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The Blushing Mermaid. A haven home to the loud bustling of intoxicated madness and giddy delight. Deafening chants and the out-of-tune choruses of belting customers with no inhibitions loud and rife, akin to the caterwauling of a flailed cat. The air thick with the odour of sweaty bodies and the distinct smell of stale beer and ale mixing together to form a rather unpleasant, yet not entirely off-putting, miasma. A staple piece of a tavern.
Sobriety a concept that was as laughable as it were impossible the very minute you stepped foot into the facility, into the fray of drunken souls. Feet already compelled to walk straight up to the bar, a tankard of whatever alcoholic beverage of choice thrust into their hand. Before one could come to their senses they were a part of the sea of drunkards, dancing without a care while precariously holding a drink in hand while trying, and failing, not to spill a single drop. Glazed over eyes, hazed minds and dazed bodies all stumbling together to the watch and dance along to the, frankly, sub-par bardic performance upon the elevated platform that was a supposed stage apparently. All cast in the low glow from various Ill-matching light fittings across the walls, ceilings and tables. The decor decidedly more tacky than other popular taverns, complete with its sea-faring marauder aesthetic.
Of course no Tavern was complete without its eccentric customers. Emotional drunks crying in the corner booths and continuing to down the bottle of depressant until they wailed, attempting to seek guidance at the bottom of the glass. Angry drunks getting in fistfights over the most insignificant of things that neither participants would even remember come morning. Horny drunks all but propositioning the first pretty face that took their fancy, before either succeeded in gaining their attention or resigning themselves to their glass after their embarrassing rejection. Even the completely off-their-head, wildly chaotic drunks either stumbling around incoherently into the fray of drunkards. Falling off the top of tables and, miraculously, avoiding any injury in their drunk fugue state, unscathed without so much of a scratch.
It was the same, every single night, regardless of who or what was on there. A perpetual cycle of an unruly night that would never end. An atmosphere that never dwindled. Truly an experience to perceive, one that both Astarion and Cicero were quite familiar with, Intimately so.
The Blushing Mermaid was, unequivocally, an absolute shithole. But it was Cicero’s shithole. His own go-to, personal choice of setting, a pub rowdier than most and the perfect setting for the pirate soul that he is. An environment that was as homey and familiar as once was his own ship and crew. As… warm and just right as he felt with this little group of theirs. His new family.
It wasn’t Astarion’s first choice though. He much preferred the, somewhat, classier elfsong tavern, where the entertainment consisted of more than a cheap ruckus of “so-called music” they claimed it was at the Blushing Mermaid.
Let it not be said though that Astarion didn’t greatly enjoy a den of debauchery in any form. Ordinarily he would grimace at the sticky floors of Gods-only-knows what substances, beneath his newly bought, expensive boots. But as it stood he was far too preoccupied at the moment with something else to really care.
Because the elf and the half-elf were too busy adoring eachother with their mouths to care about scrutinising the establishment. Unaware and unbothered by who was around them, too busy transfixed by the others kiss and their touch to even notice anyone nearby.
Granted, It wasn’t the first time Astarion had been pushed against a wall in a dirty tavern, his mouth otherwise engaged in the activities that often preceded carnal pleasure. But this was truly the first time he had enjoyed it, had willingly allowed himself to get lost in the desire of it all. Hands exploring the half-elf’s body he was already so beautifully acquainted with, yet his fingers traversed over each exposed patch of skin like it was the very first time again, gentle and needy. Settling them into the back of his head, burying his hand in his tied back hair to play lightly with his hair. The half-elf’s hands wrapped behind Astarion’s back and waist. Cicero catches his top lip between his lips, humming as he does so and Astarion can do nothing but want even more. Swallowing the others soft moans with his mouth as he continued to mould his lips against his. The kiss passionate, perhaps sloppier than usual. The short hair atop Cicero’s lips and across his chin tickling against Astarion’s face, the starting of beard he’s decidedly grown of recent. One that Astarion has very much decided he loves.
The Light reflecting off their matching rings that Cicero had found in the Shadowlands graveyard, perched delicately upon their fingers. Any glimpse towards their hands from strangers would absolutely give the illusion of what those bands symbolised. They were aware, they knew exactly what it represented and they both revelled in it. That was a conversation they hadn’t yet had, but both of them knew it was upcoming at some point. And there was absolutely going to be a singular word answer from the pair of them when it inevitably got asked.
The entire group had took it upon themselves to, once again, indulge in an hedonistic celebratory evening after their victory in liberating the hells and the House of Hope from the bastard cambion Raphael. Alcohol consumption single-handedly fuelling every single body after a most gruelling purge and thievery of his entire household. Cicero had never been one to gloat hard over the corpse of one of his enemies before, even those that he despised. It just didn’t sit right with him and typically he mumbled a quick prayer before their lifeless corpse… though not without checking their pockets of course, liberating any treasures that would surely only be wasted on them. But for Raphael? Well he made an exception, just like he made a very special exception for Cazador before him. No prayers awaited their corpses, only spit and a disgusted expression.
And well, they were all acting rather… free spirited this evening. Inhibitions were low and some questionable decisions, that they most certainly would avoid sober were being carried out by almost everyone.
Astarion found himself in a grumpy mood. Having been forced to watch everyone else enjoy their sub-par pub meal before the mass drinking event they were now engaged in. His stomach now also churning at the sight of everyone feasting like so many nights by the fire. So, he turned to Cicero once the drinking had long-commenced with an idea In his mind. Fortunately for the vampire, Cicero couldn’t very well deny Astarion’s puppy-dog stare and pouty lips as he whined almost petulantly for a quick snack. It was a rather inappropriate display for them to get sucked into within such an environment truthfully. And were Astarion a lot more cautious, he most certainly would never have exposed his sanguine diet and thus his more voracious habits in public. Feeding was already an intimate enough experience for them, a moment they tended to carry out in private, away from prying eyes. But everyone around was either completely passed out or too inebriated to notice, so Cicero agreed and Astarion took his place in his lap.
And so began Astarion’s feeding, positioning himself so that his fangs were penetrating deep along the preferred right side of Cicero’s neck. His lips wrapping over the wound to hide the markings and to better lap at the bleeding wounds. Cicero’s slight hitches and moans at the sensation alone were enough to sell the illusion of a partner decorating the others pretty neck with playful love bites. Suckling against his neck like a newborn babe. Nuzzling against his warmth with his own breathy hums escaping his nose. His hips unconsciously pushing up against Cicero’s muscled stomach. It was a very convincing image indeed.
However for some reason Cicero’s blood, that he was very much gorging himself on, was even more uniquely flavoured than usual. Imbued with a richness that it didn’t usually have, like a well-aged brandy, with a hint of a delicious bitterness. It was downright intoxicating and Astarion continued drinking without a thought.
He had already sank his fangs deep in his neck, made the puncture wounds and continuously lapped against the two small weeping streams of crimson nectar with the flat of his tongue, before the rather unfortunate discovery reared its ugly head.
Apparently, drinking the blood of an intoxicated being only inflicted the same level of drunkenness upon the feeder. Perhaps heightening it slightly, as he felt his movements grow sluggish, heavier, an unreasonable giddy excitement coursing through his veins, a foreign warmth spreading to his face. By the time he realised the damage was practically done.
He was wasted. For the first time in two hundred centuries, he was completely wasted. It wasn’t as if he couldn’t feel the effects of alcohol as a vampire, in fact he did still get a slight buzz if he consumed a lot of it, but it was a lot more muted then it used to be.
Cicero found it positively hilarious that he was drunk on his blood.
At some point after the feeding was when they ended up back up against the wall kissing. They pull away from the kiss panting, Astarion’s eyes hazier than usual all but admiring every single inch of Cicero that was stood before him. The smile that he was giving him was causing a warmth to rush and spread down his body.
Ah yes. He almost forgot how his mortal self was the horny type of drunk. It had been so long since he had felt this kind of emotion, recently unearthed again because of Cicero alone. The want for sex, the need for loving touch, the desire in harmless seduction.
It was exhilarating.
Cicero stroked his cheek with his thumb and it takes all the vampires composure not to purr against the touch. “Fancy another drink?” He asks.
“Another? How generous of you.” Astarion eyed up his neck with a smirk.
Cicero shook his head and rolled his eyes playfully. “I didn’t mean that, you’ve had more than enough blood. Anymore and I’ll collapse and you don’t have the strength to catch my body.”
Astarion looks between them, his slighter smaller 5”9 height compared to Cicero’s 6”1 one.
“You’re not that much taller.”
“No. But would you like to compare muscle density again? Because it seems you may have forgotten just how much bigger I am in my torso and arms than you are.”
Astarion bit his lip, eyes twinkling at the notion. “Oh trust me I haven’t darling, but I wouldn’t mind seeing you without that shirt for just a little reminder.”
“I bet you wouldn’t. Unfortunately for you, I’m not that drunk. Yet.” Cicero chuckled, reaching for the bottle he was drinking from earlier before turning back to him with a cheeky grin. “Open wide then.”
Astarion smirks before extending his tongue out of his mouth, purposely lowering his eyelids to look up at him through his eyelashes. Knowingly giving him a look that would make the clerics heart beat faster. Slowly, Cicero begins to pour a trickle of the rum onto Astarion’s tongue. He couldn’t help but let out a slight gasp as it landed across his tongue.
It tastes vile truthfully, and it burns like the hellfires themselves. Astarion has no idea how the half-elf voluntarily washes down this swill with a hearty laugh and a wide grin. Why he would even choose this foaming piss over a nice, full-bodied red was beyond him. But if he was kind enough to share his drink with him well, he wasn’t about to deny that. Not when he was so lovingly pouring it directly for him. The horrific taste was something he could stifle given that the subtle eroticism in the act was so much more potent and appealing.
The liquid continues to trickle down his throat, a hot trail left in its wake before Cicero decides to steady his hand and stop pouring. Leaning in rather hastily to take Astarion’s tongue into his own mouth. Tasting him, drinking the flavour from it as their tongues begin to glide together in another kiss. This time becoming more feverish, desperate, rough as Astarion accidentally bumps his head up against the wall when Cicero cranes his chin up to get a better angle for their kiss. He barely notices though, his brain too distracted with the growing pleasure in the moment as his hands began clutching at Cicero’s white baggy shirt that shows off more of his chest than it covers. One hand slipping underneath the fabric to begin snaking it’s way up the front of his stomach, following the trail of light hair up to his chest.
As displays of carnality went in this place, this was tame. Astarion could recall the number of times he had lurked in a shadowy corner in a tavern or such place. Swirling a glass of wine between his dexterous fingers, watching nonchalantly as a woman was fucked up against the wall an equally love-drunk man. Pretending for just a moment that he was here on his own accord, to make it easier for what was next in his mission.
But he was really beginning to lose himself to his desire. Everything was getting him riled up, the kiss, his tongue, his touch, his smell. He could feel the tell-tale signs of arousal peddling beneath his waistband, cheekily positioning his knee up between Cicero’s to grind up against his own crotch. Eliciting a heavy groan in the back of the clerics throat at his brazenness.
Apparently this new little display of theirs was enough to attract the attention of their companions seated nearby.
“Pardon my intrusion lovebirds! But could you maybe take into account the unwilling participants to your, for lack of a better term, face eating?“ Gale interjected, his petty tone very clearly indicadent of his displeasure at their borderline exhibitionism. Though the faint hint of a blush across his cheeks and the clearing of his throat was more than telling of his embarrassment at viewing. “Perhaps the pair of you could consider taking these… frivolities somewhere more private?”
“Someone sounds jealous darling…” Astarion tilted his head towards Gale, hands still wrapped around Cicero’s neck as he teased. “I’ve seen how you’ve stared so eagerly after me Gale. I’ll kiss you too if you ask nicely enough for it.”
Gale scoffed and splutters over his next words, his eyes widening, head shaking in disbelief, pointing his index finger at Astarion like a disapproving school teacher. “That’s a completely out of pocket insinuation and quite frankly untrue.”
Astarion absolutely adored winding Gale up at every given opportunity, even going as far as describing it as somewhat of a hobby as of recent. Typically Cicero would chastise him for his petty swipes towards Gale, particularly as they were very close friends, but it seemed to be that he was too drunk at the moment to get involved with their childish antics. Just shaking his head and smirking slightly as his partner and best friend bickered like an old married couple. Not to mention, the teasing was funnier than usual in this intoxicated mindset of his.
“Hey speak for yourself Gale!” Karlach interrupted, training her attention back on the two of them with a mischievous glint in her eye. “By all means keep going! You’re just giving me free wanking material for later, so that’s on you.”
The pair of them began giggling like they had just inhaled a tonne of tinnmask spores in the Underdark once again. The others around the table also joined in with the incredulous laughter while Gale’s flush deepened and he pinched the bridge of his nose.
The others all began talking over one and Cicero took this opportunity to lower his face down to Astarion’s ear. Lowering his voice to a husky whisper.
“I’d like to take you somewhere, if that’s alright with you, my star.” Cicero placed another small kiss against the vampires sensitive, erogenous zone at the top of his ears and he had to stifle a shiver at the brief touch. His tongue flicking out to brush up against it before whispering again. “I want to hear you whine my name tonight.”
Astarion’s head buzzed delightfully at his words, his stomach fluttering so pleasantly at the image that began playing in his mind. His mind clouding with arousing scenarios that had him almost biting his lip in anticipation. A bold play from Cicero, quite unlike the half-elf to take the lead in their lustful endeavours. Yet, the very prospect had Astarion all but squirming in his grip, eager to see where exactly where the night was heading.
Astarion whispered back, tightening the grip on his hair, his voice dripping with lust.“Why don’t you take me right here, right now? Show everyone how I’m yours… claim me as your own.”
Cicero laughs loudly, his cheeks burning ever so slightly. “Gods Astarion, how drunk are you?”
Astarion blinks dumbly. “Quite honestly? More so than I think I’ve ever been in my immortal life. Drinking alcohol straight up doesn’t quite have the effect it once
used to I’m sure. But consuming alcohol from blood?” Astarion giggles high-pitched again. “Well, My head is spinning if that’s any indication.”
Cicero laughs, brushing his nose against Astarion’s, before lowering his voice to a whisper. “Well I happen to know a very good cure for sobering someone up.”
“Does it by any chance involve a climax?”
“Maybe.”
“Then take me home. Now, darling.” Astarion pleaded, pushing himself further into Cicero’s body.
“Hold your horses vampire. We can’t just leave without saying goodbye to everyone.”
Astarion rolled his eyes, hands still playing with the back of Cicero’s hair. “I mean, we can. Quite easily in fact. All we have to do is walk off out the tavern, straight home where you and I can entertain ourselves away from prying eyes.”
“Good try.” Cicero leans forward and presses a brief peck to his lips. “But no. I’m not sneaking away like a teenager.”
Astarion let’s out an exasperated sigh, tutting loudly before replying with a snarky tone. “Fine I’ll be polite then shall I?”
He then spins around to face the rest of their group, dramatically bowing to them all as Cicero’s arms wrap around his waist from behind. Theatrical as ever, perhaps impossibly more so when blood-drunk.
“Our wonderful friends, I’m afraid we must bid you adieu for the evening. I know you’ll miss us greatly, I certainly would, so do try not to get too depressed without our presence dears.”
“Oh what a shame. Whatever shall we do without our little free show?” Shadowheart’s voice slurs slightly, her unfocused gaze and smirk making contact with Halsins, sharing a knowing playful look.
“I don’t know darling! But given the hungry eyes you’ve had all evening, maybe you could finally seek your own pleasures with our resident drui-“
“Okay.” Cicero planted his hand over Astarion’s mouth. “Wishful thinking that he could just say goodbye without a sassy comment. Sorry that’s on me, I’m not the smartest.”
They proceeded to say their quick goodbyes before they rushed out of the tavern and home, hands unable to keep from holding the other all the way home.
“Looks like we can’t go back to camp for a few hours now, lest we really get an unwilling eyeful.” Jaheira commented, sitting back further in her seat with the elegance of the mature woman she was. Apparently years of experience meant she was also adept at concealing the tipsy state she was in, just like the others.
“Ah, nothing is quite as beautiful as two lovers enjoying the others company, exploring their bodies with nothing but pleasure and bountiful joy in mind. Just as nature intended.” Halsin adds, downing the last drops of liquid left in his cup.
“It certainly took them long enough.” Lae’Zel stoically replied, her usual stiffness uncharacteristically relaxed as 4 empty bottles of ale of own singular doing stood before her like proud trophies.
“They deserve it.” Wyll nods. “After everything they’ve been through, it’s nice to see them happy.”
“Yes but now we have to suffer through them all but humping while I’m trying to sleep. I think I preferred it when they weren’t participating in the carnal.” Gale sighed. “And I was so looking forward to reading my new book in bed tonight.”
“Hold on.” Karlach guffawed at the wizard. Her voice somehow impossibly louder than usual, unintentionally swaying from side to side. Pointing at Gale in complete disbelief. “You slaughtered a devil in his own home, a proper dickhead one at that, and you were still planning spending your night reading instead of drinking all night?!”
“Oh gracious I’m not that bad, what do you take me for?! I also envisioned to have another nice glass of wine to go with the book by the fireplace.” Karlach bellowed out a laugh as Gale outstretched his hands, adding defensively. “We all have our vices thank you!”
“Nerd.”
Gale took another swig of his wine before raising the glass in Karlach direction. “I shall be taking that as a compliment.”
“Well seeing as we’ve been forcibly kicked out of our own accommodation tonight.” Wylls smile widened, standing up to acknowledge everyone whilst pulling out a small pouch of coins to everyone eye, shaking it.
“Another round, everyone?”
And of course, the table erupted into a flurry of cheers.
——
Self-discovery apparently seemed to a common theme of recent, uncovering things about himself that he was forced to repress for two centuries. The dark misty veil of Cazador’s influence that once controlled his every waking thought and bodily autonomy was now destroyed. He was free. Free to explore what it was that he wanted and to do whatever it was that he desired, free of consequence. Or… well consequences that would never be as horrendous and downright grotesque as he was once forced to endure.
Now he had a partner, a love, a best friend to hold his hand through the novel and intimidating concept of freedom. Cicero was patient through absolutely eveything. Things that he had long forgotten about that he locked away deep in his subconscious were now being rediscovered. Things he liked, enjoyed, craved and desired all being explored like the it was very first time. Apparently one of the recent discoveries was that he loved receiving a disgusting amount of affection in the form of non-sexual, physical touch. Hugs, head rubs, forehead and noses brushing together as they stared into each others eyes, all of it was intoxicating.
Though of course, passionate make-outs that ended up devolving into more sexual forms of intimacy were also enjoyed. They were also a lot newer in comparison to the others, given that the first time they had sex was on the night that Astarion took Cicero to his grave. And it was incredible, mind-blowingly incredible, for the pair of them. So it was fair to say, they were certainly making up for lost time.
Which comes as no surprise that they were just as horny as they were in the tavern. All but collapsing through the door to their shared room, unable to pull themselves free from the others grip as Astarion all but yanks Cicero into another kiss. The vampire opening his mouth to deepen their kiss, his tongue entering Cicero’s mouth to begin its delicate dance with his partners. Cicero pulls back before it gets too heated, changing the tone of the moment to become more tender than rough. His lips focusing instead upon Astarion’s neck, leaving gentle kisses against his porcelain skin, almost tickling the surface with his warm pants of breath and the most delicate of caresses. It was so incredibly intimate, so very atypical for the vampire to experience someone else’s lips against his own neck. Something he thought he despised from nights when Cazador used him to satisfy his own hunger. But as he stood here in the centre of the room, all but clawing at the back of the half-elf to keep himself from swaying on spot from the drink and the growing lust, he found himself lost in the bliss of it all.
“Gods…” Astarion stifled a moan that was beginning to rumble in the very back of his throat, as Cicero began to pay attention to the scars on his neck. The delicate puncture wounds of Cazador that would never fully heal. A reminder he hated more than anything, of his greatest mistake in life. Yet, as Cicero pressed his lips at the small patch skin between them, it felt as if his long-internalised shame was now inexistent, eradicated, all but defeated in the face of his loving touch.
“This is okay right? To kiss these?” Cicero looked up, expression soft and eyes wide. Cautious not to overstep his mark at all times as they grew more and more comfortable in their sexual explorations.
Astarion nodded slightly. “Of course. Not sure why you’d want to though, they’re hideous… probably.”
“Coming from someone who can actually see them, I can assure you they are stunning just like the rest of you.” He continued his goal from before, tongue flicking out to affectionately graze against them. Giving the illusion that Cicero was trying to stake claim himself, to over-write what they originally stood for and change it so that they were a source of pride.
Without them, Astarion could never have even met this beautiful man. He could have never re-learned what it is to love, to care, to want.
He bites his lip and then decides to fish for more praise. “Oh, and what else stands out to you?”
Cicero smiles knowingly, catching onto what he’s not-so-subtly trying to achieve. “I’m pretty sure we’ve had this conversation before.”
Astarion feigns ignorance. Furrowing his brow and pouting, looking away with a finger pressed against his chin. “Have we? I don’t quite recall. Perhaps you should indulge me again.”
Cicero chuckles. “If you want to be praised and pampered, I can do that for you.” Cicero pressed his lips against his cheek as he whispered again. “I will always be your mirror.”
Astarion could barely focus as Cicero began spouting compliment after compliment, praise after praise, each and every one earnest and true. Upon such words of pure adoration spilling from Cicero’s mouth Astarion can’t help but close his eyes and part his lips with a smile. Because each accolade whispered into his ear, coupled with the gentle caress of the body part as said, only serve to make him harder, more aroused with each passing comment. Desire all but fuelling his brain, so easily falling prey to words he once used on his own conquests. But it was different this time, because such phrases were genuine. Cicero meant every word.
Cicero paused for a moment, eyes trailing down to the scars on his neck again, one thumb tracing over them, while his other hand rested on the flat of his back, hovering just above the centre of his scar.
“But one of the things I love most, are your scars.”
Astarion frowned. “My scars? The permanent sign of my humiliation? How could you possibly love them? They’re… vile.”
Cicero shook his head. “Your scars are a symbol of your survival through everything. Through all the shit you were forced to endure they show that you’re still here, still standing strong despite it all. I don’t want you to be ashamed of them anymore, I don’t want to hear you be so disgusted by them. Don’t let them have that power over you again. You’re free now Star, and I’ll remind you of that every single day until I no longer walk this earth, and you will never be alone, ever, ever again.”
Astarion can’t quite manage to conjure anything to say in response to that. Choking up on the words he wants to say, the emotions that now all of a sudden take over every fibre of his being that make him feel unsteady and pleasantly dizzy. So he responds instead with a hasty kiss, almost desperately seeking the softness, the compassion, the utter comfort that was Cicero.
“Astarion?” Cicero mutters against his lips.
“Mm?”
He pulls back, shyly smiling at him with rapidly glowing red cheeks now spreading across his nose, almost drowning out his freckles. “May I have some fun with you this evening?”
Astarion giggles and nods, biting his lip as he does so. “You don’t have to ask but… I’m glad you did.”
“Shall we lie by the fire?” Cicero asked. “I can set it up for us, if you’d like.”
“How romantic.” Astarion turns his head to brush his nose against Cicero’s, whispering. “I think that sounds like a wonderful idea, dear.”
Cicero goes to do just that, retrieving the tinder and kneeling down so that he can begin setting up the fire. Astarion lurks beside him, his arousal pumping from the teasing words, the anticipation of what was to come, the earlier display they had participated in at the tavern. All of it forming together to create a pleasurable heat swirling around in his lower stomach that began to descend further down to where he could no longer conceal his composure.
As soon as the fire was lit and roaring, Astarion crouched down, pushing Cicero back so he could straddle him instead. Cicero’s back lay against the pillows that were already placed by the fireplace. The clerics eyes widened in surprise before he realised the game Astarion had so impatiently began. Sitting up to meet his lips, hands exploring his chest and stomach before dipping lower, cupping his hand against Astarion’s crotch. The vampire gasped at the touch, pushing up against his hand unconsciously before catching himself for grinding up against him like an animal in heat.
Gods he really had forgotten what alcohol did to the senses.
Astarion could swear the tips of his ears were burning at the hummed sound of approval that left the clerics throat at the discovery in his trousers.
“All I did was compliment you and you got this hard? Well that didn’t take much did it, Melith nín?” Cicero teases, with his words as much as his hand. “Or is it the drink?”
“Fuck you of course it’s the drink.” Astarion snapped, a growl rumbling low at the back of his throat as he tried desperately to cover up his embarrassment at the state of his arousal.
“Ah ah ah, don’t get snippy star, remember you were the one that kept riling me up all day around the city. Snogging me infront of everyone, flustering me at any given opportunity.”
Astarion let out a shocked gasp. “Oh forgive me for finding my partner so incredibly attractive. Shan’t be doing that again.”
“Ha! Don’t act like that, you knew what you were doing didn’t you?”
“Oh of course I did my pet, I should say I’m surprised it’s took you this long to figure out my motives but… well we both know things take a little longer to work out in that little mind of yours.” He (half) jokes with a cheeky grin that Cicero too displays upon meeting his eyes. “I knew you couldn’t resist me. I know how to make you squirm and how to make you writhe in agony, waiting for my touch, my voice. And evidently.” He gestured between them, his lower lips passing through his teeth. “I won.”
“Oh this is a game now?” Cicero raises an eyebrow, always the competitive soul eager to take on a challenge, one that Astarion met firmly with a mischievous glint in his eye. “You know I love games.”
“Oh Cicero, It always is.”
“Okay Melith nín, I have a game for the pair of us tonight since you’re so inclined.”
“Please pray tell darling, what do you have in mind?”
He leans forward and presses his lips up against his ear. “I’m going to tease you with hand alone, I want to see how long you’ll last before you spill for me. I want to touch you… until you writhe and want for nothing else but to come by my hand. I’d love nothing more than to please you greatly, dear. Let me take the lead tonight and show you the pleasure you deserve.”
Astarion’s mouth dried up at his words. Admittedly, the concept was a little intimidating, letting someone else take the reigns, to have full control over him again. Even if that person was the man he adored most, who wanted nothing more than the singular, pre-determined goal to please him and let him experience the ecstasy he once never thought possible. Yet It was so easy for the old ways, the once-conditioned feelings of loathing and disgust trying to claw its way back into his subconscious. He resisted but it was difficult, almost impossible it felt at times, and if he didn’t have Cicero to help guide him through those rough moments, the nightmares and flashbacks, he wasn’t sure he’d have the strength to carry on. But Cicero was there, an Angel without wings he felt undeserving of, someone who loved and cared for him unlike anyone else over 200 years.
And being a reciprocate of that love made everything worth it.
Cicero notices him getting lost in his own mind and delicately strokes his arm to get his attention.
“We don’t have to do this you know.” Cicero states again. “I promise I just want to make you feel good and we can stop at any time you want to.”
“I know love. But I do want it.” He makes eye contact once again, lower lip twitching despite himself. “It’s just… still such a novel concept. Sex, affection, desire. It’s all rather overstimulating to be quite honest with you. No matter how much I want it.”
Cicero nods silently, waiting patiently for Astarion to continue as he takes a few shaky breaths to recollect himself. A light hum escaping his lips as they curled up into a smile. “But I trust you. And Gods, I want nothing more than to lose myself in you my love.”
Cicero takes one of his hands in his own, lacing his fingers delicately with Astarion’s, touching him gently like he was made of the most precious material in existence.
“Then let me do this for you. Let me worship you tonight.”
Astarion let out a curt laugh. “I’m supposed to be the smooth talker Darling, I was the one to seduce you with my grandiose words of love and lust. Besides, I’m not sure Ilmater would approve such a line from his devout follower. Worshipping an undead no less? Such blasphemy.”
“Star, you’re more important to me than my God. Make no mistake of that. Ever.”
If Astarion wasn’t absolutely certain of his undead nature, he could swear his cheeks were aflame and his heartbeat were in shambles at the half-elf’s confession. For a cleric to say such a thing held so much weight to it. Astarion was more important than the God he worshipped, the God that was responsible for his divine magic, if he was forced to pick he would choose Astarion over his power.
That meant more to Astarion than he could ever really express.
“Well… if you’re set on worshipping me, who am I to get in the way of such plans?”
Cicero leant forward and pressed a kiss against Astarion’s forehead, who sighed happily in return. Patting his thigh with a smile, his whisper just barely audible above the crackles of the fire beside them.
“Turn around for me love.”
Without another word said, the pair of them changed their position. Astarion sitting facing away, his back pressed up against Cicero’s chest, legs open as Cicero wraps around Astarion with his own legs and arms, limbs enveloping him like a nest of safety, a cocoon of comfort. A position Astarion can safely say he had never truly experienced before now. Intimate. Cherished. Protected.
It was all so addicting.
“Arms up please.”
Astarion raised his arms, outstretching them far above him while Cicero’s fingers began to unlace the black shirt he was wearing. Which didn’t take long granted, given that Astarion had already purposely been wearing it with half his chest exposed on show with the intent to distract Cicero all day. Which, evidently, was a success.
He lets his arms linger in the air for a moment longer after his shirt is peeled away from his body, as Cicero slowly glides his hands down down his arms. His chin resting on Astarion’s shoulder, his fingers continuing to brush their way down each part of his arms. His muscles slightly tensing with each delicate soft touch of the pads of his fingertips against them. They say nothing to break the intimacy of the moment, nothing but the snapping of the wood breaking under the heat of the fire, basking the pair of them in the intense hue of oranges, yellows and reds. After what felt like hours of Cicero’s gentle touch, slowly exploring every inch of Astarion’s naked skin from wrist to underarm to chest, Astarion drops them, resting his hands upon his thighs.
“You’ve took so long to undress me and I’m not even fully unrobed yet.”
Cicero planted a kiss against his shoulder. “You deserve to be treated like a God.”
“Take off your shirt too darling.” Astarion all but softly demands. “I want to feel your skin against mine.”
Cicero wordlessly obeys, quickly discarding his own without any further prompt from the vampire. Naturally falling in line with their usual power dynamic. But tonight wasn’t the night for their usual routine of things and quite honestly, Astarion found it to be exhilarating. He was the centre of pleasure, he was the one waiting to be played with, he was ready for Cicero to gift him however he saw fit.
The vampire exhaled as Ciceros wrapped his now naked arms around the back of him, skin to skin, his back greedily sapping away Cicero’s natural body heat that it no longer produced.
“You’re always so warm.” Astarion whispers more to himself than Cicero, but he can feel the half-elfs smile against the back of his neck at the comment.
And then, his hand crept down once again to the bulge in his trousers. A tingling feeling began spreading over his genitals, relishing in the sensation of blood continuing to rush to his cock beneath the layers of fabric. Caging him away from the full experience of Cicero’s hand as he continued to rub gently in circular motions with the bottom of his palm against the very sensitive part of his cock. Swelling and hardening underneath his hand with every second of the teasing.
The vampires own hips mindlessly pushed against that touch with an inherent desperation, more needy than he had intended yet too blinded in his lust to really notice or care. Trying to get more, but it wasn’t enough. Cicero’s hand continued to rub against the fabric, tortuously slow back and forth across the same spot, his cock trapped and twitching. Lips accidentally part when a shaky breath escapes his throat, closing it again along with his eyes when they grow heavy from the rising pleasant sensation.
His already tousled hair from earlier kissing now messily falling free infront of his eyes as he rocks his head back and forth. Singing out a delicate hum with each pang of pleasure that almost tickles his groin.
“I used to be the giver… and now I feel like I fall apart at just the slightest of your touches.” He sharply inhales through his teeth as Cicero presses down harder on his crotch. “Now I’m spoilt. Greedy. Constantly craving more and more affection in any capacity, A-ah~”
A glutton for love, he goes to say before reacting quickly by biting his tongue as a particularly hard throb distracts him from that train of thought. His actions single-handedly being led by the head beneath his waistband. Everything suddenly becomes impossibly warm and fuzzy and there’s yet another throb that immediately follows the first-
Oh…oh fuck that felt really good… He can’t even help but moan quietly at that one.
“Good. That’s exactly what I want to do for you. I want you to take, I want you have, I want you to enjoy.”
“It’s… it’s humiliating.” Astarion grumbled, gritting his teeth in efforts to conceal a groan in his throat. And failing miserably. A breathy “Fuck” all but breathed out immediately afterwards as he drowns in another wave of pleasure.
“No Star, it’s what you deserve. You deserve to enjoy this.” Cicero’s lips begin kissing the very back of his neck where his hair merges with his neck and it feels so fucking lovely.
And Cicero is right. He fucking does deserve it. Or at least, that’s what he has to try and remind himself.
“Does that feel good?” Cicero asks, teeth grazing over the skin playfully without biting down, tongue flicking out and wetting it lightly. His beard only further tickling his teasing as it brushed up against his neck.
It certainly succeeds in its desired illusion. Where Astarion himself is on the receiving end of pre-biting feeding rituals that come hand-In-hand with the unavoidable diet of a vampire. Cicero almost toying at the patch of flesh beneath his teeth and Astarion all of a sudden understand why Cicero loves it when he feeds if this is any slight indication of the exciting level of anticipation he feels beforehand. It feels safe somehow. It feels exciting. It feels nice when something deep in the recesses of his brain says it shouldn’t feel so right. But it does and he purrs, pushing further against him, trying to tempt him to rise to the bait and bite him back.
But apparently Cicero is a cocktease in every single aspect. Pulling back instead, his fingers now come to scratch and tangle in the back of his hair and, wow, he didn’t know that was such an erogenous zone before. He pushes back into his hand like a pet seeking head pats and a small laugh slips free when he realises exactly what he’s doing. The absurdity of it all, of his neediness during sex he’s still getting acquainted with.
“Yes… Yes it does~ Oh Gods it does.”
Cicero merely smiles at him throughout his exponentially growing bliss. Not that he notices, given that his eyes can barely focus on anything but the hand rubbing and rubbing and rubbing him again and again. Repetitive motions that somehow get better, feel nicer as they go on.
Now he feels himself leak more beads of pre-cum inside his underwear and it feels as filthy as it does erotic. The soft teasing all but evolving into relentless teasing, the half-elf not giving him a moment of reprieve from the intensity of his hand.
Astarion can only mewl as the pleasure continues to ramp up. Keening with each brush, each circular motion of his palm causing copious amounts of pre-cum to weep, further aiding the friction against his cock.
Here he is, squirming about in his boyfriends grip, legs spread apart and humping up against a hand like an unruly, inexperienced teenager and he can’t even bring it in himself to stop. He knows the sight it must look like to Cicero and still his hips refuse to stop chasing after the hand that keeps retreating playfully before coming back and angling itself to better drag against him.
But it’s all very vexing because it’s just not enough. His teeth grit together with a grunt because it’s not quite enough. The trousers get too much in the way and he can’t quite feel the full effects of his hand against him and it’s driving him mad with lust. He wants to feel his hand wrapped around him properly, craves the singular sensation of warmth palm of his hand flat against his shaft. A sharp inhale passes through his teeth.
“What a pitiful display. One drink, one over-the-cloth rub and I’m bloody placated like a domesticated housewife. What on earth happened to me? Ah~ oh sweet hells~~”
Astarion drops his head to fall back against Cicero’s chest, sweat beginning to settle across his hairline, all but melting into his touch like candle wax dripping from a flame. Moans now start mixing with each pant that leaves his chest, now every breath littered with sounds of pleasure he can’t contain.
“Shhhh keep this up and I’ll have to quiet that mouth of yours.”
And what exactly did he have in mind? His lips, his hand, a makeshift gag used from his own clothing, his cock? His mouth waters at the image and the desire in which in conjures in turn. Oh, his mind begins running rampant with fantastical imagery that only seems to catalyse the throbbing gratification below his waistband.
“And If you keep this up I’ll…surely ruin my trousers.” He whispers, shaky and unsteady as his face twists into one of complete pleasure, his hand gripping at Cicero’s arm, warning him. “And I mean it. I really mean it darling.”
Because he just keeps going and Astarion isn’t certain if Cicero’s so-called-plans aren’t to just rile him up so much he cums in his trousers before they have chance to get to the very good stuff. Delicious as the thought may be, he craves more stimulation.
“Gods forbid you ruin your expensive trousers.” Cicero mocks genially. “Don’t worry, I have other plans.”
“Thank the Gods, I’m not sure I’d like to explain the stain when I get them cleaned.” A small laugh slipped free from his lips followed almost immediately by a groan that causes his brow to furrow and head to fall forward.
But then Cicero removes his hand completely and Astarion all but wants to cry as he’s left painfully twitching with no added stimulation anymore. It’s like an itch he can’t satiate without Cicero’s help. He’s tense, rigid, taut and screaming internally for him to just fuck him finally. The idea of cumming in his trousers was seemingly becoming more ideal than the nothing he was getting in this second.
He loves Cicero with all his heart, he loves that fucking cocktease bastard cleric-
Cicero whispers against Astarion’s ear. “Astarion, look at me love.”
He can’t tell if his head rolls back to look at him with a lethargic or comically fast speed. Either would have fit honestly. Noticing that Cicero seems to be mesmerised by something on Astarion’s face. And Astarion can just about make out Cicero’s heart race (even in his fuzzy mind) at whatever it is.
“I… didn’t know you could still but… you’re blushing Astarion.”
Astarion’s eyes widened in shock. He is? He was certain that the phantom sensation of blushing cheeks was a side effect of his delirium he was experiencing. A pale hand comes to rest against his cheek and, to be surprise, he really does feel them burning beneath his touch.
Then again, he had just consumed a rather large amount of blood from Cicero less than an hour ago, blood spiked with alcohol at that. So that most certainly must’ve been the culprit for it.
He clears his own throat and tries to save face, pretending he wasn’t just as obsessed with the most basic involuntary response his body usually could no longer do until now. Batting his eyelashes and lowering his eyes. “I bet it looks ravishing on me.”
“It looks beautiful on you.” Cicero agrees with a bashful smile. His own blush starting to spread wide and rapid like a wildfire, almost as if threatened by Astarion’s own. Reaching out to stroke his cheek as he added with a grin. “I’m going to have to keep you especially well fed from now on.”
Astarion laughs. “Oh I see, just feeding me for your own selfish gains now are we? Not for my own benefit?”
“Oh no no, It’s just a bonus love.” Cicero winks and crawls around so that he’s now facing infront of Astarion. His hand stroking his knee affectingly. “Shall we take these off?”
Astarion nods. Finally. What little of his patience that he actually still possessed having all but dwindled during the relentless teasing. He lies back, positioning himself properly upon the make-shift cot of pillows, formed from their nights of silent embraces by the fire. Cicero leans down to meet his lips in a quick peck, then starts unlacing Astarion’s trousers before pulling them free, exposing his pale, gorgeous legs before their eyes. Cicero eyes glanced down towards his now partially revealed erection straining in the fabric of his underwear. Clearly resisting the urge to make a no-doubt shameless comment as the corner of his lips curl up into a mischievous little smile that he was awful at hiding.
“Go on. Say what you’re thinking I can see you want to.” Astarion prompts, exaggerating a sigh for effect.
Cicero laughs loudly, raising his eyebrows before glancing back down and up again. “Almost bursting at the seams aren’t we.”
Observant.
“Well that shouldn’t be a surprise to you, since you already know quite well how well-endowed I am.”
“Cheeky.” Cicero chuckles before pulling them down slowly, Astarion’s cock now springing free from its constraints as his underwear gets thrown elsewhere.
Astarion trails his gaze down to join where Cicero’s attention was settled and he now feels the heat rise to his cheeks at the state of his cock. Standing proudly, head glistening from the beads of pre-cum in the firelight, almost alarmingly red and swollen.
“Stunning as always.”
Astarion is now painfully aware of his own furious blushing cheeks at his compliment. Still unaccustomed to such casual, complimentary remarks aimed at him in moments such as these. Having never been a reciprocate of genuine loving words before Cicero. And he was becoming quite the addict.
“Thank you, My dearest.” Astarion whispers, an infectious smile spreading across his own face as he meets Cicero’s own.
“What would you like next?”
Astarion shakes his head. “Darling, you asked to take the lead tonight. Forgive me, but I believe that means that you decide what happens, not me.”
A flustered laugh escapes Cicero and he casts his gaze to the floor. An apprehensive air now floating around him. “Sorry. I’m just so used to following you in situations like these.”
Astarion lifted his head and finds himself shocked at the next words that leave his lips. “I want you to do whatever you want to do and… I want to follow you.” He lifts himself up to brush his hand against Cicero’s cheek, moving his finger beneath his chin to raise it so they made eye contact once again. Speaking softly. “I trust you. Now please… make me feel good darling.”
Cicero beams and his signature confidence he knows and loves is once again installed in him from those words alone. And Astarion can’t help but feel just as happy by looking at him.
“Turn on your front for me then, Melith nín.”
Astarion gets on his hands and knees with a purr in his throat, parting his legs and purposely wiggling his behind as a small incentive to really drive home what he wanted. He turned his head to look over his shoulder with wanton eyes. Voice twinged with mirth as he asks. “Is this to your liking hm?”
“What a fucking feast it is.” Cicero replies huskily, his voice drowning in lust that causes Astarion’s already hard and dripping arousal to twitch delightfully. Leaning forward, already kissing delicately along Astarion’s back and his scars, the vampire shivering from the gentle touch of the part of his body he’s most ashamed of. The same part that is lavished with divine affection, it makes his toes curl and brow furrow.
Then Astarion all but gasps when he feels Cicero’s lips make it’s way down past the bottom of his spine, spreading him open as he mouth meets his asshole, his gasp transforming into a deep moan. All his brain could comprehend was pure, unadulterated bliss as Cicero began to gently tease his tongue around his hole, again and again until Astarion could focus on nothing else but the ache in his groin and throbbing between his legs. All the pleasures of the heavens could never feel as incredible as this singular bliss coursing through his entire body. If his mind wasn’t so sluggish from the ecstasy, a witty comment about how Cicero was worshipping him like a God would be teased from his lips. As it stood, he can’t vocalise much more than just moans and gasps.
“Fuck… I didn’t know I could still feel like this.” Astarion manages out almost in one breath, dropping his head onto the forearms that keep him aloft with another moan following in succession. His grip tightens and he can’t help but arch his back further than what was necessary to try and push further against his tongue. Cicero only decides to gift him with more by massaging his inner thigh with his fingers as he continued his tortuous teasing. It makes him want to scream, I makes him want to cry, it makes him want to pray indulgently to any God that will listen to make this feeling last forever.
“I thought you didn’t know how to please someone so well like this.” Astarion just about manages to splutter out between his many lacklustre attempts to stifle the unending sounds wishing for freedom with each wave of ecstasy.
Cicero pauses for a second to acknowledge him. “Of course I know how, I lived on a ship with a bunch of horny men for weeks at a time, I just never enjoyed it remember? But I love it with you… I love making you feel good.”
Astarion mouth opens wide as he lets free a moan into the open air. A drunken giggle deciding to unearth itself at the most in-opportune time.
“Well darling… you’re doing such an incredible job… I… nghh Gods~”
For once he’s surprised at himself for how little he can speak when the pleasure ramps up and renders his voice to just primal grunts and desperate keening. He can feel his climax within reaching distance and he doesn’t know whether to embrace it or hold back to make this feeling last longer. His body screams for relief yet his mind wants for more. He’s a mess of incoherency and a puddle of superlatives and indecisiveness. Legs trembling like a newborn deer.
Sex used to be quick and easy, transactional, used purely as a means to an end. There was no need to play out the suffering of a prolonged orgasm for his conquests. Not when every second spent wrapped in lavish, silken bedsheets with Astarion was a clock ticking down to their certain death.
But with Cicero he wanted it to last forever. Sex with Cicero was electric, exciting, invigorating, gratifying. He could be lost in the hazy limbo of agonising arousal for two more centuries and be content.
“Fuck… I don’t want to cum yet please~” Astarion whimpered against the pillow, all but resisting the urge to bite down and rip the covering with his sharp teeth to avoid making even more embarrassing sounds. “Slower… I want… I want to savour this…” He demands with a petulance that he most certainly doesn’t care to mask.
Cicero listens and begins to slow his efforts and the stabbing pangs of arousal that cause his untouched cock wail and cry almost have him regretting what he said. He loves the edging but he also despises it. He wants to cum but he doesn’t yet. He wants more and he wants less. He wants it faster and he wants it slower. Everything in his mind is an oxymoron to itself.
Then Cicero pulls his head back and all Astarion can do is whine at the loss of touch. And he can safely say he definitely doesn’t want that.
“Darling~” Astarion twists his head back to look at him with pleading eyes. But he doesn’t have to wait long for Cicero to position both himself and Astarion so that they are lay upon their sides, facing the flames of the fire. Moving himself so that he’s behind Astarion, chest pressing up against his back, spooning him as his hand continues to creep to his front, stroking his stomach just above where his cock lay. Even now, in a much more intimate position than before, Astarion looks down and tries to push his hips up desperately so that his cock pushed against that strategically placed hand.
“Shhh.” He cooes again in his ear as if that’s enough to soothe his pumping arousal. Before he can even open his mouth to growl out his disapproval, Cicero kisses his ears and he shivers in ecstasy at the heightened sensitivity. “Comfortable?”
Astarion nods, sinking against the pillows below as he feels a familiar tug at his head. Knowing that the weird buzzing behind his eyes is Cicero asking for permission to join their tadpoles for a moment. Intrigued and curious he grants him access.
Immediately he’s caught off guard by the strange sensation, an almost fishbowl vision, of seeing through Cicero’s eyes. But what made it all the stranger was the fact he was really only seeing through one eye, given that Cicero’s left eye was rendered completely blind. It made for a strange and almost motion sick experience that all but forgotten about when his gaze settles on the back of Astarion’s head. Astarion can see his, usually perfected hair, now tangled and dishevelled from being grabbed during their earlier make out session. He can see the very tips of his pointy ears a deeper red than what he imagined they usually were and he can see his naked body from behind, lay like a renaissance painting. The scars across his lean back, his small dimples at the bottom of his spine, and he knew he had a fantastic arse but seeing it in its entirety well- it really was mouth-watering if he said so himself.
Almost cautiously, still watching himself from the third person perspective, he turns his head to look directly into the so-called camera of Cicero’s eyes. And still, even when Cicero indulged him in this little power of theirs time and time again, Astarion can never quite get used to seeing his own face look back at him. He had long forgotten how he looked until recently, and the first time was enough to almost make him cry. It’s a gift, every single time, and it’s truthfully something that makes him hesitant to lose the tadpole. He certainly was going to miss seeing him through his eyes- well eye- in the physical sense. But he’s resigned himself to the inevitability of it all, and Cicero being his mirror was more than enough.
Though it was obvious how positively flustered he looked right now compared to those other times, a light red tinge scattered across his cheeks and nose, his eyes wide and glassy, lips wet and parted as his chest rose and fell heavily. He can’t quite believe that it’s him, looking so relaxed, comfortable and happy. Behind his eyes, he can see just how content he is now. It’s really something special.
But then he realises if this is how scruffy he looked after just some teasing play, then how absolutely debased he must look after he’s been fucked. That thought has him almost cringing… and also intrigued.
“Look how beautiful you are right now.” Cicero says with such genuine enthusiasm.
Astarion watches himself smile and it only makes him smile more at the sight.
“Cute. But you can do this to me any other time love. Right now, my body is screaming for it’s delayed orgasm.” He laughs and lowers his eyes at Cicero.
Gods does he really look like this every time he speaks?
And then Cicero brazenly wraps his hands around Astarion’s cock, squeezing lightly and the vampire let out a shocked gasp at the touch. The warmth engulfing him, the fingers lightly brushing up against his balls continuing to stroke up and down slowly. Then he began teasing the head with his thumb, delicately catching every pearl of pre-cum to coat his hand.
Even now he closes his eyes from the intense feeling of his hand and he can still see Cicero’s perspective in his mind, watching as his brow furrows and face twist into one of ecstasy. Mouth open as he moans, fangs almost snagging upon his lips as he bites down upon his lower lip. His back involuntarily pushing against Cicero and arching slightly from the stimulation and sensitivity of it all, writhing in his grasp.
The connection is severed after a few more moments of Cicero stroking his cock and Astarion watching himself fall apart at the feeling. His palm, now lubricated with his own pre-release, gliding so nicely against him, slicking him up so delightfully.
“Feel good?”
Promptly deciding that his voice was most certainly on the verge of collapse or, Gods forbid, breaking like a puberty-stricken young elf, he replied with a brisk nod of his head and a hum in his throat.
His arm began to move with a mind of its own, wrapping around the back of Cicero’s neck, desperate to touch him, craving his warmth in any capacity he could manage. His body coated in what felt like fiery ice, stabbing every nerve receptor in his body that the drink from earlier had only seemed to intensify. In his rapidly growing pleasure again he feels two fingers press against his lips, hearing the gentle words from Cicero beside him, who sounds oddly distant from the place his mind is currently exploring.
“Open your mouth love.” Cicero says, pressing his index and middle finger up to Astarion’s lips, stroking along them gently.
Astarion doesn’t know why he does it as easily as a mortal takes to breathing but he does. Parting his lips and taking the fingers into his warm mouth. He doesn’t even question the idea for a moment, he just takes them inside because Cicero wants him to and he wants to be good he thinks. Eyelids heavy and lowering just enough so that he can watch the crackling fire as Cicero’s hand continues pleasing him.
“There we go… good boy.”
Astarion’s whines as his tongue circles those fingers, obediently suckling them, coating them in the saliva his body still can produce. Lubricating them sufficiently well. Letting them rest upon the flat of his tongue as his mouth fully wraps around them.
He’s in a mindset he’s not sure he’s ever been in before, more submissive with Cicero than usual seeing as he prefers to take a more dominant, more active role in their newfound sex life. Submission reminds him of his slavery, nights of forced horrors unable to speak a word and to just close his eyes and trying desperately to pretend he were elsewhere. Nothing but pain and humiliation.
Or so that’s what he used to think submission was. But he’s learnt differently with Cicero, how its really a display of trust and love. All of this that they’re doing isn’t the submission he once know, of forcibly following every order for their own selfish gains with no care for Astarion’s well being. Now he’s losing himself in that headspace, with the aid of drink most likely helping at unlocking that side of his subconscious he never knew he wished to venture. And while it’s not something he can picture doing as naturally as Cicero, he’s thriving through every minute all the same. Because Cicero only ever strives to please Astarion, he doesn’t seek to use Astarion for his own pleasure. And that means more to Astarion that he could ever really repay.
He feels safe in his arms.
All he can make out is the now tortuous tease against his cock and the whispered words of praise against his ear.
He’s a good boy. He’s such a good boy. He’s doing such a good job at enjoying himself. Star is doing such a good job.
Each word only makes him desperate to cum but he can’t yet. He doesn’t want to yet. He never knew the experience of edging could be so heavenly, always imagined the teasing he usually inflicted upon others would be awful were it the other away around. Patience was a virtue he wasn’t born with after all, and he only really discovered it was something he could handle when Cicero opened up about his own reservations with sex. Something he wanted to learn for him. He waited for Cicero, and then Cicero waited for him, until they finally experienced it together the night of Cazadors death. And it was wonderful, beyond anything he thought possible.
So he takes those soft fingers in his mouth like he were taking his cock. Desperate to please though he knows he needs not to anymore. Taking them as far back into his mouth, starting to coax them down his throat, the pad of his tongue continuing to stroke the digits. Small hummed sounds of pleasure flowing from his nose, throat vibrating with moans that couldn’t quite spill free with his mouth busied. It felt so nice.
Apparently his efforts were not unappreciated, not when a deep groan came from Cicero behind him, nuzzling into the back of his neck.
“Gods… you’re incredible.”
Cicero removes the hand from his mouth and Astarion is left, tongue lolled out, saliva dripping free and all but panting like a pathetic dog. His fangs out on display submissively as he tries to catch his breath that he doesn’t require but needs now.
What had happened to him? He was once suave, once the black widow responsible for his preys death after bedding them. And now he’s a whiny, drooling, near-catatonic state of a man all but greedily begging for more. Desperate to cum. Dumb and stupid.
He’s too far preoccupied with the building lust in his mind to even notice Cicero whispering small praises to him, when the hand previously worshipped by his mouth is brought back behind him. Taking him by surprise when a lubricated finger begins to tease at his hole. His turn to now begin worshipping the vampire with more semblance than his own deity.
“Oh~ oh! You little minx.” Astarion’s voice hitched, a surprised, high-pitched laugh slipping free, spreading his legs slightly to better accommodate for his hand. One leg now resting atop of Cicero’s leg to help part his entrance for his hand. His finger slowly breaching inside him, letting out a deep exhale as it went deeper. Unable to voice anything less than pants and gentle whimpers deep in the back of his throat at the added fullness now inside him.
His body begins to shiver in response, the overwhelming sensitivity that pricks at every receptor in his brain. Quaking when the stimulation is almost too much yet just right, so much so that he struggles to make out much but the fingers inside him and the hand gripped around his cock like a vice. Continuing to pump up and down, up and down, tightening, squeezing, gliding and Gods~
“So that’s what finally quietens you? A finger up there at the same time? Interesting I’ll make a note of that.”
He’s not wrong of course. But Astarion was nothing if not bearish in his natural tendencies.
“Shut up being so crude and… and just… just…”
But he’s unable to even voice a command in this position and it fails to even form in his brain in the first place. Panting heavily now, his undead lungs struggling to keep up with his unnecessary uptake of oxygen. And then almost as if Cicero can read his mind, he brings another finger to enter him and join the first. Or maybe he does read it, perhaps his lapse of judgement in this state meant his tadpole accidentally communicated the thoughts over to Cicero’s of what he wanted. The connection easy linked from before. Either way, it’s an overwhelmingly intense sensation that sends him reeling.
“Oh that’s good.” He lets out a loud moan, absolutely uncaring of who could possibly hear. “Oh that’s so good darling~”
A tear drops from Astarion’s glassy eyes, a small singular stream cascading down his cheek, a wet trail left in its wake like melted ice. Cicero’s own thumb catches it before it can drop onto their makeshift bed. He’s not sure if it’s due to the overwhelming joy and pleasure of the moment, or if it’s because he feels so safe and happy in ways he never used to during sex. There’s just enough semblance of his not lost to the basking ecstasy of pleasure to stop himself from weeping at the intensity of it all. Were Astarion himself not lost in complete euphoria by the half-elf’s hands, he most certainly would scorn himself for such a pathetic display. But his mind only wanted more, hips only pushing further into his grip and hands all but grasping behind at Cicero’s hair and clawing at the pillow.
In fact he tries not to remember the times he’s wept during sex with Cicero. On his back, Cicero between his legs, kissing down his neck as each thrust is gentle and deep inside him. He can’t help but cry at how safe and comfortable he feels having sex with the person he adores, who treats him like a person and not the monster he saw himself as. Every action perfectly loving him again and again until the tears keep falling while Cicero wipes them away with a smile and tells him it’s okay to let it all out.
That thought alone only drives him further to the edge. Astarion knew the bliss was catching up to him faster than he would’ve liked after prolonged teasing of the entire evening. Especially now he was filled with two fingers, knuckle deep and pressing up against his prostate. Tightening around them with abandon, unable to stop himself from rocking back between the hands pleasuring both his front and his behind. It’s so close. He’s so close.
“Are you going to make a mess for me?” Cicero cooed gently against the back of Astarion’s head, brushing his nose in his curls, the gentle intimacy almost too much to handle. It should be a degrading comment, it should be humiliating, but it isn’t. It feels oh so delicious to hear instead.
Astarion nods frantically. “I’m… I’m close… I… yes… nearly…nearly there~”
Every word is slurred, a struggle to even understand what it was himself that he was trying to say.
“Do you think you can manage to watch yourself cum? Id like for you to watch your own release.”
It’s not an order but a request. Because even in his borderline incoherent mind that screams for nothing but the pleasure of an orgasm and the rapture that follows, he knows Cicero would never order him. Even now, when they found themselves playing around with new dynamics they haven’t explored before, Cicero would never go that far. Not even playfully.
He thinks he replies with something but he can’t ascertain whether it was more strangled whimper or throaty growl. Either way, Cicero somehow deciphers his response and kisses his hair before replying back.
“Do it, my Star. Stain my hand with your cum Astarion. I want you to cum for me. Go on, let go dear.”
He curls his fingers in time with a particular hard stroke and it’s just enough to send him reeling. A beautiful whine drawn from him as he came hard, his orgasm hitting into him with such a torrential force. A series of prolonged sobs ripped from his throat as complete and utter satisfaction fills his every being.
But he does what he was told willingly for once in his life and forces his heavy eyes, that want so desperately to close, to look down through his eyelashes at his cock. Watching the thick globules of cum spurting out while Cicero slows his pumping, dripping down and staining his hand white. Oh Gods there’s so much. There’s so much. He just keeps moaning through his climax as more and more of his hot seed shoots out and paints both his own stomach and Cicero’s fingers.
Cicero removes both hands from his ass and softening penis before the oversensitive nerves can kick In. Astarion drops his head back and closes his eyes as he rides through the last waves of ecstasy in his veins. Eager to drink up every last drop of the very Gods own nectar before coming back to his immortal body. As he blinks away the last remnants of his euphoria, he feels a warm, damp cloth wipe away the remnants of his release that had settled across his stomach. Not even aware of when exactly Cicero had left his side to retrieve the item. Still, he hummed at the tender touch as he was cleaned up, the rag dropped on the floor soon after.
Cicero’s hand began brushing up against Astarion’s cheek, small circles drawn against the skin before running across his lips. Astarion reciprocated, pouting his lips together to kiss at those delicate fingertips, eyes closed, completely revelling in the sensation of such gentle touch. Addicted to the intimacy of the caress. The fingers against his mouth were soon replaced with Cicero’s own lips, each movement slow, lethargic even, their kiss delicate and full of adoration. Astarion wrapped his arm around Cicero’s neck, pulling him ever closer, craving the warmth of his body, sapping it from him again now that his blood was no longer warming his body anymore.
He takes everything he gives him now, every single thing, and he’s not a slave to pleasure anymore but a devout follower not unlike his lover.
True to Cicero’s word, an orgasm had sobered him up and now he was left incredibly aware of how he had been acting all evening. His throat hoarse from the constant flurry of moans and groans that plagued his vocal cords for the past however long. Astarion opens his eyes slowly, met with the beautiful sight of Cicero’s own.
“That was fun!” Cicero exclaims giddily, and Astarion can’t decide if he’s still tipsy or if he’s just being his usual boisterous self. It’s a toss-up really. His ability to switch between his wise, capable leader persona to his laddish, almost childish state of being in every situation that wasn’t serious, was a marvel. So much so that Astarion sometimes wondered how exactly he fell for someone so boyishly immature. But then Cicero smiles at him so earnestly and he remembers how in love he is with him.
Astarion closes his eyes and shakes his head in pretend disbelief.
“We need to work on your pillow talk, darling.” He brushes a stray hair that had fallen free behind Cicero’s ear. “But, yes, it was fun.”
“You came a lot you know.” I have to say I was quite surprised. My whole hand was practically cov-“
Astarion interrupted, all but resisting the urge to cover his face with his hand. “Yes thank you dear. I had noticed.”
Cicero rests his head onto his palm as he lies back on his side. “But in all seriousness, I know that was a little bit different with me being more…” he pauses, trying to place the right word as his other hand waves about. “Leading I guess than usual in bed. Usually you tell me to do something and I’ll do it. But that was okay yeah?”
Astarion can’t help but smile as Cicero desperately wants to reaffirmation that he really did enjoy himself. How cute.
“I enjoyed it my love. Every single second. In fact…” Astarion bites his lip, his voice even huskier than intended due to his raspy vocal cords. “I think I’d enjoy you being even more assertive some other time. I’d like to see my big, strong man try and put me in my place.”
Cicero blushes so much that his beard struggles to hide it, a small laugh slipping free. “Oh and let me guess, you’re going to be a massive brat aren’t you?”
“Oh I can’t tell you that! That will ruin the surprise.”
“Well anything else you request while we are at it?”
Astarion looked off to the side. “I… well in the avenue of speaking up about my newfound desires and things I’d like to explore… I’d like to, maybe, try going the full way with the use of our tadpoles before we lose it.”
Cicero was quiet for a second before he smirked. “You want to watch yourself getting fucked?”
Of course this was the one time that Cicero was smart enough to catch one of his insinuations. Astarion hoped desperately the blood that he had drank earlier was no longer as potent in his body as his cheeks began to flare up in embarrassment.
“When you put it like that it sounds juvenile, unappealing and not to mention extremely conceited but… yes I would.”
“Of course we can. Anything for you Star, just say when.”
The vampire nodded, dropping his eye line, taking in the sight of Cicero’s clothed cock. The bulge firmly pressing up against the fabric, almost bursting at the seams.
“I haven’t… reciprocated back yet.” Astarion stroked the hairs on Cicero’s chest lightly, tilted his head and giving him a seductive, playfully coy smile. “What would you like?”
“For you to enjoy yourself.” He replied simply.
Astarion cleared his throat. “I just did. Let me be clearer, I’m asking what you would like me to do for you.”
“All I need is for you to enjoy yourself.” He repeated, resting one arm behind his head, the muscles in his arms and chest so beautifully on display in this pose. “Im absolutely fine as I am right now.”
Astarion let out an exasperated sigh. “You’re impossible. I want to make you feel good, let me gift you with my incredible talents. I can see how hard you are.”
“I’ll be honest with you Astarion, it would be impossible for me not to be turned on by everything you just did.” Cicero laughs loudly before resting his hand atop of Astarion’s, which still lay idly stroking his chest. “But I’ve told you before that sometimes I just… don’t feel the need to receive it back. It’s strange but…It’s more satisfying for me seeing you satisfied than my own climax. So really, I don’t need anything right now. Nothing but your company.”
Astarion nodded. “Are you sure?”
“I’m sure.” Cicero stated once again, though not without a coy little smile creeping upon his face. “Though I could be up for a cuddle.”
“Well I can certainly do that.” Astarion grins, moving to lie his head against his chest, arms wrapping around his torso while Cicero begins stroking his arm. The vampire hovers just above the place he can hear and feel Cicero’s heart beat most, and he feels alive again. Connected. Like this heart beats for them both.
“Thank you.” Astarion’s whispers against his chest. “I love you Cicero.”
Cicero whispers back. “I love you too Star.”