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“We hope to see you soon!” calls the cashier from behind the desk, waving amicably as you leave with your arms laden with scrolls and books. You manage a smile over your shoulder, no hand free to return the kind gesture.
“I’m sure you will!” you reply. This is true. Gale has probably spent a small fortune at Sorcerous Sundries, and - with the amount of time he’s been spending with Tav recently - supply runs have fallen to you. Not that you particularly mind. It’s nice to get into the city and get away from your mentor and the de facto leader of your group making heart eyes at each other from across the camp. It’s wonderful that he’s found someone (gods know that he deserves it after all that Mystra business) but he doesn’t have to be so bloody nauseating about it.
You wait for a cart to pass, readjust your hold on the pile, and head across the road. You’re so lost in your own thoughts that you don’t hear your name being called for a second and barrel on ahead - it’s only when you become aware of footsteps approaching that you turn.
Astarion isn’t jogging to catch you, exactly. He’s far too precious for that. But he has increased his speed to close the gap, that little smile on his face which you know can only spell trouble.
“Well, fancy running into you, my dear. Isn’t chance a fine thing?” he purrs. You raise an eyebrow.
“What, you fortuitously meeting me at the only store I ever seem to go to?”
He doesn't reply to that, instead putting a hand on his hip and cocking his head.
“It can be dangerous for a little thing like you to walk around a big city alone. Never know who might take advantage.”
He flashes his fangs with his smile, and you swear your cheeks don’t start to burn.
“I know the route back to camp perfectly well…”
“Oh, so you won’t mind if I join you then? Let me help with those books, they seem to be rather precariously perched.”
You take a moment to look him over. He’s got muscle, of course, you’ve seen him with his shirt off at camp, but you’re certain it’s all for show – you are definitely stronger than he is. Being Gale’s glorified pack mule means you have to be. But, suppressing a smile, you press half of your haul into the elf’s waiting arms and chuckle when he stumbles under the unexpected weight.
“You could suggest to your mentor that he gets into a little more light reading,” he mutters, and that makes you laugh properly. He seems pleased with himself for that. Well, more pleased with himself than he usually is, anyway - so you find yourself walking through the city streets with his company.
And it’s… nice. You’ve never been sure what to make of Astarion. He’s a bit too cunning for your usual taste in companion, but there can be no doubt that he’s competent. He travels the city streets with a familiar ease, and when he goes to turn down an alleyway mid-conversation, you almost follow him without thinking.
Almost.
“The thing is I’m sure he eats them, but – what are you doing back there? Keep up, I won’t wait for you,” he says, waiting for you. You shuffle awkwardly, and he reads your face without you having to say a word.
“Come now, I’m not going to bite you. Not unless you want me to,” there’s that damned grin again. You harrumph, knowing full well that’s exactly why you hesitated, but not wanting to show weakness in front of him. Nothing that he can use against you. You scuttle along until you make up the distance, and fall back in step.
Soon it’s just the two of you. The city noise dies down and the sound of your boots echoes in tandem with his. He has you completely alone. He could do whatever he wanted with you. You know he wouldn’t, of course, but… you’d be lying if you said the idea didn’t thrill you a little.
Astarion lets out a little laugh.
“Your blood’s started pumping faster. Tell me, little mage, is something making your heart pound?”
Oh, right. Vampire. The bastard is uncannily attuned to these things.
“No!” you say, quickly, but there’s not much fire behind it, no real sincerity. His lip quirks.
“I’ve seen the way you look at me, you know. It’s alright to feel desire. Gale doesn’t seem to take very good care of you, after all…”
That makes you stick your tongue out and gag. You totally ignore the first part of that sentence and spit:
“Eurgh, Gale ? Absolutely not! He’s like my brother. We’ve known each other since… well, for as long as I can remember, honestly,” you say. And it’s true. You love him, of course, but not like that. Maybe you’re a bit jealous of Tav but only because they’re taking up so much of his time. You’re desperate to have another magic lesson. It feels like it’s been ages since he’s taught you anything, and you’ve been somewhat demoted to his personal assistant rather than his student. You can’t be too upset, though. He does have that tadpole in his head, so things are probably a lot more pressing to him than teaching you how to properly refine your Fireball spell.
Astarion sees how introspective you’ve become. You have a habit of chewing on your lip when you’re lost in thought, and he’s become quite partial to it. It’s… sweet. Secretly he’s become quite partial to you . You’re endearing, bullheadedly stubborn, but sincere and enthusiastic. A bright spark in a dark world and he is drawn to you, whether he wants to be or not.
He’s harbouring something for you, and doesn’t quite want to admit what that might be. So he teases.
“You really do take up all of your time with studying, don’t you?”
You shrug as much as you can beneath your armful of books.
“Wouldn’t you, if you had the best tutor around? Wouldn’t you want to learn every single thing you possibly could?”
“All that time squirrelled away over a spell book. I wonder if you’ve ever even been kissed.”
You stop dead. Ah, he thinks. Got you.
“I don’t see how that’s any of your business,” you snap, but you know your voice wobbles a little. A bit of a sore spot if you’re honest. Seeing Gale and Tav has made you realise that, actually, maybe there is something you long for. Something more .
“Ahh, so you haven’t. There’s no shame in that, little mage.”
Your cheeks are burning. You can’t look him in the eye. Thank the gods the two of you are alone, you wouldn’t want anyone to see you so flabbergasted.
“I’m… you’re…” you struggle to find words to adequately express how you feel. Furious. Embarrassed? A whole tide of things all at once, rooting you to the ground.
He walks closer. If he was living, you’d be able to feel the heat coming off of him. He puts his pile of books on the top of a part-built wall, then takes yours to do the same. You don’t resist.
“Would you like to be kissed?”
You manage to drag your eyes up from the ground to meet his gaze, searching it for any hint of insincerity. He is teasing you, a bit, but… his eyes are surprisingly soft.
He means it.
And before you can think it over, you nod.
His lips are soft. Far softer than you expected for a vampire. His kiss gently presses your mouth open, allowing for a lithe and curious swipe of his tongue. You eagerly accept it, voice catching in your throat a little in a half-rendered moan.
He tastes like mint. It’s fresh. It’s sweet.
You want more.
Carefully you put a hand on either one of his biceps, a gentle test of the muscle there. It might be only for show, but it’s firm enough for you to enjoy how it feels in your grip. You sense him smile against your mouth and deepen the kiss, running his fingers up the length of your arm until he can cup your face; grip the back of your head.
When he walks you back to press up against the alleyway wall, you trust him; and when he hooks your collar down with a single long finger, exposing your neck, that half-moan comes back with full force.
“That’s it,” he sighs, feather-light, “let me hear you, you sweet thing.”
His mouth leaves yours in order to kiss a long line down your jugular. His teeth ghost the skin there, but he never threatens to bite.
Not unless you want me to.
You find yourself trusting him absolutely. His tongue flicks against your pulse and you thrust your hips forward inadvertently. It’s an impulse. An instinct. But it has an impact, and you hear Astarion catch his breath just a bit.
“Where have you been hiding all this?” he asks, gravel filling his voice as you thread your fingers into his hair.
“Maybe you never gave me a reason to show it to you.”
He seems to like that answer, so when he slips his leg between yours, presses his thigh up to your sex… gods, you start to rock against him without a second thought.
It’s good. It feels good. Good in a way only your own hands have ever made you feel, late at night, beneath your bedroll with fucking Astarion, Astarion, Astarion running through your head.
“Look at you. All desperate for me. What do you want me to do, little mage? Where do you want me to touch?”
You take his hand and guide it down your body, yes gods yes to the apex of your legs, and —
Greetings! Hope I’m not catching you at a bad moment, but need those books at camp ASAP. Do let me know when you’ll be back!
Gale’s Sending is like a cold bucket of ice through your body, and you freeze under Astarion’s ministrations. The moment is utterly shattered. A hand on his chest moves him away and he acquiesces, confused but not pushing back.
“Hello Gale,” you sigh out loud, letting the elf know the reason for the interruption. “Will be back as soon as possible. Not too far from the camp now. Sorry for the delay. Got a little… held up.”
And then you’re just standing there. In an alley. With Astarion. And you feel very silly all of a sudden, very small. Once again your eyes drop to the floor and you start grabbing the books, quickly, anything to distract you from how humiliated you feel. You’re not sure if it’s because you let yourself give into him so easily or if it’s because you didn’t want him to stop — and you’re a bit terrified at how far you’d have let him go.
“I’ll see you at camp,” you manage to stutter out, before practically running away.
Astarion watches you go. Your departure stings.
The camp in Wyrm’s Crossing is alive with joy.
Orin the Red has been killed, the party is one Netherstone closer to getting the tadpoles out of their heads, and everyone’s using it as an excuse for a booze-up. The campfire is roasting a pork loin for the main course and you’ve all gathered around it to enjoy each other’s company before dinner. Tav has their lute out and is playing a raunchy song, much to the group’s delight, and their clear voice fills the night with music and laughter.
Across the crackling embers, they catch your eye and give you a wink. You find yourself grinning. You can see why Gale is so totally smitten with them, their upbeat attitude is magnetic. No wonder they became the impromptu leader of this little group, you could quite easily see yourself following them into battle too.
As Karlach drunkenly sweeps the bard up into her arms with a whoop , you let yourself look around the campsite. Lae’zel and Shadowheart are bickering about something inane, but not with the ferocity they once did - it seems more like banter now than anything. Well, as close to banter as a githyanki can get. Halsin and Jaheira are reminiscing about the ‘old days’, and, next to the High Harper, Minsc is loudly telling a tale of his wild past to Wyll who looks equal parts interested and bewildered.
It is lovely to be part of this little family. You’ve never felt more like you belonged somewhere, amidst this group of colourful oddballs.
And finally your eyes settle on the furthest member of the group.
Astarion rarely lets himself be caught up in the middle of things. He sits at the edge of the circle, quietly swirling a glass of wine which you know he doesn’t really want to be drinking, but does so in order to look like he’s busy. He watches the rest of you laugh and joke and be merry in a way which he can’t quite bring himself to be.
You wish you could get him to smile. He looks lighter when he does.
A few days have passed since the… incident in the alleyway, and it’s been enough for the heat to die down both in camp and between your legs. You can look at him without throbbing, now. The two of you haven’t really spoken much outside of quiet morning pleasantries when grabbing a coffee, and those interactions are always around the others. You’ve felt the heat of his eyes bore into you though, and desperately tried to keep yourself from meeting his gaze.
To be honest, you’re glad that you’ve been so busy recently, and that business is keeping you away from Astarion. There simply hasn’t been time to explore things further with him, and you’re not sure you want to.
Well, no. That’s a lie. You do want to, desperately, but you’re worried. Astarion strikes you as being like belladonna: beautiful, but deadly if you let yourself touch.
He is, after all, a two-hundred year old vampire, with all of the baggage that comes with it. And you’re just a little mage.
“Well, seems like someone’s a million miles a–”
You shriek and drop the chicken leg you’re holding to the camp floor. Gale holds up his hands in a gesture of peace.
“My apologies. It was far from my intention to surprise you, especially at the cost of your first course.”
You sigh and grab the chicken, using a quick Prestidigitation to clear off the dirt as Gale takes a seat next to you.
“No, it’s fine. Sorry. My mind was elsewhere, which it shouldn’t have been. I know how important it is for a wizard to keep their wits about them.”
He smiles at that. He always does when you remember one of his lessons. He nods to the chicken bone you’re stripping the meat from.
“You’re getting better at that.”
“Eating floor food?”
“Well, that too perhaps, but I was referring to your grasp on magic. It’s much improved since our last lesson.” He looks a little downcast for a moment. “I’m sorry. We haven’t been focussing as much on your studies as I’d have liked - but, well, I’m sure you can understand that I’ve been somewhat waylaid due to an unwelcome guest.”
“Gale!” you say, faux-shocked, “That’s a horrible way to refer to Tav!”
He looks appalled, then realises you’re joking and grins in relief. You give him a friendly elbow.
“I understand. You didn’t ask for any of this, and we can only take each day as it comes. If anything is a reason to put teaching on a back burner, it’s the threat of being turned into an illithid.” There’s a pause. “And Tav is good for you, you know. You smile more now.”
You see his ears go a bit red, even in the low light of the fire.
“Thank you. I’m inclined to agree. They’re so thoroughly… good, ” he decides, reduced to wordlessness in his ardour. He turns to you, and his posture shifts a little. Oh no. He is going to try and be Serious.
“And you know, it isn’t wrong to want to find companionship. If there was someone who you…”
Nope, no. You have to stop this. You can’t talk about your love life (or lack thereof) with Gale, it would be like having The Talk with your big brother. The idea makes you panicked and nauseous.
“Besides, Gale,” you say, quickly, interrupting him and steering the conversation back to magic, “what I just cast was a cantrip, I’ve been able to do those since I could tie my shoes.”
Gale seems relieved that you’re on more solid ground, crossing his arms over his chest with a smile.
“Is that so? Well, please, show me something spellbinding. As it were.”
He sits back and waits for you to show off. You run through your prepared spells in your head and settle on one which feels right: carefully, making sure that nobody will get hurt, you reach out and cast a careful Pyrotechnics on the campfire.
Fireworks shoot into the air, exploding into the night sky with colourful whizzes and bangs. The party all looks up and gasps in surprise and delight at the impromptu little display. You carefully shape the spell so as to keep it vertical, change the colours with a wiggle of your fingers, pulling invisible strings of weave until you feel it naturally come to an end. There’s a beat of silence before the campfire erupts in a cheer, Gale grinning proudly next to you.
“Look at you!” he says, slapping you on the back in triumph, “I’m certain that we’ll have an archwizard on our hands in no time.”
You know he’s exaggerating, but your tutor’s praise does make you beam anyway. In between compliments and Minsc’s pleading for a repeat performance, your eyes drift to the outside of the circle.
To Astarion.
And he’s watching. Of course he is. There’s something unreadable in his expression, something which makes you feel hot under the collar.
Oh, gods. This is a mistake.
You’re suddenly aware of how much the centre of attention you are. Everyone’s eyes are on you, boring into you, watching for the next thing you’ll do.
Astarion’s eyes are on you.
No. You don’t like it. The limelight takes to Tav, not you. You’re a bloody apprentice wizard, not a fabulous bard. The heat rises until it’s eclipsing your face and gods you need to get out of here, now, choking out some half-baked excuse and getting to your feet.
“Are you–?” begins Gale, but you wave him off and quickly scamper away, heart beating in your throat.
Unseen, Astarion slips after you.
The longer you walk, the quicker you go, the more you calm down. Soon you can feel your panic get under control; yet questions swirl around your mind. What were you thinking, doing something so public? You berate yourself for your childishness only to know the answer is there in plain sight.
You wanted Astarion to look at you. To notice you. Oh gods, you are such a little fool. He’d never be properly impressed with you, ever, and to get wound up about it is–
“Well, someone made quite a scene back there.”
You jump. His voice is like an ice cube being run down your spine, chilling and exciting you all at once. In the forest clearing you’ve found yourself in, you turn to face the pale elf, watching as he leans up against a tree, jealous at how easy he can be in this situation.
“I hope you aren’t too put off by the fact that I followed you as you scurried off… though, judging by the way you were looking at me over the campfire, I don’t think you mind the company.”
Then it occurs to you, oh gods, you’re alone with him again, aren’t you? Far from the camp, just the two of you, and with nobody to watch he can do whatever he wants, you can do whatever you want, and…
“You’re overthinking.”
His words cut like a knife through the thick air between you, and then he’s closing the gap, getting close enough to feel your shaky breaths on his skin, red eyes gleaming. His white shirt seems to be particularly unlaced today, revealing broad plains of perfect alabaster.
You want to touch him. You can’t move under his gaze.
“I am,” you manage to confess, voice barely more than a whisper. Astarion chuckles, and you want to hear that sound over and over and over again.
His fingers brush your arm and you gasp. His vulpine smile grows wider, looking at you from under hooded eyes.
“Would you like me to help you stop thinking?”
You nod all too eagerly, and he loves it.
His mouth is just as wonderful on yours as you remember. He tastes nice, too, of vanilla this time - you wonder if he sweetens his breath before he seeks you out. You let him lead the kiss. He has far more experience with this, after all, and it shows: the way your tongues entwine makes you moan in anticipation, the soft clack of his teeth on yours a melody unto itself. When he begins to walk you backwards you immediately follow. It’s a waltz, of a kind, something intimate and sensual, and you reel with ecstasy when you feel your back hit the rough bark of a tree.
Yes. Yes, anything. Anything that he wants to do with you, you’ll offer it all up. You’re drunk on him already, head swimming, only after more Astarion, and then you feel his hand press up against your stomach and start to gently sneak in under your waistband, and he is so so close to touching where you need him most, and –
With far more self-control than you ever realised you had, your hands reach out and grab his forearm in a vice-grip.
“No, no. Astarion. Stop.”
He does, immediately, backing away so that he can scan your face. Your chest may be heaving and body thrumming with desire but you’re not so lost in the thrill of it that you can’t see he’s genuinely concerned. His eyes are wide, searching, trying to work out what he’s done wrong. It’s the first time you’ve seen him be unsure of himself - at least in front of you.
“Did I… do you not want…?”
“No, I do. I do, but… gods, look…” this is so embarrassing but you need to say it or it will be buried forever, and any real chance of connection will be lost, “... if this is just sex for you then I don’t want it, Astarion.”
He looks absolutely bowled over by that. His eyes flit across your face as he attempts to read you; he must think you’re trying to trick him. How far that is from the truth.
You carry on.
“I know… I know you think it might be something you have to do to win me over, or to make me like you. But it isn’t, because I already do like you ! I really like you, Astarion. And while, gods know, I want you to take me here on this forest floor, I don’t want this to be some little fling. I want to go out to bookshops with you, and drink coffee, and judge people as they walk by us.” Despite everything he gives a flicker of a smile at that. “I want to hold your hand while we walk places. I want to sit in the park and look at clouds with you. I want to go to sleep next to you, gods damn it, every night if you’ll let me. I want to be there if you need someone on your side. I want… I want all of you, every messy, wild piece of it. So if this is just something physical? I can’t. It would break my heart.”
Astarion lets that little confession settle. He looks utterly gobsmacked, no matter how well he tries to make it seem otherwise. You can tell he’s thinking. That his mind is going a mile a minute trying to work out if you’re being serious, and second-guessing himself when he comes to the conclusion that you are.
And he doesn’t know what to do with that.
The moment hangs in the air, pregnant with possibility, and eventually he reaches in to kiss you. But it is not all tongues and teeth and hunger this time. It’s sweet. Affectionate. And you love it even more than the ones that came before it.
“Aren’t you full of surprises, little mage?” he asks, voice as light as a feather, caressing like velvet. Another kiss before he pulls back, returning to his typical bravado, sighing as if this is all so much , but with a sincere smile on his face which he can’t quite seem to wipe, “Alright, tomorrow, then. We’ll go out for tea. I know a little place I think you’ll like - chamomile is your favourite, isn’t it?”
Your eyes go wide as you nod. It is. And he just knew that.
“It’s a date,” he grins, and your heart skips a beat.
He’s as good as his word.
The next day you head to a little café in one of the quieter areas of the lower city, one with quaint outside tables under large gingham parasols, and the two of you sharing a pot of tea while people-watching. He grins at every bitchy comment you make about someone’s dress sense, and when your feet brush up playfully together underneath the table your heart jumps as if you’re a schoolchild again.
When you finish your cups he indulges you as you go shopping, linking his little finger in yours and letting you pull him along as you go through your new favourite bookstore. He complains but you can tell he doesn’t mean it, not really. He carries your things for you while you let your hands run over the spines of newly-printed tomes, occasionally picking one out and adding it to the pile in his arms. When you’re done, you take the long way back to camp, just to be alone together for a little while longer.
That night you sit with him by the campfire as you eat, lost in quiet conversation, and you absolutely ignore the way that Gale is grinning and trying to catch your eye because oh gods it’s embarrassing when he’s smug - and then, at night, he retires to your tent with you. You thrill as he wraps you in his arms, burying his face in the nape of your neck and drifting off to sleep.
A few days go by and you suggest that, whilst you know Tav has let him feed from them for ease, you’d happily volunteer to take the position. He grins, and whispers something filthy which makes your face hot, and you start waking with a pleasant pain over your jugular from the next morning on.
A few more days on from that, the two of you start kissing in front of the rest of the party. This earns a “yeah, baby!” from Karlach and a good-natured ribbing from the others. You’re insightful enough to know that he likes to show you off a bit, not out of any self-satisfied reason - or at least, not entirely - but because he is genuinely pleased to have you as his paramour. Sitting in his lap at dinner, holding his hand as you stroll through the city, these things become as easy as breathing. Every part of you sings for Astarion, Astarion, Astarion.
One night, he confides his fear about sexual intimacy for you. You’re so glad you didn’t give into him those times before, and tell him you’re happy to wait as long as he needs. There is no rush for you. It breaks your heart how relieved he looks.
Were this your regular day-to-day life, a romance would have blossomed slowly. But it is not your regular life. There is no chance to feel emotions other than intensely on the road you tread, to throw yourselves into one another and be known completely.
When Cazador Szarr dies, you are there. You told Tav you were coming, despite everyone pleading you to stay behind - there was no way you would let Astarion face him without you, and you can tell that he’s secretly relieved to have you there. You sling spells from the back line and pick off his master’s minions, one eye on the vampire lord and the other on your partner. And when the fight is over, and he is offered the possibility of ascension - he looks to you straight away.
A little shake of your head is all that’s needed to dissuade him from the idea entirely.
That night he cries and you hold him, so so tightly. So tightly in fact that you’re scared you’re going to hurt him. But he says nothing, he just presses his face into the place where your shoulder meets your neck and weeps, long and loud and raw and intimate. You stroke his hair and wait until he’s exhausted, then lay him down to sleep wrapped in your arms.
He looks like the weight of the world has been lifted from him the next morning.
When he takes you to his gravestone the two of you sit, hand-in-hand, understanding how much you have come to mean to each other. It is a sweet and intense love you have fostered, so far from the vampire who would have taken you in that alleyway on the way back from Sorcerous Sundries.
Well, maybe not that far, because as you leave the cemetery he sweeps you up in a burning kiss, all tongues and teeth and fire.
Oh. Tonight, then. You can do tonight.
As you head back to the Elfsong, you get him to pause by the front desk, and he watches as you dish out the coin with shaking fingers to rent a suite for the night. You have no intention of going back to the party’s shared floor. When he realises what this means, Astarion is half elated and half trepidatious as the two of you ascend the stairs to your private room.
“My sweet,” he says, eyes blazing salaciously but sincere in his words of comfort, “you know that we don’t have to…”
“I know. But I want to,” you tell him, utterly sure, “but only if you want to, as well. I know how you feel about… all this. If there’s even a single doubt in your mind, then—”
He kisses you so fiercely that the breath is stolen from your lungs. You don’t even realise he’s taken the keys from your hands until the door swings open and the two of you tumble back into the room, into bed.
His mouth is hot and delicious, kissing every inch of your skin he can find. Little nips of fangs only serve to excite you. He is thorough in his exploration; lavishing attention only onto what is exposed, and it leaves you a mewling mess beneath him.
“Astarion… please,” you beg. His eyes are heavy-lidded as he looks up at you from your chest, your sternum aching pleasantly from his ministrations.
“Please what, little mage?”
Oh, he knows how it excites you when he calls you that. Without even thinking, your hips rut up into his. He smiles in hunger and delight.
“Use your words, my love.”
“I need you to touch me.”
“Where?”
“ Everywhere.”
This seems to satisfy him, and he tugs at your shirt until it becomes untucked from your waistband, slowly lifting it until you take it off properly. Chest bared to him for the first time with the promise of lovemaking, he slowly reaches to take a nipple in his mouth and sucks. You moan and cant beneath his body, letting his teeth graze your areola, allowing his fangs tease the soft skin he finds. When his hand reaches up to touch your lips you let them fall open easily, letting him fuck your tongue with his fingers.
“Good… you’re so pliant, aren’t you? Naughty little thing. Desperate for me.”
This talk is driving you wild. It will kill you, you’re sure of it. You throb, actually throb, and moan as he reaches for your trousers. It’s an easy shucking and oh gods he’s taken your underwear too and then you’re lying there, bare beneath his gaze.
He looks you up and down. Your chest heaves.
“Like what you see?” you want it to be playful, but instead it’s full of nerves. You really, really hope he does. If your body is anything less than desirable to him you’ll be shattered.
He senses the worry in your words and, rather than continue his work on your chest, reaches over to kiss you, slow and sweet. It’s a kiss you know well, one you’ve given him a dozen times over: a kiss of reassurance.
“You’re divine, ” he whispers. A thrill runs up you. This man - this man, who could have been carved out of marble by the gods themselves - thinks you’re divine. A surge of courage runs through you and you sweep him in for another kiss, taking his hand in yours and guiding it down your body.
When he first touches between your legs you think you might explode. His long, dexterous fingers slowly spread you open, running along the soft seam of your cunt. You find yourself reduced to jelly, a quivering mess as he explores you for the first time. His touch is gentle, reverent, careful; his fingers find your sweetest spot and rub there for a moment until you see stars light up behind your eyes.
It’s good. So good. When he presses those fingers inside you gasp a little but he is attentive to what he does. There is no urgency as he slips in one, then two, slowly pumping you as you hope he plans to with his cock later. Your legs spread and he settles between them better, lavishing your skin with kisses and your ego with praise.
“So lovely… so wet. I’m going to make this good for you. I’m going to empty your head of every piece of magic you know, you gorgeous thing, and replace it only with the feeling of this.”
At that he crooks his fingers upwards and you squeak as he hits a spot that sends electricity along every nerve in your body.
“Astarion—!”
“Yes, that’s it.” He drops a kiss to your shoulder and continues his work, fucking you with his fingers. He slips in a third when he feels you’re ready enough, and when his thumb presses into your clit you know you’re hurtling towards the first orgasm someone else has ever given you.
It’s magnificent. It’s syrupy and sweet and shocking, crashing over your body like a wild tide and dragging you out to sea with it. You come all over his hand and ride it out, pressing your cunt down into his palm and rutting up against it like a dog in heat. Astarion smiles, and though it’s lustful and heavy-lidded you can see the genuine affection for you there too, a true happiness that you’d give yourself to him like this.
When the feeling has passed he kisses you before slowly removing his fingers and pressing them into his mouth. Your eyes go wide.
“Astarion!” you squeak. He gives a blasé shrug.
“I wanted to taste you. Can you really blame me? You look delicious.”
Face hot again you do the only thing you can think of: thump him playfully with one of the decorative cushions on the bed. He looks actually shocked at that before he bursts into genuine joyful laughter, and you do too - and it’s good. It’s so, so good. You’re in bed with the man you love and laughing because it’s silly and you feel safe and adored. And it occurs to you: yes, you do love him. You want to keep him happy and safe and in your arms for as long as he’ll let you, which is hopefully forever.
“You’re wearing far too many clothes,” you point out. He looks down to where he’s still fully dressed, cock pressing achingly against the front of his trousers.
“I suppose I am. Let’s remedy that.”
You help him remove his shirt, caressing the expanse of smooth chest he reveals, undo the laces of his bottoms and pull him free. His length stands hard and ready in front of you and it gives you a not insubstantial thrill that you’re the one who managed to do this to him. You !
You take him in your hand, carefully, and he groans. Smiling, you let your body take over - pumping him slowly and languidly, as easy a pace as he set with you. He’s a decent size and thick, something you can see fitting quite comfortably inside you.
Emboldened, you reach forward and lick a stripe up him. Astarion arches as if he’s been electrocuted, and his hands dig into your shoulders to halt you.
“Oh… did I do something wrong…?” you ask, but when you meet his gaze you don’t find scorn or anger. You find such unbridled, carnal desire you’re overtaken with it.
“No. Quite the opposite. If you do that I will end up finishing in your mouth. And while it’s a lovely thought - I want this to be about you.”
You release his cock and let it bob against his stomach, moving to give him another tender kiss.
“It’s not about me. It’s about us.”
He smiles, softly.
“Indeed it is, my love. Indeed it is.”
He manoeuvres you, carefully, so that you’re lying back on the bed, legs spread open for him as he takes himself in his hand and rubs it against your already orgasm-drenched cunt.
“Will it hurt?” you ask, suddenly a little scared. This is happening. It’s happening.
But Astarion is sweet. A kiss is dropped to your shoulder, tender and reassuring.
“If it does, tell me, and I’ll stop. I swear.”
You trust him. You lie back and fan your legs open a little further, letting him press the head of his cock against your entrance and start to slide it.
It’s an unfamiliar but welcome feeling. You’re full for the first time, in a different way to his fingers; his cock is thicker and spreads you in a far more lucious way. You gasp as he enters into you, each little thrust of his hips easing him inside deeper, and though it does sting a little the pleasure that he brings is far more easy to concentrate on.
“Oh… oh…” is all you can manage, and when you look up Astarion’s eyes are screwed shut in concentration, like he has to actively prevent himself from fucking you with the vigour he wants to. That’s promising. You hope the next night you spend like this will be far more wild, once you’re used to the feeling of him.
Eventually he sinks all the way up to his base. He groans, cock throbbing inside you, totally sheathed. Together as one. His forehead presses down against yours, and he takes deep and slow inhales he doesn’t need - encouraging you to get your own breathing in sync with his, calm you down and adjust to it.
Soon you’re used to the intrusion of him, and you nudge your hips up against his. He smiles.
“And here I thought learning magic required patience. You seem to have none of it.”
“I’m patient when it comes to how to cast a bloody fireball, Astarion. If you don’t start moving now, I might explode.”
He chuckles again, genuine in his glee, and slowly begins to buck his hips. His cock stretches you wider, and his head grazes that sweet spot over and over. Oh, it is delicious. Your body is on fire for Astarion Ancunín and you never want to extinguish it; you want him to keep on fanning this flame forever. You will become a roaring inferno under his touch and nothing has ever seemed more appealing to you.
“My love,” you sigh, wrapping your arms around his neck to bring him closer. He peppers your neck and shoulder with kisses as he thrusts, utterly enchanted by you, fangs tracing your throat as your racing heartbeat echoes in it.
“My love,” he replies in kind, speeding up as he can feel how soaked you’re getting. You cup his face with your hands so that you can see him properly. Oh, Astarion. Your Astarion. The moon in your sky and every star around it.
Your cunt aches, but not from discomfort but from pleasure. You can tell you’re going to come again soon, and want it to harmonise with his own release, have the two of you crescendo together. If the way his hips are beginning to move arrythmically, erratically, you can sense he’s not far from completion either.
“Please… inside…” you manage, and oh gods he is gone. His hips stutter as he empties himself inside of you with a little moan, flooding your cunt with hot jets of his release and toppling you over the edge with him. You sink your fingernails into his back, over his scars — those damned scars, scars he’s never going to have to be afraid of again — and cry out your pleasure.
The two of you take a moment to catch your breaths. You need it, he literally doesn’t, but feels he probably ought to take a moment anyway to let you collect your thoughts. He rolls off and lies on the bed next to you, eyes roving up and down your panting, sweat-slicked body.
You can tell there’s a tiny hint of nervousness in him. A bite of worry that you didn’t enjoy it. To quell his mind you reach over and bring him into a slow, long, tongue-twisting kiss. He noticeably relaxes under you.
“That was… everything,” you confess. “More of that. Please.”
He laughs.
“Oh gods, I’ve made a monster. You’re going to be insatiable now, aren’t you?”
You playfully bite the air above his face, baring your teeth like an animal, before grimacing as your newly-abused cunt twinges. You reach between your legs and find him dripping out of you sinfully, but also that your fingers come back coated a little in red. Proof of what just happened.
Without warning Astarion grabs your wrist and presses your bloody fingers into his mouth, sucking on them with a groan.
“Astarion!” you shriek with a shocked giggle, reaching to grab the pillow and give him another swipe with it - but he wrestles you back into the mattress, pinning you down playfully. He kisses you again, then, and you feel the affection rolling off of him. Adoration, there’s no other word. Devoted adoration.
“I love you, my little mage. My heart,” he confesses, in the low light of the inn’s room, face dancing in the moonlight from where the two of you didn’t bother to join the curtains. The words sound odd coming from his throat. As if he’s had no reason to say them for a long, long time.
You’re glad you were the spark he needed.
“I love you too.”
Whatever comes next, you’re in it together.