keep your demons on a leash
rating: Explicit
pairing: Reycaryn (the Dark Urge) x Astarion
summary: The violent thoughts and impulse to kill have been with Reycaryn since she woke aboard the Nautiloid. While she resists as best she can, sometimes the urge becomes overwhelming. Thankfully, there is more than one way to get blood racing - and Astarion is happy to help her raise her pulse.
AO3 link: here
warning for some Dark Urge-y thoughts through the beginning of the fic
The Urge was loud today. It was not often quiet, but it did not sing in her blood most days as it did now. Butchering the gnolls, first by her own hand then by turning them against each other, had woken it. A blood-shot eye winking open. Refusing to visit the same on the Zhenterim had sent it screaming in indignation. And though some bandits with more armor than sense had been left to the carrion birds after demanding her purse, their ends had far from sated the voice that begged for more bitch-butchery through her every hour.
Reycaryn was not want to sit idle, though. Ever since Astarion had sought her out several nights ago, whispering pretty words about how he’d grown to enjoy her for more than the meals she provided, they’d had an understanding. It hadn’t escaped her notice that his proposition came quickly after she had not stood in the way of his murdering the monster hunter who’d come to capture him, but if his way of cementing something like an alliance was through sex, she had no qualms with that. He received a stronger foothold in her priorities, and she had someone to turn to on nights like tonight: when the Urge needed drowning out with something to make her blood run hot.
It had taken entirely too long for her companions to settle in for the night, taken in by a discussion of the day’s events and the need to gossip about each other’s habits and quirks. Gale’s penchant for talking about his Goddess-turned-ex-whatever-they’d-been had been a particular favorite of the group. And she’d managed a jab or two herself before her writhing insides sent her near-sprinting to a nearby spring to cool off. She’d felt Astarion’s eyes on her then, questioning whether now would be the moment to slip away and find their slice of privacy. But she suspected he knew as well as she that while blood made for a decent lubricant, water alone did not, no matter the aesthetics. Though he likely remembered how he learned that particular comparison. Still, the bath had only lasted so long, and their resident Warlock was, annoyingly, watchful at his post. She’d tried to squash the thoughts of where he could that famed Blade he waved about so enthusiastically. But then the Blade’s eyes began to drift closed, and the tang of magic filled the air as Astarion causally sauntered into the woods.
And Reycaryn had never been quite so glad for the rogue’s minor magical talent.
He’d already divested himself of his shirt when she’d caught up to him, and he dragged his eyes along her form with a heavy-lidded smirk when she emerged from the trees.
“Well aren’t you the eager little thing.” She undid the closures of her leather top and let it slide into the ground, and her nipples grew taught at the exposure to the cool night air. Her flesh seemed to burn under his gaze as it leisurely took in her newly bared skin. They lingered, briefly, over the expanse of her breast where he had drank from her the other night. It was ballsy, knowing her normal attire left much of skin exposed. But she’d acquired new armor that demanded breaking in - and the sharp, constant ache of hard leathers agitating a still-healing wound had been such sweet agony. Her undershirt had been crimson by the end of the day. But the Urge had been quiet. Surely she could tempt him to bite her there again.
“I prefer efficient,” she let her hips swing as she stalked toward him, and slid her hands up his bare chest, over his shoulders, and into his hair when he gave no sign of hesitancy. “I like to make the most of my time.”
“Efficient,” his lip curled in disgust, “I’m afraid you’ve somehow mistaken me for Lae’zel, darling. Though I don’t see how you’ve managed that with these dashing good looks.” She curled her fingers tightly into his curls to stave off the way they started to twitch, then stood on her toes to hold her lips a breath from his ear.
“My apologies,” she breathed, then pressed a kiss to the place his pulse ought to have beat. “Clearly,” another kiss below it, “I have neglected the master,” a kiss to his collarbone, “for raw force.” Pretty pictures of her perched atop him, that perfect hair tousled from exertion, eyes blown wide as blood rushed from his head, played in her mind and sent her heart racing. She sunk down on her feet to look up at him through her lashes. “However shall I make it up to you.”
He smiled, fangs glinting in the moonlight, and a thread of instinctual fear thrilled down her spine and between her legs.
“Oh, I’m sure I can think of something.” His hands found purchase on her hips. He pulled, bringing her body flush to his. His length pressed hard against her stomach. She rolled her hips and smiled at the small moan it earned her. Slowly, his death-cooled hands rose at her sides, a wave of goose flesh traveling over her skin as they slid over her curves, thumbs briefly caressing the edges of her breasts on their way to frame her face. To anyone who stumbled across them, it might have been a romantic scene: her arms hanging from his neck, his hands holding her head, fingers hooked behind her jaw as though to hold her still for an all-consuming kiss. But his hold was not gentle, and she let out a satisfied hiss as one hand snaked beneath her braid and collected a fist of her hair, jerking her head back to expose the long column of her throat. She opened her mouth as his thumb swiped across her lower lip, teasing at the dark lick of flame inked into the center of it.
She moved to capture the digit between her teeth, to hold it in the wet heat and suck until the idea of removing himself was all but unthinkable, until he let her bite down and keep the bloody mess between her teeth forever, but he held her fast in his grip. And the sharp pain that shot across her scalp made her breath race from her lungs.
He tutted at her like a misbehaved kitten. “We ask before we bite, darling.” Her scalp tingled horribly, and she rewarded him with a wicked smile. It did not waver as he turned them around and bark bit into her bare back, or as she moaned when he shoved his thigh between her legs to pin her to the tree. She shifted her weight, her body searching for solid ground as he held her just off the ground, and felt her hips roll against him instead. Her clit ached at the pressure, and suddenly the whole of her attention was caught on the way the seam of her trousers felt when she twisted her hips just so. Again and again she writhed against his thigh, letting that seam and gravity and the delicious ache in her scalp bring her ever closer to that singular oblivion. Sweat ran down her back, skin flushed, as the knot in her stomach grew tighter and tighter until her hips were suddenly slammed back. Cold, unwavering hands held her tight against the tree, and the edge of that lovely cliff faded enough for her to see Astarion’s face - hunger of many flavors darkening his eyes.
Reycaryn swallowed, and tried to even out her breathing. It wouldn’t do to simply rut against him like an animal. That they could do well enough on their own. Though it would be something to try - to see how far the mere pressure of their bodies against each other could take them. But that was a game for a setting with more time. And privacy. And preferably pillows. Cushioned by red and bleeding and- she shook the thought away. No. The only cushion she wanted in this moment was the grass beneath her, paltry as it was.
“It seems,” she breathed,” I have a great many things to apologize for tonight.” Twisted her fingers through his curls once again, she relished at how soft they were against her skin and how lovely they looked laid against his neck. “Let me make it up to you.” She stared into his eyes, the blood red irises nearly encompassed by the dark of his pupils, before dragging her own down down down to where his length strained against the ties of his pants and licked her lips. “May I?”
It took a moment for him to respond. Thoughts flicked rapidly in his eyes as he weighed her proposal. Likely he’d intended for her to stop only long enough to be divested of her trousers so that he could lavish her with practiced tongue and hands, or simply take advantage of the wetness that had already soaked a wet spot in his own pants to sheath himself in her heat. Something that would keep her swimming in her own arousal - that would remind her just how well she benefited from keeping him safe and well-fed. And she’d let him do so later. No reason to turn down the multitudes of pleasure he was keen to give her. Not when the rush of blood to her head and thighs managed the desire to see blood run elsewhere. But she could keep her thoughts at bay with his cock in her mouth as easily as with it in her cunt. And, well, perhaps she did feel a tiny bit bad about accidentally insulting him and then using him as little more than a grinding pad. She didn’t care to be quite that greedy. Especially not when the thought of taking him in her mouth already had her mouth watering.
Eventually though, a smirk crept onto his face. “Well darling, if you insist on getting on your knees for me, who am I to say no?” Cool air filled the empty space left by his thigh when he removed it from between her legs, and the smallest of whimpers escaped from between her teeth at the loss of pressure. Meanwhile, his hands fell to his side - waiting to see how she’d approach her new task before reaching to praise or guide. Trailing her fingers down his chest, Rey slowly sunk to her knees. She held his eyes with her own as she worked at the ties of his trousers, a task made more difficult for the way the leather ties pulled taught against each other under the strain of his length against the fabric. She pressed her mouth to the bulge, still staring up, dragging it down she loosed inch after inch - never letting her lips touch his flesh until he was fully free. She jerked his pants down, captured his balls in her mouth, and sucked.
She wrapped a hand around the base of his cock and stroked, twisting her wrist as she moved down the length of him. His hips twitched ever so slightly as she moved across his head, precum coating her palm, and a wave of heat flooded her body at how readily he responded. Their last tryst had been incredible by any measure - his focus on her had been all-encompassing. And though she would certainly not turn away that attention, she’d be remiss to not savor how he reacted to the same. When her hand retreated back up his length, her head followed. In a long, languid movement, she drug her tongue along its underside, flat and broad against the vein that protruded there and across his head, until she wrapped her lips around the very tip in the strange approximation of a kiss. Slowly, she fed him into her mouth, inch by inch passing her lips and over her flattened tongue until he hit the back of her throat. Where she found that her body needed no instruction on how to let his length pass further. Another memory her body held with no recollection of how she’d earned it. She took a deep breath, and let the muscles of her throat relax until her nose was pressed against her stomach. Then she released him. Fully removing him from the warmth of her mouth with a pop to suck in a breath. A trail of spittle hung from his cock, connected to her open lips.
When she took him in her mouth next, she stared up at him. Head thrown back, lips parted, she hummed her pleasure just to see his face twist up and relish the deep moan, almost a grunt, that met her ears. Fingers tenderly brushed against her cheek before diving into her hair. He grabbed a fistful of her braid at the base of her neck, and she offered no resistance when he pulled her deeper onto his length. She slid her own arms against his thighs, hands resting against the sharp handles of his hips, as though she might pull and seal herself against his frame. Again, he slipped past the barrier of her throat with ease, and a string of curses rained down on her when she rewarded the tension that kept him fully seated within her with a hard swallow. She hummed again, letting her hands wander upward to tease the pale plan of his stomach and chest, and smiled around his cock as his hips thrust forward, as if he could somehow find his way deeper into her mouth.
She let him guide her on and off his cock again and again, sucking and humming and swallowing in turns to coax a symphony of groans and grunts from between his teeth. And each time she let him hold her just a moment longer in that space where he filled her so fully she had to hold her breath. Sometimes she held herself there, relishing the extra sting as he yanked her farther back - the playful tutting that admonished her greediness. He was salty on her tongue, and bergamot, rosemary, and brandy cut through the scent of sweat. And while she knew her knees and jaw would ache terribly tomorrow, it would be a pleasant reminder of this evening’s activities. As engaging and enjoyable as Lae’zel had been, pleasant would not be the word to describe any part of their encounters. And she did not stare at her pulse fluttering in her neck as she wrapped her lips around her.
The world started darkening around the edges. Vaguely, Reycaryn registered that her chest was tightening, lungs beginning to scream. She could hold on a few seconds longer, she was sure, but dancing too close to that line where darkness claimed her fully was not the point of this exercise. A littler death was more appropriate for this evening. So she pushed her palms against him, hoping he would understand the request for a moment of air. In a moment, she was gasping. He pulled her away from his body by the hold he had on her hair and tilted her head up to the sky. The angle was hell on her neck, but her lungs cared little so long as she kept feeding them air.
Reycaryn smoothed her thumbs across Astarion’s hips when the fog cleared from her mind, which had somehow become her signal that she was ready to take him again, but he did not move her. Instead, he held her still. Then, slowly, he pulled her upright. Her knees folded out from under her, and she rushed to reach behind her, a hand latching onto his wrist as blood rushed back into her legs, leaving them tingling and weak. But he did not stop until she was standing straight and her head tilted up to meet his.
Suddenly she was very aware of her body. Of how her chest rose and fell, nipples taught and brushing against his skin with every breath. The drool that coated her chin and breasts, the tangled nest her hair had become under his grasp. Her swollen lips, the dark stain battle- and sex-tested as it was, were surely smudged. The prickle of her skin let her know Astarion was taking stock too. It was a slow, luxurious assessment, lingering everywhere and nowhere all at once. It ended on the slick dampness that coated her thighs despite her trousers. No amount of laundering would save them. Well, she had no one but herself to blame for that.
“I believe we’re well past the time for these ruined things.” His free hand hovered over the seam of her pants, hovering tantalizing close to where her blood pooled beneath her legs. She could not help how her hips rolled forward, seeking that contact. He avoided it, only touching her so much as he needed to slide his fingers underneath the hem against her hips. “‘Best be rid of them then.” Before she could move to help him unravel the ties, she heard a rip. Cool air kissed her hip, then a thigh, her ass as the sound of fabric being torn continued, until she was stepping out of the remains of what had once been a rather reliable pair of pants and undergarments. “We could have at least traded those, you know.”
“Trading your soaked underthings? Well now that is an idea. How much do you think the Wizard would pay?” Reycaryn rolled her eyes, though, she supposed, she had walked right into that one. The questions that arose about Gale’s relationship with Mystra and whether a goddess in the astral plane might leave naughty souvenirs, however, were entirely the vampire’s fault. But her mind stilled when his free hand found her hip. His thumb caressed the bone there, and she returned her attention to his face, where his eyes bore into her hungrily. His eyes flicked down to her lips, and she swallowed. She tilted her chin up as far as the hand in her hair would allow.
His head dipped down, but avoided her face entirely. His mouth found the hammering pulse in her neck and latched, intent on bruising before biting. His teeth were ghosts, mere suggestions of fangs against her heated flesh as he purposefully kept them hidden behind his lips. But he let them scrape against her skin as he found new purchase again and again, leaving a trail of marks hidden beneath her tattoos as he took his time tasting her. She tried to push against him, to end the damn teasing, nice as it was, and coax him to slide into her. In whatever way he cared to. In all the ways he cared to. But his hands held her tight, hips pressed back to the tree and neck so beautifully bared, and where his hands could not reach the rest of his body was an unmoving wall which had pressed against her when she was too distracted by the idea of his teeth in her neck to notice.
He continued to lavish attention on her skin, not so much as letting her squirm, and his tongue danced across her neck, her chest, her ears - his lips wrapped around the sensitive skin where the cartilage came to a point and sucked, and the moan she gave was guttural. His laughter was warm against her and fuck did she want that mouth occupied with other things. Like her mouth. Or her cunt. Gods she wanted him to touch her there. She’d been moments from cumming before, and now? Well, truth be told she could see herself coming with a well-timed pinch of her nipple at this point. But he did not need to know that. Nor did he need the boost to his ego should that occur. All the more reason for him to just fuck her.
“Something the matter, pet?” He smiled against her ear and gods she wanted to knock it off his stupid, handsome face. She settled for tugging at his hair as she tried to pull herself closer to something that would stab into her.
“You know damn well what’s-” Sharp, icy pain stole the words from her lips as he bit into her neck. Her heartbeat jumped against his lips, the muscle desperately trying to close the wound. A beautiful, futile attempt. He tongued at the fresh bruise beneath, the blood he’d already welled up there, and she hissed at the dull ache that joined the puncture at her throat. As she started to feel her limbs paradoxically lighten and fill with weight, he pulled away, dragging his tongue over the last drops that seemed from the wound as he sealed it with a flash of magic.
Then lips slammed into her own, and her breath caught as the force of it rattled her head against the tree. White scattered across her vision, and she moaned against his tongue as it claimed her mouth. Her blood was coppery and hot on his lips, and her body seemed to sing from the taste. She wanted more, wanted to know how she tasted to him, wanted to know how he might taste on her tongue. She nipped his bottom lip as they kissed, enough to make him gasp, enough to make him bleed, and smiled as their tastes met and mingled in their mouths.
In the next moment, his hands were cupping her ass, her legs wrapping around his waist as he lifted her up, back scraping against the bark of the tree, then brought her back down as he sheathed himself in her in one swift motion.
Fuck yes.
Astarion wasted no time letting her adjust. And she needed none. His thrusts were measured, practiced, the product of centuries of pacing himself to ensure things did not end too quickly. With each, she felt him press against that lovely inner spot that made her writhe in his arms. With his next move, she clenched down, and the stutter of his hips against hers earned her a stunning little grunt. She pressed her lips to the place where his neck met his shoulders, kissing and lapping at the sweat-soaked skin. Then biting down with a hiss as his hand snuck between them to play with her clit. She moans, a sound that rattles her chest, and she knows he’s pleased when he does the same again, and again, until there is nothing in her mind but his hand on her clit, his cock in her cunt, and the curses pouring from her lips.
He pressed her farther into the tree, her thighs wrapped around him and the full weight of him in each thrust holding her upright, to palm her breasts. She managed to drag her head from his shoulder, to press her lips against his and hope that her devouring kiss, tongue desperate to claim every corner, imparts just how desperately she needed this, how good it feels to be consumed by his every thrust and touch. She cupped his face with her hands, fingers digging into his jaw to hold him close, and she timed the way she clenched around him with each gasping breath she takes.
And then she tumbled over a cliff. She gasped into his mouth, body shaking, as the tweaking of a nipple and the pinch of her clit pushed her over the edge. She held on desperately as wave after wave of mindless, white-hot pleasure claimed her body. Astarion stuttered beneath her, then rallied - his pace shifting sharper, harder, and she felt the final roll of his hips as he came inside her, body shuddering.
They stood there for a while, his weight pressing her into the tree even as he let his head rest in the curve of her shoulder, until her heart found a calmer rhythm and he softened and slipped from her. His breath was warm against her skin as she unwrapped her legs and tested her weight on them, his hand close to her side in case they failed her. It took a few moments more for them to fully untangle, for their breath to no longer be mingled together. Reycaryn twisted a hand around to her back to feel for any wood that might have decided not to part with her yet. Thankfully she felt none, though her skin still held the imprint of the tree and likely would for another few hours. Good thing they had time yet before dawn and the rising of the rest of their companions.
Astarion, for his part, was already half-dressed. Trousers retied with no trace of their previous entanglement. Though, thinking of it now, she wasn’t actually sure if she’d properly divested him of them. His shirt, however, had been, and she took precious moments to find it discarded in the tree line.
“Excuse me, darling, but I do believe that shirt is mine.” Reycaryn pulled her hair through the ruffled collar of the shirt and pulled on the hem to adjust it. He wasn’t much taller than her, but it was, thankfully, a longer cut. Bending over would be a risk, but it would do.
“You can have it back in the morning. I’ll even make sure it’s in one piece.” She gestured to the wrecked pile of her clothes, then retrieved her top from where she’d left it. If she wandered back into camp wearing it and nothing else, well. Poor Wyll would never get the image out of his mind. “Besides,” she spun in a lazy circle, “I think I look rather nice in it, don’t you?”
He set his weight back on one heel, bringing a hand to support his chin as he appraised her. “Well no one can argue you lack taste.” He smirked, pleased by his unsubtle self-compliment. “Oh fine,” he sighed, something like amusement mixed with the resignation in his voice, “but I expect it washed and dried when you return it to me.”
“Oh, am I your laundress now?” She resisted the urge to look down and determine how soiled the shirt was. There were grass stains, she was sure, though those weren’t her fault. It was possible the bites on her neck had reopened, but she doubted Astarion would let the snack go to waste. More than likely, he was just being his normal self - he was rather precious about his clothes.
“It’s only the polite thing to do when borrowing clothes, darling. Especially after such.. invigorating activities.” He gave her a look that suggested he was keen to reclaim his shirt by continuing those activities, but she simply crossed her arms. Not that she wasn’t tempted - her body immediately heated at the idea - but she did want to trance for a few hours before she took over the night’s watch. Astarion shrugged and waved off the idea. “Then I shall see you in the morning.” And then he was gone, slipped between the trees to find his way back to camp or, more likely, to find a more filling meal somewhere in the woods.
Reycaryn stared at the place he’d disappeared for a moment, then shook her head and turned to her destroyed clothes. She couldn’t salvage them, but she wasn’t about to leave them out here either. She’d figure out what to do with them later. But first, a cold bath. And, she supposed, a spot of laundry.