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Olana teeters atop the log, her arms spread eagle and her brow furrowed in concentration. Beneath her, the river burbles by. With a grunt, she hops off on the other end. She turns and grins back at Astarion, who seems a little less than impressed at her pace as he crosses, himself, and stands beside her.
“Did you really have to take that long?” he mutters.
She shrugs one shoulder. “Always good to be cautious! Didn’t want to fall into the rapids, after all!”
“Rapids? That was hardly a stream!” His scowl only makes her laugh. Despite his irritation, he falls into step beside her.
“Still enough to cause major trouble, no?” She sends a wink his way, skipping through the sparse brush and forcing him to keep up. Her teeth flash in a grin. Turning, but still walking backwards, she says, “Had to make sure the log was stable, my dear.”
“And here I thought you were the good one.”
“I can be benevolent and kind and also try to irritate you!”
“Oh, trust me, you don’t have to try.”
Her grin only widens, and she spins on her heel once more. Her pace quickens, and she darts between two trees and up a hill. “Over here, c’mon!”
“Hells…”
“No, hills. Listen, the sunset looks better from up high, so hurry up before you miss it.”
“I don’t get why you are so insistent on this.” He sidles up beside her at the crest of the hill. An unsubtle hand slides down to her hip and beneath her mail. Cool fingers circle over her slip. She shivers, and it’s his turn to laugh. He leans in close, breath fanning out across her ear. “But I can’t say that I mind the privacy.”
“That can wait. You said that it’s been two hundred years since you were in the sun,” Olana says, her voice softer now. She leans into his touch. “I figured that, since we’re descending to the Underdark tomorrow, we should properly watch the sunset.”
“And you wanted to watch it before you went back home?”
“Actually, I didn’t grow up in the Underdark.”
“Oh?” His hand creeps up her side. She shoots him a dirty look, but he doesn’t pay it much mind. “Go on, I want to hear this.”
“Are you going to be feeling me up the whole time?”
“What can I say, you’re very warm.” Still, his hand retreats from her skin.
Olana drops down to sit on the grass. She pats the earth beside her, and Astarion first sits, then reclines back with his arms folded behind his head. It takes a moment for her to follow suit. The sky is streaked through with rich oranges, warm golds, hints of pink and red peeking through the clouds. She turns her head, watching how the golden glow of sunset brings color to his pallid skin, how his entire body seems to relax in the warm light.
“In the city, I had to climb up onto the roof to get a view this good,” she says. “Gave my dads a heart attack every time they caught me.” She smiles, eyes soft with fondness. “They fled the Underdark with me when I was a baby. They’ve never been the type to do well against the Lolth-sworn drow, and, well, you probably know how it is for male drow down there.”
She glances over at him and, to her shock, he’s rolled onto his side and is watching her intently. He raises a brow and motions for her to continue. “I’m listening.”
“Thought you’d find this horribly boring.” Still, she folds her hands atop her chest and looks back up at the dusky sky. “And I promise you, it really is quite boring. But if you really do want to hear more… I’ll keep going. I’ve already heard your story. It’s only fair.”
“Quite.”
“So… my dads. Never told me how they got me. Honestly, I never asked. Figured my life up here with them is leagues better than a life in the Underdark. They tell me that those first few days in the sun were the worst. Burned them up like you wouldn’t believe. Apparently, I wouldn’t stop crying. But they walked a tenday to a village, then another tenday to Baldur’s Gate. Said they had to beg for lodging at that halfway point. Nobody wanted to house ‘under-elves.’” Her smile twists. She laughs, low and dry. “Saw a bit of us in those tieflings, honestly. Just… desperate people, begging for sanctuary.”
For a moment, she swears that his eyes soften, but that may just be a trick of the light. He makes a quiet noise in the back of his throat, a signal to keep going.
“This is where it gets boring, just warning you. They scraped up a life, worked hard jobs with little pay to support our family for a while. Eventually, they bought a bookshop. So… my parents are librarians, and I basically lived in the stacks as a kid.” She shrugs. “We’ve had a rather quiet life. Lots of shop cats. Lots of family dinners. Nothing quite as much as what you went through.”
The silence hangs between them for a heartbeat. A breeze kicks up, sending a chill through Olana. It’s only when the wind dies down that Astarion speaks.
“You know, I never pictured you as a ‘well-read’ kind of person.”
“Oh? And what’s that supposed to mean?”
“You have such a brutal fighting style.” He grins, flashing his fangs. “It’s rather appealing.”
“You’re horrible,” she mutters.
“Yet you can’t keep your hands off me.” His fingers dance along the curve of her throat, pushing away her mail and tabard to reveal her dark skin. His wicked smile only grows when she sighs and relaxes into the grass.
“You’re rather touchy, yourself.”
“Ah, you got me there.” She’s not sure how he got so close so quickly, his face a breath away. Olana has half a mind to just close the gap and kiss him, but he’s on the move before she can act on her thoughts. He tucks her curls out of the way and dips lower. Cold lips caress her neck, tongue darting out to taste her skin. His fangs tease at the crook of her neck before he moves lower, closer to her collarbone. Closer to her heart. He pricks at the thin skin, immediately lapping up the bead of blood that rises to the surface. She squirms beneath him (When did he climb on top of her..?). He rises, just enough to get a good look at her body. “Look at you, laid out before me like a meal…”
“Don’t eat more than your share,” she warns.
“I would never!” He trails a finger along her jugular, feeling her pulse quicken. “I’ll just have to take my time… savor it, as it were.”
“Horrible,” she repeats, though her smile betrays her true feelings. Olana sits up and starts working at the clasps and belts keeping her armor together. Astarion makes a disappointed sound at the change in position, and she cocks a brow at him. “If you want to do this right now, I might as well be naked. Help me get this off?”
“Oh, I’ll help you get more than that off.” Still, he reaches down and helps her tug off her leathers and mail, exposing her chest to the cool evening air. His eyes rove up and down her body. Feather-light, one pale finger trails down her front and traces the faint line of her abs. “Delectable.”
Being drow, she is shorter than him, though her build is stockier than others of her kind. Her well-built muscles tense and flex with every shaking breath. If she wanted to, she could easily overpower him, throw him onto his back and take control.
Of course, the key word there is “if.”
She winks at him and stretches her arms up over her head, watching him follow the motion with an almost frightening hunger behind his eyes. “Well?”
“Just a moment. I’m taking it all in…”
His hands return to her body, feeling up the soft flesh at her sides. He pushes her down again, leaving her sprawled out beneath him. She stares, enraptured, when he licks his lips. And then he’s on her, lips and tongue working in tandem to mark her skin and leave her keening. Frantic fingers fumble with her belt and yank her pants down her legs. She kicks them off, sinks her own fingers into his hair as he travels lower. For a moment, he hovers above her sex. His eyes lock with hers, and that wicked look returns. Without breaking eye contact, he takes one of her thighs in hand, caresses it with his palm, presses a lingering kiss to the skin closest to where she wants him most, then strikes. Ice-cold fangs sink into her skin. She yelps, grasping at the grass to steady herself. Clumsily, he thrusts a finger into her as he drinks, pumping it in an unsteady rhythm. Her cries turn into moans. The pain has long since faded into a pleasant ache that spreads through her veins and makes her head spin.
“Fuck.” She feels somehow cold and hot at the same time, her gut burning as her skin freezes. Through the heady haze that’s settled over her mind, she manages to say, “Ah… Astarion… enough…”
For one terrifying second, he doesn’t move, fangs still buried in her flesh, and she considers kicking him away. The next moment, he’s drawing back, pausing just long enough to lave his tongue over the wound, savoring the beads of blood still oozing out. One apologetic kiss later, he’s buried between her legs. One hand in his hair, the other clasped over her mouth, she wails his name. He rewards her with his tongue plunging into her sex. His fingers spread her wider, coax another cry into the night. She digs her heels into his back and he groans against her. It’s with one last cry of his name that she comes, trembling and holding his head in place between her thighs. He prolongs her climax until she’s on the verge of tears. It’s only when she starts to beg for relief that he relents. Slowly, she relaxes her legs. He sits up, wiping his mouth on his sleeve and grinning down at her.
“What a sight I have before me,” he croons. “I take it you enjoyed that?”
“Fuck,” is all she can say.
He nearly breaks down laughing. However, he manages to compose himself enough to rid himself of his own clothes, not bothering to put on a show. Her daze dissipates when he kisses her, his lips soft against her own and the tang of sex and blood on his tongue. She returns it with as much fervor as she can muster. Her fingers tangle in his hair, pulling him closer so she may savor the unexpected gentleness of it all.
Reluctantly, he pulls back. A hand settles on her hip and his thumb rubs back and forth across her skin. “Do you want more?”
“Mhm…”
“What was that?” His expression turns wolfish. He leans in, forehead-to-forehead with her. “I need you to be clear with me.”
“Please, Astarion, I want… I want to keep going.” She bucks her hips up, groans with frustration at the lack of friction. Sure, she’s still sensitive from her first orgasm, but that should be fine, right?
“That’s more like it,” he all but growls. He slides his hands beneath her ass and lifts her up onto his lap, her legs on either side of his waist. Olana can’t find the strength to sit up, so she settles for lying on the grass, the starscape above a hazy blob of darkness streaked with light. He squeezes her cheeks, nails digging in just enough to send a jolt up her spine. His hips cant up against hers, his length sliding through her slick, several times. It’s a tease for the both of them, but she can tell that he does it just to hear her plead with him.
Horrible.
Finally, finally, he adjusts his position, hikes her legs further up his waist, and sheathes himself completely. He takes a moment to catch his breath.
“Gods,” he says, eyes dark with lust, “if only… you could see yourself right now.” He gives a shallow thrust. She whimpers beneath him. “I wonder, how many others have seen you like this?”
Her lips move to snap back, but all she can do is groan. The slow drag of him inside her renders her utterly speechless. His smile lights up with feral pride.
“The librarians’ daughter, getting fucked out in the elements? How sinful.”
She grits her teeth, hissing moans still slipping through the cracks though she tries to quiet them. His pace is mercilessly fast. Some distant part of her feels his nails biting into her thighs, close to breaking skin but just barely avoiding it. Olana grasps at the ground, comes up with a fistful of grass, sobs his name. Astarion leans over her, blocking out the moonlight. She takes the chance and grips his shoulders in a vice. Uneven, scarred skin meets her fingers.
Faintly, she hears his sharp breath. His hips stutter, but return to their rhythm just as fast. He presses his forehead against hers, their breath mingling and lips just close enough to tempt Olana. She tilts her head just-so and kisses him. He moans, the sound reverberating in his chest. For a moment, she thinks that he mumbles her name into the kiss. One of his hands flies up to the back of her head and tangles in her hair to clutch her close. It’s almost desperate, how he devours her, how he takes her.
Sooner than she’d hoped, his thrusts become erratic. He screws his eyes shut in concentration, and she slips her fingers into his curls. Her breath trembling, her voice raspy, she whispers into his ear, “Let go for me.”
“Shi- it—” His hips slam against hers one last time. Then, he’s squeezing her close, holding her still as he finishes.
She pets his hair and coos his name as he comes down from his high. Perhaps unconsciously, he leans his head into her palm, ragged breaths spreading goosebumps over her skin. His breath evens out before long. Cool lips press against her shoulder and linger there for a heartbeat. “How are you feeling?” she asks.
Astarion chuckles. He looks up at her as he lays his head on her breasts. “Wonderful. And you?”
“A little disappointed that we missed part of the sunset.”
He snorts in disbelief. “You’re kidding me, darling. We just fucked, and you’re concerned about missing the sunset?”
“Well, we can fuck at any time, but we don’t know if this is going to be our last sunset!” Her expression sobers. Her fingers still in his hair, and he gives a quiet grunt of displeasure at this.
“All the better to make it one to remember, then.”
“Eh, I suppose you’re right…” Her nails scratch lightly at his scalp. “I don’t want to go,” she says after some time.
“We don’t have to go back to camp.”
“That’s not what I mean, and you know it.”
He sighs and plucks at the grass. His smile sours, then relaxes. “It won’t be forever.”
“That… I just don’t want to end up dead in the same place my dads risked everything to escape from, you know? Gods, just imagining being buried there—”
“We’ve been quite good at avoiding death so far,” Astarion says, “why assume that this will be any different?”
“I… I don’t know. We should return to camp before it gets too late.”
“I thought you were a cuddler.”
“It’s a little more comfortable in a tent, as I’m sure you know.”
She worms her way out from beneath him, and that’s that. A little shaky on their feet, the both of them dress, gather what clothing they don’t bother to throw on, and, side-by-side but not touching, begin the walk back to camp.
And if Olana spends the next morning staring up at the sky as the party finishes packing up camp, Astarion doesn’t comment on it.