The Truth of It
Rating: Explicit 18+ only!
[AO3 Link]
[Kinktober 2023 prompt thanks to @absurdthirst! October 20th - Thighfucking]
[[TW/CW: Cptsd, blood, suicide (mentions, ideation, past attempts—girliepop goes through it), death mentions, self-hate]]
Summary: Vistri opens up about her suicide ideation.
Act I - Mountains camp - After the failed zaith'isk/Githyanki cure
[Click here for my other Kinktober one-shots]
“Vistri?” Shadowheart called out her name a second time; right next to her, on the same bit of seating, and she still didn’t answer. Not even her favorite people could shake Vistri from the mood she’d fallen into, bog-like and hollow.
The back of her neck stung hot with Astarion’s consistent frown. His eyes, sharp with professed concern, had stalked her ever since she’d messed with the Githyanki’s purification device. It wasn’t the first time she almost died in front of him. With that face, if she were gone, he could easily find another bedroll to slake his lusts. Vistri didn’t know why he was pretending to be so bothered about it! Her disappearance should be a non-issue.
A general or an artist would be able to point it out, someone who could look at the lay of the land and positions of its people, and read stories. While everyone else was gathered in a group circle, passing around open hearts, laughing smiles, and shared bottles, Astarion stood in front of his tent, glaring at his lover who could hear nothing but the displeasure in his eyes.
As Shadowheart called her name for a third time, Vistri stormed off with a growl.
She’d been a puzzle to Astarion for most of the day, but this really took the cake. It was alarming to see her blink Shadowheart out of existence like that. Sure, they’d all known each other for only a few tendays, give or take, but from the outside, those two could have grown up together. If Shadowheart couldn’t take control of her storm, Astarion had no idea how his ship would fare it. All raging waters, she stomped in his direction like a 50ft wave.
Before he could get a word out to question why she marched over in such a fitful state, she huffed, “Stop it.”
Something in her tone and approach immediately ruffled his feathers. The sheer unpredictability of her made his anxiety appear before she spoke, and whatever it was that got under his skin, spiked it. He didn’t expect these kinds of feelings to ever be molded by her hands. It was always quite the opposite.
Betrayed, he swallowed, then bit back, “Excuse me?! Stop what?”
“Augh!”
Astarion clicked his tongue and lightened his tone, “Oh, dear. Did you misplace your charm? Because I do miss it ever so much.”
Thankfully, none of the others were nearby to witness Vistri’s moment of disgrace. They were all sitting around the old cistern, laughing and having a pleasant evening. Even Lae’zel, who popped a vessel every time they stopped to rest and whose “cure” turned out to be a lie of her people, was unusually animated. She kept egging on Karlach to ask Gale more questions about his grandad. Vistri was more likely to elbow a dear friend out of the way for a better view than sit there unresponsive. Her favorite thing to do was fuck around, and she hated being serious.
So, again, what was she doing bothering him for? What-the-fuck did he do?! He was used to getting in trouble, made a habit of it actually; all he wanted was to know was why.
Astarion raised his brow, pointing to the merriment she’d left behind to come fuss at him. Then it knitted with the other one, “Are you sure everything’s all right—”
“No! That! Stop that!” One more version of, Are you okay? from his so obviously deceptive lips and Vistri swore she’d jump into the campfire.
“I’m sorry?”
“Augh!”
“Do you…? Do you need to sit down? Or?”
“I do not need anything. I’m fine! Please, spare me your false concerns.”
“False con—! Oh, I’m sorry! Did I dare to give a shit for once? Fuck me, I’m never doing that again.”
Frustrated tears began to well up in Vistri’s eyes. A crater opened up in her stomach, “No!”
“No?”
Because the thing was that nobody cared. No one who fucked her ever asked if she was okay, because Vistri was always fantastic, and even if one doubted that for even a second, all they needed to seek relief was just to sit back and enjoy her show. The audience may gasp at a particularly nasty fall, but she always shot up afterwards with a grand smile and confetti rained down on her head. Astarion asked without really being the first person to ask. He said the words, his brow screwed up, but there was no way in any of the hells that he meant it. And if she could just say, You scare the shit out of me because none of it can be real, then maybe he’d be able to clear things up for her.
But all she could articulate was, “Augh!”
Astarion sighed to calm his excited rage, “I’m lost. Am I speaking to Vistri? Or is this some sort of residual, pissed-off-tadpole effect?”
She bit her tongue to stop herself from spitting back with something truly nasty she didn’t really mean and would forever regret. Astarion looked like he was doing the same. His eyes were as sharp as his smirk, and there was something dangerous in his air. Like he was ready to fight to the death, and by the gods, so was she.
Vistri balled her hands into fists, so wanting to break whatever laid at the root of his giving a shit. To snap it like a twig, and watch it die in his eyes.
It was the only thing she deserved.
The tender glint in his eyes sliced through her, sharp like papercuts. She would lose his frowning lips, and the memory of her would disappear as others sucked them. Vistri wanted to kiss them before it was too late. Tangle herself in his tongue and his arms and his chest, until she was nothing but raw heat, just something for him to take. So the rage had nowhere to go.
She blinked back her revulsion, and the overflow spilled down her face. Embarrassed, her voice cracked, “My head…”
Astarion’s defenses shut down. His heart seemed to obey her voice; whereas before it raised his shackles and grit his teeth, it now stilled his rage and broke it down into tenderness. He stepped closer with the care he’d just promised never to show again. Instinctively, he caressed the sides of her head, as if touch could cure it. The gentleness of his gesture, its complete lack of hesitation, tore Vistri’s heart in two, with one side empty as the void and the other full to bursting.
“Did that wretched Githyanki device hurt you, love?”
She nodded. That wasn’t it, but it was an easier story. Besides, if everyone believed in it enough, maybe it would become true.
Astarion sighed, “I think you deserve a good lie down. Why don’t we head inside my tent?”
She shook her head, “I don’t want to be inside.”
He lifted her chin up with his finger to peer inquisitively into her face. Astarion’s eyes met hers with kindness, forgiveness, “What about a walk to clear your mind?”
She nodded her head gratefully.
“Then we’ll take a quaint little stroll around the cliff,” his voice was soft and a little cheeky, “Would that be nice?”
It was embarrassing for Astarion to act with the patience of a paladin, and even more so for Vistri to act in a way that required it. They wore those roles like ill-fitting clothes. With that awkwardness lingering around them, making the air sharp, they took a step forward. He led her to another part of camp, away from all the others and their merriment. To get uphill, they had to first walk a decline. He carefully guided her passed rocks that stuck out and ground that slid, like she was someone frail. A ghost had more presence than she did at the moment.
Discordant bits of laughter from the group carried over on the wind and hit their backs like mocking jeers, even though it had nothing to do with either of them. The only rooms they’d ever known filled one’s absence with group whispers. Astarion swallowed such blaring thoughts. Willing them away, he turned to the task at hand and gently brought her to the spot they claimed for themselves the other night.
“Care for a roll in the hay?”
She’d clicked her fingers, and about three bales of it exploded into existence around their feet that night. The proud cockiness in her smirk was too delicious not to lick up, and he’d devoured her with a similar pride. Guilty lusts settled in now with those memories. Astarion shook his head to clear it.
“Come sit,” he insisted, his tone harsher than he meant, “We wouldn’t want you falling over, and you seem rather dizzy.”
“Better?” he asked as she did.
Vistri nodded, but he saw it for the lie it was. Astarion knew more than most that sometimes there was no better. He sucked his teeth and sat down next to her.
“Does it hurt?”
“Hmm?”
“Your head, darling. Does it—?”
“Oh, it’s fine. I’m fine.”
The way she blew off his rare kindness brought him right back to his previous rage, like he’d never left it. His mood visibly soured.
“You’re doing it again,” she muttered.
Astarion scoffed, “Pray tell, what am I apparently doing again?”
She shook her head, “It’s so silly.”
“I could use a laugh.”
Vistri sighed, admitting bashfully, “You’re… You keep frowning at me. Like you care what happens to me—Or something! I don’t know what you’re playing at, but we both know what’s what here and I’d rather that than be played a fool.”
Her words struck his heart, and reminded Astarion of who he really was.
“Well… That wasn’t very funny. Try again.”
Vistri laughed, “You prick!”
For that second, he wasn’t a leech, and she wasn’t an empty glass. They stepped out of their roles to be Astarion and Vistri sharing a joke together. Then reality set in.
“I don’t like to see you hurt,” he said out loud, trying it on for size. It wasn’t wrong either. He felt like rats had been chewing through his veins as he watched her twist and shriek in the grasp of that alien machine.
“Afraid of the goods getting damaged?”
He smirked, “Obviously.”
Vistri pulled apart a bit of hay, watching it break between her fingers without seeing it, “I don’t know how to take… I mean…”
Astarion waited for her to continue, but more words never came. His hand reached for hers, “Vistri, I—I don’t want bad things to happen to you.”
That desperate look in her eyes pleaded for truth, but Astarion was lost as to what that was. A chill ran through him. She deserved so much more, and all he had to offer was himself, a falsehood.
He watched her try her best to believe in his words, and squeezed her hand, “Do you think it brings me pleasure to see you in pain?”
Vistri raised an amused brow.
Astarion chuckled, “Yes, of course that, but it’s not the same, is it?”
She smirked and scratched the back of her neck, “No.”
“Even with that, it’s not so much seeing you in pain, as it is seeing you let me do it.”
“Seeing me let you do what?”
His smile was devilish, “Anything I want.”
A bit of shyness colored her agitation. The more he watched her expression, the more it seemed to change to sadness. There was so much beauty to take in from the distance, but Vistri was staring out at nothing.
“Yeah,” she said.
Astarion brought her knuckles up to brush them with his lips. And kissed them bump by bump.
“My pretty pet… What is it that bothers you so?”
Vistri sighed, “You’re being nice outside of the bedroom and it’s weird.”
He scoffed and dropped her hand, “I’m nice!”
She leaned in and raised her brow.
“Don’t look at me like that. You make me nice.”
“Why?”
“Why? I don’t know why. It… Ugh! Maybe it rubs off!”
Uncomfortable with the heaviness, Vistri joked, “Gods know we do a lot of rubbing.”
He chuckled, looping his fingers through hers.
She looked out into the distance again. So did he.
As they sat there, Astarion played back every word and interaction he’d had with her that day, the day before, and basically any time they’d ever spent together. He was trying to figure her out on his own, and the more he contemplated, the more vileness crawled up his throat like bile. Every detail he went through made her more vulnerable, which made him more of a monster.
“What is it about this time?”
He was surprised she spoke. It had been a while since either of them said anything, “Do you really want to know?”
“Yes. I’m asking because I really want to know.”
“Now, now, darling. We don’t bite without asking.”
Vistri smirked her apology.
“I didn’t know I was being any different. Except… Why did you jump into that thing? That device? Wait—Don’t answer that, just listen. Because then I thought… That’s not the first time I’ve seen you jump in like that. Countless times… And then there’s me. And that’s the thing that explains it all, isn’t it?”
“What are you on about?”
“I think you’re hoping something’s going to come along and finally kill you. Like you died ages ago, and the moment to pass on keeps running by and you’re just… Well, maybe you’re just trying to catch up to it,” Astarion spoke plainly, without any weight, just a statement. He cleared his throat upon finishing his last word.
Vistri dropped his hand and laughed, “Silly boy!”
They’d held on for so long, letting go felt like losing a limb. Their empty, damp palms were chilled by the air as it breezed by.
“Right. Silly me,” he said with the absence of amusement.
“What do you want here?”
“What do I want? I don’t want anything,” he made a grand gesture with his hands, “I’m simply revealing my revelations.”
She scoffed, “What? That I’m just waiting for death? Aren’t we all?”
He sighed, “Forget I said anything.”
Vistri felt her lips tremble. She felt so stupid, “That’s it?”
“I was concerned. I said my bit. We can move on if you don’t want to discuss it further.”
She sat there and raged. Who the fuck was he to pretend to know her?
“You don’t care.”
“I never said I didn’t,” he didn’t know if that was true.
Biting her lip, Vistri tried to pull herself together. She needed to breathe, but a big wave of something ugly threatened to slip out with every bit of exhale. Her past was like an octopus, and the constant vibratory tension from his worry ripped a hole through the steel walls neatly containing it in a forgotten corner of her mind. Like a clean, empty facility, it was abandoned, yet well-tended to. His queries poked through the hole and reached around inside, and if even one tentacle got wind of the crack, all eight arms could slip out, and its head would follow like liquid.
Astarion could see she was on the verge of telling him something but needed a bit more encouragement. He grabbed her hand, “I think I do care. At least enough to wonder what that’s all about.”
Again, he didn’t know if it was true, but it felt… not like a lie.
“Promise me you’ll laugh?” she asked.
Astarion sighed, “If that’s what you want, I’ll do my best to oblige.”
“All right, then,” her smile was unnerving. It wasn’t just out of place in the moment, it was equal parts ‘grimace as a silent shriek’ and ‘grin of a delighted fey’, “I could tell you the story of what I was doing before the Nautiloid snatched me up. Does that sound good to you?”
“I guess…”
She still wore that same horrific expression, “I was on a cliff just like this one, trying my best to jump right in, as you put it before.”
As shocking as that was, it really wasn’t. He might’ve placed his bets on someone else if he’d have guessed, but he also wasn’t that surprised. Of course he was drawn to another soul as wretched as his. In the best of cosmic jokes, Astarion picked a mirror to play Cazador to.
He answered slowly, carefully as if navigating a minefield, “Yeah?”
Vistri pouted, “You promised to laugh!”
Astarion gave a weak, “Ahahahaha…”
She rolled her eyes, scoffing, “It’s funny!”
“Sure it is.”
“Whatever.”
“While the thought of you going splat is endlessly amusing, your delivery was all wrong, love.”
“What a critic!”
“Try again.”
Vistri cleared her throat, ready to be dazzling, "Okay, Hold on... It was a day just like any other day—”
“Gods! Not like that!” he teased, “We’ll be sitting here until the sun rises again.”
She glared at him, “I see you expect perfection.”
“I accept,” he spread his fingers and collected them back with a sweeping wave, “No less.”
She smirked at him slyly “There once was a Drow named Vistri, who some say was quite the mys-try!”
Astarion nodded his approval.
She proudly continued her improvised little song, “She went to jump over a cliff, but it was a miss. She took a step forward, oh my she was tortured! Then down from the sky came a very bad guy, and a tentacle scooped her up northward!”
Astarion couldn’t help but actually laugh with her this time, “It’s not funny! But—While you were stepping over the edge?”
“Yes! One foot hovering over the abyss,” she giggled, “Then poof!”
“If that would happen to anyone, it would happen to you. Or me, come to think of it.”
Vistri wiped the tears from her eyes, “It’s ridiculous!”
“It’s truly amazing, is what it is.”
“It never works for me, you know,” she said, “Any time I try to… Well. You know. It’s something in my magic, I was born with the powers of an old dragon I didn’t do anything to earn. My magic is always there—I didn’t ask for it, and more than just a survival instinct, it’s like a vengeance of life.”
“A vengeance of life? I can identify with that. I think I survived those two hundred years just out of pure spite. A stake through the heart felt like letting him win.”
“No matter what I try, it’s always okay in the end,” she continued, “I can’t even take myself seriously after a while. More than half the times I’ve… I’d be going over plans in my head of what to do later that evening. And after all those times, I’m still here.”
“I don’t hate that you’re still here.”
Vistri scoffed, “Yeah?”
“No, I mean it. I’m glad,” he took her hand back, “I benefit, at least.”
She smirked, but her eyes were dead. They filled and ran without noticing, just sitting there in her skull, barely looking out.
One “Ha” of a laugh escaped him that was more like a huff, “And immediately after, you had to fight for your life.”
“What?”
Astarion pointed to his head, “Tadpole. Big ship? Took us up? Remember?”
She chuckled, but it was so empty, “Shut up.”
“Do you really want me to? Or can I ask you another question?”
“Go on,” she said weakly.
“It’s rather broad, are you all right with that?”
She shot him a suspicious glance, but the accusation quickly melted into something else, “All right.”
Astarion sighed, and then simply asked, “Why?”
Like a child, she brought her knees up to her chest, and rested her chin in the crook of them. Her expression was thoughtful, not refusing. She looked like she was going to answer, and was just deciding how.
And then she didn’t. She just sat there and stared ahead.
The broken way he eventually said, “Oh, my darling…” pulled at her thread that was holding everything together.
“Don’t!”
Vistri was stiff as the rock around them. So unmoving, she was shaking.
“I’m sorry,” he said very calmly, “Is there anything I can do?”
She shut her eyes tight, and began rocking, “No. Stay there. Shush.”
He nodded and waited for her signal to do anything other than watch and freeze. The timelessness of the hells fell over their heads. Gravity felt steeper. Now was forever.
“Okay,” her voice broke the spell, and she looked up at him, nodding, to repeat, “Okay.”
Astarion flew around her, and for the first time outside of a whoopsie in battle or moment of fun, held her tightly, so tight, for the sake of his own aching heart. He kissed the top of her head reflexively. Warming her back with one hand, he cradled her face against his neck with the other. He genuinely wanted to do it, felt no ulterior motivation, but at the same time, a part of his mind marked his victory. Catching her up at a vulnerable moment, and being the shoulder she leaned on, would bind her to him like a warding enchantment.
“I’m so sorry,” he muttered senselessly, “I’m so sorry.” He had no idea whether he was apologizing for whatever she couldn’t say, or himself. Perhaps both. Perhaps a bit more for his own wrongdoing.
Only it didn’t feel wrong. And that scared him. Frightened him.
Vistri knew she was crying but couldn’t feel herself doing so. She knew she was being held by him, but rather looked out and saw it from above and off to the side. She thought she looked terrible, and he looked so fine. Dashingly picturesque and tragic.
Nobody ever held her the way he did now. She never felt such warmth, and they were both such cold people. How was it possible? Was it some dream?
She started speaking, “We’re more similar than you know.”
Right then, Astarion predicted the gist of what she was about to say. He could tell by the look on her face and the way her tone itched at his brain, she had her own Cazador. She also walked around weighted by invisible chains held by a very nasty man. Same prison, different jailor; he was understood. He found a home there in that knowing. Still, he’d give her his own rusted shackles just to lighten his burden, even if it meant crushing her under them. Anything to soothe the wound.
He’d warned her so many times; he was a thing that ate. He had real no say in the matter, the curse that fueled his undead life was a restless jaw. If Vistri was looking for a guide to a kinder world, she wouldn’t find it in his arms. They belonged to another very nasty man. Even though it was different this time, he’d take her with him to Cazador’s lair and someone would die. If only one of them were to make it out of this mess alive, well, he was a scrappy survivor, and she was the type to ball up and welcome oblivion. Anything to be free.
“Yeah,” was all he said, and it was so warm. Like an embrace, it held her softly, making her feel like something meant to be protected. She nodded tearfully into him. Leaning on him like this was an indulgence, but he tolerated it at least enough to let it happen. Vistri knew she had to pull herself together. The home she found was rented, and she could only borrow so much. Astarion had more to give, but it wasn’t for her. There was no way she’d be one of the lucky ones.
He kissed her head again, and caught himself, “Sorry. Is it okay to touch you?”
She nodded harder than the last time.
His chuckle was relief. To her, it was a song. He held her tighter. She dissolved. He’d taken off her mask, stripped her of her costume, and naked, she cried into his chest, “I just want to die. I want to be dead. And I can’t. I keep trying, and I can’t!”
Holding her at a moment like this was a key part of his plan. Step one, open her legs. Step two, her heart. It was a system as efficient as it was ugly and cheap. And it made him ugly and cheap, but it also made him safe. He closed his eyes, Vistri’s tears soaking through his shirt felt like fire and it burned into his cursed, cold skin like a holy symbol; a brand. It was like her body knew what lurked inside his, called him out for the parasite he was even as she was oblivious to it, and fought back to defend against him when she couldn’t.
Vistri sunk into him, tucked into his warmth. She found her breath again in his arms, and in the moment she came back to herself, started to laugh.
He peeked down, “What are you chuckling about in there?”
Her eyes still freely flowed, silent and thick, but she was more present than before, “In where?”
“My shirt,” he said, “My damp shirt, mind you.”
“How is that my fault?”
He glared at her, “What do you mean, how?”
“I told you not to ask questions.”
“Well excuse me for wondering about your tendency to… To—”
“Try to kill myself?” she finished, her tone too light.
Astarion sighed. She threw her head back and laughed. He didn’t join in.
“You promised!”
“Let me let you in on a little secret about me and promises,” he said dangerously sardonic, eyes lowered, “Besides, I already pretended to laugh earlier.”
“Faking it doesn’t count!”
“Maybe I’d find it funnier if…”
“If what?”
If what?
If the others wouldn’t kill him before her corpse was cold? If they didn’t rely on each other every battle? If the very thought of her…
“Oh, I don’t know! I don’t want you dead! Is that so horrible to believe?”
His grumpiness was sweet. They were always pretending, with each other, with everyone else. Vistri knew it the moment she first laid eyes on him. That’s why every word he uttered that she ever wanted to hear made her ache all over with a dull sorrow, and why the words he pushed her away with were such tender caresses.
“Of course it’s horrible,” she joked, smiling, “I can’t give you what you want and kill myself! However will my two worst impulses co-exist?”
Astarion smirked, “Shithead.”
She smiled, and that sign of life from her made his blood rush.
He kissed her cheek to whisper in her ear, “If you ever feel such a desire coming upon you in the future, come to me, darling. I won’t provide you a real death, but I have plenty of little ones to give.”
His advances flooded Vistri with relief, she knew who she was within desire. Who to be and how to be had familiar answers, and reuniting with any sense of self was such a comfort, she had her first real sense of stillness since breakfast that morning.
He was so close, she prayed he didn’t hear the way her breath gave out.
“I heard that,” he muttered against her cheekbone.
“No, you didn’t,” she giggled heatedly.
“Yes, I did. Now, I know you want it, but I can’t give you that yet. There’s something you must do first.”
“Gods!” she groaned, “Please tell me you’re not about to request I promise not to throw myself right off this cliff!”
He chuckled, “I wasn’t born yesterday! That’s not a promise you’d keep in the long term. Then I’d have to call off whatever this is between us because you’d be lying just to get in my pants, and that would be awkward because your lie would have been exposed just after you tried to off yourself.”
She laughed loudly, “I wouldn’t lie! I would just refuse, and eventually you’d fuck me anyway.”
He grabbed hold of her wrists and leered at her seriously with a piercing expression. Time seemed to stop.
Astarion observed her reaction to pick apart her every emotion, willing his own to remain carefully neutral. Her confidence was so hollow. Her eyes gleamed with the delight of having him wrapped around her little finger, and yes, gods yes, he’d suck it and moan and beg for more, but he was the one really in control. He had all the power because he was clearly giving her something she never had.
The first cut and all that.
Her fingers played with his chest through his open shirt. His heart skipped on its own at the brush of their tips.
“And what about you?”
His mind had wandered, and while he was away, one of her arms broke free to reach for him, “What?”
“How tempting is this cliff?”
“Me? Oh! Right. That, uh,” he paused with a scoffing chuckle, “No, my dear. Sadly, it was my wish to live that landed me in this spot in the first place.”
“And since?”
Releasing her other wrist from his grip, he answered dryly, “Everything’s been fairies and rainbows, and all my days have had happy endings.”
Vistri smirked, raising her brow, “Well, they do now, at least.”
He flashed a heated smile and lowered his eyes, “Why do you care to ask?”
She squinted at his question, like it had the sting of an insult, “I don’t know! Why do you care to ask me?”
“You’re right. That was horrible! Let’s never care again!”
He expected her to laugh but she looked rather serious. “I didn’t mean for you to worry,” her tone was small, and younger than he’d ever heard.
His smirk was friendly and understanding, “If it helps, I was more curious than anything else.”
“Curious?!”
There was a contentedness in his playful tone, “They call her Vistri, ‘cus she’s a mys-try!”
“Oh, stick to readership, darling.”
He growled and tackled her to the ground. She was breathless underneath him, laughing like every spot on her body tickled at once. Some might call it happiness, and maybe it was; Astarion felt it as acceptance. Overwhelming acceptance. So adored, he was given anything he wanted, completely spoiled. And if he was invited to take, why shouldn’t he?
“Remember that favor, my dear?” he asked, pinning her forearms above her head. Before she could answer, he leaned in for a kiss, one that was gentle and hungry.
Her sighs were moans, “Maybe I’ll wait it out.”
He kissed her neck and whispered, “Could you?”
The way she shivered was her answer. Astarion grinned and stroked her throat with the tip of his nose. From the base of it to her chin, and sealed his gesture with another longing kiss.
She was his.
Even if it meant degrading herself. Being his little slut, bent over and drooling. He moaned on the next stroke of her tongue, overcome by the whim to fuck her senseless. His mind reeled with possibility. Just how far would she go for him, out in the open air, with the others just off into the distance? How could he give her a taste of a life that was worth living?
“Get yourself off for me, dear.”
“Here?” Vistri asked, grinning. Her heart pounded faster than it already was.
They weren’t exactly discreet, but only ever touched each other tucked away in the woods or his tent. Here, out on the cliff where anyone might see… It was like he was claiming her. Like maybe some small part of his mind, or some feeling deep down, knew how important she was going to be to him once he realized his truth. That if he asked her to cum in the open air under the evening glow, she was worth something.
“The sun is disappearing, and I’ll cover you.”
Her grin grew wider, even reaching her eyes. She tried to tug one of her arms free from his grip.
“Ah, ah! No hands."
She looked at him curiously. Maybe he’d changed his mind about her. Maybe he had a delightfully naughty idea. Maybe this was the start of his attempt to toss her off the cliff.
He unwrapped one of her legs from around his, and slid his thigh between hers, “Use me.”
“Okay.”
Showing her how to proceed, Astarion rubbed himself against her middle. She bit her lip and began to roll her hips. Her obedience was like a drug, and they passed it with their tongues where it melted into them and infected their minds worse than those tadpoles ever could.
“Good,” he praised, just above a whisper. He fondled her neck, and the hand he let go of shot to his curls. His fangs throbbed, so ready to take her that he gasped as if biting into something hot whenever they touched her skin.
She made a sound he had to shush, it was too personal and way too explicit.
“I can block you from view, but I cannot stop your sound.”
She nodded, sighing and rocking against his thigh.
“All the pieces come together,” he said as she pleasured herself on him, “You’ve always given yourself to me so willingly. Let me bite you. Now I know why.”
Vistri tossed her head back, craning her neck, and sighed, “There are worse things than dying in the arms of someone pretty.”
“And if I had killed you that night?”
“I hope you would have drunk me up.”
A full, wanting, warm acceptance of himself—Not just his charm, but the monster, the ugliness in him. She wanted all of it, treasured all of him. He’d never been good enough for anyone before, just a disappointment under an illusion. But she made him feel like a god.
He groaned, composure slipping, “Ohfuckme…”
“Okay.”
“Not yet,” his grip on her arm loosened enough for him to travel up her wrists and interlace their fingers, “You haven’t earned it.”
She shouldn’t surrender. It would just be another attempt at non-existence. Why couldn’t she have answered with something along the lines of coming back to life just to drive a stake through his heart? Astarion wished it had been anything other than wanting him to have his fill, even if it meant her destruction. It was her will to be his sacrifice, to be truly devoured. He shouldn’t yearn for her so completely; cherish the way, I hope you would have drunk me up, fell out of her so blissfully, like belonging to him was a good thing.
Vistri playing with the point of his ear made him twitch and toss his head. The moan that betrayed him sounded so pathetic.
“I could wait you out.”
He chuckled, “No, you couldn’t. As much as I want you, I’m stubborn. Thrill me all you want, love, I’m determined for you to be absolutely dripping before I give you that.”
She arched her back, “I’m close.”
She wasn’t.
“Already?”
Not nearly, but worried she couldn’t give him his fantasy, she played the part.
The muscles on her face squeezed up real tight, and as her breath grew more shallow, she exhaled with high-pitched, little cries. Her tension peaked and melted away, “Already.”
It didn’t fool him one bit. In fact, he was sure that wasn’t even her finest performance. Like she’d started to pretend and went somewhere else, forgetting she was still on stage. Or a whore with ‘first day’ nerves. He was frowning when she opened her eyes.
“What?”
“Did you just fake it?!”
Vistri’s eyes grew real wide, and having been called out, laughed breathlessly, “Gods!”
“I was right! You faked it!”
She got caught up in another wave of laughter, “I’m sorry!”
Astarion smirked and tickled her sides, “Faking it doesn’t count!”
Squealing and wriggling to dodge his hands, she protested, “It wasn’t a lie! It was an attempt!”
“An attempt?! What is that supposed to mean? An attempt!”
Vistri couldn’t get a word in. She couldn’t breathe, “Please!”
He stopped tickling her so she could answer. Her breasts bounced with her heaving chest. His palms roamed over to cup them, “Did you not like it?” He’d thought of it just for her, and played with her nipples to distract himself from sudden choking disappointment. Buried in arousal, the sting ebbed away.
“No, I love it! Your thigh is heavenly, but you have other, better parts for pleasing—”
“How much better?” he interrupted in a heated tone.
Laughing, she answered, “Better than anything in the world! And not just this,” she brought her hand between his legs and gave that beloved, rock-hard part of him a squeeze, “Although it is wonderful, you have so many other parts for pleasing.”
“Just not my thigh.”
“It pleases, just not enough to bring a bout of ecstasy.”
“Do you want to stop?” He would at her command, but wasn’t ready to lose her.
She ran her hand along it, “No.”
A bright feeling ran through his spine, “You’d like to continue?”
“I do,” her hips resumed their flowing movement.
Her validation killed his fears, and so grateful for the throne to her world, a soft smile nestled in his expression, tugging at the corners of his mouth, “Give yourself time to get there, darling. It’s the journey, not the destination. I can watch you burst any time I want, but for now I want to observe as you slowly unravel.”
“Okay,” she moaned.
“And no performances this time. I will be very displeased. Do you want me displeased?”
She shook her head, “No.”
Anything but that. She’d be good for him so he wouldn’t throw her out.
“Good. Now slow down. You’re not just any rutting pup. You’re my little dragon and these sensations are your treasure. Lurk among your treasures, dear. Survey them, indulge.”
Her thrusts followed the command of his voice. She let them linger, like a slow drip.
“That’s it,” he praised, squeezing her breasts until she gasped.
Astarion looked around, and no one was in sight. The others would stay on the other side of camp for most of the evening and had no reason to pass by other than Lae’zel and Shadowheart, but it was still unlikely either of them would see.
He tugged her shirt lower, stretching it until her breasts spilled out through the top. Gravity squished them into perfect spheres under her neck, and her nipples just peaked out.
His tongue felt so warm on them. The impact of bumping into his thigh and the tight grinding against his femur were her favorite treasures, and then his roaming mouth was added to her pile. She could feel her pants bunching up as they soaked with her, and the damp cloth pinched at her skin as she humped him. The sting of it was a rainfall of coin over her glittering pile of sapphires and amethysts.
Kissing her deeply, Astarion took her hand and moved it back to his bursting laces. Their fingers tangled, undoing them together. When they were loose enough, he pulled her hand through the opening and wrapped it around his cock.
“Gods!” he groaned as she stroked him skin to skin.
Throbbing under her fingers, pulsing, hard; the perversity of her hand dipping into his trousers, riding his leg, nearing completion; his taste, his smell, his focus trained on only her: These were diamonds, so sharp they cut her. But they were so beautiful! And clear, and shone so bright!
“If I outlast you,” she sighed, “Then I win.”
She might win. Astarion did his best to hold back, but he was leaking in her hands.
“What would you win?”
“The mess of you all over my skin.”
He tried to think of something else, anything else, other than the image that conjured. It brought him too close. Teetering on the edge and planting his feet there, he moaned and it sounded like something dying.
Vistri gasped as it met her ears, bringing her closer.
His hands wandered down to her bum, and squeezed it in both hands, adding more pressure to her thrusts, bringing her closer to him. Closer and closer. Her bones started to hurt, ground away by his, but that ache was a handful of rubies, red and lush.
“Harder,” she said.
Astarion tightened his grip, leaned into her movements. He held her so near she could nuzzle her face into his shoulder. His skin was a pearl against her cheek.
“Kiss me,” Vistri pleaded, and when he did, she lost.
“I’m—” a little possession, a bit of a wail, and she could no longer speak.
In her rapture, she ceased her stroking, gripped him like a pulsing cunt, then left her palm hanging limply under his laces. His eyes were fighting to roll back when she let go, and even as he was grateful for it, just the brush of her unmoving hand was enough to be dangerous.
He pinned it above her head to take it away, “And now you’re mine to take.”
Her face was flushed, her breath still gone. “Yours to take,” she repeated as consent.
Pulling down her trousers, he found a river of her. He pushed her thighs up into her chest and took a look between them. Her pants were soaking, their slit a dark spot.
“All mine?” he asked.
She nodded, giving herself to him entirely. The fact that he wanted it made her blissful, like she belonged.
“Well, well, well,” he brought his face lower and spoke between her legs, “Might I have a taste? You smell de-licious!”
“Yes,” she whimpered, trembling. He gave a long, lingering lick along that dark spot, and she arched her back, groaning.
Astarion lifted his head to take another look around. The position they were in now was a bit more conspicuous. A dark part of him wished the others were around to watch him feed.
He kissed the back of her thighs, and she didn’t let even one of them slip by without a reaction. His tongue wrapped around the soaking strip of her pants, and he peeled them up to the crook of her knees with his teeth. A hungry whine left him, being so close to her skin flushed with pumping supper.
His nose nuzzled the back of her knee, tangling in her underwear, “Turns out a taste was just not enough. Mind if I take a bite?”
“Please!”
Her back writhed pleasantly against his cock as he sunk aching fangs into her flesh. He hadn’t anticipated the force of her leg pushing against his face. Her arms were so much weaker, and her neck never offered any resistance. Oh, but he liked it! Astarion felt vicious, attacking and taking something that fought back.
Having taken enough, he forced himself to stop. He pressed his tongue against the wound until it closed and gave it a kiss. Then he licked up every drop of crimson dripping down her lavender thigh. His tongue strayed its course, finding her middle. Vistri grabbed his head as he indulged in another kind of meal.
It was one of his parts she said was good for pleasing. She’d already earned him with one little death, but he gave her another, and another.
After the fourth, she summoned her very best begging voice, “Please, fuck me!”
His face was covered and shining with her wet. It even dripped down his throat, mixing with smears of her blood, “I thought I was.”
“Bury yourself in me.”
He made a quick vow to himself that it wouldn’t be over the moment he did. Then dove in with an uncomposed groan, “Fuck’ssake!”
The genuine sounds of what she tried to fake earlier were in his ears, right under them.
“Already?” he asked.
“Already!”
His face screwed up tight with hers, and as she pulsed around him, he yelped with the effort to hold back.
At the end of his cock, her chest pried open as if split down the middle, exposing her insides like two heavy doors creaking their welcome. Astarion felt himself crawl up her gut and slip into her heart, where sitting inside it, he could reach up with clawed, wretched fingers and tear at her throat. Then he’d kiss it better, the only one able to do so, and she’d never leave his side.
He felt her fingers on his chest, and found himself facing a pair of attentive eyes.
“Come back to me,” she asked like it was a favor, with a touch of light affection, an air of breathlessness, and enough simplicity that it was safe to come back.
“Hello there,” he smiled.
Vistri pulled him close for a kiss so full of gentle, living heat it was a hearth.
“It’s okay,” she said, forehead pressed to his, “You can let go.”
Starved of something in her tone, his body released into hers.
“Vistri!” he called out her name like it was the only thing that could save him. Then caught himself, realizing he’d been loud enough to carry across camp, “Shit!—Huh!”
Her arms flew upwards, wrapping around his head as if to help him keep his soul from seeping out. She couldn’t help the way her body responded to his echoes of pleasure by leaping into another wave of ecstasy. Just to be with him. A reflex of hers that must’ve been borne from her haunting impulse to follow him anywhere.
Unable to leave her, he let himself slide a little in and out; slow, slight strokes. Then finally stilled. They stared at each other a long while before moving apart.
“We should get cleaned up.”
“Right,” he muttered, “Right.”
She kissed the tip of his nose and giggled, “You have to get off me.”
He pecked her ear, “But I don’t want to.”
She laughed heartily and tossed him aside, “Get off me!”
“I was comfortable there!” he whined.
“Tough shit,” she grinned.
Astarion smiled back with empty eyes, sure that her grin was meant for someone else; the person he pretended to be.
“Are you all right?”
Apparently, he was unable to hide. When a lie didn’t work, there were always deflections.
“I’m more than all right! How’s your head? Didn’t steal too much of you, did I?”
“Astarion.”
When deflections failed to take, the only thing left was trading one truth for another. What could he sacrifice to keep the main thing hidden? It had to fit the same feelings as those he already wore.
“I just keep thinking… And excuse me, it’s quite selfish,” he moved some hair out of her face, “If you’d gotten what you wanted, you and I would never have met.”
Her round eyes were so fragile as they looked into his. All of her walls were knocked over, and the part of her that sat there was all raw existence.
She grabbed his hand, kissing his fingers. “All right then,” she rolled those round, breakable eyes, admitting, “I’m glad we did.”
Vistri was his. He squeezed her hand as if to tell her, never let go.
Rooted to the spot, they sat together and looked out at the view, actually seeing it this time. They deserved to have a nice sunset. One nice sunset.
“You’re unusually quiet.”
“I’m just taking everything in. Look at it! Aren’t you glad we aren’t just stuffed in your tent?”
Astarion raised his brow, “Insulting my castle is no way to get invited back, you know.”
She giggled and nudged his shoulder with hers, “It wasn’t meant as an insult.”
“You sure?”
She laughed, “Are you scolding me, Astarion?”
“No!”
“You are! Like you’re my mother or something! Well… Not my mother. She wouldn’t give a shit if I hurt myself. She scolded me plenty, but only over being an embarrassment or an inconvenience. Sometimes both.”
Vistri never talked about her past with any of them. Not even himself, who couldn’t stop telling her about Cazador once he started. It made Astarion hold his breath, afraid to chase away her confessions with the slightest disturbance.
“Gods! How in the hells did I end up talking about my mother? What a silly thing…”
Astarion leaned back, “I don’t know. Probably for the same reason I mention Cazador from time to time. If she’s as bad as she sounds.”
Vistri chuckled, “Her and Cazador would probably be friends.”
“He did often call me an embarrassment and an inconvenience.”
Vistri looked down shyly, “You’re not either of those things to me.”
Astarion took her hand, “Thank you. And neither are you. You know that, right?”
“You flatterer,” she teased.
His smile was a heapful of sorrow. All his lies were true, and his truth was a lie. His pretty songs echoed his real heartbeats. His determination to trap her was a sham, for he’d got caught up in it himself. She was right, Astarion was a flatterer, but he also wasn’t.
Neither confirming nor denying his accusation, Vistri settled for the worst case answer. He was probably looking for an excuse to leave. They always met up for this so much later in the night, and the sun hadn’t fully set yet.
Not wanting him to go, she turned her attention back to the view around them, “You know this big crater around us was probably an ocean before?”
“Actually?” he asked, grateful for a change of subject.
“It’s what must have made this shape. Well, that or a god’s great big fist,” Vistri rambled, “But I bet we’d find a lot of old bones in this stone if we looked for them. That’s what would tell us for sure.”
Astarion brushed his fingers lightly over her fist. She opened it so his fingers fell gently into her palm. He stroked along its curves until she closed her fingers around them.
“Would they be fish bones?”
“Ancient fish bones! And they probably wouldn’t even look like any fish we know. They might even look like monsters!”
“You like those,” he smirked, “Don’t you?”
“I don’t think of you as a monster. I think of you as a vampire.”
Like he was part of a species and not just a classification of Undead. Natural, and not a twisted version of life. Heart aching with the idea, Astarion’s eyes softened, showing Vistri an emotion she wasn’t sure he was capable of. Something she’d given up on ever earning from anyone.
“A rather refreshing perspective. Just look at that waterfall! Isn’t it darling? And that little river that runs with it.”
Vistri nodded her head against his breast and stated theatrically, “All that remains of a mighty, prehistoric sea.”
The colors in the sky were candy-bright before they grew dark. They were still holding onto each other’s hands when the stars came out, even though they’d shifted positions as often as conversation topics.
It was only allowed because they pretended not to notice.
Lying down was better for looking out at the stars, but Vistri was so exhausted, it was hard not to slip into trance whenever she blinked her eyes. Astarion watched it take over, her face tucked in the nook of his shoulder.
Poor thing. She didn’t deserve to be cast under his spell, another of his cursed conquests. Even though Baldur’s Gate was still far away, and the tadpole took away the power of compulsion, every time his heart skipped for her, it sang, Caz-a-dor, Caz-a-dor, take her to Caz-a-dor! Any time he felt a part of himself wishing they’d met much sooner, Astarion was reminded she would have just been discarded like all the rest.
Sighing, he tried to slip into his trance. He closed his eyes. Opened them. They were on a cliff, how stupid would they be to remain unconscious here. Careful not to rouse her, Astarion untangled himself from her grasp to get up and carry her.
With his cursed heart pumping her dragon blood through his muscles, she was so easy to whisk away. He had to look where he was stepping, but her face proved such a distraction. The moonlight bounced off her silver scales and set her periwinkle skin aglow.
He smiled, stopping for a moment to appreciate—”Mother of fuck!”
Lolth didn’t guide her Drow towards pretty memories, she filled their heads with living nightmares. Whatever Vistri saw in her trance, it wasn’t bunnies. Still deeply within it, she’d reached out and punched Astarion vaguely in the nose with a whimper. He almost dropped her.
“Hells, girl!” he muttered, readjusting her in his arms.
At least some part of her fought back. The pulsing pain in his face was a reminder of what he deserved. As he walked passed the dying campfire, he leaned over and blew angrily into it, hoping that was enough to revive it but not really giving a shit either way. Then he tucked them through his tent flaps, and set her down with care.
She was simply the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.
Just one part of her face; whether the metallic scales across her brow with her eyes closed under them, the shape of her nose and a peek of cheekbone at the side, or her pouting lips that rested over her chin; was equivalent to an entire sunset watched from a cliffside, on a mountain, towering above lively rivers and waterfalls. Such beauty required a tenderness he was too base to give. Pride in ownership soiled the sweet whispers of his heart. Greed reverberated through him, and loathing for himself echoed out of every pore.
Astarion frowned as he surveyed Vistri on the floor of his tent. She couldn’t be too comfortable. Torn between the idea of fixing it and accidentally waking her, he started to pace around for a solution.
Like a sickly, potent stomach acid, he’d consume her slowly; digested through the mouth, by his tongue. His doing. He had a rot he needed someone else to hold.
With no good way to toss her into a bedroll, he made a nest of some blankets, and rolled her on top. Treating her like a baby bird, he adjusted her neck to rest on a cushion. He moved hair away from her face, caressed her cheek, and stopped himself from planting a peck on her brow.
He changed his mind as he settled in next to her. His racing thoughts made trance unreachable, but when his lips met her cool forehead, a peace came over him. Astarion took a deep breath through his nose before pulling away, and his eyes thickened with a bit of moisture.
“Rest up,” he whispered. And when he next closed his eyes, trance came to him. Unlike hers, it was his only refuge from nightmares.
[Click here for my other Kinktober one-shots]
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