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pursuitseternal · 8 months ago

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“The Seventh Day:” filled with self indulgent A!A behavior (Astarbation) in “Antics of the Newly Ascended”

Ascended Astarion x F!Reader | E | 1.9K of Astarion self-love

🎨 by @marimosalad full nsfw on X 🍆💦

Summary: Left behind, Astarion occupies his Ascended self first with some uncharacteristically (selfishly-motivated) selflessness, followed by some self-served reward in anticipation for your return home.

CW: Male masturbation (Astarbation?), panty sniffer/theif, he’s trying to be a helpful (selfishly), self-indulgent Astarion, Reflection Appreciation™️, he would be such a messy partner (in so many ways)

Previous Ch | ao3 link | Masterlist

The Seventh Day…

🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇

“Oh… darling, I’m hurt. I thought we had something special…”

“You always say that, and you’re always hurt…” you fold your arms and tilt your chin up at him.

“Am not,” Astarion fires back, petulant like a child, until he realizes everyone is watching your exchange. He straightens his spine and picks the pretend lint off the cuff of his sleeve. “You go right along… you’re the leader after all, and if you think you can finish your business without the Vampire Ascendant in your ranks, then go, have fun…”

You level that glare at him that lets him know you see right past his facade to the bullshit underneath.

“No, really,” he purrs, “you go, I’ll just stay here while… you do all the hard work.” He gives you that arrogant smirk and tilt of his head, that makes you war inside whether you want to slap him silly or fuck him senseless. He can see it… in your thoughts, in the way your heart pounds slow and harder as his eyes look down your armored figure. “I’ll just stay here, tend the home fires and find little ways to comfort myself over your absence, darling.”

He flashes his fanged smirk at you, your nostrils flaring wide with irritation and lust. “Don’t make a mess,” you taunt. “Enjoy your alone time.” With that you spin on your heel and your chosen three follow.

Wyll in particular laughs loudest. “Don’t worry, once he finds a mirror, he’ll be entertained for hours, I’m sure.”

The group chortles as they shut the door to their rooms in the Elfsong, but not before you throw one more look over your shoulder at your lover. He’s just smirking, irritated and conflated despite his wounded pride, making a show for you in that one moment of unbuckling his armor to drop it at his feet.

You shake your head and smile, all the irritation you have melted into love as you blow him a kiss. Then you shut that door.

The instant the door is shut, Astarion grimaces and throws the rest of his armor to the ground in a huff. Petulant? Yes, but also hurt. He looks around the empty suite of rooms, collecting his armor, he decides to actually put it away properly for once back in his rooms. Your rooms. Besides, he has no interest in watching Scratch nap by the fireplace, or risk any of the other ‘strays’ who have joined along the way come up and bother him.

With a discontented sigh, Astarion slinks his way into your rooms alone. That open chest for his armor is so close inside the door, but he sets it down on the floor. See how she likes that… he smirks, imagining your usual comments made under your breath about his messiness as you insist on tidying up. You’ll have to step over it when you come back exhausted and bloodied.

A slight pang of guilt tweaks his gut, his eyes settle on it again, that pile of his armor… the stack of messy clothes—yours and his— discarded hurriedly last night before your fucked… A slight disgruntled smile crosses his face. Maybe… just this once…. He could entertain himself in a different way.

He starts putting the armor in the trunk piece by piece, and with each one he starts to think about how much you will smile as you see your rooms.

Another piece in the trunk… he can almost feel your blush color your cheeks at his thoughtfulness. Your gratitude will be palpable… and you will want to shower him with affection… willingness… Astarion sighs to think about how you will positively reek of sweat and blood and arousal when you see what he’s done for you, his darling.

He closes the lid of the storage chest with an eager groan, that ache in his groin blooming slightly just at the thought of what will come once you’re home. You’ll positively worship at his feet for taking such good care of you…

That ache burgeons into a full erection at the image he’s conjured in his mind. With one final grunt, he picks up the pile of discarded clothing from last night, setting it properly in the basket, one rumpled thing of fabric at a time in the corner to be laundered later. One hand adjusts his erection, the other holds the last piece of fabric from the floor. Your undergarments.

He pauses, catching your scent in the air just as he wraps his hand around himself…

… he’s just trying to fix that hardness… he tells himself. But he can’t help but give that cock in his grasp a little rub.

He hisses, trying to catch his breath, but his nose only fills with your scent stronger the longer he holds your small clothes in his grip.

“Fuck it,” he growls to himself, unceremoniously sitting himself on the edge of the bed, surrounded by a tidy room. Surely, he deserves his own reward. And your own laziness last night to dispose of your underwear properly has just gifted him with a great incentive. That soft fabric, inundated with your musk, makes his mouth water. He just… has to…

He presses it to his nose, his cock freed from the top of his leathers as he slowly starts to caress it. It feels so good in his hand: the perfect length, the flawless width, the impressive hardness he always gets that makes every vein rise to the surface like marble. The masterpiece of a body that he is, he smirks to himself.

Another deep whiff of that delicious scent, he looks to the side, that large mirror so perfectly placed across from the bed, his idea. His eyes flit between watching his own cock pulse in his fist, staring at the perfection is his own reflection, and closing his eyes to take another deep lung-full of your scent.

Intoxicating, the beat of his own warm hand matches that pulse of his heart, a pounding so insistent in those veins. So steady and growing more pronounced even as he still works himself into bliss. Astarion gives a contented sigh, his thumb catching over that sweet, weeping slit to wet his cock head with early cum.

Indulgent, the way the faded ghost of your musk compliments his own as it grows with every leaking stroke he makes over his own shaft. No wonder you two are so destined for greatness, so perfect together… your bodies made for one another on some primal level, right down to your scents.

A few breaths catch in his throat, the corner of his eye now fixed on that mirror. He pauses to pull his shirt up higher, his leathers down lower, wanting to see more of himself, a body that has ruined so many… Small wonder, he laughs a bit darkly, a bit proudly. The edges of his abdominals protrude, just right, that deep v of his muscles drawing the eye inexorably to that now-glistening cock. Even his balls, so smooth and round and tight now as he feels the pleasure building deep in his core.

For once, now, this body is his to savor, to command and pleasure.

“Ahh…” the thought of reclaiming himself makes his cock leap almost out of his own hand. “Delicious,” he groans to no one but himself. Leaning back, he lets his hips buck into his hand a bit, just for a little extra show… a little more stimulation as his mouth starts to hang slack. He lets that fabric treasure of your underwear slip off his face, just a bit, so he can admire the way his own fangs glint in the sunlight.

Now, those weapons behind his lips, those fangs, those are something just for him, a decadence no one gets to enjoy but you… and himself now of course. With a groan, he longs to sink them into flesh, to feel that first burst of blood as it breaks through skin to coat his hungry tongue. And in his carelessness, he finds it, nipping his own lip to taste his own ascendant blood.

Rich… full… powerful… familiar… he groans. Incredible that you get to drink from him, what a treat for his consort and for himself. The thought of you suckling from his own neck, the play of your breath on his skin as you feed, shivers run down the base of his spine, making his muscles clench and his cock buck harder into his hand.

You’ll be so touched when you see what he’s done for you, his little act of humility to gain your immense gratitude… fuck… it’ll be worth it. The back breaking labor he’s done to please you and make you smile and see his love for you still, even with all he’s become.

Your eyes will sparkle, your lips will arch in that come-hither smile you give him… you won’t be able to resist letting him take you right then and there, however he wants…

His eyes flash to the mirror, the paint of blush on his cheeks and tips of his ears…. It makes his fist grip tighter, his hand beat faster to chase that pressure that needs release. The breath catches in his lungs, his teeth gritting as he feels his balls tighten and cock thicken as he strokes faster and faster…

Another glance at his beloved reflection— that slow seep of pearly cum leaking from his cock… perfection, seduction incarnate, he smirks to himself as he arches and his head cranes backwards. Grunting, sighing, he licks his lips as that pressure in his balls bursts at last, a few more erratic bucks into his fist, as he forces his eyes open to watch.

He juts his hips out forward, almost off the edge of the bed, angled just right to watch his cum explode out gloriously. The reflection, the pulsing he feels, the warmth that drips on his hand…

Head hanging down, tongue licking his lips, he watches as his cock twitches a few more times, that release overwhelming him as he huffs with open mouth. Drips of his cum spatter here and there on the floorboards, the few offending signs of…

The door swings open, you stand panting in its frame, a bit bloodied but none of it your own. Your sharp eyes take in the scene… your love panting, cock in hand, rosy post-coital cheeks flaring a hot pink as you catch him in his indulgence. And all you can do is smirk, knowing you have the upper hand on him, shaking your head as he starts to sputter excuses.

Then you notice what he holds in his other hand, your discarded undergarments from last night. Now your cheeks flame so hot, you’re pretty sure even your undead pale skin is blushing. “What…” but you swallow the question. Why ask it… you know full well what he was doing with your intimates. “I’ll skip the question and just point out that I left you alone for an hour… and you’ve made…” you smirk wickedly as you cross to kneel before him, “… such a mess.”

“Actually, darling, you’ve failed to see that I cleane—”

But before he can get whiny and defensive, you silence him, wrapping your mouth around his still, weeping cock. You moan around his length, not giving it lots of force, just a lazy bob of your head, a slow lick of your tongue. A few swirls of your lips laps all the extra cum from his velvety skin. Then you pull off of him, grinning with all your own self-righteous taunting. “That’s… how you clean, my lord.”

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pursuitseternal · 4 months ago

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“𝓛𝓲𝓽𝓽𝓵𝓮 𝓗𝓮𝓪𝓽𝓱𝓮𝓷:” Chapter 4 to “Love Me, Hate Me”

Astarion x Tav (Katja) | E | 4.2K

🎨 by @marimosalad 🌶️ version on twt

Summary: A reward awaits Katja’s defensiveness against Gandrel, one that erodes away at her surefooted faith as a Gur.

CW: Enemies to Lovers, Cunnilingus, corruption kink, body worship, feelings catching is in the air, references to Astarion’s abuse, Astarbation

Previous ch | ao3 link | Masterlist

It was time, Katja decided, but not without some… fortification. No weapon, but a few swigs of some mermaid whiskey to steel her nerves would do the trick. Just enough to dull the race of her heart so he couldn’t gloat about it.

About how he affected her body.

Katja glowered as she scuttled in the shadows around camp back towards that pile of rose and crimson canvas. Immaculate on the outside, with its verdant plants and luxurious pillows, its gilded mirror reflecting candlelight light the lounge in an upscale bordello. She rolled her eyes. That whiskey in her gut was helping move her feet forward one at a time; good thing too. She wasn’t one to back down ever. Stubborn as a mule, more thick headed than a Minotaur, her tribe elders used to say. No. No sultry summons to his tent would make her back away. She wasn’t scared of monsters, least of all him.

At least she could think those words, even as her heart beat faster with every stride that ate the distance between her and the glow of light inside his tent.

A shadow, long and almost gangly crossed in front of the candlelight within his canvas lair. He moved back and forth, restlessly almost stalking from within.

Like an animal at the circus pacing his cage.

Tightly wound. Hostile.

As their Gith companion said, ‘Eager for battle.’

Tossing her long, neat braid over her shoulder, she took a whiskey-laden sigh, a prayer for strength in her heart, she clutched one hand around the only nice thing she kept—a Selûnite medal. The only remaining thing she had left of her parents, now her tribe. The metal warmed in her fingers, just a subtle dusting of Selûnite magic, so faint, not even the Sharran had sensed it. But then again, Katja rarely took it out from under her shirt or the wrappings that bound her pert breasts.

A deep breath, a shuffle of the wrap around her hips, and she strode into his tent. Into his glimmering darkness.

He turned slowly, the light kissing the bumps and rises of his scars casting teeny shadows on his back’s pale skin. His face quirked into that leering smirk, wicked and arrogant. His voice was that purr she began to dread… and crave. “Well, here’s my little treat with her cheeks all flushed. Happy to see me, or is it the whiskey in your blood?”

Katja huffed a laugh, swaying to rest her weight on one hip. “Huh, I only had a taste, I swear,” she smirked, repeating a line she knew he had whispered to Shadowheart when they used to feed by the campfire.

A scowl tweaked the corner of his lip for the briefest moment. “Well, you came, even if you are stinking drunk…”

Katja opened her mouth to protest, far from inebriated. But he just closed the distance, reaching to cover her gaping lips with a single finger.

“And here I was half convinced you would… pussy out. Now here you are in the flesh. Shows me.”

The gleam in his eye was downright wicked, maybe even devilish, although Katja had yet to meet a devil. Still, it made her breath catch in her chest, made her press her hand to her sternum to feel the cool tickle of Moon magic against her skin.

“I’m not one to back down,” she fired her retort.

And it only made that rakish smirk twist all the more. “Then please down on your back,” he gestured to the pile of blankets and pillows in the long center of his tent. Her eyes widened in shock at his boldness, making him give another of those looks of false innocence. “Just make yourself comfortable, won’t you?” he purred, settling down. He lounged, long legs splayed before him. As he twisted to reach for the wine bottle, the deep cut of his cream silk shirt slid open.

Katja knew she was staring, she knew she was salivating as her eyes darted from the pale skin of his chest to the supple, full lips smirking up at her. She knew their taste, just as well as she knew the way they spewed his velvet-wrapped heresies.

He took a loud, gulping swig straight from the green glass bottleneck. Those eyes glinted as he looked up at her, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, using that pink tongue to lap up the bright red drops that covered his hand.

She couldn’t look away from it, from the way he licked, that sinuous movement of his mouth as it cleaned his own skin. Fuck. His mouth smiled so wide as the tip of his tongue trailed over the vein-lined back of his hand. She could see fangs as he grinned. “Come on darling, have a seat, and let me thank you properly for today,” he purred, his voice finally cracking her reverie and making her eyes roam up to his.

“There’s no room for me,” she huffed, scanning the small empty spaces around him.

He gave a toss of his sumptuous silver curls and a cold laugh. “You’re a Gur,” he scoffed with a look of deep seated disgust, “aren’t you used to squeezing up to your victims, ready to cut their throat or their purse strings.”

He glared up at her, indulging in another loud, languid swallow of wine. Something flickered in his eyes.

Katja spread her legs and folded her arms over her chest, irritated as she fought to keep her rage at a simmer.

“Oh come now, darling,” he swirled the wine noisily in the bottle, sloshing it around. “Don’t tell me you’re not brave enough to share a bottle with me? After all,” he reached a hand to gently grab hers, “you did save my life.”

There, that look. Temptation incarnate. The angles of his eyebrows, the flexing cut of his jaw—he leered up at her with his dangerous smile and desirous hint in his crimson eyes. It made her heart skip a beat, leaping to slam right under her medal. But even as her pulse thrummed in her ears, she sat in the biggest space of his bedroll, her thigh still having to press against his as she criss-crossed her legs.

Astarion chuckled, perhaps a little mischievously, or a little wickedly. “You act like you’ve never been alone with a man in his private quarters before, my little treat.”

“My experience is not widely ranged, I’ll give you that,” she replied, snagging the bottle from his outstretched hand. Her nose crinkled in distaste, and she ignored the intense and pointed way he watched her lips wrap around the wine bottle.

Then, he smirked.

Gods, as if his shit-eating grin couldn’t twist any more rakishly. “Well, you’ll be thanking the gods mine is by the time I’m done with you…” he purred, one arm unmistakably snaking around her back. His shirt brushed her ass, nothing more, and yet it set off a torrent of heat in her veins. Her hand nearly dropped the bottle as she lowered it from her mouth. “Easy there, clumsy girl, or you’ll make the wrong kind of mess in my bed…”

Katja groaned, unable to hide the effect he was having on her. “Are you having fun tormenting me like this?” she chuffed, flustered and too aroused to be unamused.

There it was again, that smoldering look that had her damning her soul for him. Fuck.

“Why shouldn’t I?” he crooned. “It’s not like your kind is prone to amusements or pleasures of the flesh. Perhaps you’ll enjoy a little debauchery, darling.”

The way Katja visibly shivered only made him salivate more. “It’s a party, a celebration, a… reward. You did take my side against your own people. That must have taken a toll on your self righteous perfection…”

Katja stiffened as his hand brushed her back. “I just didn’t want to lose the chance to… to kill your master and claim my own right as a hunter. Besides, you’re good in battle.” She nodded vigorously, clearly having thought through every last justification.

And he knew it. He leaned in, taking the bottle and licking his tongue around that little glass hole. “Wouldn’t you miss me… just a little bit? My charm, my wit? Or maybe you’d miss staring at my mouth in that way you do.”

Shit, she cursed, her gaze snapping up from his pink tongue to his devilish smiling stare.

He set the bottle down on the wood of his pallet with a thunk. “Hmmm, now, about my show of gratitude,” he rasps, his voice suddenly somehow more silken as it purrs in his chest. “Not afraid of me, are you?”

Her hand wandered to her chest, pressing at something beneath her shirt, and only then did he notice that thin, silver chain around her neck. A single finger stole under that chain, fishing out her little, round medal. “Well, well,” he chided, honey and singsong as he leaned in to crowd her, “a Selûnite medal, if I’m any judge… which I.. am…”

“Was,” Katja corrected. “Now you’re a vampire and a rogue.”

Astarion’s smirking jaw snapped shut. “Be glad, my little Gur, that I’m no longer a magistrate. I’d have you and all your kind groveling at my feet, repenting your lawless ways…” he dropped the necklace from his fingers for it to land in the center of her chest. “And no Moodmaiden would be able to save you from me…” he tilted his head, gaze wandering over the parts of her body that were exposed to the moonlight.

Katja’s breath stuck in her chest, her words dying on her tongue in stilted, little syllables. “I… I… ah…”

“Yes, my treat?” He smirked, pressing his body against hers. “Offering me your supplication? I would be most magnanimous to accept your prayers of submission, of devotion.” His hand captured hers, twisting it softly to bring those white bite marks into view. Those cool, soft lips pressed a kiss over them, smiling as even this far from her beating heart, he could hear its thunder. “Would you allow me a drink? After the trials of the day, it’s a treat to taste you, Katja…”

Her spine tingled, arching as he purred her name, short and sharp as it was, it sounded sweeter than honeycomb on his tongue… on that wicked tongue that lapped its way up and down her vein. “Yes,” she managed to choke out.

He overwhelmed her, his presence, his scent, the way his body slid with undead grace to crowd her. Every instinct in her mortal frame screamed to run, but her body defied it, craving the rush of adrenaline and flood of arousal it was to be this close to a vampire.

Reason… sense… faith… all her defenses were so easily stripped by the way his skin smelled of citrus and his tongue bathed her vein, teasing it to the surface right up until his fangs sang into her tender flesh.

She meant to gasp, meant to hiss in pain and jolt away from him… not press closer against his good-smelling chest and moan.

Fuck.

At the noise, his eyes flashed open as he suckled her wrist again. So lazy and languid. As if he had nothing better to do and no enemies to kill and no tadpole in his brain to remove.

Crawling ever closer, Katja realized the full extent of his strength. His body was lean, composed of all muscle, not one inch of his frame was weak. It was the body of a survivor, a fighter… a predator.

A delicious crush of muscle and sinew, he slowly slunk over her, wrist still pressed insistently to his blood-slick lips. Drops of crimson fell on her own chest as he crept closer. And before fear could take a breath, his body pressed her into the haphazard pile of pillows and blankets, his knee pressing her own, hooking it to spread her wide.

Wide enough for his pelvis to shove into her own, to grind that burgeoning erection against her belly. The more he fed, the hotter and thicker he grew, and despite her limited experience with such things, Katja’s heart thundered in her ears and rapt inside her chest.

But maybe it was the blood loss again.

Nope, no it wasn’t. The moment he pulled from her wrist, her scarlet essence dripping down his chin, every single one of her belly muscles clenched. Nostrils flaring, he gave her that conceited smirk, scenting her arousal as if he didn’t feel it seeping into his trousers when he slowly began to thrust.

“Why, you little heathen, getting turned on as monster feeds from your very life force?” he hissed, dangerously wicked in tone. His crimson eyes went wide, a fake show of shock. “What would you precious Moonmaiden say? Or your elders?”

“I… I…” she stammered, unable to stop her body from rolling her own hips to match the timing of his undulations.

His laugh was low in his chest, she could feel it rumbling against her bound breasts as his blood-stained lips brushed hers. Copper brushed her tongue as he spoke. “A question for another time. Right now, as delicious as you are, I’ve a notion to taste something… sweeter.”

Those cool fingers, that icy tongue and lips caressed their way down her body, a trail of smeared blood his marking on her pale skin.

“What’s happening, what is this?” She whispered, wriggling uncomfortably. That silver around her neck seemed to burn, or was it just her imagination…

Astarion chuckled. “Consider this your reward for aligning yourself with me, for accepting my needs as greater than those hollow legends the Gur taught you about vampires.” His lips whispered against the curves of her belly, the lines of her muscle that rose and fell with increasing speed. He kissed his way lower, his shoulders now pushed her thighs wider… higher. The pads of his fingers lifted the red fabric of her wrap towards her waist dangerously high, a patch of blonde curls covering her mound. “You’ll be crying my name, praying for me to keep going, to show you no mercy…”

That silver on her neck burned for certain, the pendant at her chest weighing heavily. Katja just had to pick it up and get it off her skin. Those crimson orbs caught the moonlight that fell across them, the stripe of light slicing starkly through the gathered shadow.

His nose, his lips pressed at her mound, cool air rushing as he inhaled deeply. “Sweeter than incense, my little heathen. A fine offering for me to taste.” Long, skilled digits slide effortlessly into her slick, drawing it out, pump after pump. She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t move more than the unbidden rolls of her hips on his fingers as those red eyes stared at her, as his pink tongue lolled out from his lips. He flicked it once over those folds, sending her back arching—the only warning she got before he dove in deep. Lips and tongue coaxed out more arousal, she could feel it dripping, soaking the bedding beneath them. His throat made little hums. Like a predator feasting, he growled and purred as he lapped every inch of her cunt.

That flap of the tent fluttered slightly in the night breeze, the faint beam of starlight and moon glow cut through the dimness of his tent.

Unforgiving, that ray cleaved her in two, a war of light and dark. Her fingers closed around that smooth silver medal, the pendant growing heavier with every sigh that escaped her lips, every moment she didn’t fight against the vampire between her thighs. “Moonmaiden, help me,” she whispered, just loud enough for those pointed ears to twitch as he heard.

A deep, wicked laugh rumbled against her folds. “Forget your goddess, Katja, I’ll have you praying to me,” he crooned. Hands gripped her thigh, speeding her wider, fingers parting those nether lips to expose her slit for proper worship.

Gravity pulled her twitching muscles down to the bedding, her body winding tighter than she gripped her ax, more tense than ever she had felt before. Legs shook, breath caught tight in her chest. That creep wave of warmth and pleasure swirled again. It was happening more and more often each time she allowed him near her… in her.

“Fuck,” she cursed, panting as her vision blurred from blood loss and bliss.

“Fuck, who?” the Vampire sniggered, tongue out and swirling her clit even as he spoke.

“Gods… fuck me, Astarion,” she spat through her gritted teeth as something inside her snapped. That wave of heat tension burst, overflowing and racing down her veins. She mewled like a cat, thighs shaking and squeezing his head, back arching off the messy pile of pillows… and all Astarion had to do was hum and lick and suck the wet from her cunt.

Her high overwhelmed her, enthralled her—a feeling like she had never known. Better than her first kill on the hunt, better than her first stolen kiss, and far better than the first messy time she gave her innocence hurriedly in a tavern once.

This was… she struggled to think, to comprehend what happened. As she gazed down her body to see his glistening chin and smirking lips, she knew then. This was extacy. Rapture. Morning short of a slice of heaven in the middle of their hell of a trial.

And gods, did she want more. Sitting up, she pulled his face to her lips for a taste. Her tang sustained her, but it was quickly overridden by the taste of him, that slight copper of her blood and that sharp scent of citrus from his cologne covering her taste buds. It was a kiss of unbridled need, all those inhibitions and restrictions were long forgotten, left in the mess she had made in his bed. “Astarion,” she growled, half-needy and half-feral.

“Yes, darling?” he replied, tongue withdrawing from between her lips just enough to speak. “What is it?” he purred, as if he didn’t know, couldn’t smell the burning in her blood and couldn’t feel the grind of her hip on his thigh that pushed so conveniently right where she ached. “Needy thing, haven’t all your prayers been answered?” he gloated, pulling back to break their kiss to savor that wanton glow on her scarred face.

“C‘mon,” Katja pleaded, trying to force that gruff edge back down to cover her whine of desire. “You can’t be finished yet…”

Astarion’s brow quirked, those eyes roaming lazily over her bare skin as he gently pulled her skirt back over her cunt. “I’m not finished, but I’m finished with you, for tonight at least.”

“Wh-what?” Katja’s jaw dropped, her scar twisting deliciously as her face screwed in confusion.

A smug grin on his face, and Astarion sat back, grabbing for that bottle of wine once more and taking a long, deep drink. “That’s the thing about divine powers, they can choose when they intervene… and when.. they… don’t.”

Something dark flickered in those red eyes, a shadow he kept inside him, and even though those eyes gaze at her beside him, his mind is a million leagues away… somewhere long gone and yet present in the memories that haunt him.

Katja knew that look, that feeling. And she swallowed, shifting her legs beneath her as she slid her Selûnite medal back under her bindings around her chest. She let him sit there, festering for a moment as she looked him up and down, taking in the sight of his body for truly the first time. For once he was less on his guard, those scars on his back etched across the entire expanse. A gift from his Master, and already she craved the moment she would help Astarion make the bastard pay for such torture.

Tilting her head, she opened her mouth and broke the silence as only she could. “Why are you so thin?”

The question jolted Astarion out of his dark reverie. “Excuse me?” he hissed, the picture of offense. “Has that orgasm stolen your reason, or are you just insanely rude?”

Katja’s blonde brows furrowed in confusion. “Vampires aren’t usually so… lean. All the blood from their victims should make them powerful, it gives them abilities to move with supernatural speed and spider climb up walls and grow claws and…”

“Yes alright,” he snapped, pressing a finger over her irritating lips. His teeth ground together. Eyes flickering with a light, a hint of annoyance as he pursed his lips shut, as if he tried so hard not to let his answer free. Then he gave a huff of a laugh. “Perhaps I am a bit lean, as you say, but that’s because… I’ve had this condition for nearly two centuries and, truth be told, I’ve barely had the blood of thinking creatures. Not until you, little treat. Well you and that Cleric…”

Katja’s body instantly tensed at the mention of Shadowheart… that Sharran that first let him get close enough to bite.

Astarion took note with a lecherous smirk. “Don’t worry, your blood and your cunt give me an extra powerful rush. Nothing like the taste of corrupting a Gur to go from hunting monsters to fucking them.”

Bristling, Katja’s mind still raced, looking over those lean lines of his chest and stomach. So taut but also so small compared to… well at least the stories her tribe would tell. “If you couldn’t drink from thinking creatures then…”

“You really are unflappable, aren’t you?” Astarion snapped, beyond irritated. Vexation scratched at his honeyed tone and made his voice shrill. Almost whiny. How could she not bite at those jealous barbs, those sweet little insults meant to tear her down so he could remake her with sadistic delight… No, instead she wanted to know why he was lean. Astarion laughed bitterly at it all. “Don’t get me wrong, I was sent out to seduce hundreds, maybe thousands for Cazador. Every night I’d bring him a victim, and every night, he’d invite me to dine on a nice putrid rat. That or have us tortured if we refused….”

She uttered some curse under her breath, undoubtedly calling his old master an unsavory Gur name. Katja scowled, her fists gripping into the blanket beneath her. “How dare he,” she ground out through clenched teeth. “Hard to say what is worse, starving you or torturing you.”

In that moment, Astarion was speechless. His mouth hung slack, fangs catching in that exacting beam of light. “Yes…. Well…” he struggled to recover some of that suave seduction from moments ago. “Don’t let it ruin your beauty rest, darling,” he tossed the comment off as if he didn’t have a care in the world. But as Katja stood, fixing her skirt and ignoring the wet squelch her thighs made as she waked, she gave him one last glance.

He looked tired, those shadows under his eyes were a little deeper, those crimson irises dilated too wide as he stared into the ground. His hand absentmindedly grabbing for the wine bottle for another drink, she left him to it.

Astarion waited until her footsteps were gone. He didn’t really care where. Not really. Then, he unlaced his leathers to free the aching, dripping hard erection he had been ignoring. Gods, it tingled and twitched from the pressure and the memory of her taste on his tongue. As he gave his cock a teasing stroke, he laughed. It was so easy to push her and deny her; so easy to make the little Gur pay in little ways for what her kind did to him centuries ago.

What he didn’t account for, as he started beating on his length, up and down, was the memory of her sounds in his mind. So undiluted and innocent. And yet… Fuck, the memory of her concern, that flash of… was it protectiveness… when she asked about his starvation. The memory of that look on her rounded, scowling face brought a smile to his lips as he closed his eyes and fucked his hand.

She was going to be a real treat when they found Cazador, he decided. That will be fun… he thought, his hand working more deliberately, his precum leaking to wet his cock as he beat just a bit slower, just a bit tighter in his grip. By then, she would be a force to reckon with, his force… his worshiper… Thoughts drifted to the way she looked beneath him, frightened and aroused, clinging to her faith and her medal as if anything more divine than him would save her. He could taste the memory of her slick and he could feel the warmth of her cunt… Fuck, did it make this arrangement more desirable or more devious that she was a Gur?

He didn’t have long to ponder that wisp of a thought, not as his muscles ached and tensed and pulsed as he came. That rush of release, making him nearly groan out loud as he erupted onto the bedding.

Now it was a proper mess, he grinned, eyes still shut as he savored those afterwaves of his climax. A smile on his lips that still faintly tasted of her, he held his wet cock as he sighed.

A/N: Mmmmm such spice!

I’m going totally manipulative Act 1 Astarion—cruel and calculating and yet learning.

If Katja seems a bit on the spectrum, that’s intentional. And it totally disarms Astarion’s suave charm at times (which is good for him 😂).

Next chapter, The Risen Road and more spice 🌶️

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