#an Acquired Taste | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

loviatarsluv · 3 months ago

Text

An Acquired Taste

“You play a twisted little game,

but I know in a way,

you need to complicate”

(gif from @silverformymonsters)

pairing: Astarion x afab f!tav (my oc, Aelia)

(takes place during the events of the game)

rating: mature

CW: threats of bodily harm (but like, sexy style), lots of sexual tension, choking, fingering, (f) oral, some light knifeplay, enemies to fwb type beat yk

in summary: Aelia and Astarion don't get along. At all. But all that built up tension and all those strong feelings have to go somewhere, right?

a/n: revision of my astarion fic on my old blog bc I really didn't have aelia as a character developed very well in my mind at the time nor what their relationship would probably look like so I decided to have another crack at it, hope you enjoy! :)

(oh also inspired by this song by sleep token bc obviously)

word count: 10.3k (oops i am so sorry)

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The trek back to camp is mostly silent, save for the odd comment about the weather or spew of stream of consciousness by Karlach, which provided at least a tiny bit of comic relief.

The air was thick and suffocating between the party’s leader and the vampire who just loved to piss her off— the air between them was typically quite tense, but today in particular was double what was usual for them.

As soon as they reach the camp, the group splits, all scattering across the site to their own chosen sections of it, Astarion nonchalantly strolling off to his own tent— seemingly unbothered in spite of his tightly wound shoulder muscles— which just so happened to be the closest one to hers. She audibly growls in frustration, earning a few concerned stares from her companions.

Gods forbid she find a modicum of solace within her own tent.

Before any of her companions can stop her or inevitably approach her with questions about what happened between her and Astarion, or unsolicited and, quite frankly, unnecessary advice, she slips off to the place that had been the one place of uninterrupted peace she had been able to find as of late.

The clearing in the forest near the water's edge that was just outside of camp, mostly hidden from the rest of the forest and guarded by a tall thicket of brush that she had only been able to find by crawling under a large fallen branch that cleared a small path just big enough for her to squeeze through.

She huffs a short sigh, but not one of relief as she’d initially hoped to find.

The usually ataractic smell of petrichor mixed with the misty air near the running stream fills her nose as she trudges through the muddy soil, her leather and metal plated boots feeling ten stones heavier than usual. She sets her sights on a fallen tree near the water, sinking down into the dirt before it and resting her nagging back against it, releasing another, much longer and deeper breath that she didn’t realize she’d been holding for what felt like days.

She slowly strips off the outer layers of her lightly plated armor piece by piece, goosebumps prickling her skin with each new bit of flesh exposed to the crisp evening air.

She hisses in pain as she discovers a few new bruises and scrapes that hadn’t been there prior to the events of the day while removing her gear, her pale skin tender and sore beneath it. Her entire body ached terribly, and she was utterly sapped.

The previous few days had been more challenging than anything she’d experienced in recent history— their predicament unfolding before them all in increasingly bleak shades of stormy gray and blood red with each new bit of information they receive regarding the mystery surrounding the parasites that writhed within their skulls.

She’d be lying if she said she still held the same amount of optimism toward the prospect of a cure as she had in the earlier days of their expedition. No, that was long gone.

In fact, the only emotion she seemed to feel lately was anger. Rage.

She knew that Faerûn was going to shit prior to being abducted by the mind flayers, but she had never seen for herself how truly doomed it was the way she had since then. It was sobering, to say the least.

She never considered herself to be particularly altruistic or even virtuous by any means, having been raised to prioritize her own safety as well as her loved ones’ before all else, as well as only being able to survive by picking pockets and slitting throats that stood in the way since her late teen years.

She wasn’t proud of it all, and her mind was not unburdened with the guilt that came with the darker parts of her years spent under the thumbs of those who only saw others as a means to an end.

But it was necessary at the time. It continued to be necessary, even more so now than ever before.

An image of home flashes through her mind as it treads that path— her real home. The home she shared with her family before it all burned to the ground.

She thinks of her sister, Nyzira, somewhere cozy and comfortable— likely Rivington, she thinks— barefoot with her ivory hair that perfectly matched their mother’s tied back as she tended to her new family.

Perhaps there were a few little Zira’s running around, with full bellies and big crooked smiles like their grandfather’s.

She wondered if any of them even knew that she existed, somewhere out there in the realm.

She envied her at first, when she first discovered what came of her life after they’d been separated. She was happy for her, naturally— but the sting of knowing that she’d found exactly what she’d always wanted almost immediately after everything came crumbling down was just as cruel.

Eventually she’d come to terms with the fact that the prospect of such happiness wasn’t as likely for herself as it’d been for her much less life-hardened sister— who’d rarely had to do so much as lift a finger outside of tending to their father for a great few years while Aelia had taken the brunt of all responsibility in place of him.

A rueful smirk burgeons on the corners of her lips as her mind shifts to think about what had eventually become her home after she’d regretfully had to leave her first one behind— Baldur’s Gate.

The bustling streets and the busy taverns in the upper city where she procured the majority of her coin and found both mild fortune and great misfortune all the same.

She chuckles to herself as she thinks of all of the nobles whose pockets she’d made lighter who were none the wiser— hells, most of them probably never noticed as gold was never in short supply for them the way it was for the rest of the population.

They were easy targets only due to their noses being so high in the air that they didn’t notice those beneath their opulent tanned hides, scrounging the streets for the crumbs they crushed beneath those perfectly polished slippers that she detested— how gaudy and pretentious.

But all she ever had to do was bat her eyelashes, whisper the same rehearsed sweet nothings that worked on every single one of them, and expertly slip her hand into their pockets while they were dumbstruck and enchanted by her every move. It was easier than easy, it was effortless.

She almost misses it, which was a thought she never thought would cross her mind— but things were simpler, then. It had all become routine after so many years of it, and the pains of her labour dulled over time as the wounds from it slowly healed. Slowly, yes, but healed all the same.

Of course, there was still the threat of death looming over her at every turn then, but at least she could put up a fight against the daggers and swords that were held to her throat when she got caught with her hand where it shouldn’t have been— but not this time, no. There was no fighting this.

Not the way she was used to, at least.

She couldn’t threaten the tadpole into ejecting itself with knives or swords or warfare, and she certainly couldn’t fight off ceremorphosis by sheer willpower.

True, she could cut through every goblin, drow, or cultist that dared cross her path if they didn’t offer a cure or information for a cure, but none of that mattered as the creature inside her was nothing more than a ticking time bomb.

Every second that passed could be her last without tentacles and an insatiable appetite for brains, and she’d be rendered nothing more than a soulless monster, doomed to follow every command given to it by an even greater monstrosity.

Her hope and faith in finding a solution deteriorated more and more as the days passed with no answers, no leads, and the prospect of making it out on the other side of this predicament seemed ever more distant.

A fleeting daydream dissolved by acerbic reality.

She groans loudly to herself, tossing her pounding head into her still bloodied hands as she brings her knees closer to her chest, wishing she could shrink and disappear into oblivion. Wishing the mud below her would form a sinkhole and just swallow her, that way it didn’t matter anymore, nothing would.

She reaches toward the edge of the water to rinse her hands, the cool water having a sharp bite to it the moment her skin comes into contact.

She takes a preparative breath before cupping the water and splashing it across her face gently, still feeling the grime stuck to her skin as if it had become a permanent fixture on her body. Some days it truly felt that way— no amount of scrubbing or Gale’s fancy soap that she’d nick from his bag could make her feel truly clean.

“Fuck,” She whispers through gritted teeth as she feels tears starting to well up in her eyes, much to her physical and internal protest.

In spite of her throbbing muscles and aching bones, she pushes herself up from the ground, refusing to resort to wallowing in self pity and mourning her once simple life, if she could call it that.

She supposed it was, in comparison.

But her chest felt as though it were caught in a vice, clamping down on her ribs and lungs and it felt as if she were fighting for every breath. Her fists were clenched so tightly that her nails dug into her palms so deeply that they were on the verge of drawing blood.

She felt the need to scream, to cry, to break something— even though she knew nothing would alleviate the weight that rested on her shoulders so heavily. Nothing that was remotely within her reach.

She felt like everything had come crashing down on her all at once and she was helpless to fight the barrage of what ifs and the potential outcomes of them flooded her mind.

Then, to top it all, her earlier argument with Astarion resurfaces in her mind.

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“Apologies for not being as keen to remove the thing that has given me what I’ve been deprived of for two centuries. I’m only saying that we should—”

“So you’d trade feasting on rats and rotting in a dirty cell for feasting on brains at the command of some start-up god? Desperation doesn’t suit you.”

His crimson eyes that were typically bright and playful were now dark and malignant, his jaw clenched and fangs bared. He looked as though he were about to lunge at her, before Wyll restrained his arms and held him back, much to his violent protest.

She regretted it the moment it left her lips, but she was too angry and too prideful to take it back. But he was seriously irking her— he provoked it out of her, she could hardly blame herself or feel sorry.

“What about you? Roaming the streets, scrounging through the garbage and the dirt for table scraps, stealing from nobles as you perch atop their laps— you’re no better than the rats I fed on, the only difference is that they were more tolerable company.”

It was then her turn to get pulled away, as within an instant her dagger was unsheathed and pointed in his direction. She couldn’t tell who it was that grabbed her— perhaps Gale, she thought, who was admittedly much sturdier than he appeared as he subdued her fairly quickly, wrapping his arms around her and dragging her away from the hissing vampire who was spewing further vitriol her way.

It took a lot of talking both of them down to diffuse the situation enough to safely make it back to camp in one piece, both of them too stubborn and prideful to let the matter rest until they just couldn’t stand to be near each other anymore.

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His voice echoes in her head, reminding her of every person she’d ever reached out to for help in her life, degrading her to nothing more than a pest begging and fucking for scraps. Her temper rises as she replays his words— “you’re no better than the rats I fed on”— turning his words over and over in her head, the final time they replay finally tipping her over the edge.

She retrieves her rapier from the heap she’d discarded her armor and clothes in catching a glimpse of herself reflected on the blade.

She looked tired. Exhausted. The dark circles under her eyes were nearly beginning to rival the shadow of her cheekbones casted over her sunken in cheeks from lack of proper nutrition for weeks now. Her hair was loose and wild, having fallen from her typically well kept braided updo. She looked as if she hadn’t rested in gods knew how long.

She clenches her jaw hard, her teeth aching from the pressure, and tightens her grip on the hilt of her weapon.

She searches for a good target, her eyes landing on a large oak tree adjacent to where she’d been sitting. It looked sturdy enough to handle whatever she flung its way, but in all actuality she didn’t care whether she cut the damned thing down or not.

She rushes toward it, swinging the blade into the trunk over and over until there were large and deep slashes in the base of the trunk, the bark flying in shards and bits of sap and wooden shrapnel, grunting and whimpering while she does as her bones and body still ache and it takes much of her leftover energy that was quickly waning from the day.

She curses loudly in her mother’s tongue— which she reserved only for moments of true desperation.

She’d taught herself Undercommon mostly for her own sake, so that she could speak her mind freely and know that neither her father nor her sister would understand. They’d know she was upset, but not the extent. Or that they were much of the cause.

“Xsa ukta! Xsa ukt wiles, ukt waele jindurn, xsa ol jal!” She rasps between slashes, her voice hoarse and weak.

She steps back, breath ragged and heavy, eyes burning with tears that she refused to shed— especially not over Astarion and his damned opinion.

She's too enthralled in her own outburst to hear the quiet footsteps approaching in the forest behind her, or the approaching presence.

“Undercommon, eh? Thought you denounced that part of your heritage,” Astarion’s condescending voice breaks her from her violent reverie, the hairs on the back of her neck standing on end.

“And what exactly did that tree do to deserve your wrath?” Astarion continues to taunt, slowly stalking up behind her.

She still doesn’t turn to face him, nor does she acknowledge him at all only to spare herself the energy and despite her desire to lash out at him, to spare him as well.

She trudges away from him, tossing her weapon to the ground and walking back toward the stream.

“Tsk, I’m getting the silent treatment now? No scathing insults or cruel comments regarding my past?” He continues to prod, following a few steps behind her.

“Fuck. Off.” She finally growls through gritted teeth, unable to take a second more of his goading.

He chuckles, the sound bitter and fabricated.

“Oh, darling. You couldn’t possibly think that we wouldn’t eventually have to kiss and make up after our little spat earlier. We’re stuck with each other in this sordid endeavor, after all, whether we like it or not.”

Her knuckles have gone white with the force of her clutching onto the fabric of her undershirt that she’d thankfully left on, on the off chance one of her companions came to check on her.

Much to her dismay, of course it was the one companion she wished she had never laid eyes on to begin with.

“I’d rather kiss a leech, darling,” she spits, her tone coated in vitriol. “I have nothing further to say to you. Unless you’d like me to finally return the gesture of holding a dagger to your throat.”

When they’d met outside the nautiloid crash, and the elf held her at knifepoint demanding information, assuming she was a thrall or working in tandem with the mind flayers, she thought perhaps they would get along.

She immediately recognized him as a kindred spirit as she knew that she likely would’ve done the same in his shoes. Admittedly, she found herself quite attracted to him, much to her own dismay. He was charming, easy on the eyes, bloodthirsty and self-driven. She’d always had a type.

The first few days a small fascination had begun to develop, but it was quickly squashed once she’d spent enough time around him.

Well, not entirely.

To her protest, the attraction, unfortunately, did not dissipate.

If anything, it only made her hate him more.

He almost cackles, stalking in ever closer, closing the gap between them step by step. She resists the urge to step backwards to increase the distance between them once again, and remains planted in place out of spite, digging her heels into the dirt to anchor herself. She wouldn’t let him have any amount of leverage over her if she could possibly help it.

“I think there’s a lot that we both want to say and do to each other— the question is who’ll be the first to act.” His voice is equal parts threatening and sultry— something only he did so well.

He could make you loathe him and lust him in one fell swoop with utmost ease. It was one of his biggest strengths, and a large reason why she hadn’t told him to piss off and find another group to leech off of. He was useful in and out of battle, as much as it pained her to admit so.

“The only thing I want to do with you at this very moment is throw your pasty arse in the river and hope that you’ve forgotten how to swim over the centuries.” She spat.

He continues to stalk closer, their bodies now less than a foot apart.

“You are an obstinate little pup, aren’t you? I quite like that about you. You don’t accept defeat easily, even when it’s right under your nose,” He pauses to tap the tip of her nose, causing her to jolt away from his touch as if it burned her. “It’s quite admirable, really.”

He leans forward, lowering his face so that they were eye to eye.

“Admit it, my dear. You’ve finally met your match with me.” He grins a devilish grin that she wants to slap off of his pretty mouth. If he were any closer, she might have.

“This isn’t a game to anyone but you. I simply wish to be rid of this damned thing in my head and you want to step in the way of mine and everyone else’s survival at every turn just for your own selfish sake!” She seethes, her voice raising and echoing through the woods.

He rolls his eyes. “Don’t act as though you give the slightest bit of a damn about anyone’s survival but your own, my darling Aelia. Altruism doesn’t suit you. You and I are cut from the same cloth, whether you choose to admit that to yourself matters not to me.”

Her once empty fist was now grasping the handle of her dagger that she kept sheathed and strapped to her thigh, as she always did— a habit that came in handy more times than she’d like for it to.

“I am nothing like you.” Is all she manages to hiss before he further closes the gap between them, his face now merely inches from hers, basically towering over her— their stark height difference being something only he had taken much notice to and fully planned on using to his advantage.

He feels the heat radiating off of her, and he tells himself that it’s due to more than merely anger, if only to stroke his own ego. Besides; he could smell it on her clear as day— the faint scent of arousal.

He knew that she was attracted to him, he’d caught her eyes lingering on him when she thought he wouldn’t notice— when he’d change into his evening shirt just outside his tent, or when he would traipse off into the woods to hunt at night, and in general throughout their days traveling. He would catch her eyes on him, watching him.

It made it all the more exciting for him, knowing that even though she despised him, she’d let him have his way with her if the opportunity arose. He was just biding his time for the right moment and preparing all the perfect words that he knew would reduce her to putty in his hands. Like clockwork.

“Keep telling yourself that, if it’ll help you rest peacefully at night.” He whispers, his eyes dark and hungry— she couldn’t decipher whether it was for her or her blood in one way or another.

“How can I sleep peacefully knowing there’s a leech who hates me in the next tent over from me?” She half jokes, not letting this closeness falter her composure, despite the way her heart was racing a million a minute.

He flashes that damned smirk that enhances his handsome smile lines and the tip of one that fang peeks over his bottom lip, teeth and eyes glinting in the golden glow of the sunset. The one that is only present when he’s up to something devious.

He almost looked alive, in this light. His usually pallid skin is nearly lively and bronzed and his crimson eyes almost appear to be a shade of dark brown instead. Although, she thinks that his eyes were probably a lighter shade of blue, before— similar to hers but deeper. Brighter.

Not that it mattered. Not that she cared.

“Hate is quite a strong word… What makes you think that I hate you?” His face flashes a feign innocent expression, in spite of his eyes still holding that same intense darkness that bordered between disdain and desire.

“I certainly don’t think that you like me, by any means. But not to worry, the feeling is mutual.” She retorts, her eyes narrowing as she attempts to look away from him, only for him to follow her gaze.

His smirk widens into a sadistic grin, both fangs now on full display.

“On the contrary, sweetness. I think we need to stop lying to each other if we’re going to continue this little adventure of ours together,” his voice is low and breathy, rumbling in his chest almost like a growl. He brings a hand up to trace the side of her jaw gently, and she flinches away.

“I’ve seen the way you look at me when you think I don’t notice.” He continues, his once gentle caress turning into a rough and forceful grab as he forces her to look at him, his blood red eyes boring into hers.

“Your eyes follow me everywhere I go. Your heart races when you’re near me. Admit it.”

“I only watch you because I don’t trust you. I thought that was fairly evident.” It was a lie. She knew it was a lie, but it was only a half lie, technically. She didn’t trust him, and she hadn’t since the very beginning.

How could she have? Not many trustworthy men hold you at knifepoint by way of greeting.

Yet another cruel laugh escapes his lips, catching her in her deception instantly.

He hums. “You know, this is quite a piss-poor show of your skills as a rogue. Here I thought you were an adept liar— tsk. How unfortunate for you, but delicious for me.”

Damn you!

“You are such a prick.” She seethes, the tip of her nose brushing his as she says it, his cool breath fanning across her face serving to chill her entire body as if it had been a harsh winter wind.

“And you are a lot less fun than you look. If only your personality lived up to that stunning face,” he crooks a wicked brow, knowing all too well that he’d just poked the beast, and now he awaited its claws.

His jibe had its intended effect as she nimbly unsheathes the dagger that her finger had remained constantly itching over ever since he made his unwelcome appearance into her life.

She presses it against the pallid skin of his throat just below the two small puncture wounds that made her shudder every time she got a good look at them. She swallowed her sympathy for him in favor of her hatred for him, and pushed him backward until his back hit the aforementioned abused tree with a loud thud.

He grunted in discomfort, but did not seem the least bit deterred.

His cool demeanor doesn’t falter for an instant, in fact, his face still twisted into that same demented sneer— it was more than evident to her now.

The bastard was enjoying this.

The air between them was so thick it would have only been able to have been cut with a great sword as their eye contact never breaks, neither of them intent on surrender.

“Give me one reason not to slit that pretty throat of yours.” She snarls behind gritted teeth, icy blue eyes ablaze.

He swallows hard, his Adam's apple grazing against the cool metal of her blade. The only sounds between the two of them being her heavy breaths as she presses the dagger ever so slightly further into him, but not enough to break skin.

“You think I’m pretty?” His voice was low and almost gravelly as he said it, as if a fire had been sparked in him that he had no intention of snuffing out.

He stares down at her, looking at her in a way he realized he hadn’t before. He’d seen her everyday for weeks now, but he hadn’t truly seen her before this moment. He acknowledged her beauty the first day they’d met, and made comments here and there just to get under her skin and to enact his albeit quite devious plan— but this was the first moment he truly realized the extent of her allure.

He couldn’t help but to admire her now— her silver eyes wide and wild with contempt, long raven black hair uncharacteristically disheveled with some strands sticking to her forehead due to leftover dried sweat and grime, her body pressed flush against him with only a flimsy shirt shielding her frame from him, the way her chest rose and fell rapidly with every labored breath she took as she seethed. The way the elegant features in her face seemed almost sharper while held so severely in the scowl she wore like a diamond necklace. Rage suited her.

And as twisted as it was— he delighted in it even more knowing that he was the main cause.

He makes no attempt to conceal his unbidden desire, allowing his tongue to slip out and wet his bottom lip, an undeniably lustful look in his eyes. He pressed his palms further against the tree.

It takes her a moment to notice when she finally comes back to her senses after her adrenaline settles, a disgusted grimace painting across her face as the realization hits.

“You’re disgusting.” She hisses, pulling away from him, lowering her blade.

Despite her words, the way he was looking at her sparked something in her— something she had done so well to disregard and push down up to this point, but her once strong resolve was weakening under his salacious gaze.

He remains silent. He thought perhaps if he kept her locked in this moment awaiting his rebuttal, he could be greedy for a while longer as his eyes trail up and down her body, constantly returning back to any exposed amount of flesh he could possibly find— hungry for more and more and more.

And from the angle she stood, with the sunset beaming behind her, her light colored linen shirt was practically opaque, drawing a perfect outline of her body that the greatest artist in all of Faerun themself couldn’t possibly have dreamt of.

He fixated on her delicate curves and the way her hips jutted out and her waist dipped in so elegantly above them, her toned arms flexing, muscles clenching. With her strong legs and thighs exposed, he could perfectly picture himself between them with them wrapped around him, pulling him in closer— whether it be his hips or his neck, mattered not to him. Either would be bliss, he was certain.

She was absolutely breathtaking, and his craving for her had doubled if not tripled at the sight of her here, radiant and full of fury, despite moments prior having her dagger digging into his neck. Hells, even then.

She starts to back up nervously as his gaze only intensifies— his eager eyes trailing her body felt like hot coals being dragged across her skin. She was alight under his watchful eyes.

Before she could move more than a couple inches away from him, his hands were gripping her waist, fingers digging into the soft flesh and surely leaving marks.

His body is rigid against hers and she realizes how sturdy he is— she’d seen him shirtless and seen his strength in action, but it was another ordeal entirely to feel it for herself and especially in such a direct way.

Her heart skipped several beats as he adroitly flips them so that her back is flush against the tree where he had previously been, effectively switching the roles and reveling in this new position of dominance he’d assumed.

His icy hand comes up to her throat, closing his fist around it firmly but not enough to entirely restrict her breathing and pinning her against the wood, his face now close enough to feel her hot breath against his cheeks.

The rough bark digs into her scalp and back, his fingers press into the spot just below her jaw near her pulse point. He feels her pulse thrumming rapidly against his fingertips, he can hear her heartbeat racing in her chest.

“You wound me, pet… I almost believed you, but you lack a bit of conviction,” He purrs, his cold breath and the tone of his voice sending a chill down her spine in spite of a simultaneous and quite unwelcome heat through her, pooling low in her core.

With one hand still on her throat, his other hand rests low on her waist before languidly roaming the parts of her body that weren’t pressed against his.

She feels boneless under his touch as all of her previously built up walls and her frigid facade start to melt from the warmth of being close to his body, but not without her brain chiming in and reminding her who he is and how bad of an idea this was.

Terrible, actually. This was a terrible idea.

“Let me go.” She whispers plainly, unable to muster enough nerve to yell or scream or fight, settling for no emotion at all and hoping it pays off.

He smirks at her knowingly, his hand advancing upwards, his fingers trailing over the side of her breast, causing her nipples to harden, peaking against the soft linen fabric of her shirt.

“Is that what you truly want, darling? Your body is singing a different song,” he hums, his thumb now grazing her nipple agonizingly gently, disrupting any thought or intention she held of fighting him off. “And what a lovely melody it is.”

She's unable to find a word that could suffice in telling him to stop, but also dear gods please keep going. Her body was taking the reins, and she blames it on having not had any sort of intimacy since long before the nautiloid— only to avoid the prospect that deep down, she was truly enjoying this. This intimacy, this intensity.

And even deeper down, she knew she was enjoying it because it was him.

Any and all words were far out of her reach, her mind somewhere between here and the heavens (or perhaps the hells). She studies his face, now that he was much closer than he ever had been.

Had she ever noticed that mole before? The way his eyes crinkled when he smiled or spoke?

He tightens his grip on her throat, pressing his index finger and thumb on either side of her jaw to direct her face forward, forcing her to hold eye contact despite her attempts to protest.

“Tell me.” He commands, his voice rasping, rumbling deep within his chest. “Tell me. What you want.”

She bites down on her bottom lip almost hard enough to bite through, a metallic taste hitting her taste buds as the skin breaks just enough to allow a small drop of blood to release.

Her body was trembling with the effort it took to contain herself and not to give in to him, but it was proving to be an insurmountable task.

The logical side of her brain wants to say no, unwilling to give him the satisfaction of her begging for him like she knows he wants— but she can’t.

The part of her brain that is apparently driven by the idiotic thing between her legs is screaming over any logic and telling her everything she doesn’t want to hear, their voices drowning out any amount of sensibility she ever had, if there ever were any to speak of.

“Harder.” She barely manages to choke out, her voice strained against the pressure of his hand on her throat.

He freezes, his body stilling and tensing up, like a coiled serpent ready to strike.

“What was that, darling? I couldn’t quite hear you.” He grits his teeth, his voice low and his mouth centimeters from her ear.

“Harder.” She says louder, placing her hand over his and pressing down.

Gods, he could’ve come undone right then and there.

Without another word, their lips collided in a frenzied and feral kiss as if they’d both been starving for days and this was a four course meal— their lips melded and their tongues moved in sync as if they’d done it a million times before.

Her fingers ran desperately through his ivory curls, tugging at the roots, nails dragging across his scalp and eliciting a groan from him that sent liquid magma throughout her veins.

He obliges her request, slightly closing his fist tighter around her neck, which chokes a moan out of her that he quickly swallows in another kiss, savoring every single sound and breath as if it were life elixir.

He moans as his tongue swipes across her still bleeding lip, the smallest taste of her not being nearly enough to fully sate him but enough to send a warm flush to his pointed ears, the tips pinking.

“Absolutely divine.” He whispers as he pulls away, licking the remnants of her off of his own lips before pulling her back in.

His free hand greedily continues to roam and grab at anything he can— her strong thighs, the smooth swell of her ass, her supple breasts, her wide hips. He can't get enough of her, he swears even being inside her wouldn't satisfy his desire for her. He wants to mark her, he wants to claim her, he wants her to be his in one way or another, even if it was only for this purpose alone.

She hooks her leg around his, pulling his body flush against hers and slotting him perfectly between her legs, feeling his hardened cock straining against his breeches as it presses to her lower stomach.

Holy fuck.

She almost gasps, somewhat disappointed but secretly pleased to discover that he was well endowed— based on what she could feel through his clothes, at least.

She had hoped she could at least say he was lacking or that the sex was awful after it was all said and done, but she had an inkling that this was just yet another thing she would have to begrudgingly give him his due credit for.

He notices her reaction to the bulge in his pants, and smirks as he presses a wet kiss to her jaw, then rocks his hips forward to press himself against her even harder.

"This is your doing, you know," He breathes, a smirk evident in his voice. “It’s always you. And yet, I’ve only just now gotten a taste. A mistake in need of prompt rectification.”

Annoyed by his arrogant words and gesture, she digs her nails into his shoulder, a noise that's somewhere between a moan and a frustrated growl escaping her as he continues to suck on her neck, her skin tingling and stinging as the sharp tips of his fangs graze it.

“I’m starting to think you like having your life threatened a little too much.” She breathes.

He chuckles, lips still hovering over her neck. “Only by you, darling.”

He palms at her ass cheek roughly, surely leaving a slew of intentional bruises so that she has a reminder the next morning, then smacking it— his frigid touch adding a delicious sting to the harsh contact.

She yelps quietly, biting her lip in an attempt to stifle any noises she may make. He shakes his head, releasing her neck and bringing his hand up to trace her lips with his fingertips.

“No, no, sweetness, I want to hear that beautiful voice of yours. For now, at least.” He has a look as if he was planning something that instantly set her on edge— she never knew what to expect from him, especially not in this sort of circumstance.

“You are such an arse,” She grunts indignantly, before he dips a finger in between her parted lips.

Almost as if on pure instinct, she sucks on his digit, swirling her tongue around it and lavishing it in her spit. His breath hitches as he stifles a pleased groan at the sight of her blushed lips wrapped around his finger, her cheeks hollowing as she sucks. She smirks pridefully, his finger still in her mouth.

“And yet, here we are.”

In rebuttal, she bites down on his finger just enough to hurt, which causes him to hiss in pain and surprise. He shoots her a warning glance, then relaxes when he sees the amusement on her face.

“So feisty.”

He rubs her bottom lip with a second finger, a silent plea to add another into her mouth, which she promptly obliges.

She gives the second finger the same treatment as the first, her mind running wild with images of his cock in place of his fingers, how he might taste, the way it already weeps with arousal for her— it felt so wrong, yet she couldn't seem to get enough.

She was drunk on desire, and he was the chalice from which she supped from.

He pulls his fingers out of her mouth with a pop, his crimson eyes holding hers in an intense glare as he brings his other hand down to hook her underwear to the side. She sucks in a shocked breath as the cool breeze hits her drenched cunt.

He makes a show of bringing the two fingers that had just been in her mouth down to rub her soaking folds, holding her attention and making sure that she was watching his every move.

“Mmm. Already so ready for me.” He moans, his voice low and gravelly as he slowly begins to spread her apart, the filthy sounds of her arousal like a melody to his ears.

A loud moan rips through her and she throws her head back, the slightest touch embarrassingly overwhelming already. Perhaps it was the anticipation, or perhaps it was because it'd been so long since she'd been touched like this, or worse— it was just another testament to how badly she craved his touch.

“Rather sensitive, aren't we, pet?” He teases, dipping his head down to place a kiss to the part of her chest that was exposed by the low neckline of her shirt.

“Shut. Up.” She growls, her hand gripping the nape of his neck and pulling him closer. The rumbling of his laughter echoes in her chest as his mouth stays pressed against it.

He presses wet kisses further and further down as he slowly moves his face lower, sinking to his knees in front of her.

She can't contain the gasp that escapes her as she peers down at him— his typically pristine and well groomed silvery white curls were a disaster as a result of her hands ravaging them, his eyes were dark and lidded, his chest rising and falling rapidly. Not to mention, the satisfaction that came from him being on his knees below her, piecing together in her mind what he intended to do— gods below, it was almost too much to bear.

He raises her shirt higher, holding it up between her breasts and getting just a small peek of the underside of them— the temptation to rip the wretched thing off of her and completely bare her to him crossing his mind. He decides against it, unsure if she'd want to be fully exposed in case someone decided to come check on her.

He, personally, wouldn't mind any of the others finding them this way— that way they would know that he was staking his claim on her. He was well aware that he was far from the only one in the camp that had any ounce of interest in her (for one reason or the other) and that several of them had surely dreamt of touching her— but he planned on being the only one who gets to.

He straightens himself up so he can trail another line of wet kisses down her abdomen, stopping just above the waistband of her underwear. His eyes flick back up to hers, finding that she had been watching his every move— satisfied with how quickly she catches on to his desires, as if it were natural to her.

So far so good.

He hooks two fingers beneath the fabric on each of her hips, waiting for her to protest. She doesn't, instead she reaches her hand down and attempts to pull them down herself. He grabs her wrist, stopping her.

“Ah ah, allow me.” He commands, his voice equal parts soothing and threatening. She drops her hand back to her side. “Good girl.”

She silently curses as she feels her walls clench around nothing simply at the sound of his praise.

He rips the fabric down her legs, letting it pool at her ankles before he hooks an arm under her thigh and lifts it so that she steps out of them. He pushes them aside, keeping her leg lifted as he pushes her night shirt out of the way once again, entirely revealing her drenched and throbbing cunt to him, at long last.

He practically salivates at the sight, his eyes burning trails all around it as he drinks in every inch of her newly exposed flesh. This causes her to furiously blush for the first time during this encounter, suddenly feeling self conscious about her most intimate area. She feels the urge to cover herself, her leg instinctively moving to press against the other. He stops her immediately, pressing her leg up even higher, stretching her already sore thigh muscles further and testing her fortitude.

“Absolutely perfect. To think you’ve been keeping this all to yourself.” He coos, his voice now softer— reverent, even. As if he were quietly admiring the finely crafted sculpture of a goddess on display in the foyer of a tabernacle.

With her leg now draped over his shoulder, he continues his attack of wet and hungry kisses up her leg. He toys with the knife strapped to her thigh, running a finger along the hilt of the blade, then biting the leather strap on the innermost part of her leg, his lips brushing against the sensitive skin and causing her hair to raise on end.

He slowly continues trailing up to the apex of her thighs, pausing at the very top of her thigh and nipping at the plush skin.

Her arousal and frustration had begun to come to a rolling boil within her, him taking his damn sweet time was beginning to piss her off all over again and she knew he was doing it deliberately. He was trying all that he could to get her to beg for more to satisfy his ego.

“Astarion, if you don't eat me out right now, I'm going to kill you.”

She wouldn't beg, no. Threatening, though? Easy.

“Patience, darling. Good things come to those who wait.”

She scoffs. “I'm starting to think you're stalling. Scared that you won't be able to live up to that illustrious reputation of yours that you’ve been squawking about?” She taunts, fighting back a smirk.

His eyes narrow, his once smug face falling into a scowl.

He quickly unsheathes the knife on her thigh, grabbing it by the blade. Her eyes widened.

“What in the nine hells are you doing?” Her voice held a bit of unease as she watched him gently tap the tip of the blade, as if he were testing the sharpness.

He grins wickedly, his eyes flicking from the dagger back up to hers. “I'm going to occupy that pretty mouth of yours. Open,” he demands, bringing the hilt of the dagger up to her lips.

She shoots him an uncertain look, confused and apprehensive. He sighs, frustrated, then presses the hilt further until her lips parted, and she took it between her teeth.

The sun had finally dipped below the horizon, the golden light shifting to a cool blue glow, the reflection of the moon glinting off of the recently sharpened and polished blade. She hadn’t realized just how sharp Lae’zel managed to make it, and having it so close to her face this way truthfully made her nervous.

A twisted part of her enjoyed it for that fact.

He looks up at her, the sight of the hilt of the dagger that she'd threatened him with only minutes prior, now held between her teeth was both ironic and unequivocally erotic.

“Much better. Shall we try this again?”

Satisfied with the outcome of his bright idea and the muffled groan of frustration above him, he returns to his prior ministrations, starting his trail of sloppy kisses right back where he'd begun them just at the side of her knee.

He repeats the process identically to how he'd done it previously, except this time he bites the top of her thigh slightly harder, eliciting a whimper from her, nearly causing the knife to slip out of her mouth.

“Careful, pet.” He warns, a slight smirk playing on the corners of his lips.

With his face still right at the crest of her thigh, cool breath fanning across her burning hot flesh, he brings his even colder fingers back up to tease her folds, the tip of his finger brushing against the swollen and sensitive bud at the top. She jolts at the sensation, involuntarily crawling upward onto the tree, now on tiptoe with her leg that's still on the ground. He tightens his arm around her thigh, pulling it down on to his shoulder roughly as if to warn her to stay still. She obliges, flattening her foot back down and relaxing her posture as best as she can manage, the thought of making this take even longer agonizing.

His deft fingers work her slowly, touching everywhere but where she needed him most with utmost gentleness. The sounds of her slick arousal seemed much louder now that they’d both gone mostly quiet apart from their heavy breathing, and she feels that damned blush creep back up to her cheeks once again.

She involuntarily yelps when his fingers tease at her entrance, her walls instinctively clenching desperately around nothing. She disobeys him by wriggling in his grasp and rocking her hips forward in an attempt to get him right where she wanted him, then realizes and quickly tries to cease her movements. He lets his thumb rest against her swollen and throbbing clit, refusing to move even an inch until she settles down.

“Look at you,” he coos. “So eager for me. I almost want to take that dagger out of your mouth and hear that sweet voice moan for me again.”

She bites down even harder into the hilt of the dagger to stifle the moan that threatens to escape her throat, certainly leaving teeth marks that won’t let her forget this moment later.

He chuckles, his eyes still trained on her face, savoring the way it twists in pleasure as he pushes ever so slightly further against her entrance, his thumb pressing harder against her throbbing clit— delighting in her every reaction to him.

The way her brows knitted up, the way her glossy eyes widened, her hands clutching the fabric of her shirt and holding it close to her chest, the way the dagger shifted slightly in her mouth as her jaw clenched around it. She was a feast for his eyes and he intended to savor every bite.

Finally, he decides to show her mercy and push his fingers further in, careful to move slowly and give her time to adjust. Her eyes blow wide and her head falls back against the tree, giving him a full view of her neck that makes his mouth water at the sight.

Next time, he thinks hopefully to himself.

His fingers are just barely not too thick for her— the stretching only slightly uncomfortable, but otherwise euphoric. He pumps in and out at a careful and gentle pace at first, quickening over time as he feels her fully adjust to the width of his fingers. She’s maddeningly tight, her velvet walls clenching his fingers perfectly with every plunge into her depths in a way that could make a man mad.

He can barely think straight, all rational thought having left him ages ago, perhaps the moment he laid eyes on her. All that he can think now is how badly he wishes it were his cock in her rather than his fingers— but as he’d told her, good things come to those who wait.

She feels herself creeping ever closer to her peak as his movements become more and more rhythmic and deliberate, his thumb rubbing circles around her clit as his fingers piston in and out, hitting all of the right spots that drive her wild. Her body is buzzing, her legs trembling. She wants to resist how incredible this all feels, but gods, does it feel incredible.

Everything that comes after this is a problem for later, right now, all she wants is to—

“Aah!” She yelps as he curls his fingers within her, the dagger slipping from her mouth and thankfully dropping to the ground beside them leaving both of them unscathed.

He grins, continuing his ministrations. “Are you gonna come for me, pet?”

She takes her bottom lip in between her teeth, scared to say yes in fear that he may stop and deprive her of her release just to spite her.

“Answer me.” He commands, his voice coming out as a low growl.

She reluctantly nods.

“Use your words. Answer me.”

“Y-yes. Gods, yes. Just… don’t stop.” She whines, trying her damnedest for it not to come out as a beg, but rather a command. It was only mildly successful.

To her surprise, he speeds up the pace, pumping in and out of her hard and fast, the way she so desperately craved it. She feels herself right at the edge, her orgasm impending— he can tell, as she writhes and whimpers over him. Just as he can tell she’s about to climb the pinnacle, he stops.

She keens at the sudden loss of friction and movement, her walls clenching down around his fingers even harder, her cunt throbbing and dripping onto his hand.

“Why…” Is all she manages to say, her breathing ragged and her chest heaving.

“I want to taste you.”

That alone could have sent her over the edge.

She nods fervently, her hips bucking forward toward his face.

He considers punishing her for being too hasty and too eager, but he couldn’t care less anymore to keep up this game they’d been playing— he needs to taste her. He needs to devour her.

He moves his thumb, making way for his tongue to replace it. He expertly strokes his tongue across her folds, her essence sweet and tangy on his taste buds and satisfying him in a way that could rival that of the sweetness of the tiny taste of her blood he’d gotten earlier. He swipes the tip of his tongue across her clit, causing her to jerk against his mouth, a string of incoherent curses leaving her lips at the friction.

She releases the tight grasp she had of her shirt and threads her fingers through his hair once again, gripping it almost painfully. He groans against her, the vibrations of his voice against her throbbing sex causing her to see stars.

He lifts her shirt out of his way once again, mouth never breaking from her, and growls in frustration at the piece of fabric that kept dropping into his face. Taking his growl as a nonverbal command, she rips the fabric over her head and tosses it aside, now completely bare to him as well as the cool night air.

His eyes widened at the sight of her, finally getting a full view of the rest of her that was previously unrevealed to him. He breaks away from her for a moment, both hands moving to palm her full breasts, his fingers teasing her contrastingly pink nipples between the tips causing her to shiver.

He notices the scars on her arms and around her hips that he hadn’t been privy to before. He brings his hand to trace a longer one that stretched from her waist down low on her left lip. He wanted to ask, but he knew all too well how telling scars could be.

She was strong, he knew that already, but to see the way her muscles glistened while drenched in sweat and moonlight as well as the other softer parts of her— he was awestruck.

“Gods. You are exquisite.”

She’d almost prefer if he’d insult her, be cruel to her, say the worst things he can think of— that way she wouldn’t have to grapple with these new feelings that are bubbling up to the surface at how generous of a lover he’s proven to be, when only minutes prior she was sure that they shared a mutual animosity for each other. Maybe he was just putting on a show for her, like he always did.

Yes. He’s putting on a show. He has to be, she thinks.

She hisses through her teeth when he finally brings his mouth and hand back to her waiting and eager warmth, wasting no time in resuming his prior crusade to make her come fast and hard, pumping his fingers at a punishing pace, his tongue circling her clit in tandem. He keeps his free hand on her breast, pinching her nipple hard, causing her to roll her hips into his face.

“That’s it, darling. Take what you need.”

For fucks sake, he’s going to be the death of me.

His words, his mouth, and his dexterous fingers are a wicked combination— every single movement, every single word, every lap at her needy cunt is nearly too much for her to bear as she uses every bit of her remaining strength to keep from crumbling into a heap in the dirt.

She felt herself melting into his every touch, his every word, even his very presence, and if she hadn’t been neck deep in the throes of pleasure, she’s certain that she’d be terrified of that fact.

As requested by him, she continues to rock her hips forward, grinding down onto his fingers and mouth, his fingers hitting all the right places to drive her over the edge of bliss. She grips at his shoulder to anchor herself to reality in some way, nails digging into the fabric of his ruffled evening shirt, chest heaving as she creeps ever closer once again, and silently prays he has mercy on her this time.

“Astarion, I’m—”

“I know.” he says, voice muffled with his mouth still tongue deep in her.

Cocky bastard.

As if on command, she shatters, tumbling over the edge into free fall towards the hardest orgasm she’s had in months, perhaps even years.

Her body shakes and writhes as she gushes on his tongue, but he doesn’t slow his movements, still pumping into her as she rides out her high, pangs of unbridled pleasure crashing over her like the furious waves of a stormy sea.

Her legs quiver as the one leg that she had been using to stand begins to buckle at the knee as all strength she’d had left from the day has finally been sapped from her body. She slowly slides down the tree into his lap, eyes closed and still reeling.

She manages to weakly tilt her head forward, looking him in the eye for the first time with new lenses— unsure what that meant for her yet. She was half sure that she still hated him.

Maybe fifty-five percent sure.

He grins at her, his own chest still heaving as he catches his breath, ruby irises lighter than before, a look in his eyes that she doesn’t quite recognize.

“I’d be lying if I said I haven’t been dying to do that since the day I met you.” He says, popping his fingers into his mouth and licking her slick off of each affected finger, then flattening his tongue against the palm of his hand, never once breaking eye contact.

She swallows hard at the sight, her still sore and sensitive core starting to flutter again at the immorality of it all as he cleans himself in the filthiest way he possibly could.

“I still don’t like you, you know. You’ll have to do more than make me come to change that.” She says, managing to keep her tone unusually calm and amicable toward him despite her words and the way her heart palpitated in her chest.

“Oh, my sweet, who said we had to like each other to do that? In fact, I think it makes it all the more thrilling.” He brings his hand up to her cheek, gently caressing it and swiping his thumb across it.

She puffs air out of her nose, a wry smile on her lips. “Who said we were going to do that again?”

He grins, bringing his still wet lips and face closer to hers, his breath smelling strongly of a mixture of her essence, wine, and a bitter metallic smell that was undeniably blood— she assumes he hunted not too long before he joined her in the woods.

“Time is a fickle thing. We only have so much of it left before we inevitably turn into soulless monsters at the pace we’re moving at towards this supposed ‘cure’,” he explains, using his fingers to make air quotes, “May as well enjoy the most carnal of pleasures while we still can, tentacle free.”

She had to admit that he had a point, but that didn’t aid the cause of her indecision about her feelings toward him. He was a self-centered, cold, morally bankrupt—

Gods. She could easily be describing herself.

She knew that she had nothing more to say on the matter, at least for now, so rather than giving a response, she reaches for her shirt beside her and uses it to wipe his mouth gently.

His eyes go wide at this, shock written in bold on his expression. He feels the urge to pull away, but somehow doesn’t. He couldn’t.

No one had ever helped him clean up after. Let alone someone whom he wasn’t even sure he liked above merely tolerating outside of… well, this.

She finishes cleaning his face and pulls the shirt over her head quickly before meeting his unwavering glare, a calm kindness in her eyes as she met his. She readjusts his hair that she’d absolutely ravaged between her fingers, knowing that he wouldn’t be able to preen himself in a mirror nor be able to fix it himself.

She smiles softly, placing her hand on his cheek. “There. As if it never happened.”

He breaks from his daze at this, cocking a brow and smirking. “Trying to forget already? Normally that takes about a tenday and some heavy drinking to pull off. Trust me, I’d know.”

She rolls her eyes. “I just can’t have the others thinking—”

“That you enjoyed yourself for once? Oh, gods forbid,” he scoffs, crossing his arms over his chest.

“You can hate me all you want, darling. But you and I both know that we need each other if we’re to make it out of this disaster we’ve found ourselves tangled in alive. And let’s be honest— it’ll only be a matter of time before you’re crawling back into my bedroll, begging for another taste.” He taunts, his voice in that same low and sultry tone he did so well, the one that he knew had the power to melt anybody right into his hands.

She feels a biting response on the tip of her tongue as her instinct to fight against him kicks in— then a (potentially very bad) idea flits into the back of her mind, a mischievous smile following suit. The game was now set, and she was ready to play.

“We’ll see who begs who first, darling.”

—

Drowish translation from earlier in the chapter: “Damn him! Damn his words, his stupid pointy face, damn it all!”

don’t know how accurate this is I just found a random translator online don’t come for me

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