Fandom: Baldur's Gate 3
Pairing: Raphael/Astarion
Setting: Modern Faerun with Magic
Universe: Mermaid AU
This Side of the Glass, Chapter 5: Moonlight
CWs for this chapter: Mentions/brief flashbacks of medical trauma, and smut. (this list may be updated when brain is not soup)
“I want to free you of this contemptible collar and hear your real voice.” Raphael mirrored the action with his sponge-bearing hand and pulled the Mer closer; the sponge pressed in hard, the upward swipe along his dorsal spines dripping with possessiveness. “I yearn to witness you lure a ship to its doom, a frightful beauty seducing the sailors that dare trespass on your territory into the black depths with your song, ripping them to pieces - Hells, how I would revel in that frenzy! I've waited decades to see you bring the skies and waves under your command. The catastrophic storms you could birth with your rage…”
Raphael’s breathing was becoming heavier. The words were wrapped in hungry need. Astarion became sorely tempted to rip off the blindfold; skies be damned, how raw was the expression on his devil’s face? How many flecks of gold were in his eyes?
“I would deliver Cazador unto you, lovingly teach you the art of my infernal talents, and savor your bloody retribution. Together, we would partake in the most righteous of feasts."
I keep forgetting to post here about new chapters. >.< There are so many wonderful distractions to reblog...
Enjoy just over 9.5k of new words if you haven't yet! This one is a doozy, so get yer cozy blankies and comfort drinks ready and settle in.
Chapter Four, Breath (Part 2)
A lil snippet as a treat:
Waking up back in his tank, like nothing had happened, was the strangest and most disorienting thing. Astarion had only closed his eyes for a moment. Hadn’t he? Where there had been the harsh lights of the medbay, now were the familiar glowing orb-like ones Godey was constantly fiddling with, dimmed for the evening. The spines of his dorsal fin were not awkwardly bent and crushed between his body and a metal exam table; sand cradled him like a warm palm. Innofensive water filtered through his gills instead of chemical-laden oxygen through his nose and mouth.
Had it all been a nightmare? Astarion wound his tail around one of the more sizable rocks and used the leverage to help ease himself into a sitting position. An awful, sharp pain radiated out from his chest; there was terrible, mottled purple bruising there. A dizzy spell made the world feel unstable, but it passed quickly. Still, every limb felt heavy and slow to move. His bruised chest complained about every twitch and shift.
“You did not call for me.”
Astarion looked up, finding a blurry shape looming beyond the glass. He rubbed clumsy fingers over his face and blinked hard until the blurriness sharpened into Raphael. The man - or devil in in disguise - stared back with hands behind his back and head tilted to the side. Astarion’s dulled brain couldn’t quite parse the look there.
Still working on Chapter Four of The Side of the Glass (it's at 4k and only the first part is done help me), but it feels right to post a snippet today as I continue work on it.
This is still in rough draft, so the below may or may not change when the full chapter is posted.
꧁ ༺•─────⋆☾ 🫧☽⋆─────•༻ ꧂
He cast a look at Sebastian and brushed his fingers over the back of the peaky Mer’s arm. The normal coolness was quickly being overrun by heat.
“Lock it in,” Astarion muttered under his breath, still smiling.
He felt awful for his tank mate, but their choices were grim. Cazador’s threats were never idle. The attendance rate of the shows was steadily dropping despite their best efforts to wow the crowd. Small group encounters were still popular with children, but unreliable. Either they pushed through and impressed this human, or their lives were forfeit and Cazador swam on to his next project.
“I must admit, Mr. Szarr,” the man spoke with an easy tone and almost lyrical cadence. “Their beauty shines from afar, but I find myself enthralled this close. May I?”
Astarion hated being so close to landwalkers when they stood over him. It was suffocating and made his instincts scream at him to flee into the water. But he lifted his chin before his Master’s permission finished leaving those thin lips.
“Please do! They’ve been well trained to touch.”
Fingers lightly cupped Astarion’s chin; the Mer flinched at the unexpected heat in them. The human, thankfully, chuckled deep in his chest instead of voicing disappointment (or worse). Astarion made sure his eyes were wide and void of any emotion besides innocent curiosity. That was usually safe.
“Truly an exquisite visage,” the man said, too quiet for Cazador to hear. “Beautiful, bright eyes.”
Astarion didn’t dislike the face examining his own. He had borne the indignity of being touched by landwalkers with far less fortunate features, hygiene, and care for how hard they gripped. The fingers slipped away, leaving a lingering heat behind. Astarion kept his hands in their pre-approved position on his lap. Surreptitiously, his tail fin churned the pool water.
The human moved on to Sebastian. Astarion focused on Cazador, heart thumping. The Master looked pleased enough, until the human made a disappointed hum.
“Why is this one ill?”
Cazador’s black eyes narrowed in tandem with his thin lips; they practically disappeared. If a zing of fear hadn’t run through Astarion and settled in his bones, he would have laughed (internally, of course).
“Temporary effects from the hormones.” Cazador, back stiff and hands clasped behind his back, stepped up beside the potential investor. “Dr. Oblodra is closely monitoring him, I assure you. We would never endanger - ”
The man straightened and fixed Cazador with a glare. “He is sweating. Who ever heard of a Mer sweating?”
“They don’t.” Cazador, despite the threat of the whip in his voice, smiled. “They’re naturally cold blooded, in a literal sense. The warm air above water creates condensation - ”
“Do not bullshit me, Szarr.”
Fucking hells, they were going to bleed tonight. Copiously. As man and elf argued above their heads, Astarion snuck a hand out and touched Sebastian’s. The other Mer surprised him with how hard he held on.
“ - Hardly matters; their history and care will be whatever I say it is. With your generous help, of course.” Cazador was smiling again. “The novelty of their beauty will fade, I admit that. But I am nothing if not a businessman. Not unlike yourself. By the time we’re done, every major city will want their own.”
“Where is your mind, hm, Astarion? Is this not enough for you?” Raphael inquired low, leaning in to the side of Astarion’s head, his hot breath tickling his neck. Astarion turned away, annoyed and embarrassed at himself, but at a loss for what to say. He put a hand to Raphael's chest in quiet defiance. The devil continued.
“Is it not exciting enough for you? Strange enough, for you?” The last part was almost a sly whisper. He leaned back, and looked down on Astarion, who felt increasingly irritated at the devil’s implications. But Raphael spoke again before he could answer.
“Oh, believe me, I understand. I know it gets boring. Repetitive. The monotone sameness of pleasure that can only be felt by one who has lifetimes of experience is not lost on me.” Raphael spoke while tracing a hand up Astarion’s chest, seeking up his collarbones and neck, gently grasping his chin between his thumb and forefinger and carefully directing Astarion’s face to look at him. Astarion remained silent, eyes defiant, but distant. Shame and suppressed memories stirred like a vengeful whirlwind of ice in his soul.
“So let me change it up for you.” Raphael finished, and held out his fingers, ready to snap and change to his true form in a second. But he waited. A moment passed, of opportunity for Astarion to protest. But he didn’t. Curiosity took over. Because regrettably, Raphael wasn’t wrong. Though it wasn’t boredom that drove his mind elsewhere, novelty kept him in the present. The numerous encounters of his past, many-natured though they were, had mostly played out against his will. Countless scenarios of the same, repetitive actions of mindless lovemaking, if you could even call it that. Countless times of having to just put up with it. Of having to just let himself be used.
So he said nothing. And Raphael’s fingers snapped.
Chapter 11: Nihil Dicit of Contractum ad Solis et Carnis is out on AO3 [here] now!
Chapter summary
Astarion tries his best to lay out the plans for his coming court case and murder scheme, but succumbs to a bit too much opium tincture on accident and wakes up to an unwelcome surprise.
Chapter draft
A soft rustle, the clink of something tapping repeatedly against glass and the discomfort of being too warm woke Astarion from his drug induced oblivion. The oil lamp on his bedside table had burned out and the room was dark. Rain still beat hard against the windowsill outside. He sat up and let the blanket fall off his chest. Holding his spinning head and massaging his thirsty throat, he tried to make out the shapes of his bedroom to locate the source of the sound he’d heard.
“Trouble sleeping? Or perhaps just a lack of sweet dreams?”
Astarion nearly fell out of the bed as Raphael's voice sounded right beside him. He whipped his head around and tried to get out from the blanket, but found that he was too drugged and too tangled in it to get anywhere at all. Raphael was lying on the covers of his bed right next to him, shirtless and in human form, propped up against the bedframe with a red pillow behind his back. And he was leisurely tapping on Astarion’s empty bottle of laudanum. His words rung like an echo in Astarion’s head, bouncing around as though he’d already heard them in a dream.
