marathon sex with mydei isn't him taking you for round after round and filling you up with load after load of cum- it's him rolling his hips against yours until his body is shuddering- and pulling out to rub his calloused thumb over your clit until you finish on his fingers so he can slide back in and rock against you slow and steady. filling you all the way up, imprinting every inch of himself inside of you and grinding until youre crying and milking him as he keeps himself still. as he grits his teeth and gasps and hold himself back from that edge that he pulls you back over again and again. it's him fucking you until his cock is raw and your cunt can only flutter weakly around him and your speech is more mindless babble than words. only then, when you're little more than pure sensation, does Mydei finally rut into you like an animal- only then does he hold you close and still and promise you all of him
being in an awkward threesome with phaidei where it starts off with phainon being your boyfriend and mydei being your boyfriend's boyfriend. it's not serious, you tell yourself. Phainon's even reassured you- you can walk away at any time if you really want to. He would miss you, though. Dearly. It's hard to say no to Phainon when he has his hand on yours and his cheek in your palm. The tenderness overwhelms you.
So you try to make it work.
You hang around mydei, appreciating his form but not quite sure how to approach him as a person. he's not mean, not rude, but stoic. you end up treating him less like a lover and more like a friend. you tell him your gossip and learn to take his soft grunt as a 'yeah, and then what?'. you learn that if you ask him to help with something, quite literally anything, he'll do it- and if you don't ask he'll hover. It seems like he's nervous, like he doesn't want to intrude or make assumptions about your capability- and it's strangely cute. You let it slip one day and he responds a bit brusquely- and your feelings would be hurt- if you hadn't noticed him covering his face. If you hadn't seen his ears going red.
But he still doesn't like you, you think. Because you know him better now. Actually, it's less that he doesn't like you (you've learned that Mydei is very bad at hiding his feelings and even moreso when it's a feeling such as dislike) and more that he doesn't want you. Not the way Phainon wants you or how you want Phainon or even the way you occasionally find yourself wanting Mydei, too.
You let it slip, one day. Phainon's holding you in his arms and the two of you are in your bed. You bury yourself into the warmth of his chest, and wrinkle the thin blanket between your fingers as you confess your worries to Phainon who-
laughs at you.
Not unkindly- he immediately slaps a hand over his mouth and apologizes profusely.
"What?" you demand, embarrassed and upset in your embarrassment. "Don't make fun of me!"
"I'm not, I'm not. I swear on it," he soothes you, cupping your face and littering kisses upon your every feature. You can feel the smile on his lips as he does so.
"Then tell me what has you laughing so."
"It isn't for me to tell," he says and laughs again when you frown. Taking your hand in his, he lays a sweet kiss to each finger. "Does Mydei dislike you?"
"No, but he does not wish to get closer to me," you say, refusing to admit to yourself that you have begun to pout. "He does not hate me but he does not like me. He does not wish me gone but he does not wish to be near me. I am not a stranger to him, but neither am i a friend in his eyes."
"Such bold claims," Phainon consoles. "Oh, your poor aching heart."
You slap him across his broad chest and he laughs.
"You swore you wouldn't make fun of me."
"Never, never," he assures you and holds your hand to his heart.
When the next day comes, you find yourself actively avoiding Mydei. Embarrassed, again, at your little outburst though it had only been in the safe space between you and Phainon. It seems an impossible feat though, as each corner you turn about shows a familiar flash of crimson and gold.
You would not be so bold as to imagine him to be stalking you, but it feels that way- as if you're always a step away from coming face to face with him.
And you do, late into the day as you exit the baths and return to your quarters. Mydei launches himself upon you, taking your hand into his own as he pulls you through the door. Alone together, he leans over you, bracing his arms to either side of your head as he speaks, his voice harsh.
"You think I do not like you?" he asks.
"Y-yes?" you stutter in response, the answer coming out fast and without thought in your shock.
"How- I-" he makes a frustrated growl of a sound that stuns you- "You think I do not wish to be near you?"
You take longer to answer this time, looking up at him with wide eyes, finally taking in his expression. The pained squint of his features. His tongue peeking out to lick nervously along his lips. The hint of uncertainty, novel and frightening in how little it suits him, darkening his gaze.
"I think you would not choose to be near me, were it not for Phainon," you say slowly, choosing your words carefully.
He growls again and drops his head so fast that it nearly clunks against your own. Mydei's golden bangs obscure his expression from you. Instead, you see his arms shake. His hands close into fists and bang softly against the wall. Once. Twice.
And then he is pressing them against your face, almost shaking as a thumb presses against the fat of your cheek.
"You think I would not wish to be near you?" he asks, his voice dark. He laughs then and it's a breathless noise of disbelief. "Of my own will?"
"No," you repeat, less sure of yourself now in the face of who he has become in these last few heartbeats, "I... I am not sure you would."
Mydei leans in then, his face so close that you can feel his breath on your lips- so close that when you breathe out the air that leaves your lungs fills his.
It's uncanny how quiet the night becomes once the balcony door closes. The call of a couple dozen voices all speaking at once (some conversing, some shouting, some singing along to the bard and his raunchy songs- all Mondstadt classics, of course) muffles to a soft din. Like the gentle buzzing of bees.
A joyous background track to the cold and crisp night.
Standing alone on the balcony, you feel your heart swell. The glow of Angel’s Share lights the pavement, casting the world into sweet ambers and gentle blues. You’d never been one for large celebrations, but you would never deny yourself the soft pleasure of knowing everyone and everything you held dear could be found a few steps away. In a world like this, such respite was to be treasured. Truthfully, you liked to imagine that there were few indulgences you denied yourself, and the tender peace of knowing that you loved and were surrounded by love was definitely not one.
You hope you aren’t the only one feeling so content today, of all days.
“Didn’t think I’d find you here,” a voice calls from behind, breaking the comfortable silence between you and the night.
“Liar,” you accuse, not bothering to look back. Your face has already flushed. Your heart cannot help but race even as your head whirls from cold and food and drink.
The tread of boots precedes your interloper’s approach, giving you enough time to prepare yourself as Kaeya comes to stand by your side. So near that you can feel the warmth radiating off of him and so far that you must will yourself to fight the desire to lean in. To make it known how much you want more than just to be near.
“I would never lie to you,” Kaeya lies and mirrors your pose. Knelt over the balcony with his elbows braced on the railing. From the cradle of your arms, you turn your head. You brave a glance at him, but only a glance. He’s already canted towards you, his handsome face cupped in his palm.
You look away, your face hot and your heart racing.
You don’t need to see the mien of his face to know how pleased his grin is. You can feel it, like some kind of invisible tether plucked between the two of you. Singing high and clear in your chest.
“So you didn’t notice me sneaking upstairs to slip out to the balcony?”
“Well,” he says with a charming laugh that makes you want to bury your face into the nest of your arms, “I didn’t realize it was your goal to be here all by yourself. Seemed like a lonely thing to want.”
You’re about to retort, about to tell him something along the lines of ‘Yeah it sure is’ or ‘You would know’, when you stop yourself. Because you’d be right.
And the thought makes you sad.
Kaeya has a regular perch on this balcony. Second to the bar, this seems to be his favorite place to be.
You turn to him, looking up through your lashes at his expectant expression. He awaits your rebuttal. Your sarcasm. Your snark. Your comment that borders on mean. A glimpse of fang to protect your soft underbelly.
You don’t give it to him.
“Yeah it is. But we’re not alone here tonight, are we?”
His face falls and it’s the closest thing to taken off guard that you’ve seen in recent days. You can understand the enjoyment Kaeya gets out of taking you by surprise and flustering you. It’s just as fun when the tables are turned.
A moment passes, quick as a blink, where he gathers himself once more. Putting his features back into their artfully choreographed positions. For that split second, that fracture in time, you see him off balance. His face a little flushed. His eye unable to meet yours. His mouth parting on a sharp inhale.
It enamors you far more than you want. Far more than you thought you could still fall into your affections for this man.
“Are you flirting with me?” he asks, and you know he’s grasping at straws.
You smile.
“Whatever you want, birthday boy.” Kaeya inhales sharply once more and you don’t bother to hide a smug grin. You lean into him, but still not close enough to touch. “Tell me what I can do to make it an extra special day for you and I’ll do it.”
“That’s a mighty big offer to leave open ended.”
“My generosity is remarkable.”
He laughs and the sound of it fills your chest with warmth even as your press your hands to your cold cheeks. “How ever can I repay you?”
“It’s a gift,” you tell him, fighting back a shiver at a sharp gust of wind. “You’re debt free. No tab to pay off. I offer myself up to you freely.”
Kaeya gives you a long look then. His good eye twinkles, that strange pupil of his shimmering with light cast from the lanterns and moon.
There’s a shutter over his face, a thin veil that keeps his expression nigh unreadable. He could be contemplating some terrible demand. Some scheme that will leave you running lighter on mora, energy, or pride.
Maybe all three.
He could ask of you something awful.
There is no question that you would do it.
But there is also no question that he would not ask it.
Just like that, his demeanor softens into something intimate and soft. You don’t know if anyone else has ever seen such an aspect of him as this.
You don’t ask.
You do look away.
It’s one of those freezing nights. Crisp and cold and deliciously clear. You can see the constellations above you as though they had been freshly pressed into the sky. The moon hanging sickle sharp and silver bright. The heavens watch on quietly. And behind you, the muffled din of music and laughter. The reminder of friends and family and joy.
If only one could live in this moment forever.
“It’s a lovely night.”
“It is.”
Kaeya stretches his hand out the slightest bit- spreads his fingers a fraction. The tips of your pinkies touch.
You stretch out your hand the slightest bit- spread your fingers a fraction. Your pinky slides beneath his and the two of you curl into each other, unable to avoid one another’s gravity.
Kaeya laughs and it’s a breathless sound. It warms the cool air of the night. The stars seem to twinkle all the more for it.
“You’re cold,” he says after a long moment and pulls away. A twang of grief pings in your chest and you curl your fingers back together.
There’s a rustle of clothing and you squeak in surprise when Kaeya wraps something around your shoulder. Its warm and soft and smells divine. Only after you’ve begun to nuzzle into it do you realize it to be his mantle. You bury your face into it all the deeper, hoping to hide the way your expression softens into pudding.
“Hold still- let me put this on you,” he chides when you continue to wiggle about. You stand up straight for him as he fluffs out the lush fur. The edges drift apart slightly and he pinches them closed with one hand. The other brushes your cheek, bereft of purpose. He doesn’t even pretend that it’s busy with some task, letting the warmth of his touch linger against your cool cheek.
“Better?”
You look up at Kaeya from beneath your lashes. Taking in his regal nose and bright eye. The dip of his throat and the curve of his collarbone peeking through his low cut blouse. Lit by starlight he is so beautiful it makes your heart ache with fruitless want.
You nod, rubbing against his fingers. Letting the two of you pretend that he isn’t stroking them against your velvet skin. His thumb to your cheek. Your lips to his knuckles.
“Much.”
In a couple of minutes time someone will open the door, searching for one of the two of you.
In a couple of minutes time someone will open the door, spilling out music and laughter and cheering.
In a couple pf minutes time someone will open the door, setting the moon back into its place and the stars back into rhythm to bring you out of this fracture in reality where the world is just you and Kaeya and the warm embrace of this perfect moment.
But for now the moon looks on wanly- the stars glitter like frost in the night sky- and Kaeya, palm warm where he cups your face, leans into the gravity of you.
Kaiser initially likes that you get with him under bad terms, not that he knows how to get with someone under any other means. You're rebounding off of some debilitating heartbreak and so so so willing to take his cruelty and mean tendencies. You tell him that there are no feelings involved but he can tell you're lying. Not because you love him or want him or have some secret tender affections for him- no nothing as stupid as that. Something in you is hurting and rotten and sore- a wound that refuses to stop spitting out pain and infection- and he finds it absolutely delicious.
And you, terrible pathetic masochist that you are, can't help but goad him into tasting it. His lips on yours like nails over fresh scar tissue. Splitting you open to weep anew.
It's self harm, he thinks every night that you end up between his hands, for you to do this with him.
A good man would tell you to stop. Offer you things. A shoulder to cry on. A few words of reassurance. A condom.
Kaiser isn't a good person. He's not going to stop this tender scab of a thing between the two of you. You’re a grown ass woman and he gets off on the way you seem as if you’re on the verge of crying at every touch, every word, every fleeting glance. It doesn’t matter if he lays with you afterwards or leaves you alone to clean yourself off, he can hear the sniffles that fill the air either way. The first time the two of you had fallen into bed together, you’d wept openly and he- he had smiled. All teeth and predatory interest.
He’d broken his no doubles streak for you out of sheer exhilaration. You’d been fun. You’d been exciting. You’d been a whole new experience.
If you want Kaiser to hurt you, he'll do so happily.
At least. He does initially.
There's no singular moment that changes the dynamic between the two of you. It's instead a cascade of small instances. Microexpressions of tenderness. Fleeting moments of gentle affection. A tone shift in the way you say his name- a sound that slips into his chest like a splinter beneath the skin.
You just can't seem to help yourself.
You, still aching and breaking and rotting, grow soft on him. Warm and sweet. Not like a lover, but like a fractured thing leaking honey sweet affection. There is so much love in you that does not know where to go- it overflows. It squeezes out of the cracks in your crumbling walls. It spills onto him and when he goes to clean it off it lingers in his mouth.
(It is sweet so sweet. He aches for more. He spits it out. It satiates. It makes him hunger in a way that hunger never used to describe)
You cradle his head when he rests it upon your chest, fingers combing through flaxen strands until his eyes slide closed.
You turn to kiss the insides of his wrists when he lifts his hand to rest it on your head, your cheek, your throat.
You whisper his name under your breath, so soft that it barely rises above the thrum of his own heartbeat.
Michael. Michael. Michael.
No wonder you'd come to him so broken hearted, if this is what happens when you try to hold yourself back. He can imagine how flayed open you’d been for your previous lover.
(When you’re asleep in his bed and he turns his head to look up at you he thinks that he could have you like that. Flayed open. Chest spread wide. He thinks of how warm it would be to tuck himself between your ribs. To rest his cheek upon your heart, scarred and broken and still still relentlessly beating and bleeding. In the quietest moments of the night he thinks that he could give you one final scar in the shape of his fangs. There would be no other hands daring enough to dig nails into it. No other hands able to reach beneath your ribs or under your skin while he curls up inside of you. Ready to bite. Ready to savage. Ready to maul. The thoughts come to him like gentle dreams in the dark and haunt him like nightmares in the day.)
(He could keep you safe)
(He could keep you)
Kaiser gets meaner. Colder. Hotter.
You take it all in stride. He can see the way his words cut into you. The way his actions dig teeth into old, unhealed wounds. When he pushes you away you make a fleeting expression as if he has pressed a thumb into a bruise still purple-black with agony. You don’t complain. Don’t demand an apology or explanation. This is what you wanted anyways, right?
Something that hurts.
You’re crying beneath him, his palm resting on your tummy and his tongue buried in your cunt, when he comes to the startling realization-
Kaiser doesn’t want to be something that hurts you.
Not like this.
You make a confused sound when he pulls away. Tears slide down the sides of your face and into your hair as you open your eyes to look at him. For a moment he doesn’t know if you’re seeing him or someone else. If your tears are for him or for the ghost of some past lover.
It makes him unfathomably angry.
In retaliation he bites the inside of your thigh until you squeal. Sucks until your skin discolors and he knows, KNOWS, those pathetic little cries are for him. If you’re crying he wants it to be for him.
His barely assuaged pride prickles once again when he glances up and sees that you’ve screwed your eyes shut.
He wants you to look at him.
Look at him.
Look at him.
Kaiser seethes over you, one forearm bracing itself against the pillow beside your head. His other hand grabs you by the jaw and turns your head.
“Look at me.”
You open your eyes. Wet and shining with tears. Confusion and uncertainty swimming in equal measures.
It’s too much. He doesn’t want that much thought in your head. You shouldn’t be thinking at all. The only thing he wants in your pretty brain is the firing of your nerves. The overwhelming cacophony of pleasure so bright it burns into pain.
And him.
Only him.
“Look at me.”
He doesn’t give you any opportunity to turn away as he presses the flushed and dripping head of his cock to your pussy. The pinch of his thumb and forefinger across your jaw keep you from objecting as the raw heat of him slowly buries into you. The stretch and warmth searing as he uses the breadth of his body to keep you trapped in place.
Kaiser takes you slow and deliberate, scrutinizing every tiny expression you make as he carves himself into you over and over again. The flutter of your lashes. The twist of your brows. The way your eyes shine with tears that spill over your cheeks. He refuses to relent, even as you whimper and cry for him to let you go.
You’re vulnerable like this. Trapped on your back with your belly exposed. Appraised relentlessly like prey.
Seen. For the first time. Not just as a broken thing to play with, but as something that Kaiser realizes that he wants.
He’s vulnerable like this. Looming over you with his belly exposed. Enraptured relentlessly by prey.
The tears slick your hair to the sides of your head when you cum. Still, he doesn’t let you turn away from him. Refuses to give you reprieve as he grinds his cock into you and you beg him to stop. To slow. To give you a moment’s rest (from the scrutiny, from the pleasure, from the horrible vulnerability that is searing the both of you alive).
When he finally comes, he takes your hand into his. The painful memory of his grip on your jaw echoes into the kiss he presses into you. Your hips jolt as the warmth of his spend spills into you, his pelvis rocking into yours and setting your sore muscles alight.
Everything aches. Not as an echo in someone else’s scar tissue-but as a wound all his own.
It scuttles in under the cover of night and nibbles on the meals in his kitchen, cooked by servants who bow their heads long before he lays golden eyes upon them. It scurries away with morsels of food left as offerings and pleas for peace from his stores all while ignoring his altars and many coffers. It skitters from room to room on feet that do not go unheard and leaving behind a scent that does not go unnoticed.
Were Zhongli a thousand years younger he'd have taken such offenses as a threat to his honor and a smear upon his name. As it is, he finds himself amused. Charmed, even.
A little mouse has broken into his palace. Smart enough to go unseen. Fool enough to return.
A little mouse has snuck into his palace- and sought only to eat cheeses and fruits and sweet pastries, leaving his gold and his jewels and his untold riches untouched.
A little mouse has plundered his palace and he wonders when it will notice the claw over its head.
Is it brazenness that moves you? Or foolishness? What blinds you from the realization that the food in his kitchen goes uncovered? What keeps you from noticing when your favorite morsels begin to change their location, placed further within the many walls and rooms of his palace with each night you trespass against him?
What a foolish thing you are.
What a helpless morsel you've made of yourself.
It is a hundred nights into this charade that you get well and truly lost within the endless labyrinth of his home. Exhausted and afraid, you curl into a ball upon coins of silver and jewelry of gold. Likely more wealth than you could attain in a hundred lifetimes- but an uncomfortable nest for a creature made of such soft flesh.
He places his nose to your furrowed brow and inhales you deep. Cups your warm cheek within the ink stained cup of his palm. He smooths his thumb against the peach fuzz of your face, scales rasping almost imperceptibly as they slide across your skin.
The desire to taste, to tend, to take as he would riches and wealth and knowledge stirs in his belly.
Zhongli realizes, as he looks upon you, that were he a thousand years younger he would have devoured you whole.
You do not recognize the silk robes that cover you when you awaken, nor the scent that lingers in the air (osmanthus? here?), but you tuck the brocade all the closer as you rise to your feet. The servants turn their gaze and their steps from you, cloaked in the shed colors of their draconic lord. The walls open with each footstep and doors of crystal swing wide to guide your way out.
When you slip through the hole in the wall it is as though you slip from the coils of of a serpent. You free yourself of Zhongli's protection, leaving his robe behind steeped in your warmth and your scent.
In a dozen years in a world outside of him, this, too, could become a fairy story.
It would be best if you not get lost in his palace again, he thinks. It would be best if you did not return, whether that be for him or for you he doesn't know.
But Zhongli does not order the guards to change their rotations. He does not alert his staff to the breaches in the perimeter of the crumbling portions of the wall. He does not amend his directives to his servants to bring the cheeses and the fruit and the sweet pastries to the rooms closest to his own.
When you get lost again, it is not exhaustion that brings you to curl upon the silk sheets of his bed. It is the taste of jam upon your tongue, sweet enough to hide the bitter tang of milkwort, that coaxes you into closing your eyes.
He places a finger to you lips, stained red and rich with his spoils. His touch drifts lower, skirting along the warmth of your jaw and down the delicate column of your throat. Talon and scale and hot breath trails over your helpless form as something warm stirs in the recesses of his body.
Morax realizes, as he looks upon you, that a thousand years is really no time at all.
controversial opinion but i think mydei is cursed with a long refractory period. he knows he only has one round in him so he wants to make it good. you're not gonna get a second ride on his cock in one night, so he makes sure to finger and kiss your pussy until you're dripping all over his bed and begging for his cock because it's no longer enough to cum on anything else. very occasionally, if he's in the perfect mood and you've riled him up enough, he will fuck you into the mattress. but he's usually not that guy. he drags things out. fucks you deep and slow. it's for you- he doesn't want to hurt you and he knows hes big and thick and when he presses in deep he knows that the base of him is so fat that it brings tears to your eyes- but it's also for him. he wants to stay connected to you as long as he can. Mydei's only got one round in him after all, so he hopes you don't mind it if he takes his time with you.
Serious Content Warning: Eventual incest so if u don't fw that don't read pls and thank uuuuu
If you had to sum up the new kid in two words, you’d describe him as ‘not cute’.
You’d been hopeful, at first, when Josephine had brought him and his sister to the house that the three of you could get along. You had no extravagant fantasies along the lines of bonding and creating a brand new family together, but that at worst they would be easy to ignore. Bouncing around from orphanage to orphanage, you’d encountered all sorts of other traumatized kids. For a while, after she had first told you that there would be some new additions to your life, you had dreaded that she would bring back one of the angry types- you had no interest in what few things you considered yours being broken or stolen or conveniently ‘lost’- though you’d simply smiled and told her that you didn’t mind. This wasn’t your home after all, who were you to tell her what to do with hers?
But, when the kids had walked through the door, they had been sweet. Bewitchingly adorable, even.
The little girl had eyes like saucers and fat cheeks that only accentuated her cuteness. Despite the ragged set of secondhand clothing that had clearly been given to her as someone else’s hand me downs, she had the kind of adorable pudginess that attested to having been well fed. A rarity in the post chronorift catastrophe orphanages. She had stared up at you with stars in her eyes and excitedly, if stiltedly, repeated the words that the adults around her sweetly coaxed her into speaking.
“Its nice to meet you Jiejie! I am Meimei!”
You hadn’t bothered hiding your smile or warmly repeating her introduction. She’d run up to you and asked if she could give you a hug. You’d agreed, feeling the eyes of the many adults around you watching your every action. She’d wrapped her arms around your torso and you had awkwardly patted her head in return.
The little boy did not seem that much older than his sister, though he had clearly had a rougher time during his stay in public care. The bottoms of his shorts were ragged and his sneakers, two sizes too large, had cracked open at the toe vamp. There was a slight gauntness to him that stood in contrast to the girl’s childishly plump form. Still, baby fat clung to his cheeks and his violet eyes glinted brightly as he looked up at you for a long moment before bowing.
“Hello and thank you for letting us into your home. My name is Caleb and I am grateful for your kindness towards me and Meimei.”
You had replied in kind and nodded at him, feeling your anxiety spike when he stepped forwards with an outstretched hand. Did he want a hug as well? Maybe he wanted to shake hands? What kind of kid his age wanted to shake hands?
To your relief, he had closed his hand around his sister’s shoulder and ushered her back his way. His head had dipped and, in a tone that sounded suspiciously like gentle chastising, whispered into her ear.
And then the boy, Caleb, had bowed at you again.
Your hopes had soared momentarily as the day progressed. The little boy, Caleb, had been soft spoken- his sister much less so. By the time dinner had finished and Grandma Josephine and the adoption agency’s placement people had walked off to discuss final details about the two kids moving in, you’d been sure that the three of you would get along. Maybe the three of you wouldn’t be family, but they had seemed like good kids.
Considerate
Cute.
Meimei had taken her plate to the sink as you and Caleb had gathered the rest of the dishes. A fork had slipped from someone’s hands and you’d bent down to grab it with a reassuring and absentminded, “Jiejie can help with that.”
And then the boy, for the second time that day, had spoken directly to you.
He’d uttered the words steady and pointed, all while looking you in the eyes just moments after Josephine and the adoption coordinators had left. The door had clicked shut for all of two minutes, the old woman and agents having only just been lavishing all three of you with praise for treating one another so politely. For making this adoption so easy.
The boy who spoke to you wasn’t the boy who had looked around the large, contemporary build house with trepidation. Who had hugged the little girl he’d come in with tight and thanked you for letting him and his sister join you. Caleb, standing in front of you was holding his sister’s tiny hand in his and glaring at you as if he suspected that, at any moment now, you’d step between them
“You’re not my jiejie”- the boy declared, tilting his little chin up as if daring you to argue with him, twisting his face into a pout that made him less cute than he had been not five minutes ago. “-and I’ll never want to be family with you”
“Prize bleeder? Prize Bleeder!?” Astarion snarls as you glance up at him from between your eyelashes, fighting back the smile that threatens to make itself known. His brow furrows, crimson gaze narrowing with rage and accentuating the fine lines that grace his eyes. He almost spits as he hisses, “I’ve met chattel given more respect!”
“You’ve met chattel?” you ask, feigning curiosity and a playfully lighthearted mien in hopes that it will ease his foul mood. It doesn’t. “Are they good conversation?”
“Your cheek is unnecessary- as is that grin you’re failing to hide.” He snaps. “You shouldn’t have even considered drinking the potion she offered you.”
“I shouldn’t have,” you agree and nod sagely. “But I didn’t.”
“You didn’t,” he acknowledges with a heavy sigh. His tense expression slackens for a moment before tightening once again. The muscle in his jaw ticks once, twice, three times before he looks away. The tips of his tapered ears flush pink.
You wonder if the blood that floods beneath his porcelain skin is yours.
“I could smell what was in the bottle- whatever it was- was vile. Putrid. It would have hurt you. Possibly more than what any of us could imagine, and we are a very imaginative group!”
You give up on trying to fight your grin and finish tying off the bandage on Astarion’s forearm- a stop gap measure to keep everyone in tip top shape for as long as possible before nightfall. There was no telling when or where danger would come from next and no one wanted to waste resources- spellcasting or potions.
“That putrid potion was made of my blood. Are you calling me vile?”
He sighs. Exasperated with your playful jibes eating away at his frustration.
“You are vile in a hundred ways, Darling. Licking dead spiders and wading through sewers counting among them.” He flexes his fingers and licks his lips, letting you glimpse the white gleam of a fang as it juts petulantly against the pink of his mouth. You want to kiss it but swallow the impulse.
“But those are your actions. You-” he sighs, “-you could never be vile.”
You grin and he rolls his eyes.
“Although the amount of concern you so flippantly stir borders on utter wickedness.”
“There’s never any need to be concerned about me,” you hum and lower your chin to rest on Astarion’s knee, moving slow and lazy. “I can handle just about anything that comes my away.”
“You’re not wrong,” he admits and rests his palm on your head. Astarion’s fingers flit through your hair and he tucks the length hiding the curves of your face from him behind your ear. A pale thumb runs along your cheek, his touch cool over your flushed skin. “But I fear it’s not up to me. Even if it were, I would not be so cavalier as to abandon all of my concerns for you.”
“Of which you have a great number?” you tease, nearly purring against his hand, as your eyes close. Vulnerable in your shamelessness, you turn into his touch.
He huffs. A soft, exasperated sound. He doesn’t bother to hide the silent adoration that lines it and worries you’ll notice. Or worse, that you won’t.
You press a small kiss into his palm and Astarion wishes he had not been silent in his adoration. Wishes that he, too, were so bold.
“If I said I did, would you be any more careful with yourself?”
He feels your lips curve into a playful smile as you hum thoughtfully. Deceitful and warm and so very darling to him.
“I would take such concerns, if you may have them, into consideration.”
“Then I do,” he says and flicks the tip of your nose with utmost gentleness, "and you shall."
You laugh and his heart grows all the lighter for it.
