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It starts when you startle awake with your pompous travel companion looming over you, sharp canines bared in the warm glow of the fire light. Something deep down – that voice that has been calling for blood – understands the centuries old vampire. Knows intimately the need for blood, even if not for sustenance. You let him drink from you that night. And again a few days later. And again, until it becomes a nightly routine for you both.
It’s innocent enough, at first. But as the weeks go on, the journey to finding more about the tadpoles burrowed inside your brains seemingly never ending, you find yourself growing fond of Astarion.
And then you wake up covered in blood, standing over the mutilated body of Alfira, with no recollection of having killed the sweet bard. A bard yourself, you had encouraged her song, ignoring the twisting nausea and swallowing the acrid bile creeping up your throat. Maybe that’s why it happened. Had you angered this hidden part of you? Was this the tadpole’s doing, or is it protecting you from a life you can’t remember, one where you did horrific, monstrous things with glee and laughter?
Astarion doesn’t judge you when the truth comes out. No one does, for the most part, but it’s his opinion of you that means the most, especially when everyone else keeps a closer eye on you after the incident.
One day, you let slip that you don’t remember your life before you had been abducted and the tadpole implanted. Again, Astarion doesn’t judge you. He doesn’t stop feeding from you. In fact, he begins to open up more and more. He tells you of his past - of his time with Cazador. You watch pridefully (and deep down, lustfully) as he kills the hunter after him, later on promising to keep each other safe. You even bond over the possibility of using the illithid power to get what you both want: freedom.
He, from his eternal servitude to his vampire master, and you from whatever shackles of your past still cling to your soul.
There’s a light playfulness between you both you aren’t sure how to define. Astarion, ever the charmer, flirts with you easily, but never any of the other traveling companions. As far as you know, he only feeds from you – and animals, of course, as he is unable to take his fill of you without killing you. (Your body aches with want for him to try, itching to rip his dead heart right out of his chest.)
It’s stagnant, this dance between the two of you, until one night.
It had been a particularly difficult day, running into numerous foes, all ending with bloodied bodies on the ground. By the time you make it back to camp, your body is buzzing with the thrill of your kills. You’re unable to fall asleep, so when Astarion sneaks over to your bedroll, he’s surprised to find you sitting up, foot shaking in an attempt to rid yourself of the extra energy.
“Dear,” he drawls, hand pressing down on your knee to stop the movement. “Anxious, are we? I thought you would be used to my nightly visits by now.”
A small smile tugs at your lips, finding comfort in the small gesture. “Not anxious. Just… awake.”
Snow white brow quirking up, Astarion observes you for a moment before giving you his usual smirk. “Saves me the trouble of waking you. Why don’t you lay down and get comfortable?”
“Can we– like this? Sitting up.”
The fang-clad grin doesn’t falter for a second. “Whatever you wish, darling.” He sits next to you, facing you for ease of access, and you don’t waste a second baring your neck to him. He wastes no time either.
Astarion’s fangs pierce the column of your throat, the familiar sting sending a rush throughout your already on edge body. Instead of grasping onto your bedroll, your hands reach out to hold his waist, fists clutching the soft cotton of his shirt. Astarion lets out a hum that vibrates against your skin. Sitting upright leaves his own hands free of having to hold himself above you, and you feel his hand slide up to cup around your neck, thumb hooking against your chin to keep you in position as he drinks from you.
A sigh leaves your lips as the sharpness fades, and all you can feel is his lips on your skin. You burn hot from head to toe, something stirring within you. Your mind wanders, imagining how his mouth would feel elsewhere on your body.
Would Astarion be a gentle lover? He seemed gentle with you during these moments, at least. Or would he be rough and demanding, taking what he wants from you as he pleases? You think of him pressing you against a tree, out of sight from the others, kicking your legs wide and burying himself deep within you.
Gasping at the image, you melt in his grasp, and Astarion has enough mind to lay you down gently against your bedroll. He doesn’t pull away, though, taking your tight hold on his waist as a good sign. Shifting his body over you, pressing up against you, and you feel as though you are consumed with flames, much like Karlach. Your body fights against itself, wanting to both give in and to take back control, hips twitching to arch against the charming immortal. You want him to consume you. To claim you. To take all you have to give.
No, it whispers. How dare you take what’s mine. Your vision blurs as Astarion drinks more from you than he ever has in one night before your body moves on its own. A hand grasps at his thick white locks, pulling tight, and Astarion releases your throat from his jaws with a gasping groan. He stares at you, eyes blown and wide, as your own stare at his blood stained lips.
Mine.
Your free hand comes between your bodies, thumb swiping across Astarion’s mouth before tasting it yourself, eyes fluttering shut. You’re unsure who the noise comes from, but the moment your eyes open again, you come back to yourself.
And become very aware of the situation you’re in. Astarion’s right hand still lingers against your throat, his body flush against your own as your hand in his hair keeps him there. It’s the closest you have ever been, and you might be eager to keep him there were you not embarrassed at what you had just done.
“I–” Both arms release him as if he were the one on fire. Your mouth opens and closes like a fish out of water as you struggle to find the words to… apologize? Explain? Unsure and unable to look at the man you not-so-secretly desire, you squirm nervously beneath him. That’s when you feel it.
Inhaling sharply, your body goes stiff. Astarion pulls away hastily, clearing his throat as he lays both hands in his lap in an attempt to conceal the tenting of his trousers.
“Ah, my apologies. I took too much, it seems. Forgive my body for acting on its own accord. It’s just the blood rush.”
It makes sense, at least you think it does. You’re unsure the exact bodily functions of vampire spawn, but you’re too mortified with your own body’s decisions to ask for clarification. You sit up slowly, swaying slightly as your vision gets spotty for a moment.
“Are you alright?” Astarion’s voice is laced with more concern than he’s ever shown anyone else.
You hum. “Yes. I didn’t mean to scare you. I’m fine, promise.” You do your best to smile reassuringly, still unable to meet his gaze. You feel silly, guilty… and horny. Not the ideal combination, and you don’t want to further embarrass yourself by attempting to take care of the roiling desire in your groin. His own predicament is merely a reaction to an influx of blood in his system, not because he likes you in any capacity more than the friendly back and forth you’ve built up to.
“Right,” the vampire says after a moment of silence. He reaches over to grab a bottle of water from your pack and hands it to you before standing much less gracefully than his usual demeanor. “Rest up, darling. Long day ahead of us tomorrow.”
Instead of moving to his bedroll, Astarion disappears into his tent. Your back hits your own bedroll and you huff quietly, fists balled tight. Sleep doesn’t come easy that night.