Chapter Text
She awakened to the sensation of a body moving against her back. Her eyes shot open and she jerked with a surge of adrenaline, her hand twitching for a weapon. She tried to shout but only managed a strangled yelp before a hand clapped over her mouth and strong arms drew her in. The hand on her face tilted her head upward at an awkward angle.
“Shhhh-sh-sh-sh,” he hushed her, his voice barely a whisper. He tightened his hold as she struggled in the bedroll, his lean muscles taut with the effort of restraining her. She was strong. “You’ll wake the wizard,” he said with mock concern, smoothly hooking his right leg around hers for more leverage.
Unable to move, her eyes darted to the corner of the tent, frantically searching for signs of light beyond the canvas. In the party’s cramped camp within the city’s back alleys, their tent was uncomfortably close to Gale’s. He had a habit of staying up into the wee hours, reading by arcane illumination. Finding only shadows, she oriented herself and recognized his touch. She let out a long exhale through her nose. He smiled against her ear as he felt her relax into him, baring his fangs.
“Something smells tasty,” he breathed onto her neck, sliding his hand down her chin and onto her throat, gripping it delicately. He knew he was pushing his luck but he couldn’t stop himself. Their frequent battles were taxing on his strength. The hard work of killing stoked his hunger, and her constant proximity made it difficult for him to suppress. At worst she would tell him no, but it was not a word he was accustomed to hearing from her.
“I thought we agreed tomorrow night,” she sighed. She felt his insistent fingertips probing for her pulse. All the fighting was just as taxing to her strength as his before adding the cost of keeping him fed and happy. She could feel the intensity of his hunger in his hold on her. His was the grasp of a predator still unused to its prey being quite so willing.
“That was before our little run-in with the Sharrans earlier,” he answered easily, having justified himself to her a dozen times in his mind while he waited for the blue-white lights to flicker out in the wizard’s tent as she slept. He busied his other hand with her breasts, palming and squeezing each firmly in turn. “Do you have any idea how many times I had to stab that drow woman? It was exhausting.”
She rolled her eyes but made no attempt to stop his ministrations. “I was a bit busy, honestly.” It had been a close thing with the Sharrans, but memories of the fight and what followed were driven swiftly from her mind when she felt sharp teeth brush across her skin.
“I’m hungry,” he said, his voice husky in a mix of desire and petulance. “Don’t make me beg.” His tongue darted out, tasting her skin along the path traced by his teeth. Saliva pooled in the back of his mouth and he closed his eyes, jaws tensing. He forced himself to focus on keeping his senses. He would not feed without her consent, but he was not above trying to wheedle it out of her.
“And what would you call this?” she asked through a sigh as she felt his tongue on her. She was already lost. Her heart was pounding again. This was by design. The stronger her heartbeat, the easier it was for him.
“Asking nicely?” he whispered back, punctuating the word with a tighter grip on her throat and a rough squeeze of her breast. She let slip a soft moan.
“Shh, wizard,” he hissed, eying her impatiently. It was often difficult to keep her quiet. He suspected Gale heard more bumps in the night than the man politely chose to let on. Astarion didn’t really care.
“So nicely that you’d say please?” she goaded, trying to hold out as long as possible against his onslaught. She had to keep him on his manners. It was an ongoing war of wills fought between her and his appetite. She did not want to lose this particular battle, not when he had woken her from a sound sleep, and not when they had already agreed on tomorrow. She felt him tense in frustration, coiled like a serpent ready to strike.
She rolled her head away from him, elongating her neck enticingly. In a gambit to exact surrender, he latched on with his mouth, lips covering the point where he sensed her pulse to be strongest. With his fangs a hair’s breadth from her skin, his tongue laved back and forth as he kissed and sucked precisely where he wanted to bite her. He felt a deep shudder run through her, but maddeningly she did not yield. She was really going to make him say it. She had control and his was rapidly slipping. He pulled back from her just enough to allow him to speak.
“Please,” he huffed his capitulation barely loud enough for her to hear, fangs fully bared and poised just above his chosen spot. She shivered at the chill of his breath upon her neck, her body anticipating what she was about to feel.
The instant she inclined her head in a tiny nod of assent, he drove his fangs deep into the tender flesh. His eyes fell shut and he gave a soft hum of contentment as the first thick, hot rush of blood filled his mouth. He tightened his embrace as he began to drink, positioning her head and neck as he wanted and steadying her as she twitched at the icy-sharp pain. His throat worked in time with her pounding heart, larynx bobbing. The cold, throbbing numbness spread through her and she focused on her breathing. She was practised at this by now. Panicking or hyperventilating made it worse. If she relaxed, leaned into him, and trusted him to know her limit, the pain turned to something else entirely.
Soon the numbness became an exquisite tingling, electrifying every inch of her. Her body shook and heat bloomed between her legs despite the cold little daggers lodged in her neck. She couldn’t stop a low moan as she became delirious from pleasure and blood loss. He barely noticed, overwhelmed by her taste, her warmth, her scent, and the feel of her pressed against him. She whimpered as the seconds stretched on and the sounds she was making eventually pulled him back to reality. Just before the bite, he felt resentment over her resistance and wanted to punish her a little. Now he realized he drank a bit too greedily. After one last gulp he relented, withdrawing his fangs. He kept his mouth sealed fast to her, eagerly licking at the punctures he made. Until she stopped bleeding he would not allow a single drop to escape him.
She moaned in earnest as he tongued her wounds but he couldn’t be bothered to hush her again, not when it meant risking a morsel. He looked toward Gale’s tent through the corners of his half-lidded eyes, smugly willing the wizard to hear what he was doing to her. Astarion had seen the way the other man used to look at her, but she was his prize. She belonged to him now, body and soul. He squeezed her possessively at the thought.
He continued searching for any trace of blood, but after a few minutes he could taste only skin. He detached from her, rolling onto his back and letting his arms fall at his sides with a satisfied grin on his face. In a heady daze he felt the warmth he had taken from her inside him. He lay in stillness, chest heaving, feeling drunk. The world was coming back into focus as the hunger faded. He looked over at her. Her eyes were shut and she went silent as soon as he stopped working on her. She stirred weakly, turning toward him.
“Alright, love?” he asked with a hint of contrition. He reached for her, brushing strands of hair from her face to see her better. She was peaky. “Was that a bit much? I’m sorry, darling, I was just so hungry. You know how delicious you are.”
She opened her eyes with effort. Her vision swam and a darkness separate from the shadows crept at her peripheries as she tried to focus on him. He was happy and relaxed now, crookedly smiling back at her as he caressed her face. He looked as if he couldn’t quite believe what he was seeing as he gazed at the woman who trusted him to know when to stop, and willingly subjected herself to the pain required to slake him. She shot him a pointed look.
“You need your potion, don’t you?” he asked rhetorically, shaking himself out of his reverie and sitting up to rummage in his nearby pack. He always had it ready for her when he knew she would feed him, but he hadn’t been sure she would acquiesce tonight and failed to stage it. He produced a thin red bottle and pulled the stopper. Rolling toward her, he brought the rim to her lips. “Here, drink,” he said, watching intently. She closed her lips around it and he tilted it back for her. “There we are.” The effect was immediate. After a few sips, some of the color flooded back into her cheeks and her eyes became less glassy. She began to breathe normally. He stoppered the bottle and set it aside.
“Better?” he asked, laying himself down beside her. He propped his head up on his fist and continued watching her in wonder and looking somewhat inebriated. Flushed with fresh blood, the tips of his ears had taken on a faint blush.
“Much,” she said, twisting herself in a stretch as the numbness waned and feeling returned. “That was a lot, though.” Her voice was tinged with sadness. The potion helped a great deal but it was no panacea. She would be weaker tomorrow for feeding him. He would be stronger.
“Hmm,” he hummed and reached for her again. He swept his hand down her side, feeling her contours. “And how can I make it up to you, my sweet?” He leered with amusement as she shuddered at his touch. She was especially responsive after his feedings, her sensitivity heightened by the sensations it caused. He knew the ordeal aroused her. The thought of her enjoying it excited him. He felt himself begin to stiffen.
“You already know,” she said, tugging at his shirt laces. She had assuaged his hunger and now she needed him to return the favor. She moved to kiss him but he pulled away with a sly smirk. She then pushed him onto his back, straddled his hips, and leaned down to reach him, but he gripped her shoulder with one hand and kept her forced upright.
“Do I? Whatever do you need?” he asked with feigned confusion, tilting his head quizzically. She made him beg for his supper. Turnabout was only fair. With his other hand he dug his fingers into her hip. The crotch of his breeches felt unbearably tight now that the heat between her legs was pressed against it.
“You,” she sighed helplessly. She could plainly feel the bulge of his arousal and began to grind against him, craving what he could give her.
“Oh? And what do you need me to do?” he cooed, pushing hard on her hip and helping her grind down on him. He grit his teeth and bit back a groan. He did not want to betray how difficult he was finding it to resist the urge to simply give her what she wanted.
“Take me,” she whispered and tried to reach him, pushing against his arm. He kept her held firmly at bay and she didn’t have the strength to fight him.
“Take me what?” he teased, the corners of his mouth curling. He slid the hand on her shoulder to the back of her head where he grabbed a fistful of hair and yanked, forcing her to expose her neck to him. He thrilled at the sight of the fresh bite. The skin surrounding the punctures was reddened and beginning to bruise. “Ask nicely, darling. Say please.”
She whined pitifully as he pulled her hair, not relishing the taste of her own medicine while so fraught with need. She trembled, his strong grip sending shivers down her spine. He tended to be possessive and controlling right after he fed, intoxicated on her and testing his renewed strength. She liked it when he was rough and made her his plaything. She bit down on her lip, halfheartedly trying to resist his command and stifle the pathetic sounds coming from her.
“Say it,” he growled, baring his fangs dangerously, frustrated at how quickly his control was slipping again. His own senses were heightened after feeding. He could smell her desire and longed to taste it, but he would not let her best him a second time in one night. He would have what he wanted from her. He let go of her hair and palmed the front of her neck, squeezing gently. His red eyes were wide and fixed unblinkingly on her face, waiting.
“Please,” she keened, abandoning any remaining pretense of resistance. She was broken and could not outlast him anymore. She would give him whatever he wanted as long as he satisfied her burning need. “Please take me.”
He pulled her down by the throat and captured her in a kiss, their tongues mingling as he shared the faint metallic aftertaste of her blood with her. His other hand grabbed at the bottom of her shirt and he pushed her back up, pulling it off her and tossing it aside. Shifting his hips, he rolled her onto her back and pinned her beneath him.
“Good girl,” he crooned, grinding his hips against her. He reached for the back of his shirt, wrenching it over his head. He kissed her, adoring the warmth of her bare skin against him. He was not being overly cautious with his fangs as he enjoyed her. If one of them happened to clip her, he would get a fresh taste.
She ached for more of him. Wrapping her arms around him, it was her turn to feel him shiver as she traced the patterns of the scars on his back, his pearlescent skin prickling with gooseflesh. He rewarded her by slipping a hand into her trousers to feel the source of her heat. He found her slick with want, his fingers gliding through her folds as he stroked her. She moaned into his mouth.
“So eager for me,” he said approvingly, drawing back. “I want to taste more of you.” He hooked both hands into the waist of her trousers and pulled them off her. Fully exposed to him, she leaned back on her elbows as he gripped her thighs and pushed her legs apart, settling on his stomach between them. She watched pleadingly as he edged close to her and locked eyes as he began to kiss her there, taking great care with his fangs now. He purred appreciatively as he savored her, sliding his tongue along her slit, pausing to dip into her entrance. He swallowed reflexively as her flavor washed over him. There was something about it that held the essence of her blood. He lapped at her languidly, clutching her thighs and holding her gaze. She looked back at him with her mouth hanging open, eyes wide and unfocused. He moved to the small bundle of nerves, massaging and sucking, and his fingers worked in tandem with his mouth, swirling around her opening. He pleasured her effortlessly with his expert touch, barely registering what he was doing as he watched her squirm, his eyes dark with desire. She was more than ready for him and he needed to have her.
Rising up on his knees, he unlaced his breeches and let himself spill out, taking his rigid cock in hand. She eyed him hungrily as he slid his fingers down his length, foreskin retracting to expose the purplish head weeping beads of moisture at the tip. A few silken droplets trickled over his fingers and he rubbed up and down, lubricating himself. She watched, transfixed by his display and the statuesque perfection of him.
“Is this what you need?” he asked, unable to mask the lust in his voice.
“Please,” she offered, not wanting to risk further torment.
“You shall have it,” he answered mercifully, kicking off his breeches. Then he was upon her, moving between her legs and pinning her under him, his heavy body holding her in place as he enjoyed the full contact of her warm skin. He dipped his head and kissed her, sharing the taste of her desire with her.
She felt him align his hips with her as she kissed him back. He had precise control of his body like no other man she had ever known. He didn’t require the aid of his hands to position himself and she squirmed beneath him as he brought the tip of his erection to her center. He dragged it through her folds, combining their collective slick. She grabbed onto his ass with one hand, wanting to feel every tilt, and ran the other through his hair, brushing over the point of his ear. Breaking free of their kiss, he looked into her eyes as he positioned himself at her entrance and pushed. He sucked air through gritted teeth as he felt her tight heat begin to envelop him. She arched her back to meet him as he penetrated her, gasping as she felt herself stretch to accommodate his girth. He slid into her inch by inch, his breath hitching.
“Gods,” he groaned as he bottomed out, straining to press his cockhead as far as he could, bumping against a spot deep inside her that made him quiver and made her toes curl. He allowed her a moment to adjust to him but before long he couldn’t resist the compulsion to rock himself against her, seeking out more of the sensation. “You are mine,” he ground out between clenched teeth, overcome in the ardor of claiming her body after feeding on her.
“Yes,” she sighed in full agreement, her fingers digging into his glute and willing him deeper. She felt him flex each time his cock kneaded against the spot that caused a delicious ache in her lower belly, pain blending into pleasure. He dropped his head into the crook of her neck, gently kissing and licking at the bite mark as he rocked into her fluidly, his pelvis grinding against her clit. He kept this up for some time, coaxing little spasms out of her which made him grunt softly when he felt her walls squeeze him. “More,” she moaned into his ear after a particularly strong spasm, “deeper.”
He paused, grinning at her wantonness, and pushed himself up on his arms to give her space to bring her legs up over his shoulders. Then he pressed toward her, folding her in half as he bent her legs back into her body, spearing her even more deeply and eliciting a low moan from both of them. He looked into her eyes from above, his pupils blown as he rutted into her with long, steady thrusts. He brought his weight to bear on each downstroke, pounding hard against the limit of her depth the way she craved. She cried her pleasure so loudly that soon the entire camp would know he was having her.
“Shhhhhh,” he urged. He was panting and unable to focus on much aside from the feel of her as a coiling tension built in his stomach. She whined and bit down on her lip but he made her task more difficult by deftly angling himself to send more stimulation to her mons. He could feel himself approaching the edge and wanted to bring her over first. The new angle hastily produced the desired effect. He felt her tightening around him and heard the rising pitch of her stifled cries. She was overcome with sensation and losing control.
“That’s it,” he spurred her, keeping his tempo and angle constant. He bowed his head and winced with the effort of staving off his own completion. “Come for me.”
At his direction she spilled over, moaning with abandon as her inner muscles spasmed powerfully. All attempts at silence were forgotten as waves of rapture crashed over her. He let go then, fucking her harder and faster, chasing his own gratification. The rhythmic, crushing grip of her orgasm sent him over the edge. With a low, shaky groan, his abs flexed and his thrusts slowed. He strained as deep as he could, his cock twitching as he pumped her full of his spend. He rode her through her climax, pushing and flexing with each throb of his organ, working every last drop of himself into her as her contractions milked him.
She came up for air when he finally stilled and found his unfocused gaze on her as he came down from his high. She was full of him and it was like a balm to her. She felt delightfully warm deep inside but knew it was her own body reacting to what he’d given her. His emissions lacked the heat of a living man’s but still tantalized her body’s chemistry. She slid her legs off his shoulders and he came to lie on her, still inside her and softening. He gently pressed his forehead to hers and she wrapped her arms around him, idly caressing his scars.
“I love you,” he whispered. His eyes were focused again and he scanned hers searchingly, suddenly vulnerable. He hadn’t yet uttered it since the first time, on the night they made love on his grave. It was still new and frightening to him, baring his burgeoning heart to her.
“I love you too,” she whispered back, smiling.
Astarion beamed. Then, with his belly full and his desire sated, he yawned blissfully. His body sought the restorative sleep which would allow him to fully reap the benefits of her nourishment.
“Typical man,” she chuckled teasingly, but she was calm and relaxed and caught his contagion, yawning along with him.
“I am no such thing,” he said with a smirk and rolled off her. He draped the cover of the bedroll over them. “You would not have me otherwise,” he murmured sleepily, gathering her in his arms and pulling her toward him in a tender embrace. He closed his eyes and sighed contentedly as he held her.
“Do you think they heard us?” she asked, closing her eyes as she entwined with him.
“Heard you,” he corrected, an air of satisfaction in his voice. “Most definitely. Especially that one,” he added with a nod toward Gale’s tent. The thought tickled him pleasantly as he drifted out of consciousness.