fullness taking his cock brought. He kept his weight on her for a few more seconds, stilling her hips until he couldn't stand the lack of friction any longer.
Her fingers scrabbled for purchase on the ridged shell over his shoulders when he withdrew nearly half his length before pushing back into her. The high, keening whine she made had been concerning at first, when he was still learning all the sounds of pleasure she made. Now, many months and many sessions later, he strove to pull that sound in particular from her long, slender throat. She made that sound when he hit exactly the right spots within her to have her body flexing and clenching wildly, chasing her release. Another withdrawal, another deep thrust, and the tension in his own abdomen had coiled tightly enough that he couldn't stop himself from rutting deep into her every time her hips rose to meet his.
"Kenna, Kenna, please.." he muttered against her lips, chasing them with his to kiss her again and again. Kenna nodded, her forehead resting against his. "Yes, yes, gods… I'm close, so close," she babbled. He liked watching her come, liked the desperation he saw when she kept eye contact with him while her body overrode that sharp, ever-busy brain of hers. Seeing her lose herself to pleasure he had caused never failed to bring his own release on. But he knew he couldn't let it happen this time.
Vir's thoughts waded through the lust-drenched swamp of his brain until he found the words. He stilled his thrusting, pinning her with his hips and pulling a frustrated little whine from her. "Will you do it, Kenna?" he asked. Kenna blinked, vainly searching her own memory for some clue as to what he wanted. "Will you be mother to my brood?"
It was as if he had thrown a bucket of cold water on her.
Vir had asked her the last time they had sex, and truthfully, she wasn't sure he was serious about it. When he growled out, "I long to see your belly rounded and full of my growing young," she thought it was the hot, dirty nonsense people sometimes said during sex. It had been hot. So hot that she had begged him to fill her as her moans shattered into a guttural scream and her vision went blank for those few, blissful seconds of orgasm.
"N-now? You're seriously asking me this now?" she panted, already knowing from the earnestness she saw in those dark eyes that he was indeed asking her to fundamentally change her life with his cock rooted deep in her cunt. But was it so awful? Had she not found herself considering it, fondly even, when she spotted one of the Kith children onboard in the mess or when she passed the other human/kithrace couple in one of the passageways?
"It's now, or two years from now when my cycle returns." His voice grew softer, quieter with each word. It wasn't fair. He knew it wasn't fair. He knew he should have swallowed his embarrassment and spoken to her when they were both sober and clear-headed. He was half-resigned to her rejection, already planning on finishing her, and then excusing himself to the w.c. to take care of his own needs and watch another clutch of his eggs, unfertilized, swirl down the toilet.
"Yes," she said, and he almost didn't hear her over the sound of his shame and regret. Kenna's hands slithered up to cup his cheeks and guide his eyes back to hers. "Yes, I will," she said and pulled his face back down to hers so she could kiss him slow and sweet.
"But I…" he began before she ran the tips of her fingers along the soft verge where the hard keratin plate on his head met the soft skin of his forehead, and she shushed him. His eyes closed as he tilted his head into her touch, humming.
"I love you, li'rhaan," she whispered against his lips, tightening her thighs around his hips again. If his faintly insectile face could look dopey, it certainly did as his grin spread across his lips. "I want this," she went on, her soft kisses growing hotter again as they landed on his cheeks, along his jaw, just at the sensitive base of the fold of skin that protected the opening of his ear. "I want you to give me our young."
The throaty noise that left him came from deep within his seldom-used secondary lungs, another relic of a time before his species had interbred with humans, when the wings that usually hid beneath the hard-shelled carapace on his back would have been iridescent and large enough for flight. Those wings fluttered free now, buzzing softly with excitement as he slowly began rebuilding the firm, deep thrusting rhythm he'd interrupted. Kenna purred beneath him, her legs eagerly clamping around his hips again as her libido, momentarily shocked into silence, leaped back, stronger than before.
"You will be the most beautiful mother," he growled, making the soft, little thrusts he knew made her claw at his back and say the most profoundly filthy things he'd ever heard a woman, human or kith, say. The pressure in his lower abdomen shifted slightly as he felt the first of his eggs descending into his cock, and he pushed deeper, letting the firm, round egg within him massage her channel while he aligned himself with the opening of her cervix. Another firm push, and she gave a sharp cry, her arms and legs shaking around him, tears springing to the corners of her eyes.
"It's all right, it's OK," he soothed, stroking her hair. The precum he secreted would dull the pain and soften her opening soon, but it couldn't banish the look of anguish on her face soon enough. At last, her breathing slowed from the rapid irregularity of pain back into the heavy, almost languid pace of pleasure.
"How am I doing, boss?" she asked, her eyes dreamy. Her hips wanted to move, to keep up the friction against those sensitive spots within her.
"You're doing so well for me," he cooed, brushing his thumb affectionately along her lips. "But I need you to stay still for me. Can you do that?" Her eyes clouded into a pout that made it hard for him not to chuckle at. "Don't worry," he said, replacing his thumb with a soft kiss. "You'll have enough stimulation. I promise."
As soon as he finished speaking, the first of the eggs made its way into his channel, pulling a surprised yip from Kenna as she felt it sliding down through him. The egg was probably about two to three inches in circumference, enough to put a delightful pressure on her most sensitive spots as it passed on to press against her cervix with an oddly pleasurable stretch until it passed through into her womb. This was a feeling that was wholly unique, that had her moaning deeply and her toes curling as the next egg pressed into her. Again and again, each egg that pushed into her womb had her whimpering, her orgasm so close, and yet, she was still unable to tip over the edge.
Vir pulled back onto his knees, his eyes roaming over her sweaty body to settle on the now softly rounded mound of her lower abdomen. He stroked his hands down from her breasts to her stomach, pressing gently over where he still nestled inside her. Stars flared behind her eyelids at the pressure, the elation of being so full, so close to release. He seemed to realize it too, as he twisted his hand around so his thumb could slip between the flushed, puffy lips of her cunt to brush roughly against the hard bud of her clit while he resumed pumping his cock into her. It took only a few strokes to have her screaming his name as her hips stuttered and she shook all over. His own release soon followed, forcing him to collapse back on top of her to seed her full and fertile womb.
When he disengaged from her at last, Vir settled behind her, making that soft, purr-like sound against her neck that he always made when they were both sated and wallowing in the afterglow. She liked nestling under his chin, feeling small and safe in his arms as he held her. This time, instead of cupping around her breast or tucking under her ribcage, as one of his hands usually did, it curled lightly over the new swell of her belly, stroking comforting nonsense patterns into the firm flesh beneath his palm as she drifted off to sleep.
“This is what you signed up for,” you reminded yourself as you darted around another corner. The travel brochure had promised an “authentic Greek myth experience” when you booked the day trip to see the newly discovered labyrinth beneath the palace at Knossos. Your friends had begged off, claiming the “high adventure package,” which boasted a run through the maze while chased by an actual, live minotaur, was a bit too adventurous for them.
At first, the idea was thrilling. Ever since you'd read the myth of Theseus and the Minotaur in grade school, you’d been fascinated with the idea of being chased by one. Even after meeting the minotaur chasing you, a tall, handsome male named Andreas with soft, wet brown eyes, a warm smile, and acres of well-defined muscles, you were still excited for the chase. He chuckled when he told you that a surprisingly high number of human women opted for the high adventure package.
But, with your heart pounding louder in your ears than your feet on the stone floor of the maze, you were starting to think your friends may have been right. Every so often, a roar would come floating over the maze's walls, sending you into a fresh sprint. You knew one loose stone, one wrong turn, one pause in the wrong spot could mean being caught. And then, if he caught you, well, anything could happen.
It happened before you realized it. You had been running full bore down a straight-away that ended in a T-junction. You hadn’t realized how much speed you’d built up until you went around the corner and couldn’t slow down enough to make the turn safely. You slammed into the rock wall of the maze, bruising your shoulder and forearm hard enough to make you stop running. In the second it took for you to cradle your arm to your side, big arms closed around your torso from behind and lifted you off your feet. A rough palm closed over your mouth, cutting off the scream just as it was bubbling up from your throat.
“Gotcha!” came the deep, breathless voice at your ear. “You gave me quite the chase, sweet girl,” he murmured. You could feel the heat of his breath, cooling the sweat on your neck and brow.
“Damn,” you muttered. “I thought I was going to make it.” You wriggled in his arms, making him laugh.
“You almost did,” he said, tightening his grip. “But I think you deserve a consolation prize for that run.” He set you down on your feet and spun you around to face him. “Would you like that, sweet girl?” You fought hard to keep your face neutral, even as the low embers of desire burning in your core since the start of your run leaped up to spread a delicious heat through you.
“What’s the prize?” you asked, looking him up and down. His long tongue ran out to lick his lips as he mimicked your lingering gaze.
“I think you know,” His eyes lingered on the valley between your breasts that led down into your sports bra. “Girls like you don’t sign up to be chased by a minotaur for our sparkling conversation,” he said.
As if he needed help proving his point, his arms wrapped around you again, hoisting you off your feet. Your legs wrapped easily around his trim waist to settle your hips against his. “Besides,” he grunted, one large hand cupped your ass, supporting you, while the other slid up your ribs, roughly grabbing your breast. “I could smell how wet you were from almost ten meters away.” It made you shift your hips, pressing your sex against him. There was no sense in hiding any longer. He could feel the squirming movements of your hips, seeking the length of his cock stiffening through the thin fabric of your running shorts. He ground up against you, making you whimper with need.
He kissed and licked along your neck until he reached your ear. “You want this cock, sweet girl?” he asked. “You want me to give you your prize?” You nodded, practically writhing against him.
“Say it,” he hissed against your ear. “Tell me how much you want it.” His big hand wrapped around your hips, pushing your wet cunt against his cock through the thin fabric that separated you.
“Please,” you moaned, barely above a whisper. He slid one hand down to explore the damp gusset between your thighs. His thick fingers prodded up and down along the seam of your pussy through the fabric.
“Louder, sweet girl. I want to hear you beg for what you want,” he groaned. You held on tightly to his neck with one arm while you pushed the fingers of your other hand into the curls at the nape of his neck. You kissed eagerly along his long jaw to his mouth, his tongue meeting and twining with yours.
“Please,” you whined between kisses. “Please fuck me.”
He chuckled, tasting your mouth with his tongue. He dug his thick fingers into the fabric of your shorts, pressing hard on your throbbing clit before releasing his hold. You slithered down his body with a frustrated whine as he guided you to your knees with gentle pressure.
“First, you’re going to taste my cock,” he said. His hand undid the clasp holding his loincloth up and let it flutter to the floor. Though the light in the maze was dim, you could still clearly see the girthy length of his erection as it bounced free. Without having to be told, you nuzzled against the base of it, licking over his heavy balls as you made your way up toward the tip. Taking all of him in your mouth was out of the question. He was too thick. Too long. But you could certainly squeeze and lick and suck as much as you could manage. You could run your tongue along his weeping slit, lapping up the sticky beads of precum. You loved hearing him groan, feeling his fingers wrap around your ponytail to guide your head where he wanted it as you tried to fit him into your mouth.
He pulled your head back, pulling your mouth off the head of his cock with a lewd pop. In seconds, he pushed you down onto your back, yanking your sports bra over your head, nearly tearing your shorts as he ripped them down off your hips. His long, thick finger ran between the sopping wet lips of your cunt to gather some of your slick and rub it over your clit. Your hips bucked upward, following his hand as he teased you open for him.
“I think you’re ready for my cock, sweet little human,” he said, pulling you up into his lap. You could only nod as you looped your arms around his neck again. He guided your shaky legs around his hips with one hand while he dragged the thick head of his cock over your sensitive little bud. You thrust against him, trying to coax him to your entrance.
The stretch of him as his cock pushed into you was incredible. You’d heard people talk about being split in half but had never really appreciated what it meant. He tried to hold you up, to let you sink slowly down onto him and adjust to his girth, but the feeling of him filling you was too much to resist. You pushed down with a guttural moan until he was fully rooted deep within you.
He let you rest for a few moments, holding you still with both hands on your hips. You felt so satisfyingly full that you could hardly feel yourself twitching and clenching around him, but he definitely could, if his breathy little moans were any indication. Slowly, he lifted you up by your hips, savoring the desperate moan you made before he let gravity drag you back down. He tilted you back as you rode him to watch himself disappear into your tight folds, to watch the outline of his glans push against your abdomen each time he reached the end of your channel.
The rough pounding almost overwhelmed the tightening sensation that built in your gut with each velvet drag of him over every tender spot within you. But soon enough, as both of your moans grew louder, as he worked your body up and down on his long shaft, it became impossible to ignore the feeling of getting closer to the precipice. He must have been close, too. He roared again, pulling you down hard and bucking up into you at the same time. Your hand scrabbled across his taught, straining stomach, looking for any kind of purchase to hold onto as you tumbled over the edge into orgasm with him. His hands caught and cradled you, rocking with you as your clenching pussy milked load after heavy load from his cock.
At last, your tired muscles couldn’t hold you upright any longer, and he chuffed out a soft laugh as he bundled you down against his chest. “I take it back,” he muttered as he nuzzled against your sweaty brow. “I think you won, after all, sweet girl.”
You giggled, gently twisting your fingers in the longer fur that ran down between his clavicles like a downy cravat. “I think we both won,” you teased.
After a few moments, he helped you stand and handed you a towel, cleverly concealed within his discarded loincloth. “I’m not really supposed to do this,” he said, suddenly shy as he looked away to give you some privacy while you cleaned up. “I’m not supposed to do any of what we just did. A lot of the guys do, but...” He trailed off, shaking his large head.
“No, I would think railing the clients is probably frowned upon. Great customer service, though. Five stars,” you said, laughing with him as the two of you made your way toward the maze exit.
“Nooo,” he said, still chuckling. “Definitely not supposed to do that.” He ran one of his big hands through the curls that spilled down between his horns, over his brow. “I’m not supposed to do this either, but, uh,” he continued. If he hadn’t just screwed you within an inch of your life, you’d have sworn he was nervous. “I’d like to see you again. Can I get your number?”
Synopsis: Rook is back from the Fade. Spite has opinions. Lucanis confronts his concerns.
---
"Why. Are we. Here? Why not with. Rook?"
Spite paced in front of the dining room's large fireplace, occasionally running his hands over his face and neck as Lucanis often did when stressed or worried. He had done it a lot over the last several days.
"Rook needs. Us." Spite insisted, glaring at Lucanis.
"She needs rest," Lucanis said patiently.
"Baahh," Spite huffed, flapping a dismissive hand at Lucanis. "She is here. Rook. was gone. And now she is. HERE!" the demon said. His shoulders hunched in frustration. He sounded as though he thought he was trying to explain a very simple concept to a very stupid toddler. Lucanis caught himself wondering if that was how he looked when trying to explain to Spite why he can't eat self-igniting candles or why he couldn't have Manfred's feet.
"We go to Rook," Spite said petulantly. He leaned one translucent, glowing purple hand against the fireplace's mantle, a mirror image of Lucanis' brooding stance. Lucanis sighed, stopping himself from scrubbing his hand over his face, just as his demon doppelganger had done.
"We need to let her be, Spite. She will let me know when she's ready. She's not ready to see me yet." Lucanis said.
"You're not ready. Lucanissss," Spite grumbled.
"Watch it," he warned.
"Lucanis is. Afraid," the demon sing-songed, grinning.
"Meirda," he groaned, looking to the heavens for strength. "I'm not afraid!"
"Afraid! Afraid! Lucanis. Is scared! Scared he'll want to do what he does when he's alone. Scared of. Rook. Rook wanting to touch him." Spite was nearly vibrating with glee as Lucanis' mouth dropped open. "Scared he will like Rook touching him. Like he touches hims-"
"That's enough!" Lucanis snapped, cutting Spite off mid-jibe. Though his grin was so impossibly wide it nearly curled around his ears, Spite quieted. Lucanis dropped heavily into one of the armchairs beside the table, fingers steepled under his chin, but it was no good. The normally comfortable chair felt like it had been replaced with stone. The fireplace wasn't any better for lurking and brooding. Spite stood right where Lucanis had left him, ostensibly studying the grain of the wooden mantle as he shot surreptitious looks in Lucanis' direction every so often.
An unsettling peel of Spite's demonic laughter, coming from everywhere in the dining room and nowhere at the same time, reverberated through the space. Lucanis huffed. "Fine," he said, tugging at his collar. "Fine, I'll go see her. Happy?"
Another roll of Spite's echoing laughter was his only response.
---
Lucanis marched confidently through the strange, perpetual twilight of the Fade-lit courtyard. He felt just as strong and self-assured as he swung the door open and stepped into the gloom of the library. Five stairs up the sweeping, curving staircase that led to the mezzanine, and he was still fine.
At ten stairs up, the hot lump in his gut that he'd stubbornly ignored since leaving his kitchen began to stir and grow. When he gained the landing at the mezzanine level, his hands went cold and clammy, and his steps took on a decided trudging quality. They felt more like the dread-filled steps of a man on his way to the gallows, rather than going to see the woman he -… he had an extraordinary fondness for.
In the hallway outside Rook's door, Lucanis admitted he had made a huge mistake. His mouth felt packed with cotton. He could barely breathe. Spite was unusually silent, which was worrisome. Lucanis wondered if demons understood the concept of "I told you so."
"Meirda," he swore again, under his breath, and turned the curling door handle.
At first, he thought she wasn't there. The fear that had been coiling along a twisting path from the pit of his stomach up to his throat and back shifted from worry about what he would say (and do) to her, to a near blind panic that she was gone again. But then he heard her foot shifting against the carpet. He saw her knees draped over the open end of the divan, gilded by the strange blue-green light from the aquarium.
Lucanis had thought a lot about this moment, when the madness of losing Rook to the Fade threatened him with despair, and irrational hope was the only weapon he had against it. In those fantasies, he'd been alluring, like Illario could be, and say something devastatingly charming. She'd sigh a breathy "oh Lucanis," as she swooned into his arms and he'd kiss her in a way his grandmother had been trying to teach him to do since he was a flegling who couldn't grasp the art of seduction.
"I cannot believe we found you," was what came out. Stiff, wooden. No charisma. Verging on derisive. He was the same teenager again, getting his knuckles rapped by Caterina's relentless cane. He wanted to melt into the floor.
But Rook's eyes were soft when she sat up. There was no mockery or scorn as there would have been in his grandmother's eyes. Rook's blue-gray gaze was just… tired. A bone-deep weariness that Lucanis understood all too well. Her usual sly, half-smile spread from one corner of her mouth. "I'm a little surprised, too, honestly," she said.
Meirda, that smile. It would be his undoing - he just knew it. It warmed his heart in a way few had, forcing the anxiety to quiet. Even Spite was still for it. He forced himself to breathe deeply, to study how the light kindled sparks of golden highlights in the auburn of her hair, to commit to memory the curve of her cheek, the exact tint of her rosy pink lips. He had lost her so suddenly at Tearstone Island that he felt someone had reached into his mind and scooped out every memory of her.
He wouldn't let that happen again. As he sauntered over to her, he found he wanted to know the taste of those lips, to feel the velvet smoothness of her skin under his fingertips. He wanted to tell her how her absence made him ache in unaccustomed ways. He wanted her to know, without making it sound vulgar or cheap, how he wanted her, to hold her, feel her surrounding him, to be with her, on and under and inside her.
But again, the suave sophistication failed him, leaving him with stark honesty as his only option. "I thought I'd never see you again," he said, hoping Rook couldn't hear the rapid drumbeat of his heart as it tried to pound its way out through his ribcage. And there was that pirate's smile again as she effortlessly broke the tension with a joke about not being able to get rid of her that easily.
It was a front. Not just her glib response, but all of it. The swagger, the unflappable demeanor, the seemingly bottomless well of sass and spitfire that spoke of confidence and surety was all a ruse. Her time in the Fade had peeled back the layers of world-hardened veneer to expose the frightened, uncertain girl hiding in this woman's body. He saw that fleeting vulnerability she usually kept so well guarded when her eyes met his again and melted.
"Rook,… you're impossible," he said as he knelt before her, cupping her jaw with his scarred and calloused palm and drawing her into a soft, gentle kiss.
"But in a good way?" she asked, her eyes searching his for reassurance. The comfort of touch was what she wanted, and he found he could give that to her. He wantedto give that to her as much as she wanted it from him. He pressed her down onto her back and crawled up to settle his weight between her parted thighs.
"It's what I love about you," he breathed in the seconds before his lips found hers. She had to be able to feel his erection, probably almost as well as he could, pressing heavily into the crease where her hip and thigh met. But before he could wander down that dark and doomed path of shame and self-consciousness, the air around the two of them hummed and fluttered as Spite's skeletal wings unfurled, bathing them in a magical purple glow.
It felt like some kind of fragile magic guiding him as Lucanis's hands roamed over Rook's body. The uncertainty of when and where and how to touch melted with the soft sigh she breathed into his hair when he kissed down the tendon in her neck, following the progress of his nimble fingers as they slipped the buttons of her shirt open. She shrugged out of the blue silk as soon as she could, reaching for the tie that held her bra closed even before she had fully freed her wrist from the stubborn shirt sleeve.
Lucanis gaped at her. He couldn't help it. Her eyes were alight above that wicked, enticing grin as she shimmied her shoulders from side to side to make her breasts sway gently. He'd seen naked women before. Illario had dragged him to brothels all over Antiva. The women there, though they had been beautiful, couldn't hold a candle to the woman who lay beneath him, one leg wrapped around his hip.
"See anything you like?" she asked, her smile turning coy as she slid one palm up her torso to cup her breast. Desire wasn't an unfamiliar feeling. He knew the sensation of tightening in his groin, of heightened sensitivity of the skin, the insistent throb of blood pulsing in his cock and the nearly overwhelming desire to sooth it with his hands. But it was the overwhelming need to touch her as he watched her trace her fingertip around the areola of her nipple that surprised him. The need to feel her skin to skin was something he wasn't sure he had wanted before.
He was certain about it now, though. They flowed together, he turning, leaning against the back of the divan, she sliding into his lap, straddling his hips. Her hair, unbound for once, slid over her bare shoulders to create a curtain around their heads as she leaned in and kissed him. She invaded his senses as her tongue invaded his mouth, probing sweetly and sliding against his own. He felt hot and confined, like even a millimeter of separation was too much. He had so many layers. Why did he have to wear so many damned layers?
Rook seemed to be of the same opinion. She pulled back from his mouth, her fingers poised over one of the silver crow skulls of his collar pin with a question in her eyes. May I? those burning blue-gray eyes, pupils wide and dark, asked as she hovered her fingertips over his jewelry. May I pull back your layers and touch, and feel, and know you?
He wanted that very much. Collar pins and cravat, waistcoat and shirt, and finally boots, pants, and undergarments all ended up flung around Solas' meditation room until both of them were bare. She returned to his lap, the warm, wet heat of her both soothing and maddening against his cock as she shifted the slick folds of her sex up and down along his length. His hands found her hips, fingertips digging into the plush flesh of her ass, squeezing and pulling as she rocked on him.
The silken heat of her cunt as she slid down onto him was almost too much. Lucanis had to bury his face in her neck, biting his lip, to keep himself steady. He knew he couldn't last long, but Andraste, he owed her more than a few short thrusts before spilling uselessly into her. He'd teased her enough already with smoldering looks that went nowhere and passionate kisses that ended before they started.
Her pleasure was what he wanted to see more than anything. He felt like he could watch her for hours as she rode him, her eyes closed, lips parted and gasping as her fingernails dragged down the planes of his chest. It was easier to hold on as he rolled his hips into hers if he watched the way her body moved with his. He could almost ignore the clutching, squeezing sensation of her pussy on his cock each time he thrust up into her if he focused on the steady stream of whimpering curses and entreaties to the Maker and his name, whispered reverantly as she bounced on him.
As Rook's clipped little moans of pleasure built in pitch and volume, Lucanis could feel the tension in his gut winding impossibly tighter. He bit is lower lip, brow furrowed, eyes screwed shut as he concentrated on trying to hold on just a little longer for her. Her fingers wound into his hair, grounding them both as they rocked together.
Lucanis hardly noticed that the steady flow of grunts and growls from his throat had shifted into a higher, needier register to harmonize with the sounds Rook made. But when her whimpers built to a loud, sustained cry and she bucked her hips against his, the dam of his restraint shattered. He was wrapping his arms around her waist, pulling her down hard against him as he pumped up into her. The entire lower half of his body spasmed in time with hers as he flooded her with his seed.
"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," he panted into her neck, cock still twitching deep within her as her cunt fluttered around him. She giggled in his ear.
"Don't be," she said as she leaned back to stroke a stray, sweaty lock of his hair off his forehead with her not-quite-steady hand. "You were perfect."
Not for the first time, Lucanis was grateful Rook couldn't hear Spite as he hissed, "See! Told you!" in Lucanis' ear.
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Thanks for reading! Hope you enjoyed this little break from my regularly scheduled Emmrich thirsting hours. 🤭
It's Wednesday, and I've been working. My sweet friend, @jynxeddraca, tagged me, so I thought I'd share the opening of Chapter 14 of Ruins.
How dare she?
Kerry's mind dissolved into a viscous soup of conflicting emotions and ideas. The anguish over enduring the months-long full-on manic episode that was his relationship with Astarion, the arguments, the danger, witnessing murders, a fucking battle royale in the middle of a fundraiser gala less than twenty-four hours ago, and all of it finished with a garnish of mixed messages and not-too-subtle innuendo. How dare she ask him to join them? As if it's the simplest thing in the world. No big deal, right?
He could feel his mouth dropping open, his eyes widening, his face twisting into an expression equal parts horror, confusion, and offense.
"What?" As if the sound of her asking him to fundamentally shift his relationship with the man he loved wouldn't ring in his ears for the rest of his life. As if there wasn't some eager and hopeful part of him begging just as loudly to please, gods, say yes.
She was looking at him over the slope of her shoulder, all wide, mossy eyes and a smirk that taunted and beckoned at once.
"You heard me," Tav said, her smile spreading as she slithered out of Astarion's lap. The strangest sense of deja vu washed over Kerry as Tav prowled across the short distance between them. Astarion had used the same slow, fluid gestures the night they met. Each sway of her hips or shoulders moved his eyes around her body as if he were a marionette and she the puppeteer.
Then, she was in his space, bending at the waist to crowd his field of vision with that same tantalizing smile. Lavender, coconut, and palm breezes enveloped him again, but with something richer underneath, more primative and more alluring than all of those synthetic scents.
"I'll ask again," she said as she leaned in close. "Would you like to fuck us?"
Kerry blinked up at her slowly, breathed slowly, trying to still the spinning in his skull. He could feel the anger still bunching in his muscles, his hands still gripping the arms of his chair. He wanted to shove her. He wanted to scream at her, to tell her off, to make her cry. He wanted it as much as he wanted to yank her into his lap, crush his lips to hers, kiss her everywhere she hurt, and more until all she could feel was care and comfort.
The gentle pressure of her fingertips finding the hollow of his cheek pulled him out of his swirling thoughts. Kerry thought he was nodding. It was hard to tell. The feel of her guiding his face closer, her exhaling into his mouth before pressing her lips to his, made it hard to keep track of what he was physically doing and what he was imagining.
The second coherent, fully formed thought to break the fog in his brain was "fuck it."
It's in the "Thanks, I hate it" stage right now. No idea when the rest will come out. If you want to see what brought us to this point, here's the most recent chapter.
Lightly patting on the head: @pursuitseternal, @spooky-lil-bee, @dr-demi-bee and anyone else who wants to play.
Just Monster Thoughts... Teasing Your Werewolf Girlfriend
Spice Level: 🌶️- Mild
As the full moon gets closer, your werewolf girlfriend gets tenser, more on edge. Between her responsibilities to her job and her pack and transformation, she has a lot on her mind.
She’s incredibly cute when flustered, though you learned early on in your relationship not to tell her this.
It’s almost impossible not to tease her at least a little bit, especially on the day of the full moon when she’s high-strung and snapping at everything.
She’d feel so much better with a little release of that tension. And why are you there if not to give her the release she’s looking for? She adores hunting, and you’re her favorite prey.
You know it’s dangerous, but you don’t leave when you drop her off at the pack’s farm just before sunset. She’s a good tracker, and it doesn’t take her long to catch your scent in the woods. Though you left a few decoy items around, your shirt, an old pair of shoes, etc., she quickly finds your camp. There’s just enough human left in her to give you a five-minute head start before chasing after you into the woods.
For a big, scary werewolf, she’s incredibly gentle and oh-so-sweet when she catches you, tackling you to the ground and licking you absolutely everywhere.
The pack finds the two of you in the morning. Fortunately, they’re all tactful enough not to ask why both of you are naked and exhausted.
