Aaahhhh!!! I got tagged by @tealenko who is lovely and amazing 💖🥰 Please go check them out! Especially if you love Lara Croft and/or Mass Effect!
I'd really love to update Thin Ice before the month is up, so I was just picking at my draft of chapter 4 (again) which has been the apple of my procrastination's eye as of late.
For context, the fic is an Astarion/Tav, enemies to lovers, 90s ice skating au ❄️❄️❄️
Here's the beginning chunk I just refined:
Chapter 4 - Harm & Harmony
Life had a way of showing Jaheira that it had an unlimited threshold for getting worse.
Perhaps that's what stopped her in her tracks, the woman who had seen everything, having stumbled upon a pair of propped open rear doors. Her Harper instincts buzzed at the appearance of the unexpected, making her fingertips itch.
Could someone have broken in?
Blackgate Stadium was one of those money-making monstrosities that housed a multitude of teams and sports rather than just one or a few. And while every kind of grand event hosted in Baldur's Gate eventually came through one of its several arenas, all its props and posters were in a state of constant flux and anything of real value was too big to fit through the rear doors. Any well-seasoned thief would know there was nothing worth the effort.
An amateur then?
Recreational leagues and the general public also found spaces at Blackgate, most likely for tax purposes rather than any benevolence on the part of the conglomeration that owned it.
Blackgate was currently crawling with tax breaks.
Maybe a deranged fan or two slipped past security… Perhaps a forgotten hairpin or used sock in one of the private rooms...
But that was unlikely. Not that security here was anything to rely on!
The place was a damned maze! Even if anyone managed to guess the correct set of doors, it would be impossible to discern which celebrity athlete or performer belonged to which discarded sock.
Although… Would it matter in this wing of the building? The hall was lined with private rooms. Professionals like herself and Vistri—if she could call that little drow a professional—were allowed to rent out any of the "VIP" dressing rooms, as long as they weren't already given over to a performance in residency. Any treasure found in the VIP rooms was likely to belong to a VIP, and that was all that mattered to some people. Especially the type willing to pay any amount just to touch something likely to bear the contagion of celebrity.
Jaheira shook her head. She was being foolish.
Most likely, one of the security or sanitation workers propped open the doors while taking out trash and forgot to push the stopper back out.
The only way to know for sure, though… Would be to investigate.
Jaheira chuckled at her own paranoia, hands flying to her hips as if to restrain herself. A nefarious reason didn't have to exist for a pair of doors to be propped open! The rink was especially busy today, and would then have to be cleared in a few hours for their private session.
Still…
On the off-chance there was trouble afoot… Jaheira took a deep breath and reached out, bracing for a trap.
She pushed open one of the doors just a little further, and peered out.
What she found was something she hadn't anticipated.
There were no vandals, day-drunk fathers, dueling housewives, nor slacking employees.
What she found instead was…
Astarion Ancunín.
Smoking. Next to a dumpster.
Not only egregiously early, but squatting with a leather coat suspended above his head by his free hand, as if it were raining.
It was not raining.
Furthermore, he was already in the shade of an awning that would surely cover him in the event of rain.
"Lathander's balls!" she exclaimed, hand clutched to her chest, "You almost gave me a heart attack!"
He let out a cloud as he spoke, "Oh, hello!"
Astarion's friendliness had the opposite intended effect on his coach, who shouted, "Do not play nice with me! Where were you? We needed you the other night! I had your papers ready to sign!—Wait, wait! Let me guess… You had something better to do."
"I'm here now. Aren't I?"
"Three hours early!"
"Consider it an apology," he said, taking a long drag after.
Something vaguely unsettling in his manner tempered Jaheira's ire, giving her pause. It wasn't obvious at first glance, but he sort of had the air of a wounded creature. A bird with a broken wing that appeared to be casually sitting on the ground in perfect comfort.
His whole energy was worn thin. The space around him as filthy and frayed as the clothes he wore. And to say there were circles under his eyes was an understatement.
They were pits. Glaring red pits.
A slight gust sputtered between them, carrying a thick stench of nicotine and tobacco on the wind which reached Jaheira across the walkway.
She shook her head, her arms crossed but not unkind.
"Well, at least you're here early," she said with a changed tune, "We can talk when you're ready to come inside."
Astarion was as thrown by her words as she'd been by his presence.
There was something shiny behind a spiderweb she'd spotted moments before, and now Vistri just had to have it. Karlach was beginning to regret having pointed it out. Her frustration burned hot enough to cast dancing shadows across the others’ faces.
Echoes and stalactites dripped around them. The cave’s damp, sticky air swallowed up the tiefling's booming voice within layers of soft stone.
And Vistri was a bent-over, wriggling ass.
“Hang on,” she replied with reaching effort.
Astarion gave a dramatic sigh, “She always has to get her hands on everything. Just let it happen! We’ll get out of here faster if we don’t argue.”
Gale wriggled his eyebrows teasingly at the vampire spawn, “You’d know that, wouldn’t you?”
Karlach threw her head back and howled. Her laughter shook the cave.
“Do you want to get us all killed?” Gale anxiously shushed her.
“Spiders are fucked mate. We’re the only ones left.”
“We don’t know that for sure though! And I’d rather not be taken by surprise.”
“Astarion, darling?” Vistri called out, still as bent over as before, “Do me a favor and hold my bum? If I could reach just a little further…”
Gale took the opportunity to speak first, “Go on, Astarion—The bum awaits!”
“Grab her bum!” Karlach chanted, “Grab her bum!”
Astarion rolled his eyes at both of them as best he could.
Then he did Vistri a favor, and grabbed her bum.
“Aaaaay!” Karlach and Gale cheered.
He stood behind her, pouting. There truly was no way to steady her hips that wasn’t suggestive, and those two absolute children were losing it.
“Now, really!”
“Ah-HAH!” Vistri cried out in gloating triumph—Shooting upwards so abruptly, and so completely covered in spiderweb, that webbing splattered all over Astarion.
“Augh!" he spat, utterly exasperated, "That went inside my mouth!”
“Worth it!” Vistri declared, showing off her prize: Hard, dark leather armor for the forearms that laced up along the sides. They were quite plain except for the embroidery woven all along it in elegant patterns of silver thread.
“Oh, those are quite lovely,” Gale said, stepping closer.
“No!” Vistri pulled them back protectively, “I won’t let you eat these!”
“I wasn’t!—I wasn’t going to eat them! And for the last time… I don’t eat magical items, I absorb them!”
“These aren’t magical anyway," she lied, "They’re just pretty.”
Gale sighed, “I wasn’t…”
Astarion grinned, “Not as pretty as you, my dear.”
Vistri flipped one of her braids to the side, “Aw, stop!”
“Eugh, they’re being all mushy again! Gale, tell them to stop. It’s too much cuteness, I can’t take it.”
At the mention of cuteness, both Astarion and Vistri stifled imperceptible shivers of disgust.
“Why do I have to be the one to tell them to stop?”
“Cuz you’re like a dad.”
“I’m not—“
“You are!” Vistri laughed, “You’re just like somebody’s dad.”
“Not the Daddy vibes you hoped to give off, eh?” Astarion teased.
Needless to say, Gale pouted the whole way back to camp.
When they returned, Karlach announced, “Gale is everyone’s dad!”
“Oggy! Oggy! Oggy!” Wyll chanted in acknowledgment.
“Oi! Oi! Oi!” Karlach shouted, pumping her fist in the air. Gale had to duck.
While the others tried convincing Gale it was a good thing that he was the camp dad, Astarion eyed Vistri making a beeline for Shadowheart's tent. His was conveniently near enough to make a show of tidying up his space as if paying no mind to their chat.
“You’ll never guess what I found at the bottom of a spider web,” he watched Vistri say.
Shadowheart raised a brow, “Lolth’s chosen?”
"No—And how dare you!" she rebuked with a smile before proudly revealing the treasure in her pack, “I found these beautiful things!”
"They're… Nice. Um, wow!"
Astarion couldn't quite see Shadowheart's face, but was able to surmise from her tone that she was doing her very best to give Vistri the response she was hoping for.
Vistri narrowed her violet eyes, "Well… Thank goodness they're not for you!"
She stuffed the armor back in her pack before storming off, right past him, towards Lae'zel. Astarion tossed a soiled rag vaguely into the surrounding trees.
Seeking Lae'zel's opinion must have been meant as a slight to Shadowheart, because that Githyanki was not going to blink at anything less than a silver sword. Vistri should know better than to expect anything more. He almost laughed seeing her huff away after being predictably blown off.
Next, Vistri drifted over to Halsin and Wyll. While they stood too far across camp to be heard, Astarion could tell she must have finally found compliments by the way they all moved. Lighter of foot afterwards, she even made her way over to Withers. He, however, met her findings with even less enthusiasm than Shadowheart and Lae'zel had.
Finally, she doubled-back to him. Astarion shook out the last drops of an empty wine bottle to appear to be doing anything else besides waiting for her to reach him.
“It’s because of the undead thing, isn’t it?” Astarion smirked as Vistri approached.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“Right. Do you sew?” she asked, knowing full well already that he did.
“What?”
Vistri held up one of the arm bands, “The thread is loose here. Look!”
Her childish demands landed so startlingly different from Cazador's that it made him smile.
“Are you asking me to fix it?”
"No," she lied, rolling her eyes. The last thing Vistri ever wanted to do was ask for help, especially from him.
And the fact that she had something to lose meant Astarion had something to win. He delighted in it.
“It seems to me your new treasure is soiled and I’m the only one here you trust to mend it properly.”
"That isn't—!" she started to deny, but seeing immediately that her denial only made his expression more insufferable, suddenly decided the truth had less information in it, and admitted, "I mean… It's not—It's not un-true…"
“So, you’re asking me to fix it?”
Since he wasn't letting this go, Vistri tried another tactic and laughed, "No, you silly peach!" Then, speaking just a bit closer and holding a suggestion taut between their eyes, she told him, "You're going to offer."
Insolence was the word that came to mind. Her blinking grin said, I have a need you’re lucky enough to fulfill, but her eyes were not so sure. One only had to pay enough attention to see something shifting in them. Like slipping fingers on a precipice that would go one way or another depending on his acquiescence. Asking, Was she worth it?
Not wanting to deny her the better answer, Astarion gave in.
“Would you like me to fix it?”
Vistri's warm smile contained no acceptance or acknowledgement of his unspoken affection. She simply batted it away with blinking eyes.
"Oh, darling! How very kind of you!"
She wasted no time shoving the armor into his hands.
He caught her by the wrist as she tried to flit away. Not letting her go just yet, he demanded in a soft tone, "Say thank you."
Her breath quickened and stopped. Her focus settled over his mouth, grazing his lips still saturated in those words.
"Thank you."
Astarion dropped her wrist like it was a bite of fire.
And went to work assessing the damage.
With a closer look, he could see that it wasn't just a simple tug on the embroidery. A blade or something must have slashed it because the threading fell apart along a distinct line. The original pattern was almost unrecognizable, and even the unmarred thread was old and frayed. He'd have to use some of his own. Luckily he'd picked up a spool of silver the other day. Perhaps not the same tone, but…
Vistri was still standing there. She hadn't gone away.
“You’ve never been one for micromanagement. Please don’t start now, dear.”
“I wasn’t—I just…”
“Oh?”
Vistri scoffed, “Never mind that!”
“I think you just prefer to hang around,” he teased, seizing the opportunity to relish in his power, and then immediately regretting the implication.
What if she truly just wanted to be near him?
Scowling, Vistri turned her face away like a cat blinking someone out of existence.
Before their silence could marinate into something awkward, Gale came sauntering over, escaping cheers of “Dad! Dad! Dad! Dad!” from the other part of camp.
“What kind of nasty thing did you say to make Vistri, of all people, blush?”
“I’m not—!”
Astarion smirked, “I dare not repeat it.”
“You scoundrel!” Gale winked.
"That's where you're wrong, wizard. It's charlatan. Scoundrel is my cousin."
He caught the amused glint in Vistri's eyes from the corner of his.
Gale chuckled, but upon deciding the air between these new lovers was too thick for him to stand, awkwardly muttered an excuse to go elsewhere.
Vistri, not wanting to be accused of wanting to stick around, did the same.
Instead of watching her walk away, Astarion turned his full attention to the task at hand: Finding wherever the fuck he put that spool of thread.
Night didn't take long to fall. They must've been in that damn cave for longer than they thought.
The campfire, shining brightly in the absence of the sun, became a refuge around which everyone gathered. Turned from its glare, Astarion felt the heat of it on his back. His eyes were glued to the threadwork he was attempting to replicate.
"You know… This would go a lot faster without you looming over my shoulder," he muttered with string in his teeth.
"I am not looming," Vistri insisted, "I'm speaking to Wyll, who as you can see if you'd look up for a moment, is sitting right by me."
"You haven't peeped a word."
"I happen to be listening."
"Well, yes. But he hasn't said anything for a while either."
Indeed, what had started as a playful debate with Lae'zel about dragons now trapped him in a familiar flurry of praises for Vlaakith. He hadn't said anything for a while, because he couldn't find a polite way to interrupt. As swift as Lae'zel's massive blade, one sentence cut into the next.
Hearing his name finally gave Wyll an opportunity to turn elsewhere.
"Vistri, did you know that Vlaakith's fury is sweeter than a thousand astral berries?"
"What?" Lae'zel was thrown off, "There are no astral berries."
Vistri couldn't help herself, "Then what was in that astral berry pie the other day?"
"What?" Lae'zel asked again.
"Oh bother," Vistri shrugged, sighing, "We'll never know!"
"Somebody say 'pie'?" Karlach called from across the flames.
Wyll laughingly nudged Vistri, "All yours!"
Without delay, she answered over the fire, "Ask Camp Daddy if there's any left!"
"Mystra's tits!"
Astarion watched the shadow of Vistri's hand land delicately on what he supposed was the shadow of Wyll's thigh. Such an unguarded gesture, highlighted by the dancing flames.
The thread between his fingers came into such hyper-focus that it blurred his vision as their shared laughter deafened his ears. Something like fear tightened his throat. The possibility of catching Cazador's eyes glowing in the trees was more real to Astarion than the peace of this moment continuing. His shoulders grew tight, bracing for a familiar impact. He forced himself to get lost in the embroidery before him. To pass the time before hell chose to descend.
Shadowheart inching closer marked more passing of time.
"I've never seen you so diligent," she remarked with a plum-stain tongue, "You've been at that thing all night!"
Her wine-breath carried into the wind and flirted warmly with the noses of those nearby. "Although I'm sure Vistri's been made privy to this side of you!" she chuckled to herself, "Plenty of times!"
"All night?" Wyll teased.
"Don't sell me short now, darling," Astarion cautioned before Vistri could form an answer.
She didn't hesitate to open her mouth before formulating a reply. Whatever it was that rolled off her tongue, Vistri could trust to be sufficiently clever and pleasing. Giving other people what they wanted was an instinct.
"I don't think short is a word I could use to describe any part of you."
It wasn't her best line, but Vistri was too distracted by the shadows licking Astarion's cheek to care much.
Wyll raised an eyebrow that was even more devilish than the horn above it, "What about his dagger?"
They all laughed. Shadowheart's amusement was a little more enthusiastic than the others.
"Have you seen it?" Vistri countered, "It practically runs the length of his thigh!"
Their laughter was fed by a second wave. Shadowheart stumbled against the log Wyll was sitting on, and he caught her in his lap. They exchanged more hilarity back and forth, but Vistri's mind had already wrapped around Astarion's fingers and wouldn't let go.
The way he worked reminded her of the first time she saw him string a bow. It was on the hill, by the gate of the Grove they'd just saved. There was a grace to it more honest than the rest of his graces. That was the first time she saw a hint of something underneath that vapid surface.
Disappointed that her friend left the conversation so abruptly, Shadowheart interrupted Vistri's hypnotized stare.
"Oy! Drow!" she said, flapping her hand weakly, "Quit being a pervert. Talk to us!"
"Pervert?! How am I a pervert?"
"Shall I count the ways?" Astarion drolled.
"You won't stop staring at the vampire's fingers! We get it! You two shag!"
"Shadowheart!" Vistri whined, "Why are you such a bitch tonight?"
Astarion rolled his eyes at the exchange. Their bicker was like that of two people who grew up together. Not the kind you'd expect from two people who met less than a handful of tendays ago via getting infected with mindflayer parasites!
Lae'zel came out of nowhere to ask, "Just tonight?"
This sent both Vistri and Astarion howling, bursting with relief from more conversation around their collective sex life and lingering attentions.
Shadowheart crossed her legs and flopped an arm over Wyll's shoulders.
"Watch the horns!' he warned, wary of her tipsiness.
"Come on, Wyll!" she said, ignoring him, "Let's go distract someone more grateful."
Lae'zel followed them over towards Karlach, leaving Vistri and Astarion sitting on the log alone, the fire at their backs.
Neither knew what to say, nor were they able to pay much mind to the cacophony of the others. It was isolating without being lonely.
"Really," Vistri spoke, low and blushing, after a long while, "You have my thanks for this."
Astarion smirked. It wasn't quite a real thank you, but at the same time, it was more genuine than that would have been.
"I'll have to think of a way for you return the favor."
"If you must."
There was no real energy to their banter. Not in a disinterested way, but out of the ease and directive of habit.
A stage perpetually existed under both their feet and each had parts to play. Those parts had lines. And after a lifetime of audience delight, they were finally in the presence of another actor.
It was a familiarity they could fall into that held no meaning. But the sharing of that familiarity held so much within it.
Enough to shy away from as much as delight in.
Maybe that's why they sat in silence as, one by one, the others succumbed to their bedrolls. Vistri kept the campfire going. Astarion finished up his work.
Vistri, entranced by the play of shadow across his features, thought about how he could never share her view. One moment, the firelight made him fierce, with an unforgiving brow. The next, it was heaven's light. And everything in between looked like torment.
He'd never be able to see any of it.
"You're staring at me."
"Is that a bad thing?" She posed her question flirtatiously, but truly needed an answer.
"Depends on your reason," he muttered, still not facing her directly. His focus was pulled towards each successive stitch.
Vistri didn't want to say the wrong thing. She just wanted to sit there and continue watching the dance of shadows forevermore.
"Well, I can't exactly admit it's because I want to. Can I?"
She hoped his smile was genuine.
"No, I would think that's against the rules."
"So you see now what a conundrum you've put me in?"
"Quite."
"But then if I lie, you might figure it out and tell me to fuck right off."
He suddenly looked sick.
"Astarion?"
"Nothing! I… I thought the thread fell out of the needle again."
His voice sounded louder in the quiet of the sleeping camp.
"But it didn't?"
"No, it didn't."
"Well then," Vistri said warily, "Nothing to fear."
"Nothing to fear," he nodded slowly.
His confirmation had the opposite intended effect; instead of putting Vistri at ease, it sent her mind racing with everything that was possible to fear.
All of the sudden, she wanted to leave. To be as far away from the pale vampire as possible.
Yet she was frozen in place.
Astarion, still only glancing occasionally at her shadow, missed the expression on Vistri's face, but not her shift in energy.
He took it for a festering impatience that grew impossible for her to hide.
"Here we are," he said, quickly tying up the final touch, "All better."
"You've finished?" Vistri asked, snapping out of her trance.
He handed her the armor, eager to show off his work.
"Astarion…"
They were wonderful. He hadn't just mended the one, he improved upon both. What he'd done was far beyond what she'd asked. Whereas before the original pattern seemed to be a spattering of triangles, there was now a flight of lightning.
"You hate it, don't you?"
"No! That's not…"
She loved what he did. He just did too much.
Vistri had been shorter than her knees when she learned that even the gods didn't answer one's cries for help.
So now she didn't know what to do with the treasure in her hands. The extra thought and effort.
But again, she didn't want to say the wrong thing.
Obligation was her way out. If she didn't deserve it, and she didn't, then anything extra was a means to an end. Astarion must want something.
He was at least smart enough to not ask for anything beyond her worth.
"I'm just wondering how many hours I'll have to spend on my knees to make up for this," she winked.
"Oh, please! Even I have limits to the level of flattery I'm willing to accept."
"I really mean it though. These are… actually quite wonderfully done."
"To which we say…?"
Vistri forced herself out of her own way, "Thank you."
Astarion took a sardonic bow.
"Enough!" she giggled.
"Let's see how they look on you—Here, I'll help."
Being that they ran the length of elbow-to-wrist and laced up along the sides, it was much more convenient to have someone else do it. Vistri passed them back to Astarion and held out her arms, palms up.
She felt his hands wrap around hers, pulling her closer.
"Not so far away now."
Astarion's voice was almost a whisper, his touch the equivalent. The gentleness of it was a lure, promising an intimacy they'd never earned. One they could act out as substitute for its lacking existence.
The thrill of it was dangerous. The swooping in her stomach when he stood so close was a death mark. At least if Vistri was only good for one thing, it was something she'd more than willingly give him.
There was something shiny behind a spiderweb, and she'd made the mistake of pointing it out—Vistri just had to have it! Karlach almost regretted having seen it. Her frustration with her stubborn friend burned hot, casting dancing shadows across the others’ faces.
Echoes and stalactites dripped around them. The cave’s damp, sticky air swallowed up the tiefling's booming voice within layers of soft stone.
And Vistri was a bent-over, wriggling ass.
“Hang on,” she replied with reaching effort.
Astarion sighed dramatically, “She always has to get her hands on everything!—Just let it happen! We’ll get out of here faster if we don’t argue.”
Gale wriggled his eyebrows teasingly at the vampire spawn, “You’d know that, wouldn’t you?”
Karlach threw her head back and howled. Her laughter shook the cave.
The mirth drained instantly from Gale's face. “Do you want to get us all killed?" he shushed anxiously.
“Spiders are fucked mate! We’re the only ones left.”
“We don’t know that for sure, though!" he made a great show of pointing, "And I’d rather not be taken by surprise.”
“Astarion, darling?” Vistri called out over them, still as bent over as before, “Do me a favor and hold my bum? If I could just reach... a little... further…”
Gale took the opportunity to speak first, “Go on, Astarion—The bum awaits!”
“Grab her bum!” Karlach chanted, “Grab her bum!”
Astarion rolled his eyes at them.
Then he did Vistri a favor, and grabbed her bum.
“Aaaaay!” Karlach and Gale cheered.
He stood behind her, pouting. There truly was no way to steady her hips without looking suggestive, and those two absolute children were losing it.
“Now, really!”
“Ah-HAH!” Vistri cried out in gloating triumph—Shooting upwards so abruptly, and so completely covered in spiderweb, that webbing splattered all over Astarion.
“Augh!" he spat, utterly exasperated, "That went inside my mouth!”
“Worth it!” Vistri declared, showing off her prize: Hard, dark leather armor for the forearms that laced up along the sides. They were quite plain except for the embroidery woven all along them in elegant patterns of silver thread.
“Oh, those are quite lovely,” Gale said, stepping closer.
“No!” Vistri pulled them back protectively, “I won’t let you eat these!”
“I wasn’t!—I wasn’t going to eat them! And for the last time… I don’t eat magical items, I absorb them!”
“These aren’t magical anyway," she lied, "They’re just pretty.”
Gale sighed, “I wasn’t…”
“Not as pretty as you, my dear,” Astarion grinned.
Vistri flipped one of her braids to the side, “Aw, stop!”
“Eugh, they’re being all mushy again! Gale, tell them to stop! It’s too much cuteness, I can’t take it.”
At the mention of cuteness, both Astarion and Vistri stifled imperceptible shivers of disgust.
“Why do I have to be the one to tell them to stop?”
“Cuz you’re like a dad.”
“I’m not—“
“You are!” Vistri laughed, “You’re just like somebody’s dad!”
“Not the Daddy vibes you hoped to give off, eh?” Astarion teased.
Needless to say, Gale pouted the whole way back to camp.
When they returned, Karlach announced, “Gale is everyone’s dad!”
“Oggy! Oggy! Oggy!” Wyll chanted in acknowledgment.
“Oi! Oi! Oi!” Karlach shouted, pumping her fist in the air. Gale had to duck.
While the others tried convincing Gale it was a good thing that he was the camp dad, Astarion eyed Vistri making a beeline for Shadowheart's tent. His was conveniently near enough to make a show of tidying up his space, as if paying no mind to their chat.
“You’ll never guess what I found at the bottom of a spider web,” he watched Vistri say.
Shadowheart raised a brow, “Lolth’s chosen?”
"No—And how dare you!" she rebuked with a smile before proudly revealing the treasure in her pack, “I found these beautiful things!”
"They're… Nice. Um, wow!"
Astarion couldn't quite see Shadowheart's face, but he was able to surmise from her tone that she was doing her very best to give Vistri the response she'd been hoping for.
Despite her efforts, Vistri narrowed her violet eyes and snapped, "Well… Thank goodness they're not for you!"
She stuffed the armor back into her pack before storming off, right passed him, towards Lae'zel. Astarion tossed a soiled rag vaguely into the surrounding trees.
Seeking Lae'zel's opinion must have been meant as a slight to Shadowheart, because that Githyanki was not about to blink at anything less than a silver sword. Vistri should know better than to expect anything more. He almost laughed seeing her huff away after being predictably blown off.
Next, Vistri drifted over to Halsin and Wyll. While they stood too far across camp to be heard, Astarion could tell she must have finally found compliments by the way they all gestured. Lighter of foot afterwards, Vistri even made her way over to Withers. He, however, met her findings with even less enthusiasm than Shadowheart and Lae'zel had.
Finally, she doubled-back over to him. Astarion shook out the last drops of an empty wine bottle to appear to be doing anything else besides waiting for her to reach him.
“It’s because of the undead thing, isn’t it?” Astarion smirked as Vistri approached.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“Right. Do you sew?” she asked, knowing full well already that he did.
“What?”
Vistri held up one of the arm bands, “The thread is loose here. Look!”
Her childish demands landed so startlingly different from Cazador's that it made him smile.
“Are you asking me to fix it?”
"No," she lied, rolling her eyes. The last thing Vistri ever wanted to do was ask for help, especially from him.
And the fact that she had something to lose meant Astarion had something to win. He delighted in it.
“It seems to me your new treasure is soiled and I’m the only one here you trust to mend it properly.”
"That isn't—!" she started to deny, but immediately seeing that her denial only made his expression more insufferable, suddenly decided the truth had less information in it, and admitted, "I mean… It's not—It's not un-true…"
“So, you’re asking me to fix it?”
Since he wasn't letting this go, Vistri tried another tactic and laughed, "No, you silly peach!" Then, speaking just a bit closer; holding a suggestion taut between their eyes, she told him, "You're going to offer."
Insolence was the word that came to mind. Her blinking grin said, I have a need you’re lucky enough to fulfill, but her eyes were not so sure. One only had to pay enough attention to see something shifting in them. Like slipping fingers on a precipice that would go one way or another depending on his acquiescence. Asking, Was she worth it?
Not wanting to deny her the better answer, Astarion gave in.
“Would you like me to fix it?”
Vistri's warm smile contained no acceptance or acknowledgement of his unspoken affection. She simply batted it away with blinking eyes.
"Oh, darling! How very kind of you!"
She wasted no time shoving the armor into his hands.
He caught her by the wrist as she tried to flit away. Not letting her go just yet, he demanded in a soft tone, "Say thank you."
Her breath quickened and stopped. Her focus settled over his mouth, grazing his lips still saturated in those words.
"Thank you."
Astarion dropped her wrist like it was a bite of fire.
And went to work assessing the damage.
With a closer look, he could see that it wasn't just a simple tug on the embroidery. A blade or something must have slashed it because the threading fell apart along a distinct line. The original pattern was almost unrecognizable, and even the unmarred thread was old and frayed. He'd have to use some of his own. Luckily he'd picked up a spool of silver the other day. Perhaps not the same tone, but…
Vistri was still standing there. She hadn't gone away.
“You’ve never been one for micromanagement. Please don’t start now, dear.”
“I wasn’t—I just…”
“Oh?”
Vistri scoffed, “Never mind that!”
“I think you prefer to stick around,” he teased, relishing the power that gave him, then immediately regretting the implication. What if she truly just wanted to be near him?
Scowling, Vistri turned her face away like a cat blinking someone out of existence.
Before their silence could marinate into something awkward, Gale came sauntering over, escaping cheers of “Dad! Dad! Dad! Dad!” from the other part of camp.
“What kind of nasty thing did you say to make Vistri, of all people, blush?”
“I’m not—!”
Astarion smirked, “I dare not repeat it.”
“You scoundrel!” Gale winked.
"That's where you're wrong, wizard. It's charlatan. Scoundrel is my cousin."
He caught the amused glint in Vistri's eyes from the corner of his.
Gale chuckled, but quickly decided the air between the new lovers grew too thick, and awkwardly muttered an excuse to go elsewhere.
Vistri, not wanting to be accused of wishing to stick around again, did the same.
Instead of watching her walk away, Astarion turned his full attention to the task at hand: Finding wherever the fuck he put that spool of blasted thread!
Night didn't take long to fall. They must've been in that damn cave for longer than they thought.
The campfire, shining brightly in the absence of the sun, became a refuge around which everyone gathered. Turned from its glare, Astarion felt the heat of it on his back; his eyes glued to the threadwork he was attempting to replicate.
"You know… This would go a lot faster without you looming over my shoulder," he muttered with string in his teeth.
"I am not looming!" Vistri insisted, "I'm speaking to Wyll, who as you can see if you'd look up for a moment, is sitting right by me."
"You haven't peeped a word."
"I happen to be listening."
"Well, yes. But he hasn't said anything for a while either."
Indeed, what began as a playful debate with Lae'zel about dragons had trapped Wyll inside a familiar flurry of praising Vlaakith. He hadn't said anything for a while, because he couldn't find a polite way to interrupt. As swift as Lae'zel's massive blade, each sentence cut into the next.
Hearing his name finally gave Wyll an opportunity to turn elsewhere, and he took it gladly, "Vistri! Did you know Vlaakith's fury is sweeter than a thousand astral berries?"
"What?" Lae'zel was thrown off, "There are no astral berries."
Vistri, unable to help herself, thoughtfully asked, "Then what was in that astral berry pie the other day?"
"What?" Lae'zel asked again.
"Oh bother," Vistri shrugged, sighing, "We'll never know!"
"Somebody say 'pie'?" Karlach called across the flames.
Wyll laughed and nudged Vistri, "All yours!"
Without any delay, she called back over the fire, "Ask Camp Daddy if there's any left!"
"Mystra's tits!"
Astarion watched the shadow of Vistri's hand land delicately on what he supposed was the shadow of Wyll's thigh. Such an unguarded gesture, highlighted by the dancing flames.
The thread between Astarion's fingers came into such hyper-focus that it blurred his vision as their shared laughter deafened his ears. Something like fear tightened his throat. The possibility of catching Cazador's eyes glowing in the trees was more real to Astarion than the peace of this moment continuing. His shoulders grew tight, bracing for a familiar impact. He forced himself to get lost in the embroidery before him. To pass the time before hell chose to descend.
Shadowheart inched closer, marking the passage of more time.
"I've never seen you so diligent," she remarked with a plum-stain tongue, "You've been at that thing all night!"
Her wine-breath carried into the wind and flirted warmly with the noses of those nearby. "Although I'm sure Vistri's been made privy to this side of you!" she chuckled to herself, "Plenty of times!"
"All night?" Wyll teased.
"Don't sell me short now, darling," Astarion cautioned before Vistri could form an answer.
She didn't hesitate to open her mouth before formulating a reply. Whatever it was that rolled off her tongue, Vistri could trust to be sufficiently clever and pleasing. Giving other people what they wanted was an instinct.
"I don't think short is a word I could use to describe any part of you."
It wasn't her best line, but Vistri was too distracted by the shadows licking Astarion's cheek to care much.
Wyll raised an eyebrow even more devilish than the horn above it, "What about his dagger?"
They all laughed. Shadowheart's amusement was a little more enthusiastic than the others.
"Have you seen it?" Vistri countered, "It practically runs the length of his thigh!"
Their laughter was fed by a second wave. Shadowheart stumbled against the log Wyll was sitting on, and he caught her in his lap. They exchanged more hilarity back and forth, but Vistri's mind had already wrapped around Astarion's fingers and wouldn't let go.
The way he worked reminded her of the first time she saw him string a bow. It was on the hill by the gate of the Grove they just saved, in the first battle they fought to save it. There was a grace to it more honest than the rest of his graces. It was the first time she saw a hint of something interesting underneath his vapid surface.
Disappointed that her friend had left the conversation so abruptly, Shadowheart interrupted Vistri's hypnotized stare.
"Oy! Drow!" she said, flapping her hand weakly, "Quit being a pervert—Talk to us!"
"Pervert?! How am I a pervert?"
"Shall I count the ways?" Astarion drolled.
"You won't stop staring at the vampire's fingers! We get it! You two shag!"
"Shadowheart!" Vistri whined, "Why are you being such a bitch tonight?"
Astarion rolled his eyes at the exchange. Their bicker was like that of two people who grew up together. Not the kind you'd expect from two people who met less than a handful of tendays ago via getting infected with mindflayer parasites!
Lae'zel came out of nowhere to ask, "Just tonight?"
This sent both Vistri and Astarion howling, bursting with relief from more conversation around their collective sex life and lingering attentions.
Shadowheart crossed her legs and flopped an arm over Wyll's shoulders.
"Watch the horns!" he warned, wary of her tipsiness.
"Come on, Wyll!" she huffed, ignoring him, "Let's go distract someone more grateful."
Lae'zel followed them over towards Karlach, leaving Vistri and Astarion sitting on the log alone, the fire at their backs.
Neither knew what to say, nor were they able to pay much mind to the cacophony of the others. It was isolating without being lonely.
"Really," Vistri spoke after a long while, low and blushing "You have my thanks for this."
Astarion smirked. It wasn't quite a real thank you, but at the same time, it was more genuine than that would have been.
"I'll have to think of a way for you return the favor."
"If you must."
There was no real energy to their banter. Not in a disinterested way, but out of the ease and directive of habit.
A stage perpetually existed under their feet and each had parts to play. Those parts had lines. And after a lifetime of audience delight, they were finally in the presence of another actor.
It was a familiarity they could fall into that held no meaning. But the sharing of that familiarity held so much within it.
Enough to shy away from as much as delight in.
Maybe that's why they sat in silence as, one by one, the others succumbed to their bedrolls. Vistri kept the campfire going. Astarion finished up his work.
Vistri, entranced by the play of shadow across his features, thought about how he could never share her view. One moment, the firelight made him fierce, with an unforgiving brow. The next, it was heaven's light. And everything in between looked like torment.
He'd never be able to see any of it.
"You're staring at me."
"Is that a bad thing?"
She posed her question flirtatiously, but underneath, she needed an answer.
"Depends on your reason," he muttered, still not facing her directly. His focus was pulled towards each successive stitch.
Vistri didn't want to say the wrong thing. She just wanted to sit there and continue watching the dance of shadows forevermore.
"Well, I can't exactly admit it's because I want to. Can I?"
She hoped his smile was genuine.
"No, I would think that's against the rules."
"So you see now what a conundrum you've put me in?"
"Quite."
"But then if I lie, you might figure it out and tell me to fuck right off."
He suddenly looked sick.
"Astarion?"
"Nothing! I… I thought the thread fell out of the needle again."
His voice sounded louder in the quiet of the sleeping camp.
"But it didn't?"
"No, it didn't."
"Well then," Vistri said warily, "Nothing to fear."
"Nothing to fear," he nodded slowly.
His confirmation had the opposite of its intended effect; sending Vistri's mind racing with everything that were possible to fear.
All of the sudden, she wanted to leave. To be as far away from the pale vampire as possible.
Yet she was frozen in place.
Astarion, still only glancing occasionally at her shadow, missed the expression on Vistri's face, but not her shift in energy. He took it for a festering impatience that grew impossible for her to hide.
"Here we are," he said, quickly tying up the final touch, "All better."
"You've finished?" Vistri asked, snapping out of her spiraling nightmares.
They stood for him to ceremoniously hand over the mended armor. He was eager to show off his work, and his energy was infectious.
"Ta-da!"
"Astarion…"
They were wonderful. He hadn't just mended the one, he'd improved upon both. What he'd done went far beyond what she asked. Whereas the original pattern seemed to be a spattering of triangles, there was now a flight of lightning across them.
"You hate it, don't you?"
"No! That's not…"
She loved what he did. He just did too much.
Vistri had been shorter than her knees when she learned that even the gods didn't answer wishes.
So now she didn't know what to do with the treasure in her hands. The extra thought and effort.
But again, she didn't want to say the wrong thing.
Obligation was her only way through. If she didn't deserve it, and she didn't, then anything extra was a means to an end. Astarion must want something, and she'd have to give it.
She knew he was at least smart enough to not ask for anything beyond her worth, and figured she'd get ahead of his eventual ask.
"I'm just wondering how many hours I'll have to spend on my knees to make up for this," she winked.
"Oh, please! Even I have limits to the level of flattery I'm willing to accept!"
"I really mean it though. These are… actually quite wonderfully done."
"To which we say…?"
Vistri forced herself out of her own way to say, "Thank you."
Astarion took a sardonic bow.
"Enough!" she giggled.
"Let's see how they look on you—Here, I'll help."
Being that they ran the length of elbow-to-wrist and laced up along the sides, it was much more convenient to have someone else do it. Vistri passed them back to Astarion and held out her arms, palms up.
She felt his hands wrap around hers, pulling her closer.
"Not so far away now."
Astarion's voice was almost a whisper, his touch the equivalent. The gentleness of it was a lure, promising an intimacy they'd never earned. One that they could act out as substitute for its lack.
The thrill she felt from his words was dangerous. The swooping in her stomach when he stood so close was a death mark. At least if Vistri was only good for one thing, it was something she'd more than willingly give him.
For some reason, when Astarion stood close it felt different. When he was the one to lock her in a stare with hungry eyes, it wasn't boring and inconvenient. It was…
Quite wonderful, actually.
Unbelievably wonderful!
He placed a band around one of her arms. He then took one finger and slowly traced the length of her forearm down the middle. Vistri couldn't control the tremor it caused. Witnessing it planted an affectionate smirk on Astarion's face.
"Take a look here," he said, his voice grounding her. Humming in her ears as he made faint circles on her wrist, indicating where he meant.
When she looked underneath, she found "Astarion was here" embroidered neatly along the lining. The whimsical addition rested near where her pulse would beat, forcing Vistri to wonder how much thought went into its placement.
She laughed; something a bit ugly, breaking her usual containment. A laugh that Astarion never heard before. Not a titter meant for public consumption, but a sudden collision of shock and genuine glee. The idea that he would claim her sent a parade through Vistri's treacherous heart, and the screeching guffaw she gave was its song.
"No wonder it took you so long!"
"And here I thought we had a nice, little talk about micromanagement," Astarion joked, pride warming his tone.
That small breeze of warmth spilled over Vistri's cup. The whole thing would have been a lot easier to take if he'd suddenly smacked her in the face and stole the armor back. Instead, Astarion's eyes melted in a way that almost confirmed his intent in leaving a signature was some beloved form of possession.
Like eyes meeting the sun too quickly, that possibility burned. The meaning of it too much for Vistri to bear.
If she were someone else, lovable and not put together so wrongly, she might be able to enjoy it. Or maybe if this were just another game of theirs! But for some reason, binding his name to his favor didn't feel like a game. It felt like a part of Astarion himself had been gifted.
Needless to say, he completely misinterpreted the various expressions that played out on Vistri's face.
It was too much. He knew it had been too much. But the way she'd spent the whole night absently staring in his direction made Astarion think it was the perfect addition.
Stupid.
Well… It wasn't as if he cared anyway!
There was no room to. There never was. Anyone he ever cared for was only fit for his master's midnight feast. And even though he was far away from home, the same truths still dictated the course of his undead life. Vistri was a means to an end. Nothing more.
Couldn't be more.
Oddly enough, there was something reassuring in that. It served as a reminder of who he was. And with that reminder, Astarion shook off his thoughts and began tying up the armband.
His fingers, at least, had their intended effect. They brushed against her skin as he worked, setting off little fireworks wherever they touched. A sign that she was all his to use however he wanted.
Unsettlingly enough, he found a thrill there. To have such sway over someone like her. One who could command a room and bend it to her will. Someone who shined brighter than a bouquet of stars, and pushed the barriers of possibility. Astarion could feel his breeches growing a bit tighter. More affirmation of his inherent sickness. His heart was rotten; he was awful.
And yet, Vistri willingly surrendered her lifeblood every night. It was honestly a miracle he hadn't killed her.
Did she even care?
"Show it off for us now," Astarion said once he finished lacing up both armbands.
"Let me rest my arms first!" Vistri laughed, "Oh, they're aching!"
Archer that he was, Astarion forgot holding her arms up for long like that wouldn't be comfortable.
"Don't be so dramatic," he teased, "It's hardly firing a bow!"
Vistri shook out the ache, bringing her circulation back, "Well, I don't fire bows! I cast spells."
It wasn't funny, but they laughed.
"Quit stalling and give us a twirl," Astarion chuckled.
Vistri did as he said, except instead of a twirl, posed her forearms this way and that. The moon wasn't very bright, and the embroidery glistened in their darkvision. Flickering firelight gave it the quality of water.
"You made them even better!"
"You knew I would," he smirked, "It's why you asked."
Vistri returned his smirk with an even more mischievous one, "How do you know it wasn't just to see if you'd do it?"
Astarion clicked his tongue disapprovingly, "You little minx."
Just like that, they were back to their usual games. It was safer in the shallows.
"Admit it," she said, "You were eager to show off."
"That's hardly an observation, darling. I'm always eager to show off."
It wasn't the truth, but they accepted it.
"Here," Vistri said, "Come help me with these. I've a sudden need to get comfortable."
"My, my! You've so many demands tonight!" Astarion said, stepping closer. He rested her forearms against his chest to undo the lacing.
Such closeness was disarming to Vistri, who had been planning to make some clever quip regarding his talents for undressing. It felt too much like being held. Being loved. And because it wasn't a real embrace, Vistri could savor it. Afraid to disturb him, and lose this, she kept silent as one trying not to frighten a bird.
It wasn't until he stepped away that she noticed her arms had been bound, elbow to wrist. Apparently, after he untied her armbands, he laced them back up together.
There was more heat than mirth in his eyes when she met them.
"Do you trust me?"
No. But it was more complicated than that. And from Astarion's tone, Vistri could tell he wasn't literally asking. He was seeking consent to move forward with whatever nasty little thought was on his mind.
Vistri knew she was going to say yes to whatever it was.
Astarion smirked at the display of his power written all over her face.
“Why don’t we take this little party for two into the woods?”
They snuck off together like it was a secret even though everybody already knew.
It was only a stroll through the trees, but Vistri’s heart pounded on her tongue, making her head dizzy. Astarion guided her, gentleman-like by the tips of her fingers; her only tether to the planet. Her trembling pulse revealed such an ugly truth.
“Are you planning to walk until I beg?” she teased.
Astarion sighed. Everywhere felt too exposed, and although it wasn’t likely, Cazador could be creeping behind any tree. Vistri's frantic heartbeat wasn’t helping the matter; sensing it possessed all the hunger in Astarion's mind, body, and soul. He was desperate to devour her in every way possible.
"Next time I tie you up and take you into the woods, remind me to bring a gag."
"Next time?" she flirted, "I like the idea of a next time."
"What? Can't get enough?"
She really couldn't. It was a need, to lose herself in all his appetites. To get away without going away. He was a miraculous refuge. Untrustworthy, charlatan that he was, Astarion could take away the control she never let slip. With his guiding, blessed hands, Vistri could come undone just like the lacing binding her wrists.
"Clearly, I am at your mercy," she answered, gesturing upwards with her bound forearms.
"No, my darling," he purred in his best purr, "I am at yours."
Astarion suddenly pulled her into him by the waist, cradling the side of her face in one hand like it was something precious. Vistri sighed, and he caught the end of it with his lips.
Curious how the feeling was like heaven's gate. Their worries and realities burned away and led them to a baser truth. Towards ache. And reward.
"My heart is yours for the night," Vistri said as his mouth left hers.
"Just your heart?"
"All of me."
This was all fine to say because it came after a kiss. Signifying the start of their new favorite pastime. A duel of pretty lies.
Damn it all to hell! They were still too exposed where they stood, and surrounded by ground that wouldn't be comfortable to sit on let alone… well…
But it didn't matter anymore! The only thing that existed now was the beginning of their games. Their kiss opened the floodgates, and everything they held back from in the day spilled out into the night.
Astarion gently planted a series of slow kisses along her jawline, a tease of a touch. As his hand slipped away from her cheek, it met the base of her throat.
"All of you?" he asked, seeking permission to drink.
"Yes," Vistri surrendered through another sigh.
Nipping her neck would be the most obvious way, but Astarion didn't want to come off as boring. Vistri had a quite… varied and interesting roster of past lovers, and he couldn't stand to be placed anywhere less than at the very top of that list.
The thing is, he already was. Not because of any technique or creativity on his part, although that didn't hurt, but because it was him. And Astarion was… Although, Vistri would rather die than tell him so. At least not without pretending it was a lie.
He pushed her against the nearest tree and pinned her wrists above her head. Vistri smiled at him, her heart singing a different anticipatory song than the one before. It made Astarion wish he were more than just a bloodsucking fiend.
She tossed her head to the side, inviting him to bite her neck. He leaned forward, but kissed it instead. The switch-up turned Vistri's exhale into a gasp.
Again and again, Astarion kissed her neck, refusing to bite down until the refusal drove them both mad. He was curious to see who would be most affected by his denial.
That happened to be one thing Vistri was willing to communicate. Clear affirmation of desire was what every lover wanted, but this time she wasn't pretending. The fact it had always been a lie before made it possible for her to express now that it was finally true. Vistri could give Astarion exactly what he wanted, and this time it was exactly what she wanted too.
Every subsequent kiss elicited more huffing and squirming. The sounds coming from Vistri's throat made Astarion blush even though he was the cause.
Feeling like he won something, Astarion ceased his torture and took her mouth in his. Her tongue was velvet ice, like the silver scales crowning her brow.
"You taste like a dragon."
"I don't care," she said mindlessly; clearly under his spell.
Hands shaking with the need for blood began to gently lift up her robes. Astarion knelt, resolved to finally provide them both with some relief.
"Keep your hands high above your head, darling," he commanded against her thigh.
Vistri could feel her blood rushing as if it were eager to meet his tongue down above her knees. Yet she was determined to keep her wrists firmly in place as he asked, and refused to pass out, because it was the only way she could prove her devotion.
Lips warm on her thigh slipped away, revealing knife-like fangs. Astarion trailed them lightly along her inner mid-thigh, making pleasant shivers swim through their bodies like rivers. When they pierced Vistri's skin, just enough to draw blood, it was like an arrow piercing her heart. A struggled groan sounded at the base of Astarion's throat as he set his tongue over those two weeping dots. Vistri cried out as he drank. The lighter her head became, the more she pushed her arms into the tree, determined not to move an inch.
They were both very aware of the part of him that didn't want to pull away. His hunger for blood could never be sated. He could even leave nothing left of her and it still wouldn't be enough. Yet Astarion stopped after just a few swallows. Vistri wasn't used to anyone who considered the cost of taking—and those others all had satiable appetites! Yes, Astarion was a vampire, but he was the safest monster she'd ever known.
His hands creeped up to her waist, as if to steady himself. Without looking up at her, he placed his forehead against her pelvic bone for a brief respite.
"I must have you," was all he said.
"You have me."
When he lifted his head, Vistri found his pupils to be large as planets, like a wild cat's eyes—with that same feral quality, like there was too much life in them to contain. The power that now flowed through him was so evident, like sparks at the birth of a fire. He had all the terrifying beauty of a destructive storm.
Astarion expected to see fear etched somewhere in her expression, but instead was met with something else he couldn't yet name. It looked quite like wonder, but wasn't as alienating. Instead of turning him into a very specific dream, her look planted them on equal footing. A freak witnessing another freak, eager to see every side he had to show.
And her wrists were exactly where he'd left them, raised above her head. The effort it took was evident by her lack of color.
There wasn't enough time to examine why seeing them there pulled at his dead heart. He just stood and took hold of her arms. Immediately, Vistri relinquished all the strength she had left completely over to his grip. Being able to finally let go brought such relief, tears almost came with it.
Gradually, he moved her arms. Careful not to bring them down too fast.
He'd asked for it on a whim, and she treated it like a promise. Through discomfort and even pain, she fought to fulfill it. Despite proving over and over that he wasn't worthy of anything but decay, Vistri made sacrifices in his name.
"What a dear you are," he practically whispered, "Doing exactly as I say."
Vistri's answering moan had nothing to do with touch. She could tell from the quiet struggle in his tone that Astarion had seen what she wanted to prove. His appreciation for it was more real than, I love you.
Their mouths clashed, seeking each other with shared desperation. His hands massaged the feeling back into her arms as their tongues tussled. Vistri could almost delude herself into thinking she was more than a body to use, the intensity of his kiss and the consideration he gave were a convincing portrait of love.
The only love he was likely to give ground hard against the only love she was capable of giving. A wet heat grew brighter between them with every thrust of their hips until it broke the barriers of sensation and materialized through their clothes.
"Please," she begged.
"Not yet."
He buried any further protest with his mouth. Astarion wasn't ready to let go of this exact moment and wanted to hold onto it as long as he could. To feel a real desire that was all his, not even a drop of it something Cazador had any claim to. Vistri's blood, her body, her will… all of it was his, not Cazador's.
At least until the sun came up, when she no longer belonged to him. But damn the sun! It could stay underground. He wasn't ready to give this up, to desire and be desired back so deliciously. Instead, he longed to push it to its limits.
"Gods, how I want you."
"Then take me."
"Not yet."
Giddiness seemed like a weird reaction to have, but Vistri felt like she could laugh. His denial in spite of their clear wishes was more than a sweet torture. It allowed her to savor the depths of her need because it turned her into something to be savored. She could wear her heart on her lips only because Astarion wanted to taste it.
If her arms were not bound, they would fly around him. Instead, the need to hold him simmered through her searching fingers. With the tips of them, she pulled at the base of his shirt.
Trailed her palms along his thigh.
Met the solid rock between them.
Astarion took her roaming hands in his, "I think I'd prefer for you to stay absolutely still."
His words took them both by surprise. Vistri had no idea what he had in store. Astarion didn't either; he was making it up as he went along.
Once more, he lifted her robes. Stepping between her legs, he could feel the tremble in her thighs from anticipation alone. Trembling too, he pulled himself free of his trousers.
Blast it!
The need to be interesting clashed horribly with how close Astarion held his throbbing member to her equally throbbing… Blast!
Astarion shook his head to clear it as his other mindless one almost nestled into Vistri. He held it just out of reach, the kind of closeness that created an illusion of touch. The sliver of air between them was soaking…
All Vistri had to do was slide her hips a little forward, but she didn't. Strangling every urge, she kept as still as he'd asked.
"I want you terribly so," he moaned.
Yet he didn't move. Neither did she.
"Me too," was all she could say, reduced as she was.
"Vistri…" he moaned again.
His hand began moving up-and-down under her robes.
The realization he was touching himself dawned over Vistri like the sun. She felt she would dissolve if he didn't fuck her soon, but it was so much better that he didn't.
Face to face, Astarion allowed her to witness every sensation as he felt it. Completely unguarded. The forest seemed silent because their focus was so narrow; his breathing loud in their ears.
He kept repeating her name as an intermittent whine. The muscles in his face tensed in various ways and twitched occasionally. None of his expressions were prettied up, it wasn't a show but something shared between them. Vistri was so wet that her slick pooled. A string of it reached across the space between them and landed on his hot skin. Still, she fought not to move an inch.
His nostrils began to flare with the staccato of his increasingly heavy breath. Vistri could feel his pleasure building through the sight and sound of him as if it were her own. The glaze in Astarion's eyes as he got near completion made it feel as if she were reaching completion herself. As his body shook, and she felt a hot wetness splash her thigh, an answering pulsation ran through her middle, making her cry out.
Except instead of release, an even more ferocious hunger screamed through Vistri's skin.
Panting, Astarion rested his head against her chest. He couldn't remember being so turned on in 200 years. He had Vistri in such an undeniable state, and yet she wouldn't move at all without his command. She wouldn't take what was in front of her, and something about that was blindingly fantastic.
Vistri planted a kiss on his forehead, and then unable to stop herself, licked the sweat from his brow.
"You little freak," he smirked happily.
"Oh shit—I moved..."
"Ah, that's right. I don't recall telling you to stop. But you just couldn't help it, could you?"
She shook her head.
"And you were doing such a good job of it before…" he clicked his tongue.
Trailing a hand up her unsoiled thigh, Vistri's breath came through as a shudder. Just one slight tease of a stroke along her cunt was enough to drench his fingertips. He slipped one inside, and his eyes rolled back at her receptiveness.
"Please," she groaned.
"Move if you must," he answered.
Vistri dissolved in his hands like melted sugar. He could bring her to orgasm with just a suggestion, and yet she hadn't moved a muscle when it counted. The way she wouldn't dare touch him despite her suffering drove him madder than bloodlust.
Astarion dropped to his knees, kissing between her legs as fiercely as he had above. Needing every part of her, he licked his fingers as they stroked her. Sensing her climax just beyond his tongue, he enticed it with a growl. It came as bidden.
Her fingers clutched at his hair despite their limited movement. The woods went quiet at the sound of her cries, as if nature bent its ear to listen.
The sensation snatched the sight from the back of her eyes, but it still wasn't enough. Knees too weak to stand, Vistri met him near the ground where they tore at each other with kiss after kiss. They eventually rolled over the tangled root system, ignoring the jabs that bruised them. Until—
"Ah!" Astarion exclaimed at one point.
"What?"
"These damned roots keep trying to bugger me!"
"Oh that was the roots? I thought you had a finger up my bum."
They laughed and ran over to more forgiving ground.
When Astarion was ready again, he threw Vistri's legs against her chest and sunk into her. Their shouts echoed and died among the surrounding canopy of leaves. Now they'd indulged in their prolonged desire, they sought to drive each other over the peak as many times as possible before sunrise.
Because once the sun rose, they would have to stop. And this was the only way they knew how to belong to each other.
v---v v---v v---v v---v v---v
As with every morning after, Vistri stirred from the loss of Astarion at her side. The heat of the night before was buried by the following day, and the whole world went cold.
Astarion wasn't gone, per say. He was just awake, standing to bask in the light. Vistri wasn't fluttering out of trance in his arms, but she also wasn't finding herself alone in a completely abandoned room. Which was more than other lovers were able to say.
Seeing him standing there with his eyes closed made Vistri want to jump up to join him, but last night was already over. Although her arms were no longer bound, other invisible restraints kept her from throwing her arms around Astarion.
While his eyes were contentedly shut, they were still very aware.
“Good morning,” he greeted without opening them.
Vistri smirked, "Late to bed; early to rise?"
When Astarion opened his eyes, the expression Vistri hoped to see in them again was gone; buried beneath a thin, translucent layer, but she managed to miss it anyway. All she could see was the empty surface.
“I recall the dark lightening to dawn before we stopped,” he joked.
Laughing, Vistri teased, "I guess we'll have to update Wyll."
"What in the blazes does Wyll have to do with anything?"
"You don't remember? He asked if you could go all night, and you did."
"Well, there's a first time for everything."
At least laughing together could remain the same. And a bit of flirting here and there didn't hurt either.
Vistri walked over, smirking. She got close enough to whisper into his ear.
“You made my thighs shiver in ways I didn’t know were possible.”
Astarion turned towards her just enough for his cheek to brush against hers, smelling her breath as it permeated the air around them. It was overwhelmingly Vistri and made every part of him stiffen.
“Nasty little tease, you are.”
"I know! I know!" she backed away, "Off to camp!"
Astarion started to get dressed, “Another unholy day ahead of us!”
Vistri felt something shatter. She didn’t want to go back to camp and the road. She wanted to be bound again. For it to stay last night forever.
“You belong to me,” he'd said, holding her tied wrists, “Nothing else exists but you and I, and you’re all mine.”
She blinked back the recent memory of his words as they stung in her throat. Her bones were heavy, but she got dressed despite them. Vistri shouldn’t want to belong to anyone, especially not a rakish vampire spawn whose baggage seemed to be made of the same material as hers.
"Thank you again for these," she said to keep from crying.
"What?"
Vistri held up the armbands he mended.
"Oh, right… You don't have to keep thanking me."
"Then I won't."
Some truths, they were only able to face under moonlight.
I've finally finished my draft of chapter 3 for Thin Ice! (90s enemies-to-lovers ice skating au - Astarion/Tav)
I added a paragraph last night in the part below to give a bit more clarity on the timeline. [starting with, "Not that he had even a crumb of pity..."]
cw: misogyny, jealousy, Cazador mentions
Cazador forced Astarion to retire. Coming back was a rather explicit defiance of those orders. And yet… Nothing. Astarion simply hadn't heard from him in a while.
At all…
And such a silence was louder than any explosion.
Admittedly, it was a little unnerving… On the other hand? If one chose to be delusional about it—It was wonderful! Astarion's favorite moments were always the ones where he let the delusions win. Why not have a little fun until reality reared its despicable head? He should show up at that party anyway—Why not? After all, a few hours is still considered fashionably late, no?
No.
Even if he wasn't in such a reduced state, Astarion still wouldn't be able to attend. Vistri would have to go it alone. Take on every fan and executive herself. All the corporate boardroom praise and genuine admiration mixed into one false smile. White teeth.
Not that he had even a crumb of pity to spare her! Especially not after practice earlier. Astarion wasn't sure which had been worse; their initial meeting when her inclusion came as a nasty surprise, or the second where he knew to expect her. The only thing he was confident in was that the day between hadn't been a sufficient enough break! Why would he even want to go to that party if it meant seeing her twice in one day?
Gods! What wouldn't he do to get at that arrogant, indigo throat of hers!? To snap it just like a rat, and drink! Drink plenty! To take her mind, her life, her power—and devour it. Make it his!
Perhaps ferment the leftovers into a nice vintage.
There is a cake in the middle of the room. The cake is shaped to look exactly like Halsin’s booty cheeks. Vistri and Astarion wiggle their way over and lick a frosted cheek each.
“Time to eat the groceries,” Withers says, suddenly appearing with his big naturals.
“Oh my! What big honking naturals you have, sir!” Vistri exclaims and then faints.
Astarion, overcome by Withers’ big naturals, shrieks like a fox in heat.
"You there," Withers addresses Astarion and then narrows his eyes, "Wet boy."
"Yeeeeeeeeesssss?"
"Pick up your slut."
Astarion gives a salute to the big tiddy goth god and bends to retrieve his fallen drow.
"Come now, my sweet chili cheese sauce," he murmurs, gathering her up in his pale, lathered arms, "Time for us to make nachos for the devil."
Vistri slides out of Astarion's arms as he rises. He's just too wet!
"No! My beloved!"
"You have failed, wet boy!" Withers shouts, his big naturals shaking with emotion.
Astarion weeps, "But I must not fail!"
Gasping, Vistri rises from her unconscious state. It is a miracle! She has risen!
"It is a miracle!" Astarion exclaims, "She has risen!"
Withers suddenly grows eyebrows just to wiggle them, "So have I."
Astarion gasps, "No wonder they call you the bone man!"
"They also call me: Rigor Mortis."
And with that, Withers exits in a flash. Sparkles are left behind in his wake, and when Astarion peers for a closer look, he finds the glitter to be confetti shaped like little dicks.
"My gods!" Vistri cries behind him, "He vanished into the remnants of a bachelorette party!"
"And took his big naturals with him," Astarion despondently states, head hung low in despair like elderly testicles.
"But all is not lost! We still have each other!"
"You're right!"
Astarion runs over and grabs Vistri by the bum.
"My toot-toot!" she exclaims, leaning into his hands.
"Yeeeesssss," he says ravishingly, "I'm going to slide into your toot-toot like a hot noodle."
"Mmmmm," she moans, "Fuck me like Ramen."
"Not so fast!" Astarion insists, moving his hands to her front, "I'd like to invade your tooter and your cooter."
Vistri cums.
So hard.
It's such a hard, long cum.
"That was nice," she says after.
"I haven't even started," he promises.
"I have."
Astarion smirks proudly, "Yes, you have."
"I did a big cum."
"Yes, dear. I was there."
"Yeah."
"Yeah."
"Yeah."
"Okay."
"Yeah."
"You done, love?"
"No! Watch this!!!"
Vistri jumps and runs around in a circle a few times before diving to the ground and throwing her legs up over her head. She reaches between them and pulls out a row of brightly-colored anal beads.
Then another. And another!
Like a birthday party clown, Vistri pulls row and row of anal beads out of her tooter.
Astarion has tears in his eyes, "You're so talented. I couldn't love you more."
"It's all for you. You have to know—It's all for you!"
OH NO! LOOK OUT! IT'S THE CHAT BOT!
THE CHAT BOTS OF AO3 HAVE BREACHED THROUGH THE COMMENT SECTION AND INVADED THE TEXT ITSELF!
Your Tavstarion one shot masterfully transforms the text to be full of tension and woe. I really liked when Withers big naturals rescued the wet boy. Do you think the juxtaposition of being wet and a boy will lead to the resolution of Vistri's big cum?
OH MY GOD! AN OPPONENT HAS ENTERED THE RING WITH THE AO3 CHAT BOT!—AN INFLUENCER APPEARS!
Come with meee as I walk to the local whorehouuusse on this little unknown path called Times Square New Yooork. I picked up a local delicacy called Little Ceasars Pizza. It's super cute! Super sexy! And it's PACKED with proteeeeiin.
HELP US! OH DEAR LORD GOD! THE AO3 CHAT BOT AND RANDOM INFLUENCER HAVE BEEN EATEN BY THE MODERN CORPORATE WORKER!
Let's circle back.
"No!" Astarion shouts, "No! This is too much! I don't WANT this! Wet boy needs to get his pee-pee ate!"
Vistri drops to her knees, drooling profusely like a komodo dragon.
"Put your corpulent log into my drenched maw!" she begs, "All 24,000 inches!"
"But my penis! It's too big!"
"I don't care how large it is, Astarion! I want to tickle it with my pink lips!" she insists, full of love.
He grabs her head, fingers singing opera in her hair. A German one.
"Give me sucky-sucky."
Vistri looks him deep in the eyes. So deep it rivals the lowest trenches of the most bottomless seas.
"I will give you sucky-sucky," she says seriously. It's the most serious thing Vistri has ever said.
She closes her eyes and opens her mouth wide, and in he goes.
And out.
And in.
And so forth. Until his love juice bursts forth like a geyser!
"Ooooohhhhhh GODS! I am having a cum!"
There is a chorus. They are dressed in full church choir costume. They are all Gale.
They sing, "Oooooooooh! GODS! (Goooooooods!) I am!!!!! (Oooooohhh I aaaaammm!) Having aaaaaaaaaaaa (aaaaaaaaaaa) aaaaaaaa cum! (cum cum cum)!"
Vistri swallows all of it. Like Kirby. It turns her into a ball.
Astarion adoringly strokes her face, "My darling little nut sac."
She smiles and the jizz inside her begins to absorb. Gradually, Vistri reshapes from a cum-ball back into her usual form.
"It's because I'm a dragon," she says.
"Yes."
They kiss. It's sweet. The whole chorus of Gales start to jack off.
"Off with you, Chorus-Gale!" Astarion yells, "This is a private moment!"
Vistri stomps her foot, "Let him/them watch!"
Astarion rolls his eyes and sighs obligingly, "Alright. For you, dear."
"Oh! You make me so happy I could cum!"
She does.
So does Chorus-Gale.
And Astarion again.
"Wow! What a party!" someone says.
It's Karlach. But she's turned into a giant chicken. But she also has a large pussy on her chest with large, heavy flaps.
"Behold, Astarion!" Vistri points to Karlach with wonder, "Christ has risen once more!"
Karlach winks, "Christ. Jesus Christ. Shaken, not stirred."
They all start sobbing and cumming so hard. It's so loud and so powerful. It's like a super storm, but horny.
"And that's the true meaning of Easter," Giant-chicken-with-a-huge-pussy/Jesus Christ-Karlach says before making her departure.
Shocked by the holy revelation, Vistri and Astarion turn to one another.
Astarion's voice is shaking when he asks, "Do you know what that means?"
Vistri nods enthusiastically, looking like a slutty bobblehead.
"Yes!"
"How the Easter Bunny lays its eggs?"
"Yes!—The eggs were Withers' big naturals all along!"
Astarion, crying freely, nods, "They were! They were always Withers' big naturals."
They hug, overcome with the revelation of Karlach-chicken-Christ.
"I love you, my cunty medical drip," Astarion coos.
[Ao3 link] | [Previous chapter] | [From the beginning]
[[TW/CW: Blackmail, self-destruction, coveting the destruction of others, gambling/debt, captivity/Cazador mentions, cptsd and past trauma references]]
Summary: Now that Mr. Ancunín and Lady Harper are co-conspirators, they have some plans to make.
A blush bloomed over Mr. Ancunín’s features like the sun breaking through shadow.
“Thank you!” he exclaimed, his voice like that of an ecstatic lover, "Thank you!"
A single tear trickled down his reddened cheek as he took hold of Vistri's hand with shaking palms.
She stood stock still, awakening from the dead only to wrench away her hand as he brought it to his full, warm lips.
Still tasting them…
Unperturbed by her flinching, Mr. Ancunín indolently resumed his position on the sofa, apparently quite pleased with himself.
“Well,” he wriggled his brow, “Aren’t you going to invite her back in?”
Vistri narrowed her eyes, “Give me a moment.”
Mr. Ancunín moved his thighs apart, just so, displaying the clear outline of damnable evidence still lingering between them.
Noticing her notice, he flashed a foxlike grin, "Need a bit of time to compose yourself, darling?"
Vistri frowned.
“Here!” she hissed, “Put this over your lap!”
Suddenly and unceremoniously, she grabbed the nearest throw pillow and chucked it in his direction with more force than intended.
“Ooooof!”
Mr. Ancunín caught it with his face.
“Why in the hells are you so bloody strong?!”
Vistri further smoothed her skirts in a hurried manner, “Relax!”
The doors flew open with a bang, the housekeeper a blur as she strode through the room seemingly bent on a scandalous discovery.
Anything that would give her the excuse to banish this pest for good.
Her mistress stood scowling as the pest sat smirking. Jaheira saw nothing untoward.
At first!
But having sensed something nefarious, performed another scan, and took account of the pillow now gracing Mr. Ancunín’s lap. Her lips thinned to the size of sewing needles.
“I did not call for you.”
“I heard a shout.”
"Am I not allowed to shout inside my own house?" Vistri scoffed, "That wasn't me anyway. Must have been a fox or something."
At the word, fox, Jaheira raised a brow and tilted her head subtly in Mr. Ancunín’s direction. Checking to see if her mistress was speaking in some sort of code.
To which Vistri rolled her eyes and roughly exhaled before shaking her head conspicuously.
The theoretical fox observed the exchange attentively, utterly fascinated by such a puzzling dynamic between mistress and servant.
Either Lady Harper was especially easy to take advantage of, or there was some kind of elaborate story between the two. Astarion was hopeful for the latter, but considering the incident in the woods, and that she kissed him just after getting blackmailed… It was most likely the former.
Poor girl, he thought. Then shrugged off his morality, Oh well!
It was a dangerous thing, for a gambler such as himself, to believe in one’s own good luck, but he couldn’t help feeling like his prayers no longer fell upon deaf ears. When Astarion looked at Lady Harper, he saw a treasure trove of opportunity. Perhaps even a way out. Anything felt possible! Not even her dreadful housekeeper could ruin his mood.
“Are you done?” Jaheira asked, full of frigid politeness.
“With our private conversation?” Vistri quipped, casually poisonous, “Yes. With our tea? Not quite.”
Jaheira’s deft curtsy was a deliberate, fuck you.
Determined to get in the last jab, Vistri cleared her throat and commanded, “Speaking of… My cup is empty.”
If not for the presence of Mr. Ancunín, Jaheira would have told her to get it herself. Instead, she turned with a slight bow to fetch the teapot.
While her housekeeper's back was turned, Vistri gestured desperately at Mr. Ancunín to drink up his tea. Having left it untouched would arouse more suspicion, and it was only by the grace of the gods Jaheira hadn't already noticed.
Lady Harper's message was clear enough, but she was too amusing to placate. The hand gestures and mimicry she implemented grew more exaggerated with every repetition.
Astarion lifted his cup but stopped there, pretending he had no idea what to do next after holding it up to his lips. Lady Harper glared.
"Is it not to your tastes, Mr. Ancunín?" Jaheira asked, coming around to serve her mistress; noticing his almost-full cup and apparent hesitation to drink.
"Not at all," he politely reassured her, "I simply found myself too wrapped up in conversation with this delightful creature before me to notice much else. A very gifted tongue, your mistress has."
Jaheira almost spilled tea on Vistri's lap.
"Please hold your cup still, baroness."
"I am! You're the one flinching! Can we not demonstrate to our guest that we know how to run a household?”
"As it pleases you," she nodded.
Taking her cue to uphold the dignity of their house, Jaheira slipped into her professional role and expertly stacked two plates with sandwiches and cakes. She even topped off Astarion's cup before making her exit.
And again, they were alone.
"Well…" Vistri said before anything could spiral out of control.
"Well," Mr. Ancunín agreed.
Many feelings fought to be felt at once, leaving none capable of taking center stage.
"I no longer have need of this," Mr. Ancunín teased to fill the silence, gently tossing the pillow.
Vistri couldn't catch it without spilling her tea, so it fell to the floor.
He frowned, "Oh, dear."
There was a slight pause before they both laughed. A sense of relief settled over them, but their merriment did nothing to lessen the tension in the room.
It was pulled taut.
Mr. Ancunín nodded towards the door, "Excellent service."
"She really is quite capable, I assure you."
He raised his brow at that, possessing Vistri with the need to defend her.
"Truly! Do not interpret our familiarity as something lacking in her competence."
Vistri took his answering pause and sip of tea for a show of victory. But then his brow furrowed.
"Do you…" he began, "Is it a habit of yours to be overfamiliar?"
Between her dealings with him and the recent incidents with her housekeeper, Vistri gathered a pretty picture of how she must come off. The realization brought heat to her countenance.
She cleared her throat before protesting, "Circumstances have been rather… Unique."
"Oh?"
Mr. Ancunín had the stench of a gossip hound about him. Vistri had no fondness for it, considering it was at her expense. No doubt the scoundrel was looking for something else to damn her with.
Dismissing her silence as if it hadn't been an outright refusal to elaborate, he prompted further.
"Sounds fascinating! Do tell."
"I'd rather not," she frowned.
Gods only know why he showed mercy, but Mr. Ancunín raised his hands in a gesture of surrender and dropped any further investigation.
Vistri took a relieved nibble of cake.
Perhaps propelled by his recent string of luck, he prodded her with a different stick.
"Well, then. How about we pursue another subject? We must pass the hour somehow! To lose it to silence would be absolutely tragic."
"Would it?" she quipped dryly.
He smiled as if her annoyance were a delicious treat. Then he spoke just as he had on the piano bench.
"Did our little… indulgence this afternoon cure you of your stranger's curse?"
No.
"Now that you mention it, I'd already forgotten," she answered with a gracious smile, "Rest assured, it won't happen again."
An obvious lie, as their bodies still struggled to shake off the effects, but her words were a surprising knife twisting in Astarion's stomach anyway.
"Good," he said grimly, "And now that matter is settled, we can fully devote ourselves to our new cause."
"Do not mind if I leap for joy."
"Tsk, tsk!" he admonished, acknowledging her clear sarcasm.
Getting the intended rise out of her lifted his spirits. Perhaps so because it eased his guilt. If Lady Harper still had access to her ire, surely his taking advantage hadn't broken her terribly.
Truly, it hadn't broken Vistri at all as it should have. Somehow the blood on his hands didn't quite stick with the knowledge they were commanded on puppet strings. A very sick part of her even felt thankful for his villainy. That he had chosen her to so exploit, so that she may have a hand in aiding him.
"How exactly do you suggest we advance our positions in society?" she asked begrudgingly.
"Funny you should ask! For I have just the thing," he grinned through his teeth, "There's been an invitation for tea and supper addressed to the Shadowhearts come 'round this morning. Not a very promising prospect, but! I think it's better for any story to have humble origins, do you not?"
Perhaps because of his casual nature, Vistri roiled with a rage bordering on grief. A surprising and overwhelming sudden storm. She dismissed it due to its ridiculousness, only speaking once it had been properly subdued.
"Oh?" she asked, "From whom?"
Mr. Ancunín gave a disapproving sound from his throat as he finished his sip of tea. Having swallowed, he answered with a scoff, "That dreadful little spinster. Muffin-something."
"Lady Quim?!"
"Lady what?!"
Vistri laughed, "Heavens! Has Jenevelle never told you? Her name is Muffington; around these parts she's Lady Quim—Not to her face, of course!"
The smirk of a cambion graced Mr. Ancunín's features, "What do you think would happen if somebody did?"
"Oh, you are wicked!" she laughed anew.
While it was sure to be a tedious and lacking venture, any respectable gathering provided an opportunity for them to insert themselves favorably into local gossip. Gossip, after all, fermented curiosity and curiosity would inevitably lead to other invitations.
Besides, tea and supper at Muffington's was a rather more appropriate venue for a recent widow to attend than a ball. An important aspect considering they were meant to be polishing each other's reputations.
With their initial plans hastily made, the two of them finished their tea like any other lady and gentleman. Acting their roles as expected by society. Any hint of impropriety tucked away for the moment. Within and without view of the servants.
Until it was time for farewells.
Mr. Ancunín seemed at once eager and hesitant to leave, turning on his heel and back again. The pressure Vistri felt had lifted from her chest came to settle back down as she once more met his face.
"I am grateful for this, you know."
His voice was a little softer, a bit less sure of itself. His hands fussed awkwardly with one another.
All the same, Vistri tossed him a resentful look, "You didn't leave me much choice."
To which he gave a lighthearted shrug, "'Tis only a little blackmail, darling."
Jaheira monitored Mr. Ancunín's exit from a high window, following his journey with hawk's eyes until he was fully out of sight.
She sat back in her chair with a sigh, her eyes closing themselves with a shudder of peaceful resignation.
Footsteps inevitably came. Welcome ones, but footsteps nonetheless. They creaked with the weight of the man who walked them.
"Ma'am," Cal bowed. Jaheira didn't need to turn around to know it was her tiefling associate.
"Yes, Mr. Smith?"
He informed her Mr. Ancunín had indeed left the grounds. He had the stablehands check every crevice under the guise of deep cleaning, and assured her that the groundskeeper's staff were given the instruction to immediately report anything out of the ordinary. He'd warned the groundskeeper earlier of a band of thieves supposedly about.
"Thank you, Cal. Very good."
Catching the dismissal in her tone, he bowed his head and turned to leave, but Jaheira stopped him in his tracks.
"How is your family?"
While it hadn't been long since she roped Cal into her confidence, Jaheira was quite impressed with her choice of ally. The lad was subtle in the right ways, and his general warmth made him popular without being a target of constant attention. She'd already begun to feel Cal's impact in the household.
So perhaps it came time to pay him his dues.
Smiling, Cal answered, "They're well, thank you. Ready to go at your word, ma'am."
"Wonderful. Please inform them everything is in order for their travel when the time is right."
There was only one final component: approval from the baroness. Unfortunately, Jaheira could easily predict the rest of the evening would be occupied by her mistress' temper, so that conversation would have to wait another day.
These new additions to staff could be the beginning of real change. If the other Smiths were anything like their brother, Harper House had the potential to become something closer to a home than a prison. At least, that was the point of this whole endeavor. To reside in something that was truly theirs. Not as thralls to the dark power housed within the stones of this cursed place.
Even Astarion had some sense of oppression rolling off his shoulders as he crept closer to the Shadowhearts' estate. Without any knowledge of the evils of Harper House, he interpreted the effect as due to increased distance from his object of regret. Every step further away was a lighter one.
Lady Harper was the first ray of hope he'd tasted in a long time. Nevermind he could still sense the heat of her mouth on his! No opportunity had presented itself so perfectly before. She was charming with the potential to be dazzling. Regardless of their reputations, he was sure that together they'd be invited to any table. Hells, even royalty would surely want the pair of them to dine!
Furthermore, he'd be in complete control. Even after everything, she didn't hate him. Instead, she seemed to pity and desire him. He could use that. And when it came time to wed the unfortunate creature who was to be his mark, the baroness would surely keep his dastardly secret.
Even though he wouldn't dare allow himself to think of it in earnest, freedom was finally a fleeting possibility.
The aforementioned Lady Harper hadn't yet left the parlor with the piano. She sat unmoving on the sofa in the place of their final kiss, damning herself for her despisable weakness.
It had been of sound logic! Their little scheme to erase the stranger from her lips. She thought reality would shatter the fantasy. Usually that's how things worked!
Gods! Her expectations of the baron had been practically minimal and look at how that all turned out!
Vistri got up and wandered over to the piano, meeting its keys with a light stroke. No warmth from Mr. Ancunín remained.
No small part of her hoped the late-baron enjoyed their little show. Breaking a deathbed vow that these walls would never again know joy, his darling, wretched parlor had been filled once more with music. Another man's song.
A slight smile played on her lips.
Aside from any damage it might do Lady Hallowleaf, her dear friend's cad of a cousin was a blessing sent from the hells themselves. Scandal already existed between them, and Vistri had a feeling their crimes would only accumulate upon continued company.
If she was never allowed to truly live, she'd settle for the chance to destroy.
Self-destruction alone was a masturbatory endeavor. It wouldn't do! One ruin alone wasn't worth seeking. Vistri was looking to dig a sick pit that sunk her and everyone else in proximity forever into infamy. If she was going down, she'd have her revenge along the way. Her late-husband's family name and legacy deserved nothing more than to be tainted. Vistri would make sure the barony was never spoken of again except in sneering whispers and disgusted tones.
If Mr. Ancunín had his way, another ancient family line would shatter alongside the baron's. Vistri would make sure it befell one equally as deserving. And it just so happened that she already had a long list tucked away in her mind's eye.
Goodness! She was practically giddy!
Turning her thoughts towards her blackmailer and defiler, Vistri sighed in delight. Mr. Ancunín was the answer to all the pleas she gave over to the stars every night of her marriage.
Vistri was no fool. Mr. Ancunín would brazenly use her to fit his wishes and exploit what he could, but that made him the exact sort of savior she needed.
He was a plague rat as far as morality was concerned, and she would be the wind carrying his pestilence to society.
It could all burn.
High society preached perfection and goodness, but rarely lived up to it. Even the best among them were guilty of something. For some, their only evil was simply ignorance, but it was an evil all the same.
For which Vistri would never forgive them.
None objected to her marriage when they were asked to speak now or forever hold their peace. Everyone who smilingly welcomed them into their acquaintance was complicit. They treated the baron as a member of the peerage, not as the demon he really was.
She would never forget them for teaching her how little she mattered. How even her body wasn't her own. Vistri was a prized breeding horse and that was the limit of her worth.
Fuck me like a farm animal.
Having shouted it on all fours, tucked away in the wilds… The recollection felt like a story she'd heard rather than a sin recently committed. But the fruits it planted in her soul were confirmation of its reality.
As much as the experience brought color to her cheeks, it was liberating. Her reality, her fears; all of it given over to the forest floor. And her stranger—Mr. Ancunín, that is—willingly took her in all her filth and ravished her to blindness.
Odd, how pure that felt in comparison to anything under the baron's lecherous clutches.
"To the hells with you," Vistri muttered under her breath; cursing the baron, Mr. Ancunín, and most of all, herself.
