Work Text:
There was a little venom in Astarion's bite, something she'd never noticed before. A slight cold numbness.
She felt it now as she swiped her finger along his fang and pulled it out of his mouth quickly so his mouth couldn't close around it. He looked at her like a kicked animal.
"What are you doing?" He snapped. He was kneeling before the stool she was seated on, hands pressed to either side of her.
She looked at the drop of blood on her fingertip. "How bad do you want to feed from me?"
He glared at her. "Badly. What--"
"Stick your tongue out."
"Wh--"
"Do it."
He pulled a face, then opened his mouth. She flattened her finger to his tongue. His eyes fluttered, pupils blown to twice their usual size. He made a small sound and leaned forward, one hand coming up to grip her wrist while he closed his mouth around the digit.
She pressed her fingers to his jaw until he was forced to pull off, try as he might to stay locked on. She raised an eyebrow. "If this is how you respond to just a single drop of my blood, you must want it enough to do anything, hm?"
"Well, maybe not anything, but... most things." His eyes went sly. "I'm a selfish person, darling."
She hummed, a hand stroking through his hair. "Bad enough to beg?"
He scoffed. "Oh, please. The things I'd do to taste you are far worse than begging." His words were brazen, but the way his eyes were dancing suggested he felt otherwise.
She pushed her finger again into his mouth. She watched it disappear; he instinctively closed his mouth around it, but there was no blood. The cut was shallow. He gave her a disappointed look.
Quick as a flash, she jerked her finger down his fang, leaving her with a long, welling cut. He gasped as she held her hand up, examining the wound.
"You're being cruel," he said breathlessly.
"Maybe so," she gave him a feline smile.
“Aine," he groaned. "It's-- it's like holding a glass of water to a dying man's lips and telling him not to drink!"
She fingered the barely healed wound on her throat, bruises marring the skin to a dull red. "You're hardly dying." She stroked her unbloodied finger over his lip, just a hair from blood dripping down his parted lips.
"I don't like this game," Astarion pouted, bottom lip stuck out. It was undercut by the look on his face of pure reverence, of need, and the way his tongue was just barely edging past his lips. It made him look desperate and somewhat similar to Scratch. She smirked at this thought, which just made him pout in earnest. His brows pressed together. "This isn't fair! You know, it really is cruel! You're taking advantage of--"
"If you wanted it, you'd beg for me."
His breath stopped in his throat. "I--”
“Beg." Then she looked at him, at his indignant face, searching for any sign of discomfort. When she found only frustration and desire there, she allowed him a small smile before resting her finger on his nose. Her wrist was turned up so not a bit of the blood could fall into his waiting mouth; he could only smell the pungent scent. "You want this, Astarion, and I'm the only one who can give it to you."
"I do. I do want it," and his voice rasped out of him like it was edged with brush, something soft and dry.
"Then plead for it, darling." It was going to happen one way or another soon. The wound was starting to drip. But, oh, how she loved to tease. "Don't you want me, too? Don't you want to please me?"
"Yes," he gasped. "Yes, I do. Of course I do." His hands came up to her thighs, pressing into her hips. She had to restrain herself from leaning into the touch, the intent behind it.
She just looked at him. She'd asked enough; he would either beg, or he wouldn't. Secretly, she knew she'd let him have her either way; she wanted to help him let go. If this didn't work, then it didn't work. The point was his pleasure, not hers.
"Please," he said. The tone wasn’t quite there, but the word was.
"Please, what?" It came out higher than she meant it to. Something about this, about having him on his knees for her… gods, it ruined her.
“Please,” nicer this time. “Let me.”
She was so turned on it was starting to hurt. She could see his cock straining against his stomach, so she knew the feeling was hardly unreciprocated.
“Let you…?” She asked, prodding.
"Please let me touch you."
She blinked. That wasn't what she'd expected at all. "How?" She managed.
There was a shift in him, in how he held himself. His spine went taut, eyes nearly closed. His lip was caught between his teeth, a fang nearly piercing the supple skin. She was worried she’d hurt him, so quick was his reaction… then she realized a drop of blood had landed on his nose, and was slowly making its way down his septum. He easily could’ve licked it off, but he was refusing sheerly out of his desire to please her. The amount of willpower it must’ve taken… she was astonished.
"I want to-- Aine," he searched her face; what he was looking for, she wasn't sure, but he seemed not to find it. "I-- I can't-- I’m so thirsty."
"You can, heart," she wrapped an ankle around him and pulled him tight to her. "You're doing so well."
He let out an airy sound and tipped his head further back.
"I want to be inside you," he murmured. "I want to-- I want to drink from you, I want to taste you sliding down my throat, I want--" He cut himself off with a high moan at his own words. His eloquence and antique speech didn't leave him even in moments like this. The bard in her rejoiced. "Please, darling, I can't--"
"Good," she said, finally letting her finger slip inside his mouth. "Good. So good."
He was delirious with it: she could see it in the way his chest heaved, the sweat coating his skin; she could feel it tracing down their illithid bond. He sucked at the digit like he had never had a meal in his life, lapping every molecule from her skin with expert motions of his tongue. Her desire, momentarily quelled by her need to complete her task, rushed back. She knew how that tongue felt on her core.
She didn’t want that now, though. She pulled Astarion to her, dragging him up and nearly into her lap as she kissed him deeply, one hand sliding down his spine and around the back of his thigh. His hands gripped her waist like a lifeline, sweet breathy noises caught by her mouth. She pulled back to look at him, at his blown pupils and his glossy eyes, before diving back into a messy kiss.
“What do you want first, sweet?” She pressed a few kisses to his closed mouth before she asked him. “Do you want to bite me or be inside me?”
“Bite,” he gasped out.
“So good,” she praised, lost for words for once in her life, and it seemed he was, too.
She sat down on the bedroll, pulling him with her. She propped herself up on Astarion’s copious pillows and rolled her head back, revealing her pulse point.
Astarion didn’t waste a second. He dug his teeth into her neck, and Aine cried out. It hurt, more than usual. She knew he wouldn’t actually come close to harming her, but it was deep; he was usually very good at biting with just his canines, avoiding damage from his lower jaw, but she could tell he had bitten her with all his teeth this time. It would bruise. She found she minded little.
She couldn’t speak much when he was like this; it hurt in a way that was more pleasure than pain. She contented herself with pressing his face further into her neck, letting him have his fill. He pulled back, licking the edges of his mouth, then leaned in again and laved his tongue over the wound. She could feel him coming back to himself, receding from that place he occupied when he was desperately thirsty.
Just when she was starting to get woozy with blood loss, he pulled back, flicking the wound one last time with the tip of his tongue. Her stomach turned pleasantly. “Good?” She asked, watching him lick the blood from the corners of his mouth.
He hummed. “For now,” his grin faded a little. “Sorry for getting all… needy on you there. I’m not sure what happened, I—”
She kissed him, blood be damned. One hand cupped his jaw, stroking the hair that curled just under his ears. “There’s nothing wrong with needing something, sweeting.”
He huffed, eyes flitting in the way they did. “Yes, well, if you’ve spent your entire immortal life being denied those things, sometimes you get a little carried away.”
“Exactly,” she soothed. “That’s alright. I like when you want me like that.”
He swallowed. She could hear it. “I want you like that often, truth be told.”
“Oh?” She asked, pressing his chest until he laid back. “Do tell.”
He glared at her. “What, do you want me to describe it?”
Aine sat just in front of his cock, thighs resting on either side of his hips. She slid backwards enough that his cock could slide between her folds for a breath, then settled back to where she had been. She could feel his swollen tip twitch against her at even that barest touch; her core throbbed. “In great detail.”
He raised a brow. “Do you want to be fucked or do you want me to describe how desperate I am for you?”
“Both,” she said, and raised herself back up until she was hovering over him. Fuck, she ached. She hissed at the contact and slowly started to slide down onto his length.
His hands flew to her hips. He shifted, but she stilled him.
“As good as that is,” she seated herself fully, feeling it nearly in her stomach, just the barest pain. “I want to take care of you.”
He gave a half-sob. “Aine.”
“I know,” she said. Slowly, she started to roll her hips. “You were— ah— telling me about, erm, how- how much you desire me?”
“Ummm… yes,” he said absently, clearly having trouble not fucking up into her (and also perhaps with being “taken care of”). “You’re so tight. And wet. And warm, gods, you’re a fucking gift.”
She smiled at him. “Mere statement of fact. Tell me how you desire me. Tell me what you fantasize about.” Her left hand joined her right on her hip. “Tell me what you were thinking about that night when I came back to camp and found you using Mage Hand to pleasure yourself.”
“Not like you haven’t done the same,” he groaned. “Shit, darling, fuuuck. You are so wet.”
“You made me like this,” she added a bit of a bounce to her motions. He wasn’t kidding— so turned on was she that she was literally dripping; she could feel it on his thighs and hers. “And I never pretended not to have used a spell or two to please myself. If I’m going to go through all the effort to learn this magic, I might as well oh fff— fuck, that’s good, that’s so good, but let me!” The bastard had decided he’d disregard her and rocked his hips again. She lost her train of thought completely when his hands stroked her sides, rhythm lost. “Astarion.”
He pouted at her, but didn’t stop. “But you said yourself it’s unbearably good. Don’t you want to cum?”
She nearly did then. Her walls fluttered. “Stop, it’s not about me, oh— you are evil! I will n- n- hah- ot cum first, this is about you—”
“Keep talking like that and I’ll be the first to finish.” He squeezed her breast and she pinned the hand above his head. “Ooh, cheeky. Any other tricks?”
She pinned the other one and stopped her hips. He relented and stilled. Her cunt throbbed, chest heaving. “You’re a fucker.”
“I am. One who fucks.” He eyed where they were joined. She jerked her hips rudely, and his mouth fell open. “Fuck!”
“You just said that,” she quipped. “Now let me take my time with you. Unless you want to cum now instead of seeing where this is going— which is fine, by the way, just say the word— in which case we can flip over and you can take me any way you want.”
She attempted not to think of all the time Astarion had “taken” her in the past. Particularly the ones where her face ended up buried in a pillow and he fucked her from behind until her knees buckled.
“Ooh. Tempting.” His fingers tapped her hips. “But I do love to talk. Alright, bard. Do your worst.”
She set to motion again. Gone was the tender, slow roll from before. She pulled nearly off him and slid back down, folded forward so their chests brushed. This angle pressed his cock into an absolutely delicious spot that made sweet, high noises fall from her lips. “Oh, gods that’s perfect. You were going to tell me about what drove you to Mage Hand-ery?”
“Oh, yes, sorry. Got a little distracted by your cunt.” The words were meant to be teasing but came out breathless. “Remember? You were hunting down someone’s missing familiar and thought you’d be gone all night?”
“But I came back early because it was cornered by a bugbear, yes, I know the story, now tell me what you were thinking about when you fucked a magic hand.” She started riding him faster, harder, lifting off him. There was a line tightening in her stomach already, and she desperately hauled it back. She would not cum first.
“You are being very distracting!” He squeezed her sides. “I was, uh— I was thinking about y- your, gods, pet. I was thinking about that time I found you in the river with your braids still in. Your back was to me, and I could see the water in your hair, quite— ah— lovely, really. Very picturesque. You sort of glistened. You have a very supple frame, has anyone ever told you that? I wanted to cum all over that pretty skin of yours. I was thinking about that then, marking you up like that.
She moaned. “I’ve thought about you cumming on my face before.”
It was his turn to moan. “Why haven’t I?”
“Don’t know. I want you to finish inside me tonight, though.” She pressed her hands to his chest and set a punishing rhythm. “Keep talking.”
“The more I talk, the more you clench on me,” he hissed. “Do you like my voice?”
“Yes.”
He had the gall to chuckle. “Let’s see. Sometimes the mood will hit at random, and I’ll be hard enough to crack stone. That, mm, happened recently when I was thinking about how your pretty ass looks when I take you from behind. And again when I was thinking how you clench on my fingers when I bring you to orgasm with them alone.”
“Astarion,” she whined.
“I could write sonnets on how your cunt feels around me. Or about bruising up your waist with my fucking teeth, gods, will you let me fuck you?” His fingers pressed hard enough into her thighs to bruise.
“Soon. Tell me— oh, Astarion, gods—” She had to stop speaking for a minute, feeling his cock twitch rendering her mindless. “I want you to tell me what you were going to before, about what you desire, and then you can- can fuck me.”
“Bounce for me, darling. I want to watch you take me.” He pressed a hand flat to her spine. “I’ve wanted you since the moment I laid eyes on you. I’ve told you that before, I think. I’ve always been attracted to you, but it was tinged with distaste— I thought you too good, too kind. I didn’t feel for you until, mm, until I got to know you.”
Bouncing like this strained her thighs but felt so good that she thought she might go crazy. She bit down on her palm, trying to keep quiet and let him speak. He pulled it away from her.
“Oh, no, pet, that just won’t do. I want to hear you.” He kissed her hand and let it fall. She used the opportunity to squeeze her own breast; he moved her hand and took over. “I desired your body, these perfect tits and your tight ass, wanted to bury my face between your thighs and make you sing. Watching you take punishment from that Lolth worshiper, how you screamed, gods above, I wanted to make you make those noises from pleasure. Then you started wearing the clothes you took from that ghastly drow’s corpse around camp and I had to retire early to my tent to calm myself. I didn’t touch myself, but I thought about it. For the first time in years, I thought about it.”
She whimpered. His voice was honey-sweet, dripping from his lips. The intimacy of it, the magnitude of his trust in her to share it… it didn’t cause her desire so much as a deeper, headier feeling. With some effort, she realized it was love.
“I think I started feeling more than lust for you when I watched you destroy that goblin camp to save lives. Yes, watching you kill is undeniably erotic, but it was killing to save— I have never experienced that. Never in my remembered life have I recalled someone killing to protect innocents. I haven’t even— ah— seen someone act out of turn to save another. Truthfully, I hated it. Sometimes I still do. I struggle with- with the concept of saving when no one saved me.”
She paused. “Astarion,” she said haltingly. She’d guessed this, guessed this was why protecting people enraged him so, but he was confirming it. She sank down slowly so she was seated on him, hands pressed to his skin.
“Oh, don’t stop! I didn’t mean to get melancholy. I don’t want you to stop, darling.” His eyes were wide and round.
“We can if you need. If you want to talk about… any of this, without—”
“Shut up. Let me continue to tell you how I want you,” his eyes narrowed but turned pleading at the same time. “Let me fuck you now.”
“Say please,” she breathed, unable to help herself.
He rolled his eyes, grimacing.
“Astarion,” she groaned. “I thought we’d gotten past this!”
“Please,” he spat, then gentled. “Let me fuck your irresistible cunt.”
She made a ragged noise. “Yes.”
“Good girl.” He ignored her whine that was so wild it was nearly pained. Something about that phrase set her off. He lifted her hips, then thrust back in. He set to motion like this, breathlessly continuing. “There are so many, fuck, little things about you that drive me insane. Like that face you make when someone’s in fucking trouble,” he bucked into her. She half-yelped, half-moaned. “And you’re trying to decide whether to help. Or when you protected me with that stupid alchemist, gods above." Every time he emphasized a word, he punctuated it with a rough thrust. She hung on for dear life, unable to stifle her whimpers. “Gods, darling, your body should be illegal. It should be illegal for one person to feel this fucking good.”
She’d make fun of him for his continued use of the word fuck, but she could scarcely breathe for how full she felt. She was trying to match his pace and found herself incapable; her legs were shaking and she felt too good to continue. She tried to rock her hips and found her legs gave out entirely. She collapsed forward with a cry.
“Oh, dear,” Astarion tsk-ed. “Is my pet exhausted already?”
“No,” she said, but it came out breathless.
“Do you want to be fucked properly, darling?”
“Yes. Please. Please, Astarion.”
He hummed and flipped her over, moving roughly. “I do so love when you beg.” At the last second, he caught her and lowered her gently to the floor. She gasped both from the change and the casual display of his strength. The entire time, he stayed inside her. She was reminded of their first night together. She bared his throat to him as a callback.
He growled and bit her neck. He didn’t break the skin. When she whined at this, he said, “You’ll have no blood left in you at all if you keep asking me to bite.” Her skin was feeling cold already. He looked at her with worried eyes and reached over her for his bag, handing her a potion of healing. “Actually, drink this or we’ll have to stop.”
He sounded annoyed but Aine caught the anxiety in his gaze. She quickly drank, wincing a little at the vague medicinal sharpness. Then she spread her legs further.
He eyed her, ran the back of his hand along her (warm) skin. He breathed out. “Good girl. You are insatiable,” he pressed a kiss to her forehead and thrust slowly.
She whimpered, frustrated, and ground along his length. “I’m not fragile!”
“But you are fine.” He brushed her hair back from her forehead. “Knees to your chest, darling.”
She obeyed. “Fuck me,” she ordered. “Hard. Show me how much you want m—”
He didn’t have to be told twice. He folded over her until there was little space between them. Then he set an absolutely brutal pace.
Aine grasped the bedding with one hand, Astarion’s back with the other. Her nails dug into his scars and neither of them cared (or really noticed). She was moaning so loudly and continuously that it was nearly a sob. The camp would have words for them tomorrow, but neither of them cared. They were lost in each other. Aine was so consumed with pleasure that she could hardly breathe.
Astarion had one arm wrapped around her spine, holding her to him, and the other reached between them to roughly knead her tit. She arched into the contact. Both of her hands now came up to wrap in his hair.
“Good girl. Take me, just fucking take it. You feel incredible, want you to come on my cock.” He was babbling, words slurring. He was close. His thrusts were getting jerky and uneven.
“Cum inside me,” Aine gasped. “Fill me— please—”
Astarion gasped and went rigid. She shoved a hand between them and rubbed tight little circles on her clit. Feeling Astarion pulse inside her was enough to send her over the edge. Her whole body clenched around him, a scream punched out of her so hard it came out as a rasp. Lightning seemed to shock through her veins. Her lover continued to rock his hips, keeping her grounded. It felt like years before she came down from her high.
When she did, it took her a moment to open her eyes. Her aftershocks made her let out sensitive little whimpers. Astarion was still inside her, even as she could feel him softening.
Astarion was looking at her with such love that Aine wondered if she had suddenly become the sun. He kissed her as he pulled out, then sat back on his thighs.
Her chest heaved. She didn’t move. She was nearly folded in half, but her post-orgasmic high told her it was the most comfortable position she’d ever been in. She could feel his spend slowly sliding down her cunt, and made no effort to change this.
Astarion watched the trail it made. Then he leaned forward and began to lick her. She whimpered weakly, finally moving to clamp her thighs around his head. It took a moment for her to realize what he was doing: he was scooping his spend up and pressing it back inside her with his tongue. She moaned throatily, hand covering her face as she thrashed.
Satisfied, he repositioned until he was wrapped around her with her head on his chest. He took a breath to say something and said, softly, lovingly, “We are never going to hear the end of that, are we?”
She laughed weakly. “Worth every word.”