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charmandabear · 1 day ago

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Office Hours: it's so easy to bite with your hands pinned (2/16)

Summary:

After fantasizing about it, Rosalind can't stop thinking about what it would be like to fuck Ancunín. Maybe Shadowheart is right, maybe she should just do it to get it out of her system.

Pairing: Astarion/named f!Tav Rating: explicit

Word Count: 3.4k

Chapter tags/warnings: vaginal fingering, cunnilingus, p in v intercourse, blood/blood drinking, creampie/no breeding (full list on ao3)

Yayyyyyy chapter 2! I've been absolutely going through it personally, but your comments and kind words have brought me such joy. My goal will continue to be to upload Sunday/Monday so if I miss a day, I give you full permission to yell at me. (But please be nice, I'm very sensitive.)

Read it on AO3. ~ Masterlist (coming soon.) ~ Office Hours playlist on Spotify.

“Shadowheart, I think I fucked up.”

Rosalind picks at the cardboard sleeve on her coffee cup as Shadowheart grabs her latte from the counter. Her best friend’s eyebrows disappear into her platinum bangs as she fixes Rosalind with a cautious look. They had met six years ago while moving into adjacent apartments. Shadowheart was already working at BGU in the Divinity School, and a few years back she helped Rosalind get an interview with Volo in the theatre department.

“Do I need to kill someone or help you bury the body?” she says with a sly smile, and Rosalind groans, almost too ashamed to admit it. She has complained far too much about Ancunín for what happened last night not to be exceedingly embarrassing.

“No, not that,” she begins, then takes a sip of coffee to brace herself. “You know that snotty Renaissance Lit professor I’ve mentioned?” They tap their phones on the turnstile censor and file through one at a time.

“Yeah, the one you’re always going on about?” Shadowheart looks over her shoulder as she asks the question, and she’s treated to Rosalind’s dramatic eye roll.

“I’m not always going on about him,” she grumbles, and Shadowheart’s laugh reverberates off the metro walls.

“You absolutely are, but continue,” she smirks, taking a sip of her coffee.

“Okay well let me at least show you what he looks like before I lose service,” Rosalind preemptively defends herself, pulling out her phone and searching for the BGU English department faculty page. She scrolls down to Ancunín’s portrait and turns the screen towards Shadowheart.

It looks like a candid photo but it’s very clearly composed. He’s sitting pitched forward, his elbows resting on his knees. He’s looking off to the side and his brow is furrowed like he’s engaged in vigorous academic debate. It’s wildly pretentious.

“Oh. Oh,” she says in a low tone as her eyes study the screen. Suddenly she gasps and looks at her friend with wide eyes. “Rosalind, no, tell me you didn’t.”

“No, I didn’t!” Rosalind shouts, perfectly scandalized. Then, in a much lower voice that ultimately gets drowned out by the roar of a train flying by, she says, “I just thought about it.”

“What?” Shadowheart shouts, pulling her scarf in a little closer to protect herself from the wind cast off by the train.

“I just thought about it!” Rosalind shouts back, wishing she had just waited to speak.

“Thought about what?”

“Fucking him!” Of course, she shouts this last bit just as the train has fully passed, which means everyone else waiting on the platform hears her clear as day. Rosalind hides her flushed face behind her cup, praying that no one from the school is also taking the metro today.

“And?” Shadowheart looks at Rosalind expectantly.

“And what?”

“How was it?”

Rosalind scoffs and looks down the tunnel at the train’s headlights in the distance in order to avoid answering her question for a second longer. “I mean, it was my imagination, so like good I guess?”

“Well sure, but would you want to do it in real life?” As Shadowheart answers, the train comes to a screeching stop and the two of them board, snagging a two-seater as far away from both entrances as possible. Shadowheart pinches her knees together and places her bag delicately on her lap.

Rosalind sighs heavily before answering. “Man, I dunno. I’ve never really been into the idea of hate sex, at least not since Aradin.”

Shadowheart makes a face of abject disgust. “He doesn’t even know how lucky he is that I’ve never been in the same room as him.”

“Trust me, I’ve never been more appreciative of having someone so eager to commit murder for me,” Rosalind laughs, putting her hand on Shadowheart’s knee. They sit in silence for a few minutes, and Rosalind looks out the window at the other platforms whizzing by.

“I think you should go for it,” Shadowheart says suddenly, and Rosalind chokes on her coffee.

“Excuse me?” she coughs as she wipes her mouth.

“What’s the worst that could happen? If it doesn’t work out, you can just go back to hating him like before, and at least then you won’t need to wonder anymore,” Shadowheart says matter-of-factly. She’s awfully nonchalant about having just described the literal nightmare scenario.

“Excuse me, how is that possibly meant to make me feel better?” Rosalind gapes at her.

“At least you get a good shagging out of the deal, right?” Shadowheart flashes a coffee-stained grin and Rosalind pushes her face away.

“Maybe not, he could be terrible for all we know,” she replies smugly as the train slides into the University stop. They funnel out with the hoard of students and other professors who also get out onto the platform. “Man, Shade, we need to get you laid, don’t we?” Rosalind teases her as they trash their empty coffee cups.

“Listen, you’re closer to getting some than I’ve been in months, it’s not that good out here for most of us,” she groans.

“Hey, if I end up getting lucky, maybe he’s got some pretty colleague he can hook you up with,” Rosalind says with a shit-eating grin and Shadowheart rolls her eyes.

“Absolutely not, English academics are the worst.”

***

Rosalind and Shadowheart split ways in front of the student union, each of them heading to their respective sides of campus. Rosalind goes directly to her office and immediately closes the door — usually an unthinkable act but entirely necessary today. She can’t look at his face right now. She can’t possibly look him in the eye.

She spends the majority of the day locked in her office, double checking the hallway before leaving to teach Voice and Speech. She even avoids the main office for fear of running into him there.

When 5:00 rolls around, she takes a peek outside her door to see most of the other professors leaving. To play it safe, she decides to work until six so she can be absolutely sure he’s gone by the time she leaves. She passes the time by absentmindedly grading weekly reflections. It’s only when she realizes that she’s read one paragraph about Miss Julie about a half dozen times, she figures it’s time to leave.

She pokes her head into the hallway, but can’t tell from this angle whether or not his door is closed. She grabs her bag and coat, takes a deep breath, and makes a beeline for the stairs. It’s only when she approaches his office door that she realizes it’s open.

Fuck.

It’s fine. She can just walk past it and get to the stairs and then she won’t need to worry about it. He might not even be in there. Or if he is, he probably has his head down and won’t notice her walk by. It’s fine. She can feel her heart pounding in her ears nonetheless.

“Oh, professor, a word?” His voice floats into the hallway right as Rosalind passes his door. Are you fucking kidding me? She turns to see him sitting at his desk, head down, writing something. He doesn’t even bother looking up at her. Prick.

“Yes?” she asks coldly, not budging from her spot in the hall. He glances up and looks at her over his glasses. Those fucking glasses. Rosalind wants to rip them off his face and throw them out the window.

“Do you have a moment? I think we need to talk.” His voice is low and cool. Does he fucking know? There’s no way he can know.

Right?

Rosalind takes a tentative step into his office. It’s surprisingly cluttered for a man who always looks so put together, but it’s somehow warm and inviting. She can barely see the walls from being covered corner to corner in overfull bookshelves. He’s got a big mahogany desk in the middle of the room — significantly nicer than the university-issued ones. It’s covered in stacks of papers, books, weird little knick knacks; it’s amazing how he’s able to get anything done on it, honestly. Two chairs face his desk, but they’re covered in a rich plush velvet instead of a scratchy cotton weave like the ones in Rosalind’s office. He’s got a scent diffuser somewhere, giving the room an aroma like an earthy spiced tea.

“Have a seat,” he says, gesturing to the cushy red chairs across from him. Rosalind stands still, clutching her bag, staring at him like a deer in the headlights. When he realizes she’s not going to sit, he gets up and crosses over to the door.

“Do you mind if I close this? It’s… a bit embarrassing,” he asks with a crooked smile. She can feel the heat in her cheeks rising. Her mouth goes dry as she tries to swallow the lump forming in her throat.

There’s no way he knows.

Right?

But something compels her to nod, so he closes the door and walks back to his desk. He leans casually on the edge of it, facing her and crossing his arms in front of his chest. He’s taken off the blazer he usually wears and is down to just the turtleneck, sleeves pushed up to his elbows. Rosalind watches him carefully, waiting.

“I wanted to… apologize. For yesterday.”

Rosalind blinks at him, the conversation immediately not going in the direction she expected. She still feels so much shame about last night that it takes her a moment to realize what he’s referring to.

He sees the gears turning in her brain and decides to continue. “It was inappropriate to barge in on your meeting with your student. You were mid-instruction, and I needn’t have inserted myself into your conversation.” He leans back on his hands, stretching out his lithe figure to impossible proportions. Rosalind’s grip on her bag slackens and she can’t help but drag her gaze over the length of his body. He looks back at her quizzically.

“I get the sense that you don’t very much like me,” he muses. Now it’s his turn to give the once-over, and Rosalind feels practically naked before him with the way he leers at her. “Then again,” he adds, and pushes himself off his desk. He slowly advances toward her, though whether like someone approaching a vicious beast or a predator stalking its prey, it’s unclear. She retreats while holding his gaze until her back is flush against the door.

No escape now.

He gets precariously close and takes an unsettling whiff. When he speaks again, his voice is a husky growl.

“I think it’s entirely possible you like me… quite a bit.” He’s at least a half foot taller than Rosalind, and he looks down on her with heavy-lidded eyes. The heat in her face has fully reached the tips of her ears now, and her breath comes out ragged.

“I’m sure I—” she begins, but it comes out thick and raspy. She clears her throat and tries again. “I’m sure I don't know what you mean,” she finally manages with all of the composure she can muster. He cocks an eyebrow, then slowly takes off those infuriating glasses.

“No? Then perhaps I’m mistaken, and your heart rate hasn’t drastically increased in the past few minutes.” His eyes continue boring into her. “And maybe that smell between your legs is completely unrelated.”

An undignified splutter escapes Rosalind as she presses her thighs closer together. He takes a half step back to let her respond.

“If I am indeed mistaken, then I’ve said my piece and you’re free to go.” The seductive honey is gone from his voice, and in its place is a politely professional tone. He’s giving me an out, she realizes. He’s saying that we can both laugh at this as an embarrassing moment and never bring it up ever again.

But on the other hand… Rosalind thinks back on her conversation with Shadowheart and swallows thickly.

“You’re not mistaken,” she manages to choke out in a whisper. The lazy smile is back and he lifts her chin with his index finger.

“What was that? Speak up.” His command makes Rosalind’s knees go weak and she withers under his gaze.

“You’re not wrong,” she says more boldly, trying to meet his energy. His smile broadens, and for the first time she notices two pointy fangs slip out beneath his upper lip.

Fucking

vampire??

That explains why he could track Rosalind’s heartbeat, and even more his ridiculously keen sense of smell. Doesn’t make it any less humiliating.

“No, I don’t suppose I am,” he snarls and suddenly he’s kissing her roughly, hands twisting in her hair and one knee sliding up between her legs. He pushes her against the door, lifting her up onto her toes. She’s desperate just to keep up as he devours her, her hands weakly grasping at his hips, shoulders, neck. But he’s fully in control of the kiss, and after a moment she lets him take her.

He breaks the kiss but doesn’t pull away as they both breathe heavily, air cycling between their lungs. Rosalind’s head is full of a thick fog and she can’t see straight. His hands are still in her hair, tight but not pulling — yet. Why do I get the sense that might not last long?

He drops to his knees and she nearly doubles over from the sudden lack of support. He runs his nose and lips across the hem of her black denim skirt, inhaling again. Her fingers lace into his hair, but not even remotely in the dominant way from her fantasy. At this point she’s just trying not to collapse.

He looks up at her, flashing another fang-bearing grin. His hand slips up her skirt and his thumb runs across her pussy, barricaded by sheer tights and panties.

“Darling, you’re positively soaked,” he hums contentedly. “You’d have a hard time hiding this from anyone.” She bites her lower lip, trying to keep the needy whines at bay. But when he fiercely rips the crotch of her tights and presses the flat of his tongue against the drenched gusset, she can’t stop the cry from escaping her throat. He sucks lasciviously, the debauched slurping noise ringing in her ears. Her knees buckle and he grabs hold of her hips, hiking up her skirt to get better access to her dripping cunt. He presses a finger past her panties and slips it into her, and she gasps at the stark temperature difference.

“Gods, fuck,” she groans under her breath, and she runs a hand through her hair as her head drops back against the door. He presses his nose into the flesh of her lower belly, licking and kissing it as he slides in a second finger into her. She can feel her legs beginning to shake as he pumps into her, stretching her out. She grasps the handle of the door trying to brace herself on something. When her hips begin to subconsciously roll against his hand, he yanks his fingers out and she whines at the sudden emptiness.

“Someone’s needy,” he sings as he stands before sucking her arousal off his fingers. He pulls her into another searing kiss and the taste of her lingers on his lips. He grabs her ass and digs his fingers into her flesh, spreading her cheeks until she gasps into the kiss. In one fluid motion he sweeps up her legs and wraps them around his waist. She yelps in surprise; he’s significantly stronger than he looks.

He carries her over to that incredible mahogany desk, plopping her down on the hardwood and sending books and papers tumbling to the floor. He presses his bulge into her mound, this time the sound of both of their groans mingling pleasingly. He tears at her chiffon button down, trailing hungry kisses down her chest as she throws her head back in pleasure. He makes quick work of fully removing her top, though she’s certain he sacrificed some buttons in the process. She can hardly bring herself to care as she paws wantonly at the back of his neck, desperate for him to get his lips onto every single inch of her. He pulls down the lace cup of her bra with his teeth and starts sucking on her nipple, pressing his hand into the small of her back. She arches into him, his hands working her like a soft clay.

So much for the pleading mess that she pictured last night. Instead, Rosalind has been reduced to shambles, begging for his satisfaction.

“Puh-please,” she stutters, and those devilish eyes lock onto hers again. He snakes his way back up her chest and bites her lower lip.

“Puh-please what?” he mocks her stammering, but makes up for it when he rolls his hips forward, dragging that delicious hardness against her. She squirms, trying to pull him closer but he’s got her arms locked in his grip. His lips leave hers and ghost over the flesh of her neck. He very gently scrapes his fangs across her jugular, eliciting a ghoulish moan from her in return. By all the gods, Rosalind hadn’t even considered that as a part of it. His movement makes it clear that he won’t bite unless she wants him to.

But holy hells does she want him to.

“Gods Astarion,” she gasps, and she’s almost certain she can feel his cock twitch at the sound of his own name. “Fuck me then bite me, or the other way around I don’t care, but please get inside me!” The string of words almost sounds foreign to her, but she’s well beyond the point of trying to sound clever. In an instant, he’s undone his belt buckle and his erection springs forth, bouncing and already dripping precum. He roughly shoves her panties to the side and sinks his cock and teeth into her simultaneously, drawing out her cry of both pain and pleasure. She wraps her legs and arms around him, trying to pull him in deeper. She feels his mouth filling up with hot blood just as her cunt fills up with his dick.

His pumps are slow, taking his time as he swallows gulps of her blood. The obscene slurping noise mixed with his heavy breathing and occasional grunts that tickle her ear send her reeling. She’s always had a sensitive neck and more than enjoys the occasional hickey. But this is a whole new level of pain mixed with pleasure. His lips grow warm with her blood and she bucks against him, her whines getting swallowed by his curls. Her hands cup his ears, and she’s unable to stop herself from playing with those tiny silver hoops. He lurches and pulls away from her neck, looking absolutely feral with her blood dripping down his chin, which only sets her off more.

“Please, I-I need more,” she whimpers breathlessly, angling her hips towards him and trying to get him to thrust faster.

“You eager little thing,” he growls, and the animalistic sound pulls another desperate whine from deep within her. He pushes her back down onto the desk and hooks his elbows beneath her knee high boots, pressing her thighs against her chest. He begins to pound into her properly, sending her hurtling towards climax. She grabs onto the edge of the desk as he revs up his pace, his cock stretching her out as he keeps her feet up by his shoulders. The heat begins to mount in her core and she knows it won’t be long before she comes. But at this point she’s just trying to hold on for dear life.

“Fuck, gods, Astarion, I’m—” She finishes before her sentence does. He doesn’t relent as the orgasm wracks her body, if anything, he fucks into her harder. Just as she’s barely come down from her climax, he pulls out and yanks her off the desk, spinning her around and pushing her face down into the smooth mahogany, warmed from her back. He pushes her skirt up to her hips and grabs a hold of her ass, his nails digging into the part of the tights still in-tact. He slides into her again with a groan, and already she can tell that she’s working her way up to a second one. Her bare tits squish against the polished surface and he grabs her hair, pulling her head up and arching her back into him.

She desperately wishes that she could see his face because she can feel his thrusts getting more uneven and erratic. She tries to turn to get a glimpse of him, but his grip on her hair remains tight. But even if she can’t see him, she can still hear him, his grunts and the low string of incoherent swears pouring out of his mouth. The sound of him getting lost in her is enough, and her own moans start building and mixing with his, an utter symphony of epicurism.

His hips give a few more broken thrusts and she can feel his climax, setting off a second for her. The throbbing of his cock matches that in her cunt, and she holds onto the edge of the desk as the waves wash over her. Once the ripples have settled he pulls out, and she can feel his semen dripping out of the sudden emptiness and running down her leg. She silently says a thankful prayer for her IUD.

They’re both panting as he collapses onto her back, planting a half-hearted kiss on her spine. She weakly pushes herself up off the desk and sees the devastation of papers, smears and fluids. She turns around to relish in his appearance. Her blood is splattered on his fine cream sweater, his usually perfectly coiffed curls damp and sticking to his forehead. She reaches up and wipes the remainder of her blood off his chin. He smirks and gives her a surprisingly gentle kiss.

“That was good,” she murmurs through steadying breaths, “but next time, keep the fucking glasses on.”

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