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thebestestbat · 13 days ago

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Armand/Lestat | 2.3k | Explicit

Day 4: “You look good to me, you damnable little devil” / Fatal Attraction

happy birthday armand! what if you were a dragon age elf and lestat was a half-elf who had sex with you however you wanted???

the first half of this is like. lestat elf musings.

content warnings: DA canon typical elf racism, cheating (on Nicki), lestat and armand roleplay "elf and tevinter mage", armand's canon trauma as a theme during sex

“You look good to me, you damnable little devil” / Fatal Attraction

There were elves in Antiva. Elves! They walked the streets like all men and women; tradesmen, woodcutters, even bards. Most returned to the alienage before evening fell--before the bars turned on their lamps and the theater curtains raised and, for Lestat, life truly began.

He had not had the courage yet to step into the alienage. Lestat was a tall youth of barely twenty summers with piercing blue eyes and long golden hair that he inherited from his mother, his elvhen side. This marked him an outsider to the dark-haired Antivans even before he opened his mouth and the Ferelden accent he had yet to train himself out of gave him away. Nicki, with his brown curls, was welcomed more easily despite his grasp of the Antivan language being much worse.

No matter. Lestat wanted to stand out and to be the center of attention. But to be marked an outsider among elves would ruin him. He rejoiced to see elves in the streets, his heart jumped when he thought he could recognize the cadence of his mother’s voice in theirs, but could not bring himself to intrude on their lives. How to mark his elvhen blood so others could see it? His ears were rounded and blunt, he spoke the language not at all.

When she knew that Lestat was serious in his plan to leave, Gabrielle gifted him a small iron pendant. It depicted a hawk with its wings pulled back in flight and its talons outstretched. She had pressed it into his palm and then touched his ear, the curve of it. “You are so young,” she said. “It is your turn to walk through Thedas now. You will not forget me?” As if Lestat ever could.

The metal-work of the pendant was intricate and beautiful, and Lestat knew it was from the Dalish clan that Gabrielle knew from her mother, and from the books in her library that he couldn’t read.

If Lestat wore it proudly, would Antiva City see the elf in his blood? Or would he be another human who had bought or stolen or traded a pretty trinket?

Antiva City was the best time in Lestat’s life; it was also the worst. He went to bed every night with his head resting on Nicki’s chest, buoyed by the night’s performance and yet feeling as far as he had ever been from the thing that he truly wanted.

Lestat could tell Nicki felt it. Likewise, he felt a discomfort and distance in Nicki, who was also going through something that he could not or would not share with Lestat.

It was at a tavern on an off-night from the theater that Lestat saw his first elf by nighttime.

Lestat was half-drunk and laughing with his friends-for-the-night, one of whom was telling a story about the Crows that was almost definitely not true, when he caught sight of Armand. Armand was slight, delicate, and otherworldly as elves were in storybooks. He looked like a child standing at the bar until he turned his head and Lestat saw his ear poking through his curls, and the vallislin trailing down his cheek.

Vallaslin! Lestat had seen them before, on elves who lived in the alienages, elves he performed for during his short stint in the theater group before his brothers dragged him back, and in books he snuck out of Gabrielle’s library as a child so that he could stare at the pictures.

I must get to know this elf, he thought. As if he could hear the words, Armand turned, and his eyes caught Lestat’s. They widened, and Lestat’s heart sang. He knows. He sees that I am an elf.

Armand had seen it, somehow, and for that reason ensnared Lestat to him forever. Though he had no answers to Lestat’s questions, and a disdain for the questions themselves.

“I can’t remember,” he said about his vallaslin, touching them absently and shaking his head.

“I don’t think about it,” he said about the clan he had known as a child. “I am Antivan now.”

“I am not,” Lestat told him.

“Yes,” Armand said plainly. “You are Ferelden.”

Very quickly into their acquaintance they began to have sex. It was only natural with young men, though Armand had no answer to any question about his age either. “Twenty or so,” is all he knew. He could not say his birth year or would not for whatever reason.

There was a tavern near to the Chantry which Armand enjoyed and which Nicki tended to avoid, which made it perfect for these rendezvous. Lestat’s stomach twisted with guilt each time he walked past the Chantry on his way to meenArmand, but it would melt away in the room at the first touch of Armand’s cold hands or soft hair.

He always smelled so nice. Was this true of elves in general, or just Armand?

One night, Armand tucked Lestat’s hair behind his ears and stroked them, too many times for it to be a regular caress. Lestat watched Armand watch him, turn his head back and forth, appraise him.

“If you were a Tevinter mage…”

Lestat pulled back, startled. He knew about elves in Tevinter because Armand had told him, showed him books so academic that Lestat was too humiliated to show his interest in them, since he knew he would struggle to read them.

“What?”

Armand held him fast by the sides of the head and made him look. “And I was a captive…brought to you, yours…” He tilted his head and sighed out.

Lestat felt his cock stir. He was too eager, trained already on Armand’s pretty voice and the strength of his fingers. He imagined himself the head of a household, wielding magical power, and Armand led into his bedroom with his arms bound.

Armand smiled slightly at what he saw in Lestat’s eyes.

“I’m not a mage,” was Lestat’s weak protest.

“You don’t need magic to master me. All you have to do is hit me.”

Lestat blinked hard and stood up. Armand let him go, arms falling limp to his sides.

“You only need threaten it,” Armand said, at the same time as Lestat said, “Do you truly think that I would hit you?”

Armand said nothing. Lestat sighed. His erection tented his pants and, he knew, would not go down on its own.

“A Tevinter mage,” he said. “A human, then?”

Armand stared at him keenly and nodded.

Lestat had plenty of practice pretending to be human. He hardly had to pretend, did he? All that his father berated him for and said was too elvhen--what did that man, a destitute Ferelden noble without even farmlands, know about elves? What did Lestat?

But-- “A mage, though. I’ve never played a mage.” Mages were villains, usually, and Lestat was cast as the hero. “But I have seen it done.”

Armand said nothing.

A spark of annoyance lit in Lestat’s stomach. “Are you in character already? The mute, terrified elf?”

Armand opened his mouth and Lestat did not want to hear honeyed words. He strode forward and grabbed Armand’s chin, tilting his head up at an extreme angle that choked his voice.

“Do you want to be my slave?”

Armand’s hand came up to hold Lestat’s wrist and then went back to his lap. His eyes burned. “No.”

Already they were playing. So Lestat slapped him.

It was a soft hit. Armand’s head didn't even turn. His cheeks both went ferociously pink. Lestat squeezed them tight.

“I've been traveling,” Lestat said. “I saw you at the market and decided to indulge. Perhaps I'll bring you home with me. Perhaps I'll sell you back before I leave.”

He steps forward, looming over him. “You know what you're here for.”

Character work set.

“Lestat,” Armand said.

Lestat hit his face again with a satisfying pop.

“You don't know my name.”

Armand's eyes were hazy when they turned back to his. Lestat recognized the look but it usually took more to get him there than a few harsh touches and Lestat setting the scene. He looked now like he had looked the night Lestat started touching him underneath the table in full view of the tavern. To be fair, Armand started it by crawling halfway into Lestat’s lap, and when Armand’s conversation slowed to a stop and he began to move as if he was in a dream Lestat tried to stop, but Armand squirmed and begged without words and when Lestat took him back to their room he didn’t even wait for Lestat to shut the door before he was on his knees. His eyes were wide and guileless, and for the first time Lestat had wondered if Armand was younger than he was.

He looked young now. “Master,” he whispered, and Lestat’s stomach twisted uncomfortably, feeling the weight of the word. His cock twitched, too. Damn thing.

He put two fingers over Armand’s lips. “Don’t talk. Lay on your stomach.”

Armand immediately went to obey. Lestat watched him stretch out on his stomach, hands in nervous fists by his head. This was real power, he realized.

“Stand up.”

Armand did. He was half a head shorter than Lestat and he kept his eyes trained on the floor as Lestat tilted his head up gently and traced his fingers over the slightly-faded lines of his valleslin. Armand never let him do this, but now he had decided to let Lestat do what he wanted, and so.

The tattoos curled beautifully around his features. His wide eyes, his sloping nose, the round cheeks. They mimicked tangled vines or the branches of a tree.

Lestat could almost hear Armand’s teeth grinding, but his eyes remained respectfully low.

“They suit you.” Lestat’s voice sounded too soft for his character.

Still, Armand flinched.

Lestat did not know what he was thinking of; Armand always spoke of his vallaslin trivially. They were beautiful but meant nothing to him. Perhaps they meant something to the character he played now.

“Take off your clothes and get on the bed,” Lestat said.

Armand didn’t move.

“Do it now, or I will force you. And you won’t like that.” Lestat raised one hand in the air like he imagined a mage would do. If Armand had given him any warning, he would have found a prop staff.

Armand’s hands went to the bottom of his tunic. “Please,” he said. “I’ll obey. Just don’t sell me back.”

Lestat’s throat felt dry and he needed to fuck Armand now. He could tell when he was being fed a line and he scrambled to find something fitting. “That depends on how--how you do.” He went on, to cover his stutter. “Tell me, are you fresh?”

Armand stood naked at the side of the bed. He was soft, which Lestat would remedy as soon as possible, but Lestat was gratified to see a red flush reaching down towards Armand’s chest.

“I can be for you,” Armand said.

Lestat took a fistful of Armand’s hair close to the scalp and bent him down over the bed. He did it because the thought entered his mind and he wanted to. For an excuse, he said, “Call me my title.”

With his nose practically pressed into the bedding, Armand said, “I can be fresh for you, master.”

Lestat let go of his hair and let Armand slump to the bed. He trailed a hand down his bare back toward the ass he loved so much.

“And if I find you too loose for me? What should I do then?”

“Punish me,” Armand said in a small voice. “Master.”

Lestat could not wait longer to fuck him after that, so he did, and once he was buried inside Armand he couldn’t bring himself to pause for that punishment--he also did not know exactly what that punishment could be, other than spanking him, and that seemed more like something a lover would do than a cruel Tevinter mage. Anyway, Armand was beautifully tight as he always was, and Lestat was not a liar.

Lestat was rough and pushed Armand’s head into the mattress. He didn’t touch Armand either, even a cursory caress to see if he was hard. In all honestly, he was so turned on himself and single-minded in his thrusting that he forgot, but it fit the fantasy. When he had come, he remembered, and he turned Armand over.

Tear tracks marked Armand’s face and his cock was leaking all over his thighs. It bounced against his belly, leaving a sticky smear. Lestat laid him lengthwise along the bed, crawled in next to him, and took him in hand.

“Sh,” he said, “sh, sh,” when Armand hiccuped and squirmed. He shook his head, rubbing his hair against the sheets and making it tangle. Lestat was very good with his hands and in minutes Armand sighed and came.

Lestat kept rubbing him, slowly, not trying to overstimulate him but maybe a little. He trapped Armand’s cock between his belly and Lestat’s palm, feeling it twitch and twitch.

Armand opened his red, puffy eyes and focused them on the ceiling. “Will you bleed me?” he asked in that small voice.

Lestat frowned. He had thought the roleplay was over. “What? No.”

Armand blinked slowly and suddenly he looked forlorn and abandoned, as if he was being denied the very thing he wanted most at his core. Lestat rushed to pick up the thread of his character, and to reassure him.

“You were good,” he said. “You did good, so I won’t bleed you tonight.”

Armand’s eyes met Lestat’s. He frowned as if he was confused, or surprised to find Lestat in his bed, holding his softening cock. Lestat moved his hand to Armand’s hip.

“Oh,” Armand whispered. “Thank you, Lestat.”

#armandshipfest #um hi

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