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It’s fun—this little game you play. The moment you set eyes on him, something curls in the back of your mind, a satisfaction, a knowledge. An instinct. The way his white hair shines in the sun and his red eyes catch the light is enough to enthrall you, and you can’t help but give into his exchanges, his prodding.
The back and forth is always light; a tease here, a poke there. It’s easy and distracting from the emptiness inside you, the gaping hole where your memories should be. Where you should be.
But as your adventure grows more dangerous, so too do you find yourself wondering. Shadowheart discovering the secrets of her past has you contemplating what your parents looked like—if you were just as loved and cared for. A deep part of you laughs at the absurdity. You wonder if the place you came from is as brutal and unforgiving as the créche you find, Lae’zel at your side sneering at their makeshift home. But it is a home, for them. Were you enslaved like Astarion, like Karlach, or in servitude like Wyll? Do you have a story like Gale?
And so it is that one day, the game is no longer a inconsequential little game. You’re beginning to grow into yourself—or so you think, as your memory starting from the Nautiloid lengthens. Words thrown and touches between lovers—is what you feel real? Is anything you’re experiencing the true you? You find yourself alone among friends, and you don’t know what’s real and what’s fake.
And your banter with Astarion is a quickly growing sore upon your heart.
It’s the last night your party is spending in lush greenery in the wilderness before heading to the Shadowlands, and you’re able to grab some time for yourself. You spend it in a calm part of the river a ways from camp, washing at first and then just relaxing. Thinking. Wondering, again.
You aren’t particularly ugly, as far as you can tell—a sharp jawline contrasts your hair that flows in soft but loose waves, and your tanned and freckled skin tells of your half wood-elf heritage. The only marked difference between your body and others is that… well, you don’t necessarily conform to nature’s binary. You don’t feel any different than anyone else, and they don’t treat you as such—but you wonder about it all the same.
You know your name, but nothing else. You stare into your wavering reflection in the water, the dying light of the sun scattering rays of gold and red across the surface, breaking your image. It feels poetic, in a way.
“Admiring yourself, dear?” A familiar and insufferable voice, one you hoped to spend at least a few more hours without. Not because you didn’t like him—but, well… needless to say, it was complicated. And you have so much on your mind you feel about to erupt.
“… I don’t think so,” you hear yourself say, before flinching. “Wh-what I mean is,” you hastily amend, “I’m simply… looking.”
Astarion stands on the bank, arms crossed—a very odd look on his face, one you’ve never quite seen. He seems to recover from your lack of humor quickly. “Well, there certainly is much to take notice of. Easy on the eyes for sure,” he purrs, and you give a huff of a laugh.
You already feel out of your element—and Astarion being here skews you so far into the deep end you’re not sure where you stand. His gaze is practically tangible as it roams your body, your face, chest, and legs, and you briefly thank your forethought to keep your undershorts on. Not that Astarion hasn’t seen you nude, but… well, you currently don’t feel like indulging him.
Clearing your throat, you wade in a little deeper, submerging your shoulders as you begin to swim, allowing the water to obscure you. You look back at him as you float. “Did you, ah, need something?”
He smirks back at you. “Feeling a little shy?”
“I’m not a show.”
“Well, damn it. I was hoping for one, you know.”
You narrow your eyes at him before dipping below the surface, the babbling of the water around your ears like a roar. It’s relieving, in a way; you allow your mind to empty, as if you could find yourself somewhere in here if you listened close enough. You surface again with a sigh, shaking your head, running your hands through your weighed down hair.
And Astarion is gone.
You frown at the spot he occupied moments ago—or at least you think it was only moments. But as you’re contemplating his disappearance, something grabs your arm in the water, and you wheel on instinct—only to see Astarion there, grinning devilishly.
“I almost socked you,” you growl, pushing away to gain some distance. He merely laughs at your reaction, and you click your tongue. “Damned rogue.”
“You didn’t, though.” His ruby eyes glitter in the golden light, and you roll your eyes. He’d discarded his own clothes, sans underwear, at the opposite bank. His own hair drips with water, and it’s easy to see how long elf ears really are when his hair is damp; you maybe stare a little too long, because he flashes you a smirk. “Should we perhaps get a painting done so you can gaze at it in your free time?”
“Wha—No!” For some reason you fluster at the thought—that you’d actually get a painting of him done. And then another part of you thinks that’d be a good idea, just in case… something happened.
He perhaps catches onto your dark mood, because he swims slowly over, his eyes searching your face. “You… seem a bit on edge, darling.” His words are careful, testing.
“I—“ you shake your head as if to clear it, sending water droplets everywhere, but it remains just as jumbled as ever. “I don’t know. I think so.”
“You think so?” And this time his voice is almost concerned, no usual twist to his tone. You avoid his gaze as he probes you, an uncomfortable feeling crawling under your skin.
“I just…” You sigh and smooth back your hair, letting your arms drop into the water with a harsh splash. “I’m confused. About everything.” And then, you find yourself continuing in a rush; “You know by now I have no memory before the Nautiloid. It didn’t really bother me before, but now I…”
You pause, gnawing at your lip and staring down at the water, at your face, which should be so, so familiar. “I don’t know who I am, or where I came from, or why I am the way I am. I don’t know if I’ll… lose myself again.” You don’t understand the red that lurks in the back of your mind, the one you’re fighting. The one you have yet to tell everyone about.
Astarion is quiet, and you sigh.
“I should know more than just my name. I should know what my favorite food is, where I lived, how I lived, and what I did. I’m just simply…” You give a weak shrug, and risk a glance at him. “Here. Blank.”
“Sometimes,” Astarion finally starts, slowly, “the past is simply better left in the past. Shadowheart had hers stolen from her too, for her mission—mine is chasing me, Karlach is running from hers…” The water sighs as he closes the gap to lift your chin, staring calmly into your eyes.
“If it bothers you so, then perhaps when all of this is over, we can search for it if we don’t find it along the way.” You’re pretty sure your eyes are as wide as saucers at this point, and you take a breath—but he gives you a toothy, shit-eating grin as he continues; “Plus, I’d just love to hear all about it. Especially all the embarrassing parts. Do you think your past will be as dramatic as Gale’s? What if you have a secret, spurned lover. Oh, yes, that’d be absolutely delectable. And—“
You yank yourself away from him and splash him full in the face with water—he yelps indignantly as you scuttle away, as done with this conversation as you are with him—but then you’re wrestling each other as he pounces on you, and you’re two grown men having a goddamn splash-wrestling fight but you’ll be damned if you aren’t having fun.
A bit of the water freezes around his waist as you flick a bit of magic and escape onto the bank of the river, laughing at him—he pursues you, eyebrows scrunched in indignation, holding the ring of ice with both of his hands. The sight sends you into a full-on laughing fit, and in this lapse he lunges for you.
With an undignified yelp, you allow the ice to fall away as water as you both fall to the grass. The two of you lay there for an extended time, panting, and you think for a moment that you’d sell your past if this was just a glimpse into your future.
“Thanks,” you tell him, turning your face slightly to the side as if it would alleviate some of the fluttering in your chest.
“Don’t mention it,” he purrs, and breaks out into another grin. “Though, I do feel like I should be rewarded for my efforts.” His hand moves from beside your head to your face, and he traces the curve of your lip with his thumb. You watch with bated breath as his red eyes follow, before flickering back up. With a tilt of his head, “Hmm?”
“Oh? Dear me, and here I thought we had a moment,” you lament dramatically, turning away from his hand. “I should’ve known you had ulterior motives.”
“Darling, I almost always have ulterior motives,” and his lips brush along the crown of your ear, sending a shiver through you, one Astarion no doubt notices. “Though I do have to admit, you naked and underneath me is almost always the motive.”
This statement causes goosebumps to raise along your skin, and heat flares along your cheeks. He dips his head lower to graze along the hollow beneath your ear, and you suck in a shuddering breath.
“As long as you’re similarly naked,” you concede, and he chuckles as he finally presses a line of kisses along your jaw.
“I think I can agree to that,” he murmurs, the rasp in his voice making you a little light-headed.
He wastes no time in smoothing his hands across your body, his fingertips drawing little stutters
from you as they skim over your already peaked nipples. His hands continue upwards, around your neck to grip in the back of your head as he draws you into a full kiss, his nails scraping into your scalp pleasantly.
You hum your appreciation, opening your mouth as he flicks a tongue over the seal of your lips enticingly. It isn’t long before you’re both gasping for air, and he nips at your lower lip as he shifts himself lower.
Along your neck he sucks a line of bruises, each given an ample amount of attention—the way his teeth tease and brush your skin has you burying a hand in his hair, the other scratching lightly at his back, as you gasp softly in the open air.
Those noises get louder as he reaches your chest, and you keen as he runs his tongue over one nipple, sucking lightly while rubbing his thumb in languid circles over the other.
“ Astarion,” you breathe, and he slows his pace agonizingly—enough to make you arch your back, seeking more.
He continues to lick and kiss down to your belly button, then stops—he withdraws completely, and you let out a heated huff, to which he only chuckles.
“So impatient,” he purrs, and you open your eyes to watch him shift lower. He runs his palms over your thighs and under your waistband, gripping your hips as his chin rests lightly on the tip of your wetness—taunting. Tormenting .
After giving you a knowing smirk, he moves again, leaning back over and kissing you—although his hand is quick to massage you, eliciting a sharp gasp from you as you break the kiss. He slides his other hand to your thigh, pushing it to the side to give him better access. As soon as he does, you curse—a wave of heat and electricity running through you.
“ Fuck ,” you hiss, even as he continues to press kisses to your jaw. “ Ah— Astarion.”
He hums in satisfaction as he presses your foreheads together, trapping you in his sanguine gaze before dipping his hand underneath the fabric. You growl lowly at him, but he just smirks and looks straight into your eyes, low-lidded. He pulls at the annoying fabric to remove it, and you lift your hips to help.
“So wet for me,” he murmurs, voice thick as he presses his finger between your folds at your clit. You rock your hips up into his touch with a groan, and his eyes practically sparkle as he swipes his tongue across his lips. He begins to move, rubbing slow circles, and your head falls back with a soft thud, eyelids fluttering.
“M-more,” you stutter, already chasing your need—each ministration sends tiny waves of pleasure through you, hips and muscles jumping beneath him.
He hums and pulls you into another kiss, his continued leisure driving you mad—he removes his hand and kisses down your body again, drawing a frustrated noise from you. You glance down as he shifts you, lifting your thighs with each hand behind your knee and exposing you. As you see him hovering there, looking at you, you can’t help but feel embarrassed—but he doesn’t make you feel that way for long, as he licks an experimental stripe up to your clit.
The action has you gasping, hips jolting—but his grip on you keeps you in place. Then he begins to apply his tongue in earnest, moaning softly. Your eyes slip closed at the sensation, a hand clawing at the grass and another in his hair, holding, grasping.
You arch, writhing and moaning particularly loudly as he sucks on your clit and his tongue works over it. As your jaw goes slightly slack at the sensation, you see him watching you through his eyelashes. The sight has you cursing, and you can feel his smile on your skin.
“You know, my love,” he says as he resurfaces, “I really hate to think about anyone else who’s seen you like this.” The comment gives you enough pause to peer down at him again, but he’s grinning. It turns almost wolfish as he threads a hand down between your thighs and slides a finger to your entrance, and you bite your lip. “If you ever recall anything, let me know—I’ll take care of them. I want to be the only one who’s seen you like this.”
“That’s— ah!” And his finger is dipping into you, curling experimentally; he leans forward once again to attend to your neck, no doubt bruising you. And his comment is quickly forgotten—your mind quickly fills with lust as he adds another finger and scissors.
“You really are amazing,” he murmurs between kisses, and begins to thrust with his fingers, drawing a small shout from you. He adds a third finger, and your noises redouble as he shifts his hand to press his thumb to your clit with every thrust, and you’re just about seeing stars—his eyes bore into yours, and you’re sure you look absolutely fucked—your face is slack with pleasure, your spine beginning to tingle as you feel it building.
“Augh— Astarion,” you groan, your body starting to tense, your need reaching a fever pitch. Your focus sharpens, and every muscle in your body is taut like a rope, ready to snap—your hips bounce in time with his hand, and he kisses you as the tension breaks—and you keen, your muscles contracting uncontrollably as waves of intense pleasure break over you. Your hand in his hair is a vice.
“Fuck, Astarion, yes, I— Ah —“ You babble uncontrollably as your head goes slack, chasing your high as he continues to move his hand, kissing any part of your neck and throat he can as your eyes roll back. Your moans turn to whines as you begin to come down, and he slows his motions as he watches you until each swipe of his thumb is too much.
He chuckles as you pant, eyes unfocused in your bliss. You have enough mind to unwind your clenched fingers from his curls, running soothing strokes over his scalp in apology. After completely returning to yourself, you turn your head to look at him—and you blink at his smug expression.
“Wh-what?” you say, clearing your throat a bit at the hoarseness in your voice.
“Nothing,” he replies, and then kisses you—pulls back enough to speak again. “But, dear—do think you can continue?” He guides your hand to his hard dick—it seems that somewhere in your euphoria he removed his own underwear.
“I—of course,” you all but choke out, gripping him lightly and running your thumb over the tip, smearing the precum that’s gathered there. He groans at the touch, kissing you deeply; you begin to stroke him, your hand and fingers moving deftly. You watch the way his mouth tightens, his eyebrows draw together, and his eyes flutter—and you wonder if this is how you looked to him.
“Beautiful,” you murmur, and his eyes flicker up to your face. He lets out a good-natured huff that’s between a laugh and a moan, but then he’s smacking your hand away and pressing a hand between you.
“I should be the one to say that.” He tests your wetness with a finger and then poises himself over you. Even though you’ve done this before, it feels different every time—and the emotion sparking between you as he lines himself up has you moving to cover your face.
But he tsks softly and a hand comes up to move it away—you can feel a blush spreading over your entire body again, and he kisses you as he threads his fingers into yours, pressing your hand down and away from your face.
His forehead is pressed to yours again as he regards you for a moment—and then he’s pushing himself into you, sending goosebumps all over your skin as you let out a soft moan. He continues to hold eye contact with you until his hips brush yours—but instead of beginning to move his hips, he hooks one of your legs over his shoulder, an impossible pressure as he leans into you—finding room where there was none.
“ Astarion,” you choke out, and he looks down at you with hungry eyes, an errant tooth poking out of his lazy smile. The sun is now bleeding the sky, the purple of the atmosphere glowing around his white curls.
“Yes, love ?” And he punctuates ‘love’ with a roll of his hips, drawing a loud moan from you. Your hands wind up his body. “Something to add?”
But you curse as he starts to move, and soon even his bravado melts away into pleasure, his eyebrows drawn in concentration and his lips pursed. Beyond the sound of running water, your bodies fill the riverbank with noise, moans and breaths and skin-on-skin.
He shifts position into something more comfortable as sweat beads on his temple, lowering your legs so you can wrap them around his hips as you pull him into a kiss. And then it’s back to building—the heat between you reaching a fever pitch. It’s all you can do to follow him, running your palms over his body and teasing his skin, and then he breaks the kiss to pant in your ear.
“Astarion,” you huff, and wrap your hand at the base of his neck, purposefully pawing at his hair. His red eyes, now slightly glazed, follow your movement as you turn your head to the side and expose your neck. Almost instantly his pupils dilate, and he lets out a huff of a laugh—happy or delirious, you can’t tell, but the next moment his hips are snapping back into you and his teeth are slicing into your veins and it’s too much and perfect all at once and you’re crying out as intense bliss washes over you yet again.
You’re vaguely aware of Astarion coming close behind you, as you feel his hips slow and stutter; you coax him through it, scratching his back and scalp lightly with your nails, combing through it with your fingers.
Both of you are light-headed and out of breath as he collapses onto you—you let out a hoarse wheeze at the sudden weight as he chuckles lightly.
“Absolutely daring little thing, aren’t you?” He murmurs when he’s found his voice, and you simply blow a bit of his hair back into his face. “Most people would simply not goad a vampire into drinking during sex, you know.”
“I’m not most people,” you snort, pushing him slightly off to the side so you can use your full lung capacity. You cock an eyebrow at him. “You didn’t like it?”
“Oh, dear gods—I absolutely loved it.” And the genuine note in his voice along with him staring into your eyes makes heat flare over your cheeks. “We should do that again.”
“Sure.”
“It’s a promise,” he grins, and in that moment you don’t think anything else matters.