A Striking Resemblance

by chaus_cobolorum

Summary:

It's March of 2020. With the pandemic locking down people all over the world, Astarion Ancunin has a problem. It's awfully hard to charm people into sharing a bite when you can't get within six feet of a stranger. Luckily, he's thought of a solution - hire a live-in blood donor.

Things are going swimmingly. He does a few interviews and finds a perfectly suitable candidate. And then she walks through his door.

Notes:

Currently updated every other week on Thursday or Friday night, depending on life.
Chapter count is a bit of a guess. Will update as we get closer. I have an outline but sometimes the characters speak to me.

Chapter 1: It was This or Selling Feet Pics

Notes:

The people have spoken. This is going to be a full-fledged fic. I've never gotten that many kudos on a fic in five hours be

Four pages sat atop his desk, a sleek glass thing that didn’t fit with the rest of the decor in the room. It had a nifty trick where the height adjusted, so he could use it sitting or standing. Eventually, he’d get someone to make him a desk that could do this and be aesthetic. For now, it would have to do.

“Mr. Ancunin? Are you still on the line?” 

“Yes, Daniel, I’m examining these dossiers you sent over.”

“Resumes, Mr. Ancunin. You are hiring them for a job, after all.” The crisp tones his solicitor sent through the speaker on his Iphone were meant to be an insult, he recognized. He ignored the correction. At one time, he’d have flown off the handle if an employee had talked down to him like that. Centuries removed from slavery, however, had granted him perspective. That, and Daniel was currently well over three thousand miles away. 

He looked again at the pages. Three men and a woman. All between twenty-one and thirty years of age. All in peak physical health, proven with a thorough physical the likes of which they’d probably never received before, all willing to take a job whose description they probably didn’t believe. They’d even signed a rather dreadful binding agreement just to get an interview. 

“Why doesn’t the woman’s resume have a picture, Daniel?” He asked, skimming it. Octavia. A rather dour name for a young woman.

“She refused, stating that requiring her appearance constituted potential discrimination for a job that was not related to entertainment. Legally, she is correct. As this position is in a rather tenuous legal area in your current locale, I assumed you would prefer not to risk involving the government, and didn’t exclude her. You could move to Las Vegas where that would be less of an issue, as I advised you. Or simply repatriate back to the UK, where paying for blood donation is perfectly legal, albeit untested as a private employee versus an organization.”

“And as I advised you, Daniel, I’d rather be flayed. And I say that with some experience in the matter. Tell me that she isn’t hideous, at least. I don’t need to find her attractive, but I’d rather not be repulsed by my dinner.”

“She was perfectly reasonable looking. At least a five out of ten in London. Possibly more if she bothered with putting a little more effort into herself. A little on the athletic side for my tastes."

“Fine.” He sighed. “I’ll interview her last, then. Did any concerns pop up in their background checks?”

“Well, I’d prefer you not pick Mr. Paneer. We turned up a massive gambling problem in the deep background check only yesterday. He has somehow avoided any traceable debts, but it appears it is only a matter of time before his habits catch up with him.”

Astarion picked up the first resume and flipped it over. “Done. And the other three?”

“They meet all the criteria we put together. Clean bill of health. No kids nor partners. Nothing to make them overly desperate. No vampire fetishes, not even a penchant for romance novels in which they feature."

“Well then, Mr. Bramstom, do be a darling and setup my interviews. As soon as possible.”

Daniel might be annoying, but he was a very effective agent. The interviews were set for the next day. He was even a bit excited, a rarity for him but this pandemic had put a major hitch in his dietary preferences. He had plenty of blood available. His personal assistant, Nina, who was perfect in that he rarely ever had to talk to the woman and she performed her duties impeccably, picked it up each week from the butchers and put it in his fridge mixed with the special ingredients that prevented clotting. He had plenty, but animal blood left him weak over time, and while he could eat food, it provided no nourishment. 

This was usually not a problem. Once a week or so, he'd swallow his disgust and go out to some swanky bar. Charm someone who looked lost and lonely, throw in a whisper of compulsion, take a harmless nip, and then tell them to forget. By the time he'd left they didn't know how they'd gotten the bite marks and he was more than satiated.

He didn't like compelling people. He'd gotten over the heady feeling of power it gave him after only a few months, and instead it left a wave of disgust. He'd prefer a willing donor. But the only willing donors were the fetishists, the worst people on the planet, as far as he was concerned. He’d stopped mixing sex and feeding since, well, since he’d left Toril. It was too painful a reminder of all that he had lost.

The first interview was a disaster. Ethan had answered the questions well, had decent personal hygiene, and a tolerable personality. Everything had gone fine right up until he’d told him the final part of the interview was being bitten. He didn’t want a live-in snack who couldn’t handle the job, and he also wanted to taste-test. It had to be palatable. Ethan had a fucking vampire fetish. As soon as he bent over him, the man had nearly passed out and then spent himself in his pants like a teenager. At that point, he had sent him on his way. 

Two hours later, he had Nina answer his door again, and send Luke Brown up to his study. 

“Mr. Ancunin?” Nina’s voice floated in from the hall. 

“Send him in, Nina.”

The door to his study opened, and an attractive young man walked in. “Hello, Mr. Ancunin. I’m Luke. Luke Brown.”

“Please, sit.” He stood up and gestured at the leather sofa. Luke immediately went and sat down. Good. Obedience was a useful trait for the position. He draped himself on the wingback chair across from the boy. “Tell me, why are you here, Luke Brown?”

The boy blinked. “I’m looking for a job? I’m tired of not being able to work on my art because I’m too tired after working all day.”

“An artist. How delightful! Tell me about your art, darling.” 

Luke blushed delightfully. His nostrils flared automatically at the sudden increase in the scent, but he got it back under control quickly. “I make sculptures. I’ve even had a few sales, but I’ve had to turn down several commissions because I don’t have the energy to be on my feet all day and then keep going at night making my art. I specialize in human figures, cast bronze.”

“How nice. I can understand how a position with so little work involved might interest you. You understand, of course, that you will have to live here, what with the pandemic. Be on a specially monitored diet, take supplements and medicines. Meet with a doctor weekly. I do not wish to compromise your health in any way, but it is the nature of what you’ll be doing that there is a risk.”

“I did read the disclosures, but… Mr. Ancunin, why are you in need of a personal blood donor?”

“Please, call me Alistair. Now, tell me, Luke, do you believe in the supernatural?” 

“Not really. I mean, I keep an open mind. There’s so much that we don’t understand, but I trust in what I can see.”

“Ah, so then I suppose I’ll have to give a little show and tell. Do remember your NDA, darling. A word about what I am and what I’m about to share with you gets out and your life will become a living hell.”

Luke nodded, his eyes slightly wide, his heart racing like a rabbit. He could smell the fear on him. Good.

“Luke,” He smiled, letting his fangs show. “I’m a vampire. But an ethically-minded one. I refuse to murder for the sake of my appetites, and being unable to go out and charm the occasional snack has made my life quite difficult. So, I’m in the market for a personal blood donor.”

“Oh. So like, this won’t involve needles, then?”

“No, darling. You believe me, then?”

“Well, either you’re the real thing, or, you’ve got red eyes and fangs because you’ve really committed to the bit. If you’re paying to bite me, it’s a job all the same. I don’t care if you desperately need the blood or not.”

“How delightful. I do appreciate the mercenary attitude. The job involves one donation per week. I’d prefer Thursday evenings. The doctor will visit on Monday mornings. Your diet will be provided and delivered to your room. Nina already gave you the tour, yes?”

Luke nodded. 

“And they were to your satisfaction?”

“More than, Sir.”

“Excellent. Let’s see. I hate rap music and Russian composers. If you must listen to such things, do so in your bedroom where I can't hear it. The first floor is open to your use but I expect you to buy your own food. You can use the catering fridge in the butler's pantry. The wine is off-limits. Buy your own. No guests at any time and don’t talk to me except on Thursday evenings. You can email me otherwise.”

The boy looked bewildered but nodded in the affirmative. 

“Well, then finally, a taste test.”

“I’m sorry, what?”

“A taste test, darling, are you hard of hearing? I want to make sure you are palatable enough to be worth the coin.” He was growing tetchy. “Now, lie on your side on the sofa. I’ll warn you of what I am doing. And I promise I will only take a taste.”

He got up and went to his desk, grabbing the bandage and gauze he’d set out. He turned around to find Luke on his side, compliant. 

He walked over and kneeled on the floor beside him. “Now, I’m going to touch your neck with my lips. Don’t get excited. I’ll just be finding your vein. Once I stop moving, try to relax. It will hurt far less if you don’t tense. I’ll wait a moment and bite. I’ll take a swallow, and then I’ll put the gauze over the wound. Do I have your consent?”

“Um, yes.” The boy squeaked it out, clearly fearful but still, he consented.

Astarion leaned over, smelling his neck. It was decent. Clean, at least, but the smell was overly sharp for his liking. He ran his lips lightly along, noting that Luke didn’t seem to either enjoy it or hate it, which was perfect. He found the vein and stopped, counting to twenty slowly in his head. Then he bit. His teeth parted the boy's skin, and a rush of gamey warmth flooded his mouth. He took a single swallow once his mouth filled, then grabbed the gauze and pressed it against the wound after he pulled off of him. 

He flicked his tongue across his teeth, sampling the leftover blood for any other flavor. It was sharp and gamey, a step above the pig's blood in his fridge and the cow's blood he’d had the week before but not even amongst the top fifty human vintages he’d tasted. It would do, was the best endorsement he could give.

That was probably perfect. If it was too good, it tended to kickstart his desires, and he didn’t mix sex and feeding. Not since... Well, not for a very long time.

He stood up, watching Luke put the bandage on himself. “You were perfectly adequate. I’ll have Nina see you out, and you’ll hear from my solicitor in a day or so.” He walked back over to his desk, already bored of the boy. An ideal outcome, truly. He didn’t want someone he’d grow attached to.

He texted Nina to come get Luke. Then he picked up his phone to call the girl and cancel her interview, typing in the number from her dossier. No need to interview someone else when he’d found a perfectly suitable candidate. He decided to walk out on his balcony to make the call, to catch the last of the sunset while he was at it. He always tried to catch a little sunlight each day. It was how he made peace with what he had done. Sacrificing seven thousand souls to the Hells hadn't seemed all that hard at the time, but over the centuries, the weight of what he had done had grown. He figured he owed it to all of those unfortunates to at least enjoy what their suffering had purchased.

The air was almost balmy, global warming raising its ugly head as it was far too early for decent weather this close to Chicago. The sky was still orange, streaked purple and pink. Pollution at work, yet beautiful nonetheless. He sighed and pressed send on the number he’d typed in earlier. 

Then he heard ringing below him, and a strangely familiar voice below him swear. He hung up. She was already here, too late to cancel. He walked back inside to find Luke and the bandage wrappers gone. A new set of bandages lay on his desk, next to the woman’s resume. Octavia Martin. A very serious name for a twenty-one year old. 

The doorbell rang, and he let Nina answer. “Mr. Ancunin?” floated in from the hall fifteen minutes later.

“Yes, Nina, send Ms. Martin in.”

He was already standing this time, having just finished winding the clock he kept in here. It would have been better had he been sitting when he saw her. 

“Oh, hello, Mr. Ancunin. I’m Octavia Martin.”

The first thing he saw were her eyes. That peculiar shade of blue that was all over this room, all over his life. In the shades of the rug. In the paintings of storms upon oceans. In the shirt that covered him. A blue-gray that was slightly more blue than gray, but steely nonetheless. Then the face that held those eyes appeared and blurred out his mind entirely.

He was standing in the bright light of day, befuddled that he was alive, at the top of an escarpment, desperate and distrusting. There she walked up, side by side with that bitch Shadowheart. Of course, he hadn’t hated the cleric then. She smiled at him, offering to help in that same sweet voice. 

He’d pointed, “Over there. One of those brain things. Can you kill it?” He’d said. She’d smiled again, telling him he’d be safe. Ha! He didn’t even know what the word meant then. As she strutted past, he’d grabbed her, pulled a knife up to her neck. 

Gods, he missed her. His chest began to ache with a longing he’d forgotten he was capable of.

“Mr. Ancunin?” That sweet voice pulled him back to the present.

“Ah, yes. My apologies, Ms. Martin. I suffer from these episodes from time to time.”

“Oh! I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable. Do you need to sit down? Should I go get your assistant?” Her words tumbled out of her. She was adorably flustered. His heart felt like it was trying to beat out of his chest. What was happening to him?!

“Ah, no. Why don’t we sit down and have a little chat, darling,” He sat down in the chair and gestured at the sofa. She even moved like her, he noticed. Graceful but strong. Athletic, as Daniel had said. His chest burned. He hadn't even noticed anything but her face. She was a replica copy, short and willowy, but strong. Pale skin kissed with freckles across the nose. Dark brown hair fell in waves around her heart-shaped face. She was wearing a modest dress, navy blue, and flats with cat faces on the toes. 

She sat demurely on the sofa, her legs carefully together, her posture immaculate. “Are you sure you’re alright, Mr. Ancunin?” She asked, seemingly genuinely concerned. It made her resemblance even more uncanny. She was always a bleeding heart.

“I’m fine, Ms. Martin. I apologize, you gave me quite a fright. You resemble an old… friend. One who died quite some time ago, I’m afraid.”

“Oh! I’m sorry. That must have been unpleasant.” She blushed, wringing her hands and seemingly unsure of what to do. “So, what do you want to know about me?”

“Well, for starters, why did you apply for this job, darling?”

“Well, I've been supporting myself waitressing and recently bartending, but with the pandemic - all the work is gone. I’ve got enough savings to cover the month, but my lease is up at the end and without a job, I can’t get a new one.”

“I see. Any hobbies?

“I like medieval weaponry. I teach rapier fighting at a club on the north side. And I write songs.”

“I see. And you expect this to be remunaritive in the future?”

“If it isn't, my backup plan is a life of crime.”

He couldn’t stop himself. It was so… her . He laughed his true laugh. Which meant…

“Holy shit! Are those fangs? Are you like, really, actually a vampire? I thought this was some weird sex thing.”

“Yes. I have fangs. I am a real vampire, and no. This job is most definitely not any kind of sex thing. Let me be perfectly clear about that.” He might have been a bit too forceful because she shrunk back.

“I’m so sorry. I wasn’t trying to offend you, I was just surprised. And kind of glad. I was already feeling kind of iffy after your lawyer argued with me about sending a photograph. I don't think sex work should be illegal it just isn't something I want to participate in. But... well, it was this or selling feet pics.”

“So I would expect that the terms of the position are amenable to you, Ms. Martin? Or at least more amenable than selling photographs of your appendages.”

“Yep. The diet, the living arrangements, all that. I read it very carefully. None of it is a problem. Oh, and you don’t need to be so formal. You can call me Octavia, or just Tav. That’s what my friends call me, and I mean, you’ll be drinking my blood so I suppose we ought to be on friendly terms.”

He was sitting on the edge of the light from the campfire, drinking a bottle of what might have been straight vinegar, waiting for the two women to finish talking. Tavriel got up, walking in his direction. He put on a pretty face. His introduction had made her quite pissed off, she’d barely said two words to him all day, and the cleric hadn’t even wanted him to come with the group. He needed to get this little bard on his side.

She’d sat down next to him and grinned. “Hello. I’m Tavriel.”

“Yes, I know. We’ve met, darling.”

“Well, it kind of went to shit, so I was thinking, what if we tried it again? I think we were both not at our best after what we went through. So, hello. I’m Tavriel.”

“Hello, my name’s Astarion.”

“You can call me Tav. All my friends do, and I’d rather have a friend watching my back, if it’s all the same to you.”

“Mr. Ancunin, are you ok? You were staring off into space again.”

“I’m fine, darling. And - well, you may call me Astarion. If you’d like.” He couldn’t believe he just said that. He hated anyone using his name. He hadn’t used it since he’d left Faerun. He needed to remember this was not his Tav. Perhaps he should just end this interview now. He clearly couldn’t have this Octavia around. It would be a disaster.

“Alright, Astarion.” 

He froze. Hearing his name in that voice. In her voice… He felt a yearning he had thought dead inside him rise up like the tide, inexorable and dangerous. 

“So, what else do you need to know about me?”

He swallowed, forcing all the feelings down. “Well, there’s just one part left.” Was he really going to do this? Yes. She’d inevitably taste wrong. Then his bloody mind would understand this wasn’t her. Could never be her. And all this stupidity would dissipate and he’d hire the perfectly acceptable Luke. “I’d like to have a taste. A sample, if you would. To make sure that you can handle the job and that your, uh, vintage is worth the price.”

“Oh. Oh! You want to…” She suddenly seemed flustered. But he scented the air, it was nervousness, not arousal. Thank the Gods it wouldn’t be a repeat of earlier in the day.

“Bite you. Yes. Just a taste, I promise.” He grabbed the bandage and gauze. “Lie down on your side and pull your hair out of the way if you don’t mind.”

She acquiesced, and when he turned around she was lying there, vulnerable and exposed. He felt his arousal grow suddenly, and he bit down on his lip to stop it. This was utterly insane. Even if it was her, that wasn’t going to happen, anyway. And it wasn’t her! It just looked and sounded like her. And they shared a name. A total coincidence was the only possible explanation.

He knelt beside her and walked her through what to expect, same as he had the last two times. She shivered as his face got close, but it didn’t upset him. He found himself wishing she was reacting to him and not her fear. He sped up, trying to shut up his mind. He found the vein easily enough, she was pale enough it was visible anyhow. 

He counted out the wait and then bit. Her incredibly soft skin and firm muscles were so delicate his fangs slipped through with barely any pressure, and she didn’t tense at all, just let out a tiny, soft sigh, like she was sinking into a feather bed rather than having razor-sharp bones sink into her. When he pulled them back, the rush of blood was obscenely perfect. It was her. It was the taste he’d been searching for for four hundred years. She tasted sticky sweet and tart, with the warmth the sun left on the skin of an undead thing like himself. 

Could you trust me, just a bit more? I only need a taste.

I… Alright. A taste. Only what you need. And not one drop more.

He’d leaned over her, still in shock that she had agreed. That she hadn’t simply staked him and been done with it. Or screamed for the cleric. Instead, here she was, lying on her back, exposing her neck to him, completely vulnerable and trusting. He’d spend more time appreciating it if the hunger wasn’t screaming.

As soon as her blood hit his tongue, the taste of her exploded in him. Sticky sweet and tart and heat and life. He’d had no idea what to expect from her blood but it was nothing he had dreamed of. His veins pounded and burned with life he hadn’t felt since he was turned. His cock had gone rock hard, a bout of desire hitting him like a brick wall. And the taste in his mouth was exquisite. Celestial. He felt his mind clearing of a fog he hadn’t been aware was there, a sudden clarity which told him she was pushing at him to let go.

Octavia’s hand was on his chest. He backed up. Shit. How much had he taken? He looked at her, she wasn’t too pale, her heart sounded strong, so clearly, not too much. He grabbed the gauze, pressing it to the bite as his brain came fully back online. 

“I’m sorry. Truly. I got a bit lost there for a moment. You are… very good.”

“Thanks, I think?” She smiled as she put the bandage on herself. “It’s a little odd to feel good about being told your blood is tasty.”

He turned, texting Nina to come and get her. He wanted to keep her here forever. He also wanted her to go away and stop existing. What in the Hells was he going to do?

“Darling, thank you for your time today. My solicitor will be in touch.” He kept his face turned away, certain that if he looked at her again he’d lose his nerve and beg her to never leave.

He heard her stand up. “Oh. Well, thanks. It was nice to meet you, Astarion. I hope you find what you are looking for.” She sounded slightly hurt. Why did that burn? He didn’t know this girl. This was insanity! 

Nina came and led her out. Astarion walked over to his bookshelf and pulled a small wooden box off of it. He touched the fingerprint lock and waited for it to pop open. He opened the lid to gaze at the paper within. The charcoal drawing, hastily done by a campfire, on paper that would shatter if he touched it. His face, rendered by her hand. He could remember how her hands had moved, the way she’d blown that tiny bit of her grown-out fringe out of her eyes as she worked, the way the firelight had danced in the reflections of her pupils. Gods, he missed her. He used to think it would end someday, but it never did. He just kept living, and she just kept being dead.

He picked up the phone and dialed Daniel’s number. The obvious choice was clear, he should hire the perfectly acceptable Luke. He intended to do so. 

“Mr. Ancunin. I take it you have made a choice?”

“Yes. Send an offer to Octavia Martin. Double the pay.”

“I apologize, I must have misheard you.”

“Octavia Martin. Hire her. Double the pay. I cannot accept her saying no. If she wants more, give it to her. Give her whatever she goddamn wants, Daniel.”

He hung up, angry at himself. This was the stupidest thing he’d done in quite a long time. It was the only thing he could do.

Notes:

Just want to say I'd love to hear what got your attention to read on this one.

Or what put you off enough to get to this note, but not want to click next chapter. I'm a weirdo and I love good critiques!

Because I have been asked a few times now - Octavia and Tavriel look rather like a 21 year old Zooey Deschanel.

Chapter 2: She Made Him Pancakes

Summary:

400 years is a long, long time to not have a single real friend.

It does things to you.

Astarion's carefully constructed facade cracks after a mere day of Octavia bursting into his life.

Notes:

Thank you for coming along on this wacky journey.

I have an outline. I've learned a lot writing almost 800,000 words of fanfics in 2024 and I'm hoping it makes this the best fic I've written yet.

He sat in his bathtub, the water illegally hot and one hundred percent worth the extravagant bribe it had taken to get the plumbers to install his water heater with the capability of producing near-boiling water out of his pipes, and read his emails. His work over the past century had gotten less and less taxing by the decade if he was honest. Investing tends to snowball over time, and the things he liked spending extravagantly on tended to last rather than be consumed. Things like beautiful properties, fine furniture, and businesses which make the things he can’t live without. But it does still require occasionally reading things and making decisions.

His latest acquisition had been a perfumery in Paris that was on the block to be sold to private equity. Allowing that would have been far more criminal than the single murder he’d had to commit to get the sale to go through. A man so vile that his children had celebrated his death was gone and now all the lovely professionals would keep their well-paying jobs and he’d continue to be able to have the same signature cologne he’d been wearing since 1712 when he’d first been recommended it by his tailor. Truly, everyone had won with this purchase.

His solicitor, however, felt the entire thing was an absolute disaster that he committed with the sole purpose of giving him early grey hair. Daniel wasn’t entirely wrong on that score, he did enjoy needling the man. In some ways, his solicitors had been his only real friends on Earth. The only people he was fully honest about himself with. After all, they created his identities, and covered up the indiscretions his nature inevitably led him to commit.

Like hiring a woman as a live-in blood donor solely because she looked like his centuries-dead love from another realm. Which he wasn’t thinking about. At all. Her moving in today had nothing to do with why he was taking a bath and had tried on six outfits last night to get it just right.

He sent a text to Nina, as he got dressed, reminding her that they needed to add Octavia to his car insurance. He’d found out from Daniel that his newest employee didn’t own a car, so he’d have to lend her his. For a suburb, Oak Park’s transit was reasonable, but this was still America, land of everything being on an unwalkable highway. He’d live in the city proper, but he liked his quiet. Plus, this particular property was simply stunning. Especially the indoor swimming pool with the stained glass roof. Art Deco was still his favorite Earth decor movement he’d been present for. 

He looked out just in time to see Octavia trying to back up a U-haul truck into his narrow driveway. He sighed, she was going to take out the gates. He walked over and knocked on her window, startling her. 

“Miss Martin, I think I should take over here.” He said forcefully. Those gates were one-of-a-kind and the artist was dead. He wasn’t risking it.

“You sure?”

“I would rather be the architect of my gates’ demise than have you take it out. Get out.” 

She shrugged and instead of getting out, she clamored over into the passenger seat. He climbed in and shifted the gear back into reverse. He twisted his neck around, sighted the edge of the drive, and wound the wheel to line the truck up. He deftly backed up, twisting the wheel to nudge it ever so slightly until the truck slipped between the gates, roughly a centimeter or so on either side of clearance. Then he shut it down and jumped out, leaving the keys behind and Octavia staring at him wide-eyed.

He’d already gotten halfway up the walk to the house when he heard her. “Astarion - where did you learn to drive like that?” She seemed impressed.

Anyone else and he’d have ignored them, or worse. But when he heard his name in her voice, his knees got a little wobbly and thought went out the window.

“Darling, I’ve been driving since the automobile was invented. Given enough time, anyone can become an expert. It’s hardly worth mentioning.” But he was preening. When was the last time someone had praised anything he did? Anything at all about him but his body? He couldn't remember. It might have been her.

The memory came unbidden and hard - nearly knocking him to the ground this time.

“I can’t believe I just did that.” She’d said, a wild look in her eyes as she looked to him for what, reassurance?

“Can’t believe you did what? Darling, don’t tell me you’ve never killed anyone before.” He scoffed, certain that was a ridiculous notion.

“Well, I haven’t. I’m a bard, Astarion. Not some adventuring, magic-casting swashbuckler from a tale. Just a regular bard. I sing at taverns. In-between gigs I’m a barmaid. Sure, I’ve had to use a dagger more than a few times on a handsy patron but… They’ve always gone home alive after.” She looked a bit green. He angled his boots out of any potential splash zones.

“Oh. Well. You fight well, in that case. I’d had no idea.” He tried to recover. He still hadn’t figured this woman out. She lied through her teeth, but also gave away coin to thieving children, and apparently, he could add, hadn’t ever killed anyone to the list. 

“Yes. It’s called acting, Astarion. First trick of performing, always appear to know what you are doing.” She bowed a little, her color improving.

“Yes, well darling. All the world’s a stage, isn’t it, but the issue is the actors are shit and the playwright ought to be hung for subjecting the audience to such drivel. Perhaps worry less about acting and more about surviving, hmmm? I’d hate to lose the only person in this group I can stand for more than five minutes.”

"Oh come off it. You are always performing, except when we fight. That's when you come alive. You know, you're strangely beautiful when you dance with death, Astarion." He'd ridden the high of that praise through three days of walking through the stinking muck of the hag's swamp.

She was kneeling on the flagstone path beside him when he came back to the now, her steel blue eyes huge with concern. “Are you ok? Is this because you haven’t been getting, well, you know?” She gestured to the pinkish marks still on her neck from her interview a week ago. 

“Ah, no. In that, I’m fine.” She flashed him a skeptical look. “Truly. I’m simply beset by memories with strong emotional ties. All this,” he vaguely swirled a hand around, “everything going on in the world has my mind on edge. It will pass.” He used the firmest voice he could. He'd discovered quickly what every power in the world would surely pick up, the pandemic was a great excuse for anything seemingly out of the ordinary. 

She let it go, going back to her truck. He hemmed about what he should do. He had expected her to come with movers, or at least friends. He went inside, but he propped the door open for her. It would have to do. It wasn't like he was going to go and help her with her furniture, like some kind of porter.

He was sitting out on his balcony again, scrolling through Tiktok. He’d dismissed the app when it first came out, but it was becoming something more interesting since this worldwide shutdown had kicked in. Art was a balm for troubled times, after all. Sewing had gotten him through horrors so bad that being trapped in a pod on a Nautiloid had seemed like an escape, after all, so why not bake bread when one is worried the world might end? 

The sea shanty trend might just make him commit another murder this month, though, so he sat his phone down on his little side table and caught sight of Octavia trying to carry a dresser by herself. The woman was tiny. Fairy-like. Barely over five feet tall and delicately built. For all her wiry strength, the piece she was valiantly carrying and not dropping had to weigh more than she did. It was certainly larger. He sighed, and vaulted over the balcony, landing on the ground with practiced ease.

“Shit!” The cry rang out. She’d gone and dropped the thing.

He ran over, looking at her but she seemed fine. The dresser even seemed fine. The only thing damaged appeared to be his sod. But that would mend. He was confused by what she was upset about. 

“How did you do that?!”

“Do what, precisely?” 

“Jump off the fucking balcony and land like it was nothing?” She was a bit breathless. He wasn’t sure if it was the shock or trying to carry the bureau.

“I’m a vampire. We can do things mortals can’t, without getting hurt. Or sometimes with getting hurt, but… I heal very, very fast, my dear. Especially when I am well-fed. What are you doing with that dresser? It’s bigger than you are.”

“Moving my stuff in?” The way it was a question was so adorable and so her, that he almost leaned in to kiss the woman in front of him. He caught himself before he’d moved more than an inch closer, but was shocked that he had done it at all.

“Yes, but why are you doing it alone? I had thought you’d have movers, or at the very least friends. You do have friends, yes?”

“Your contract was quite clear that I wasn’t allowed to invite anyone onto the grounds.”

He blinked. He meant that, but obviously not while moving in or out. “Ah, I see. Well, I commend you on your commitment, but I didn’t intend for you to have to do this alone. I wish you had asked for clarification.”

“Your contract also specified that I wasn’t to ask unnecessary questions.” She intoned, a little cheekily.

“But ‘how did you do that?’ didn’t count?” He raised an eyebrow at her, certain she was playing at something now.

“It felt rather necessary.” She was definitely being cheeky now.

“So, call your friends or something. You can’t be seriously planning to move furniture up two flights of stairs by yourself.”

“I don’t have friends here. They are all back home in Boston. And 'friends' is a loose definition of what they are. Like, do your friends let you quit your job and move over a thousand miles to be with someone they are all aware is cheating on you? Because I wouldn’t do that to a friend, myself.” Her arms crossed her chest, and her lip trembled slightly. 

Gods below it was so hard not to run his thumb across it, tell her to stop before he kissed it away. No! This wasn’t her. When was his brain going to get it?! “Oh.” He managed to sound almost normal, but the burning was back in his chest. “Movers, then?”

“I took this job because I didn’t have funds for rent, Astarion. Why would I be able to hire same-day movers?” She rolled her eyes. “It’s fine. I’m good at being independent. Truly, the story of my life.” There was snark but something more serious was underneath. 

He needed to read that background check Daniel had emailed him and he’d not even opened. He knew the solicitor wouldn’t allow him to even extend an offer to someone with something truly objectionable in her past, so he hadn’t bothered. 

He huffed. He already knew what he was going to do and he was mad at himself for it. What a precedent he was setting! Astarion Ancunin did not do bloody manual labor. He picked up the dresser and carried it up to her room. Then he went back to his balcony and flipped open his contacts. 

Five strapping young men and a burly older gentleman showed up thirty minutes later, spooking Octavia once again. He texted her, letting her know he hired the movers, and for her to direct them in moving the rest of her things. After that, he decided it was a good afternoon to read a book. Except what he ended up doing was pulling out his phone and calling Daniel.

“Mr. Ancunin, it’s the middle of the night here. What do you require?” Daniel’s voice was strained and quiet.

“Tell me why you hate the perfumery purchase.”

“No.” Daniel’s voice was low and angry. “Set up a meeting. Or call me during normal hours like a normal client.” There was real fire in it for once.

“I’m not a normal client.” He spat back. “I’ll call when I damn well feel like it and you’ll answer.”

“I am not required to be your solicitor, Alistair.”

“Your firm will take back your partnership if I jump ship because of you. My holdings are almost seventy percent of what they manage. You're my solicitor unless you jump out on your own, which you won’t, because that would be a deeply risky move and make your father, senior partner at Bramston, Boleyn, and Bunduck, disinherit you for wrecking the firm your four times great grandfather started. I was their third client, back when the Boleyn name was anaethema. A few annoying phone calls are hardly more weighty than making daddy proud nor his billions of pounds of inheritance on offer. So, why do you hate it? I keep trying to figure it out, but I can’t.”

Daniel clicked his tongue, letting out a curt sigh. “It’s a stupid acquisition. You risked quite a bit to get it, in funds, government red tape, taxes, and criminal liability. And the only possible reason to buy it is to secure your bloody cologne that smells like herbs and despair. It’s stupid. Your whole portfolio is asinine. You don’t invest, you just buy whatever strikes your fancy. Also, I don’t believe for one minute that you are Astarion Ancunin and we just give you a new name every generation. It’s frankly ridiculous.” 

“See! Now this is why I call in the middle of the night. If I called you during office hours, Mr. Bramston, you’d give me some asinine answer you thought I wanted to hear. But now! Now I get the unvarnished truth, darling.” He cackled, just a little. An attractive cackle, if you will. “As a reward, I will let you in on a little secret, Daniel. I do, in fact, just buy whatever I fancy. That is the whole way I got this fortune. The true secret is that I have excellent taste, and what I fancy tends to be what other people are willing to pay good money for, once someone shows off how amazing it is. I foresee that my eau de herbs and despair is about to become highly in demand.”

Daniel hung up on him. That only made him laugh more. He loved it when his solicitors finally got to their breaking point and started being people around him rather than placid automatons. There was a little voice in his head, that sounded an awful lot like a doomed tiefling he once knew, that told him this was because they were his only real friends. And you have to be honest to be friends.

He was up with the dawn the next morning and went for a swim in his pool. He had a nice morning routine. Coffee and Twitter for fifteen minutes. No more than that because Twitter was more prone to giving him fits of despair than seeing reasonable men wearing socks with sandals. Then he headed to his pool for some relaxing laps before getting in his sauna, followed by a shower. The perfect way to start things, in his opinion.

There were, however, minor details he hadn’t thought of when he’d dreamt up his live-in donor plan. Nina was the perfect assistant because her picture, blurred and barely there, would be in the dictionary next to the word unobtrusive. Octavia was… well, obtrusive. He’d simply forgotten that having someone else in the house would not be the same as having Nina around. 

So when he’d grabbed his coffee that morning, he’d done so wearing exactly what he wore to sleep in. Nothing. Just like he did every morning. Then he’d taken it with him back to his pool. Where he’d sat at his breakfast table just like he did every morning. He'd risen from his repast, sat down his phone, and jumped into the pool, stretching out on his back and beginning his laps. He didn’t need to exercise, his physique was frozen at his moment of death, but it felt nice so he did it anyway. 

He’d been completely focused on the rhythmic endeavor right until… “Jesus Christ! Why are you naked?!” Octavia’s squeak had run through at least two octaves.

He opened his eyes and looked up to see the little woman red at least to her chest where her clothes cut off his view, and staring directly at his cock. “Well, darling, first, why are you in my pool room, and second, why are you looking if it bothers you so much? Like what you see?” He smirked at her.

“I… uh… well, I was going to make breakfast, and I was going to, um, see if you… wanted any?” Her voice was still squeaking out, and she deliberately was looking at the ceiling. “I heard the splashing so I came in to… well, ask.”

“Well, ask then. Don’t be shy. We are all adults here.” He goaded her. She just reacted so easily. It was fun to get a rise out of someone.

“I thought this job wasn’t a sex thing.” She nearly growled it, and he was taken aback.

“It’s not.” He said flatly. “But swim trunks are inherently stupid and I refuse to wear them in my own indoor pool. You may wear or not wear what you wish in the pool, as long as you are clean when you get in. I’m not adapting my life to fit someone else’s Puritan attitude. And breakfast sounds lovely. I’ll join you in the kitchen as soon as I finish up my routine. And I’ll make sure to wear pants.”

She glared and then realized her eyes were right back on his cock, and blushed even harder. She turned around and stomped off.

He stood in the river, utterly amazed that the water was rushing by him and not causing him the least bit of harm, outside of being a touch chilly. He became quickly aware of someone moving near the bank. He listened and recognized the humming little rabbit heart of the bard. He heard it pick up quickly as she broke through the screen of brush on the bank. 

“Like what you see, darling?” He turned slightly, posing in the angle he’d been taught was his most tempting, and smirked at her rising blush. 

“Sorry! I was coming to wash up, but I can come back later, Astarion. You finish up.” Her voice had been squeaky then, too. Adorable to him at the time. He hadn’t been afforded modesty in so long he had forgotten that was a thing others worried about. 

“Nonsense.” He purred, rewarded by a little hitch in her heart. “We’re all adults here, and there’s only one river. No need to take longer than necessary over something as silly as nudity. I’m sure you’ve seen plenty of bodies before, I’ve certainly seen my share. We can manage this sensibly, my little bard.” 

“Um, of course.” She’d swallowed so hard he heard it. “I’ll just go a ways down the bank, then.”

He’d stayed in his spot, laughing softly to himself as she tried to undress in the tall grass, catching her clothing on it and ending up fighting with the grass so hard she’d drawn everyone’s attention to her rather than finding any privacy.

She’d made him pancakes.

She’d made him pancakes and blackberry compote and now he was fighting tears because, well, he couldn’t remember anyone, ever, making him food unless he’d paid them to. Not once. Not in four hundred years that he’d been able to eat it.

And she’d made him pancakes with a topping that tasted just like her magical, precious blood. Sticky sweet and tart and warm. It was everything that was her. He’d made her uncomfortable and pushed her away and laughed at her, and she’d made him pancakes.

He was not going to burst into tears over pancakes.

Notes:

He's already crying and it's been one day.

She has zero idea how down bad he is for her. Or who she seems to be, anyway.

Chapter 3: Something Better than Not the Worst

Summary:

Octavia gains insight into the fact that her new employer is more dangerous than she had assumed.
Daniel makes a mistake he is going to regret.
The first bite night dredges up some memories and leads to a moment Astarion hadn't planned for.

Notes:

Any books, songs, or place names are all real.

“Are they not how you like them?”

“Hmmm?” He was focusing everything he had on keeping his eyes dry. Sadly, the Ascension did nothing for this. He could control his regeneration down to the cellular level, but not stop his autonomic nervous system. Of course, Cazador wouldn’t have bothered to negotiate not crying into the contract.

“Well, you took one bite, and then you got this really weird look, and have been staring out the window for like five minutes, and now I’m kind of wondering if maybe I switched the salt and the sugar? But I’ve tasted mine three times now and they seem ok.” Octavia’s voice warbled as she meandered with her words. He looked back over and quickly realized she was nervous. 

“I love them.” He could say that with conviction. They reminded him of her after all.

“I’m glad.” Her smile was, well it was her smile. It could light up a galaxy, and he wasn’t immune. He felt lighter than he had in centuries. “I wasn’t sure about the blackberries. They’re out of season, but they looked good, and I’ve always had a fondness for them.”

He wondered, suddenly, if his Tav had liked blackberries. In four centuries, how had he not ever found them and known what she tasted like? He’d eaten food, although only when he had to since he’d realized quickly that it did nothing for him. 

She sighed, and he looked back at her, questioningly. “You’re doing it again. Staring out the window. 

“There is much on my mind, Octavia.” He was firm.

“Sharing can lighten a load.” She offered. “I’d prefer if you call me Tav. Octavia is so… formal.”

 “I…” He took a breath, he was not going to cry. “No one’s ever made me food, before. Not… not for free, anyhow.” He couldn’t use that name. And he couldn’t tell her why. And shit. He felt the water beading up in his eyes. And there went one drop, running down his cheek. He was trembling. Why couldn’t he stop it? He turned away, biting his tongue until it bled. The pain stopped the tears. He wiped his face with his napkin.

“Astarion? I’m sorry.”

He turned around, under control. “You didn’t do anything wrong, my dear. My apologies, I may have underestimated my need to adjust to having someone living in my house. I’m a very old man. It’s not so easy to adjust.” He gave her a small, attractive smile. 

“No. I’m not sorry that I did something. I’m sorry no one has cooked for you. It’s a pretty basic way of caring for another.”

“You forget, I don’t need to eat food.” He scoffed, wanting out of the conversation.

“I did forget that, actually. Come to think about it, it’s weird you can eat food. And be in the sun. That doesn’t seem very… vampire-y.”

I sold seven thousand souls to an archdevil to change the nature of my condition, he thought about telling her. “Vampire mythology is mostly wrong.” He said instead.

“Silver? Garlic? Reflections? Rivers?”

“None of it bothers me.” 

She was silent for a moment. He looked at the table and realized the table usually didn’t have a tablecloth on it. Nor a little vase with flowers. Which means Octavia must have made these things happen. She’d put out butter on a decorative little plate and poured orange juice from the container from the store into a pretty glass carafe. This was something more than just making food.

The first day in the shadow curse had been horrific. The life-sucking atmosphere, the undead that had attacked and shot them with needles and poison, the lack of a glimmer of sunlight. It had been one day and when they found the little alcove in the rock cliff to rest in, the others had hurried to set lights up to ward off the darkness and their tents to get rest, but not Tav.

In their hurry, even his hurry, to create a safe corner to get rest in, none of them had watched what she was doing, assuming she was doing what they were. So when they noticed, at almost the same time, the feast she had laid out, there was shock. A pretty cloth with embroidered flowers was on the ground, real dishes sat out, even goblets with them. The meal was just cheese, salami, and some apples, but she’d carefully sliced and arranged the food onto each plate like art. The goblets contained only water. She’d even pulled one of her candles out and arranged it with a few apples as a centerpiece.

“Why, soldier? We could have just eaten it from our packs.” Karlach said what they were all thinking, her usual role amongst them. That and optimism.

“Food keeps your body going, but it sure tastes better when it's pretty.” Tav had smiled at them all. “Come. Tonight, we show this curse that it can fight us at every step, but it can’t keep our spirits down.”

She’d smiled at him especially, using the tadpole to invite him to a private feast in her tent. Later. 

“Remembering her?” Her voice wavered in the air, threatening to bring him back to tears. 

“Always.” He said, voice thick with emotion. “It would appear that we are done, yes?”

“Um, yeah, I guess.” She got up and started to pick up the breakfast. He waved her off.

“The cleaner will deal with that. Are you ready for the day?” He looked at her quickly. She was wearing a cotton sweater, blue jeans, and thick socks. Appropriate enough for what he had in mind. His cashmere turtleneck and leather trousers would also work.

“Oh right. The contract stated that they come between eleven and two. And yes. Unless we are going somewhere fancy?”

“Good, then. Grab a pair of shoes - something supportive, for later. I want to take you on a tour of the house.”

“Nina did that.”

“Nina showed you the main house. I’m going to show you the other parts.” 

He’d needed a distraction after pancakes.  He didn’t know what would work with Octavia, who he was not going to call Tav. So he just… tried things.

He’d walked her out to the garage and told her to pick a car, quickly learning that she didn’t know how to drive stick, leaving her with the minivan he owned solely for Nina to go and pick up large items because pickup trucks are impractical in urban areas.  He wasn’t expecting her to be so enthusiastic about a minivan, but she’d been nearly moved to tears, which he had to shut down by moving quickly.

He’d shown her the ballroom that he’d never used for hosting since he first bought the house during the Great Depression. It had beautiful marble mosaic floors and gold-inlaid stained-glass windows with peacocks on them. And while it had never held beautifully dressed crowds, it had held music. Sometimes, he did come in and play the grand piano for himself, usually Chopin. He had a great fondness for Prelude in E Minor he’d told her. 

“Would you play it for me?” She’d asked shyly. 

So he lifted the cotton cover off of one of the chaises and had her sit, and he uncovered the piano as well. He sat down, gently touching the keys. He’d learned to play in the mid-1700’s. He’d had a lover who pointed out to him that his dexterous hands would lend themselves to talent with the newly popular piano-forte, and the man had been correct. About many things, for good or for ill. 

The music flowed out of his hands. It was a simplistic piece. Perhaps that was why it held his interest for so long. A piece that mattered more for what it didn’t say than what it did. It was nice, to play for someone. To see them moved by the sounds he was creating with his hands. He hadn’t done this for decades. When he was done, he put the dust covers back, and she was quiet, other than a thank you to him for playing.

The car had seemed to make her uncomfortable, and the ballroom made her sad, for some reason he couldn’t fathom. So, he took her to his happy place in the house, the sub-basement. It was originally dug out as a storage room for vast amounts of alcohol during prohibition by the original owner, but a smuggling ring storage facility and a training facility for fighting slash torture room have remarkably similar needs of infrastructure. 

“So, as you can see, above there are LED lights embedded directly into the structural concrete beams we added to shore up the limestone that was dug into to make this place. That way, an errant dagger, arrow, or bit of viscera can’t cause an electrical fire. They’re pool lights.” He had expected her to show at least a little enthusiasm for his creativity, but she didn’t.

She looked at him with something akin to horror and swallowed. “Um, are bits of people’s insides frequent issues then, for you, in your home?”

“Not frequent as such, but it’s better to be prepared. You never know when there might be a sudden need to interrogate someone.” He dismissed her concern with a twist of his wrist. “Ah! And exactly what we came to see.” He opened up the three-inch steel doors to the storage room slash prison chamber, grabbing both his prized longbow, the one he’d had on him when he’d been blasted to Earth, and a relatively decent one he’d had made based on his magical one. He turned to look at Octavia, her mouth open and eyes wide in terror. 

“Darling, honestly, what has gotten into you? I wanted to show you the archery range I have set up down here. I thought you might enjoy having a proper practice space.”

“Astarion… why do you have a literal high-security prison cell built into your sub-basement?” Her voice quivered, which made no sense to him.

“Well, obviously, if I’m torturing someone, Octavia, I need somewhere to house them in between sessions, and I can hardly put them in a guest room.” He clucked his tongue at the thoughtlessness of the question. “It hasn’t ever seen use, but I like being prepared.”

“But you have tortured people?”

“Yes.” He turned and looked at the girl, her eyes were wide. “You seem surprised. Darling, you moved in with a vampire . Did you think I spent my time petting bunnies or somesuch?”

She was quiet after that. He set everything up for them to shoot at targets, and she acknowledged it with a nod, but no words came out. They’d shot targets in silence. He wasn’t sure what else to say. Perhaps this was her breaking point. It was the usual one. He’d find someone who intrigued him enough to make it worth trying, there’d be a night or two of passion, and then he’d be himself for a day and they’d want to run. He’d compel them to forget him, for safety, and then let them go. He’d stopped trying a very long time ago. He still had the occasional lover but he strictly kept them to a single encounter and never brought them home. 

“Why?”

Her voice came seemingly out of nowhere. He turned and she was facing him already. “Why do you torture people? And don’t tell me it’s because you are a vampire. There has to be a reason.”

“And you think you are entitled to it?” He shot out with vitriol.

“No. But I think I’m going to leave if you don’t tell me. I don’t know that I can be a part of something like that without knowing there was a damn good reason. And if you are literally feeding off of me, I’m part of it. Whether I want to be or not.”

“I’d tell you I don’t like torturing people, but that would be a lie. I’d prefer not to, but I enjoy it quite a bit when it’s necessary. That’s the vampire bit. The smell and taste of blood, killing, having power over another - the curse in me turns that into the sweetest ecstasy. But I’m a man as much as I am a monster, and as a man, I’m not fond of torture. It's messy and inelegant.”

She wasn’t reacting much, just listening intently.

“The last person I tortured was named Michael. He had made the deeply unfortunate choice to stalk my assistant, Nina. You’ve met her. Delightful woman. She wasn’t my assistant then. I’d caught him following her when I went for a walk one night. I’d gone and talked to her. I hate to interfere with some strange sex thing because I mistook what I saw, but it wasn’t an agreed-upon game, he truly was stalking her. Terrifying her. The cops refused to help because he hadn’t broken any laws, yet.”

Octavia looked angry, but it wasn’t at him, so he kept going. 

“I decided to keep an eye on her. I had nothing else going on. He came back the next day, tried to follow her to the gym. I cornered him and informed him that she was under my protection and he’d best leave her alone.”

“And he didn’t.” 

“No, he decided to be an idiot. I found him next inside her home while she slept. I suppose I could have compelled him to forget her. It would have done the same, but compelling others… I have a history that makes it quite distasteful for me to use that power. Instead, I drained him to unconsciousness and took him back to my place. A different property, as we were in California. I popped him in a chamber much like the one you are angry about and waited for him to wake up. I gave him a three-day lesson in why stalking was wrong. He hasn’t tried to reach out to her since.”

It was quiet between them for a few more minutes. 

“I’d call that a damn good reason.” Octavia finally spoke up. “Is that how Nina started working for you?”

“Yes.” He took a deep breath. “Do you like the archery range?”

“It’s very nice, Astarion.”

“Feel free to use it whenever you’d like. You can keep your bow somewhere else since you don’t like the storage room.”

“Thanks.” She reached out and laid a hand on his arm. It burned like fire on him, even through his shirt. How were her hands exactly the same, even the little turn of her thumb to the side, like a mitten? “Thank you for sharing that with me. I’m sorry I made assumptions.”

He stared at her, her eyes were wide and soft, just like hers when he’d told her about Cazador the first time. 

“You know who sent him.” 

They were in her tent, ostensibly so he could feed on her, but he had sensed she wanted to talk ever since he’d stabbed that Gur earlier in the day. He wasn’t sure how much to tell her, but he sensed an opportunity. Sex would help keep her on his side, he knew that, but perhaps with all of her bleeding heart, a sad story would help. And he had a very sad story to tell. Didn’t even have to make anything up. He didn’t want to see pity in her eyes, but he could take a little, from her, as long as the others didn’t know.

“Before the Mindflayers snatched me off the street of Baldur’s Gate, I was a slave. Held captive by Lord Cazador Szarr. He wouldn’t take my loss easily.” He sniffed. “He always did say my screams sounded the sweetest. He rarely went more than a night without wanting to hear them.”

Her eyes got huge, tears threatened in the corners, but she held it together. “This Cazador, he turned you, then?” He nodded. “Why would a monster hunter work with a monster?”

“Oh, you naive little thing. That Gur had no idea who paid him to find me. Cazador doesn’t do anything directly, no. He would have had someone else approach them, given them some story of something I’d done or trouble I was in that I needed saving from. Offered them money to cover their costs or for their troubles.”

“And you are sure it’s him?”

“Cazador knows about my past history with the Gur. It was a group of them that nearly killed me, after all, and led me to agree to him turning me to save my life. He probably found it hilarious to send one after me to drag me back to him.”

She looked around. “Well, you’re safe now. He’s dead.”

“Safe? Safe?! Darling, I will never be safe. Not until Cazador is dead.”

“We’ll protect you. I will protect you. He won’t take you back.”

“Astarion?”

“Yes? Oh, uh, thank you. So…” He wasn’t sure what to say. He hadn’t planned on this person he was hiring being with him all day. But, then, he hadn’t planned on finding a replica of her. 

“I was wondering, when are we… well, doing what I was hired to do. Is there a plan?”

“Of course. My apologies. I had hoped Thursday nights would be for feeding. I hope that is amenable to you?”

“Oh. Of course. Is there a time? Since it is Thursday?”

“Is eight too late? Most seem to want to sleep after, so perhaps it is too early?” Why was he so flustered?

“I usually go to sleep at ten, so how about nine?”

“Nine works. Are you coming to my room, then?”

“NO!” He cringed, having been far more forceful than intended. She’d stepped back and looked confused. “I’m so sorry. I… not a bedroom, please.”

She tilted her head for a moment, and a strange look flickered across her face. “Your study, then?”

He breathed out. “Yes. My study would be fine. I can always help you back, if you need it. I don’t intend to take that much though.”

She’d had errands to attend to. He didn’t ask what they were, for all he knew she was finally uncomfortable enough that she wanted to flee. He’d gotten out a training dummy and took out his aggression with his daggers for a few hours. It felt nice, not thinking, just stabbing and slashing and letting his body and his powers run free a bit. He did have one thought, he wondered if she’d be impressed if she watched him run up across the ceiling, or just horrified like she was earlier. 

He was a monster. It was right that she was horrified. He knew that. So why did it hurt when she looked at him like one?

He’d taken a quick shower. Among other things Cazador hadn’t specified in his grand contract, one of the joys of a living body he’d had returned to him was sweating. He really would have rather left that to rot in the dustbin. 

Sitting on his balcony, he was enjoying a bit of brandy and flipping through Tiktok. The algorithm was delivering a stream of videos of rather attractive young men discussing political theory. He felt rather like he had entered a cafe in the late eighteen hundreds in Vienna. He missed that. Handsome young men full of earnest ideas, hallucinogenic alcohol, and bathing having become a fad so the pressing of flesh smelled good. What a time.

His phone rang. It was Hamish, Daniel’s father. Oh, this was going to be delicious.  

“Hamish! I can’t remember the last time you called me.”

“April 12, 2019.” Hamish’s dry voice stated. “You threatened Daniel.”

“No, I pointed out to him that I’m not a regular client, and that your firm needs me far more than I need them. I rather like Daniel, Hamish. He’s amusingly sincere for a trust fund baby and a lawyer.”

There was silence. “So, you didn’t threaten him?”

“Not with bodily harm nor a good time, darling, although when he finally meets me he may be sad about the second one. I simply pointed out the realities of our peculiar arrangement. He will simply have to put up with my eccentricities, or he needs to go to another firm.”

“Ah. Thank you for clarifying.”

“Anything I can do for you, darling? I’m in a generous mood today.”

There was a pause on the other end of the line. “You should meet Daniel, soon. He… doesn’t believe.”

“And that’s becoming a problem, is it?” 

“He thinks we, the firm, would be better off if we turned you over to the authorities. Sold out our secrets on you. He came to me first. I cautioned him that messing with one such as yourself was not a good idea.”

“Oh.” He felt his stomach curl up. He had liked Daniel. Thought perhaps they might be confidantes one day. Some of his lawyers had been sort of friends over the years. The thought of having to scare him into submission was unpleasant. But he’d done far more unpleasant things out of necessity than this. “What do you hope to gain out of telling me, Hamish? You never thought much of me. Why warn me?”

“I’m hoping you won’t murder him.”

“I won’t.” He realized he might have to compel him, which made him feel even sicker. But he won’t murder the boy. “Get him on a plane. I’ll call him and let him know to pack.”

He took a moment to get in a good head space for this. He’d just soothed Octavia’s feelings about the torture room, and now this. Well, hopefully, Daniel will be cowed by the fang reveal and listen to reason. 

He went over to his shelves and picked up the leather-bound folio with its gilt edges. Not paper between those covers but parchment, the highest-quality vellum with smooth black ink detailing out the contract that governed the legal management of his trust. There was an identical copy his lawyers must have somewhere, but he liked having it around. It was his first major decision on Earth. He’d mostly reacted until that point, gotten by on petty thievery made easy from the plague. But he’d amassed quite a bit of wealth that way after a decade, and he needed it managed so he could blend in with society. 

He read the opening lines, one of the few places on Earth where his true name was written down. He’d faked his death only a year later, becoming Alaric Ancunin, son of Astarion. He’d had many names since. His identities never lasted past sixty. He couldn’t pull it off. Sixty was a stretch, he usually became a recluse for the last ‘decade’ of his life. 

He picked up his phone and pressed the little briefcase emoji in his contact list. “Hello, Mr. Ancunin.” Daniel’s voice was clear. “I was expecting a call from you.”

“You’re coming to visit, darling. Isn’t that exciting? Now, make sure to pack comfortable clothes, and at least one decent suit.”

“I am not available right now. I have other, more pressing engagements."

“This isn’t an optional social call.”

“Fine, Alistair. I’ll quit the firm.”

“Doesn’t matter at this point. That option disappeared when you tried to convince the partners to sell me out. By the way, to be clear, this is a threat. The last time we spoke was me kindly giving you information.”

“I’ll dial 999.”

“You don’t understand yet why that is a terrible idea. But you will. In the meantime, you understand that they are not going to do anything about your client asking you to come visit. So stop this nonsense.  If you behave, you’ll come here as my guest, we will have a polite conversation, perhaps play a lovely game of chess or have a dinner out somewhere with decent wine. And then you’ll go home, and you’ll be my lawyer and your life will continue, just as before.”

“And if I don’t behave? What then?”

“Darling, don’t threaten me with a good time. I do so enjoy a bit of brattery, and I’ve not gotten to indulge in quite a while.”

“I’m not talking about… My god, I’m asking what the threat is here.”

“Oh? Well, too bad. You’ll have to find that out by trying. But I strongly advise against it,”

“I’m not coming.”

He laughed at him. “You are. I’ll see you tomorrow.” He hung up.

It was seven and he needed to fill two more hours. He reluctantly put the folio back on the shelf. He’d get this one back on the leash and not have to deal with it for a few decades until they gave him a new contact. Hamish had been no trouble at all. He just accepted, or pretended to, and never raised an objection. His father on the other hand? He smiled, licking a fang and remembering exactly how much he’d had to terrorize that idiot. 

He decided he'd read a book he'd picked out the week before. He changed into silk lounge pants and a robe and lit some candles. He didn’t need them, but lights made him feel less of a hideous monster in the dark. He pulled out the book he’d had Nina pick up for him. He could just use Amazon like everyone else, but he preferred supporting local bookstores. The Starless Sea, his fingers traced the name across the cover. He’d read the author's last book, The Night Circus, and deeply enjoyed it. Another thing about Earth he preferred was the fiction. No need for such imagination on Faerun, the world was weird enough already. 

He uncorked a bottle of red, a slightly sweet beaujolais, from the cabinet by his desk, pouring a glass and settling himself on the leather sofa with several pillows to prop himself up. He cracked open the book bending the spine until it stopped trying to shut. He could imagine the strained face Gale would have made watching him, and then shut out the memory of his old friend. Too much grief there. He focused back on the book and its opening line. There is a pirate in the basement. 

A knock rapped out against the door and pulled him right out of a rather riveting scene. He was irritated for a moment until he remembered who was knocking. He snapped the book shut. “Come in, Octavia.” He sat the book down on the coffee table and looked up. She was standing in the doorway, heart racing. 

Lit by the candles, she looked so much like her his heart jumped. “Come in, darling. Here, I’ll let you have the couch.” He stood up, walking out of the way and gesturing. She finally came in the door and headed over to the couch. He picked up his empty glass and walked over to the bar cabinet. 

“Do you want a glass of your own? It’s a rather lovely Beaujolais. 2015 was a fantastic year.” 

“I think I’d rather get this over with before I lose my nerve, if you don’t mind.”

“Darling, you’ll be fine. Was it so bad the last time?”

She closed her eyes. “I suppose not. Still, it’s… it’s unpleasant to think about, even if doing it isn’t the worst. So perhaps we could speed this up.” She turned on her side, sweeping her hair out of the way of her neck. She might not want to think about it, but gods, he did. He tamped down the excitement, thinking of how to approach her. He settled for kneeling next to the couch.

“I am glad to know it wasn’t the worst. I shall endeavor to try and move the needle up to at least a mediocre experience.” 

He tried to remember what had been different with Tavriel. Other than the sex, of course, but even the first time he’d fed on her, when there was no sex, she’d seemed to enjoy it. So there must be something he had done differently. He wracked his brain for a moment, trying to remember exactly what he had done. He certainly wasn’t going to drag her outdoors by a campfire, but he could try the same angle, perhaps?

“Could we hurry this up a bit? Please?” Octavia’s voice was barely a whisper. 

“Yes, darling, sorry. I was… it doesn’t matter. Do try and relax for me, it hurts more if you’re tense.” 

He leaned over her as close as he could to the same way he had Tavriel, his hips flush against the couch rather than Octavia’s body, which was for the best, truly. Otherwise the same. He snaked his arm under her and lifted her towards him, he held her chin and tipped her head to the perfect angle to stretch the muscle thin and moved the tendons aside. He leaned down, ghosting his lips across her skin, trying to focus on finding the vein and not the softness of her skin, not the way it felt exactly like her. If he let himself, he could believe, just for a moment, that he was holding her in his arms again. That her corpse wasn’t rotting, probably a dusty skeleton by now, in that dreadful little pocket of the shadowfell. 

He put the notion aside, and angled his head, letting his memory, so often his nemesis, for once be useful. He focused and carefully but quickly sank his teeth in as shallowly as possible. Her blood was exactly the same. Sweet, tart, and heady. He didn’t want it to go too quickly, so he just let her blood pour out instead of pulling it. It was a mistake. Maintaining a tight rein on his self-control was hard enough, maintaining it for minutes versus seconds was impossible. He could feel himself pulling her closer in his arms, hear himself making desperate little sounds, but he couldn’t stop. It was just so. so. good. He went on for much too long, finally snapping out of it when he heard her moan his name. 

He pulled back. She looked fine, mostly. A little paler but not shaking, her heartbeat was strong and steady, if a little high. Her face, on the other hand. Well, she proved another way she was identical to Tavriel. The flush along her ears, the darkening of her lips, the way her head was tipped back, and her eyes were scrunched shut. He didn’t even need his enhanced senses to tell she was aroused, but those made him aware of the scent of it filling the room. 

“Um.” She said, breathing in deeply. “That was…”

He didn’t dare breathe. Or speak. Silk lounge pants had been a terrible idea and the glass desk did not provide any cover to duck behind. Out of options, he chose to scoot across the floor away so he could fold his legs up. 

She didn’t seem to notice. “It was something.”

He finally took a breath. “i'll take something. I’m glad I raised the bar above not the worst.” He could hear how strained he sounded. Gods, he hoped she would go and quickly. He felt like he might explode if he didn’t get some relief, and soon.

She sat up and paused. “Well, I’m not dizzy, so I should be fine to walk myself back.” 

“Do be careful. If you feel off, at all, sit down and yell for me.” He was keeping his voice steady with everything he had. It wasn’t much. Had he ever been this hard in his life? Not that he remembered. Not even for Tavriel, although he’d had a somewhat adversarial relationship with his sexual desires back then. He’d gotten better, mostly. But her blood, even then, had always affected him more strongly than anyone else’s ever had. He should have known this might happen. 

“I’m fine, Astarion. Really. And it was… better. Thank you for that.” She walked out the door and paused. “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight, Octavia.”

He waited until he heard her reach the bottom of the stairs to get up and walked down the hall two doors to his room, shutting the door behind him with a sigh. He threw a towel on his bedside table as he fell upon the bed, He didn’t pause anymore than that before his hands were on his body, his mind replacing them with Tavriel’s. 

He could feel her hands, soft palms and callused fingertips running over his chest. She loved to touch him there, linger on his muscles. He imagined her hot breath ghosting along the edge of his ear, over his neck. He imagined her biting his neck lightly, groaned with the thought of it. She’d have been afraid to hurt him, he’d have to comfort her, then beg. And gods he would beg. 

Then in his mind, she kept going. Her tongue, swirling around his nipples while her hands made their way down. She loved the way his hips moved, always ran her hands over them, telling him that. Telling how graceful he was. Hearing her voice in his head loud enough he could almost believe she was here. Tears ran down his face as much as his body felt ecstasy. When he ran his hand along his member at last, he imagined it was her. He’d imagine it was her mouth, but he’d never let her do that. What a fucking idiot he was back then. 

Instead, he imagined her hands, tiny and soft with those lightly roughened fingertips ghosting along him. She’d tease him like this, telling him all the things she loved about him while she did it. He loved that they were never about sex, always about things he did. The way he moved, or picked a lock that day, or said her name. He said it now.

“Tav. Oh my darling, darling, Tav.” He cried out. 

He was close now. He let his mind wander, imagined he was inside her, her heat surrounding him, pulsing, the way she sighed when he sank into her, the little pleading noises she made as she got closer to her own peak. His hand tightened around himself, a little oil from the side table helping ease the situation. He was nearly at the end, his hips rutting forward without even thinking, desperately chasing his release, wishing he was chasing hers. 

He just needed, just a little bit more. Something to get him over the edge. He tried to conjure up something, anything. 

Then he heard her voice cry out. “Astarion. Oh god, Astarion.” It was exactly what he needed. His body reacted to the sound of Tav climaxing with his name on her lips and he followed her right over the edge with a keening wail of his own.

He lay panting on the bed, a towel grabbed from his side table thrown haphazardly over himself to contain the mess. He hadn’t come that hard in some time, and certainly not to his hand. As his mind got back together, he realized something curious. He had heard his name, not imagined it. He focused, trying to hear as much as he could, and there it was. The sound of someone else panting heavily, downstairs. 

Shit. He could only hope she didn’t hear him.

Notes:

Any thoughts? I personally very much enjoyed the Astarion scares the shit out of a lawyer scene.

Oh, and I am curious what you all think happened back in Faerun? I have dropped multiple clues already. I am curious what you are picking up.

And if you want to have like a chat about it - I'm on discord with the same username.

Chapter 4: A Three Hour Tour

Summary:

Daniel comes for his visit. Astarion drags him around to keep him off balance.
He orders a dinner and Octavia joins them, where certain facts are revealed and certain individuals get to know each other better.

He was at one of his least favorite places in the known universe. O’hare airport. It did rank above the palace that was once his prison, the place where Tavriel died, and the entirety of the state of Ohio, but this was not saying much. At least he was at the private flight terminal, and not stuck in the secret tenth level of the Hells that was the pickup and dropoff loop. 

He could have sent Nina to pick up Daniel. That’s what the man was surely expecting. Nina, or a hired car. But he wanted to keep him on his toes. Also, he had to get out of the house before Octavia woke up after the disaster that was last night. But that was surely secondary, he told himself.

He had an entire day planned out for Daniel. To keep the man firmly like a prima ballerina - en pointe. He’d taken out his prized pink  1962 Corvette Convertable for today’s jaunt, as the cold doesn’t bother him, and while the air temperature might be but 48 degrees, there was no precipitation in the forecast, however, Astarion did wrap his head with his pink chiffon scarf to keep his curls intact. And match the car.

He saw the man come striding out. He stood up a bit inside the car. “Ah, Daniel! So good of you to visit.” He gave him the sultry smile he could still do in his sleep and watched the man trip. “Do be careful. Now, pop your things in the boot and get in. We have places to go.”

“The zoo?” Daniel’s bewildered voice rang out after forty-five minutes of silence. 

He’d just pulled into the Brookfield Zoo’s parking lot and pulled into the line for entry. He nodded. He’d picked this place first precisely because there was a zero percent chance Daniel would have expected it. He looked over at his guest. He was shivering in his light jacket. 

“Do you not like zoos, Daniel? I find that watching the primates is enlightening. So much about instinctual human behavior can be gleaned from them.” He purred the words, making them as sultry as he could manage. And he was very, very talented at making things sound sultry.

“You had me fly from London for over eight hours, during a global pandemic, to drag me out in winter weather in a convertible, to watch… monkeys?”

“Yes. Do keep up now, darling. We have many things to accomplish today.” He smirked as soon as he was facing away. This was fun.  

He was at the little hut. He handed the attendant his membership card. 

“Welcome back, Mr. Ancunin. Don’t forget, you have to wear a mask to go through the entrance and in the restrooms. All other buildings are closed right now, including the animal enclosures.”

“Of course, darling. We will do our part.”

She smiled at him and waved him on. He didn’t take the map. He knew this place perfectly well.

“You… have a membership? The supposedly terrifying, ancient vampire has a zoo membership?”

“I have memberships to many things, Daniel. I have a membership to the zoo, to Costco, to the Yakuza. They each provide a different service. I like supporting the things that make my life infinitely better.”

“ Costco?”

“Sometimes, darling, you need three hundred disposable paper plates.”

“When have you… my apologies. It is better I do not know these things. But I do know you aren’t involved with the Yakuza due to the human trafficking.”

“Precisely. Remember that. Staying out of my business and making my life infinitely better comes with perks.” He smirked again. “And good job passing my little two truths and a lie test.”

He hopped out of the car after parking. There were only four others in the lot. Daniel got out, still looking at him like he’d grown a second head and used it to start a duet in a karaoke bar. He set a grueling pace for their walk, staying at human speed but near the top of it. He wanted to see how hard Daniel would try and keep up. 

He’d put the face mask on as required. He wasn’t a rule-follower but it seemed harmless and there was no way for him to explain that he was immune to the virus both to contract or carry it. Daniel griped about it like a little shit to his amusement. He walked just a touch faster out of the sightline of the front gate. The place was empty of people. He got faster yet. Daniel was running now to keep up. Astarion grinned at him, fangs on full display, and watched Daniel’s breath hitch. 

“Ok darling, now let’s see you really run.” He purred and took off at a speed just manageable by a well-trained human. 

Daniel managed to match his speed so he sped up until he couldn’t. He got faster, and faster, and faster until the man nearly keeled over and sat on the ground in exhaustion. He took off running, not at his top speed but at one Daniel could still see. He ran the rest of the way to the primate house and then remembered that they lived in a building, what with the subtropical climate where they were from. A building that was closed. He ran back to Daniel, who was still trying to catch his breath, lying on the ground.

“Primate house is closed, sadly. Well, onto our next location!”

“Alistair, I need to catch my breath.”

“Well, I don’t.” He smirked again. 

“How the fuck can you be relaxed? After all that? I run three miles a day!”

“I don’t need to breathe. Of course, you know that. It’s outlined in the trust documents, among my many peculiarities.”

“You have to breathe. Humans have to breathe! I don’t know how you’ve convinced my father and a bunch of other well-educated, otherwise reasonable lawyers that you are some kind of monster, but you are just as human as everybody else.”

Astarion giggled. “I wasn’t human even before I became, as you put it, a monster. Come on, I’ll walk at your pace back to the car. Since you’ve been such a gentleman about the zoo, I’ll get you something hot to drink.” 

Daniel stared at him several times during the car ride, waiting until they were in the drive-thru at Starbucks to speak up. “Your eyes are supposed to be red, not brown.”

“I can hardly go walking around with red eyes, now can I? Far too many questions. They’re called contacts, Daniel. I’ll take them out back at my place later so you can see for yourself.” 

The hot beverage did perk up his lawyer a bit. Enough that he tried engaging in an actual conversation as he guided them to their next destination. 

“So, Alistair, what do you do most of the time? When you aren’t calling me or reading emails?”

He smiled. “I like to do many things, Daniel. I play piano, I swim, I practice combat, I research business acquisitions, I wander the streets hoping something amuses me, I go to the zoo, I read books, I fight people to the death, I seek pleasures in the arms of a lover, I learn new things. My days are as varied as the life forms of Earth.” He pauses, as they are at a red light, to glance at Daniel. “Unlike yours. Tell me, Daniel, when did you last seek solace in another?”

“That’s hardly your business.”

“Perhaps not, but it might explain why you are wound so tightly, my dear. That is my business because your mood is inserting itself into our working relationship, and not in a way that is amusing me.”

He kept driving, letting Daniel stew in discomfort. When he pulled into the Best Buy parking lot, he noted there was a line outside to wait to enter. He sighed. This would normally be where he would text Nina and get on with his day. Alas, he knew that the gift wouldn’t mean as much and there were only so many places available for him to drag Daniel to for this tete-a-tete. He hopped out of the car and put his face mask back on. 

“Best Buy? What could you possibly need to acquire from here today? Don’t you have an assistant for these sorts of things?”

“I am purchasing a gift, and it isn’t as meaningful if I send someone else to fetch it.”

They walked up behind the line, following the little piece of brightly colored tape laid out on the asphalt. They stood waiting, the line moving slowly. Daniel was trying not to shiver.

“Is it imperative the gift be purchased today?”

“No. But I wish to purchase it today, so I will be doing so. Consider this part of your lessons. Next time, check the weather and wear proper clothing. I expect my employees to be exceptional because I pay them exceptionally.”

Daniel chose to hold his tongue, keeping his chin up and waiting. How terribly British of him, Astarion thought. They were inside in less than fifteen minutes. Astarion went straight to the televisions and picked up a thirty-inch LED model. He tilted his head, trying to think through what else one needs for a television. He’d never bothered to own one.

“Daniel, do you have one of these contraptions?”

“A television?”

“Yes. Have you ever owned one?”

Daniel blinked at him. “I think everyone has, Alistair.”

“Well, I have not. Do you need any… accoutrements for it?” He was feeling exposed for his lack of knowledge. “Look, I never saw the point of the damnable things until streaming came out, and by then I had a laptop, but I make it a point to never give an unfinished gift. It's terribly gauche to gift someone an obligation.”

“Alistair, you’ve seriously, never, owned a television? Never resided in a home with a television?” Daniel was giving him the strangest look.

“I have not, as I have said. So I would appreciate your help, Daniel.” He growled but kept it low so as not to startle the others in the store.

Daniel grabbed a cart and added a soundbar, surround sound speakers, and an extra-long HDMI cable, stating that it would improve the experience. He was also strangely gentle about his recommendations, in Astarion’s opinion. This wouldn’t do. Now he was on his toes, and whilst he would certainly make the more attractive ballerina between the two of them, it wasn’t his planned role today.

Astarion hurried them to the checkout, and then they took the items out, wedging them into the Corvette. They got back in, and he realized he needed to feed the damnably fragile human when he heard a stomach growl. “The decent restaurants are all closed, I must sadly report. Is there a particular American fast food chain you’ve not had opportunity to try?”

“Not in particular. What do you enjoy, Alistair?”

He giggled. “I’m not sharing Octavia, but you're welcome to the pig’s blood in my fridge.”

“I’ve told you I don’t buy the vampire act. What food do you eat?” Daniel was in fine form. It was delightful.

“Chocolate, coffee, and wine are the only things I bother with. I usually only eat at social occasions to avoid questions. It does nothing for me, darling, and I’ve tasted most things I wish to already.”

He pulled into a McDonald’s drive-thru and picked up chicken nuggets and fries for Daniel, and a Shamrock Shake for himself. He smiled, enjoying the strange, minty beverage, and headed back home while Daniel ate quietly. 

“And where am I to be taken next, Mr. Ancunin?” Daniel sighed, staring at a chicken nugget.

“My home, darling.”

Daniel made a little sound of acknowledgment and popped the bit of food in his mouth with a displeased sound after a moment of chewing. 

When they got home, Astarion gave Daniel the guest room on the first floor. It wasn’t a true holding cell, but it did have an alarm that would alert him in his study or guest room if anyone went into or out of the doors or windows. 

He left Daniel to rest for a few hours before dinner. He went to his study and stretched out on the couch with the last glass of the wine he had opened the night before. He pulled out his phone and texted NIna to get dinner and set it up in the dining room. He went to his desk and pulled up the email with Octavia’s background check. He read the summary, just to understand what she meant by being independent was the story of her life. 

Octavia Philomeena Martin was born November 2, 1998, to Mary Lynn Scott. Ms. Scott was murdered in 2004. Octavia was placed in a private adoption to Robert and Abigail Martin of Boston, MA at four days of age. She had a mostly unremarkable childhood until the age of twelve residing in a townhome in Brookline, MA, a suburb of Boston. At the age of twelve, Octavia lost her adoptive parents to a car accident on New Year’s Eve. The Martin’s had no surviving extended family. She ended up in foster care, living in Boston and being placed with three families. The changes appeared related to the foster families own circumstances. She graduated from a public high school in May 2017 with an above average GPA. Around this time, she began going by the name Tav, and opened accounts on Snapchat and Instagram.

Astarion took a rather large swallow of wine, considering what he had just read. Gods, what a dreadful tale. He decided not to continue reading. He could always ask her if he needed to know anything. Not that he planned on talking to her more than necessary, because that would be a bad plan.

He wondered if she’d join them for dinner tonight. He’d had Nina get dinner for three, just in case. He decided to change into a better outfit for dinner. Perhaps a silk shirt, yes. Red silk, claret red. He considered a waistcoat but decided to opt for a waist corset instead. He studied himself in the mirror, remembering to take his contacts out only after glancing at his mud-brown eyes. Perhaps it was too much, but he felt pretty and he wasn't changing. He ended up spending a bit of time tidying up his curls with some pomade and dressing up his eyes with a few flecks of kohl. 

Peering at his face, he decided he’d stop in the kitchen for a nip before dinner to give himself a bit of color. He also checked his ears, made sure the stitches were still holding closed. He couldn’t heal the wounds fully or his perfect high Elven ears would simply grow back, so the only solution was leaving them raw and stitched. Luckily, he had an exceptionally high pain tolerance and no one ever pulled his ears out and looked behind them.  

He missed his proper ears. He missed hearing Elvish more. 

He shook off the melancholy and smiled at himself in the mirror. He was devastatingly handsome tonight. He usually was but it was kicked up a notch at the moment. He wondered if Daniel might make a pass at him. He didn’t fuck his lawyers, but flirting was not out of bounds, and while he didn’t miss the necessity of finding his donors, he was finding himself missing the appreciation. He smiled remembering when Karlach had once told him that he was like a cock that thought the sun came out because it missed him. He didn't know what the sun thought of him, but he missed the fiery tiefling even after all these years.

Daniel walked into the kitchen whilst he was in the midst of his pre-dinner snack. He was drinking out of a silver goblet as opposed to something clear, which was a mistake on his part. He wanted Daniel to understand, so he let a little dribble down the corner of his mouth and left it there for the lawyer to notice. Daniel stood and watched him finish. He put the goblet in the bin next to the sink for dishes and turned to the man.

“Mr. Ancunin, you have something…” The man gestured to the corner of his lip. 

Astarion swiped the little trail of blood up with his thumb, looking at it a second, and then sucking it off very, very suggestively. Daniel’s heart rate popped up a bit, and his hitched breath was delightful music to the vampire. “Hmmm. Thank you, dearest. I suppose I’ll still need a napkin, though.” He went to grab one of the linen squares from the drawer. “Help yourself, darling. The butler's pantry fridge belongs to Olivia, though, so keep out of it.”

He heard Daniel open the fridge behind him, and take in a breath. “You genuinely keep nothing but jars of blood in your refrigerator?”

“Daniel, my dear, I’m a vampire. Which you are well aware of and yet you persist with this nonsense." He shook his head sadly. "Like a cat, I have an obligate diet, although mine is blood. I cannot manufacture my own and use it to fuel my body, so I have to regularly consume it. Roughly a pint per day, although considerably more if my activity level is high. There is some chocolate in the cabinet drawer next to you, that is an indulgence of mine and one of few foods I bother keeping about. I never seem to get tired of that flavor. Don’t go overboard, Nina is bringing us a veritable feast. We’ve got a full steakhouse dinner coming from Gibsons at 7. Come to the dining room when you hear the gong. It’s just down the hall, through the glass doors.”

He only had thirty minutes to spare, so he went down to the subbasement to prepare. He pulled out his weapon racks from storage, laying out his favorite Earth daggers, a shortsword, a throwing axe, a metal javelin, and a loaded handgun. He put away the racks and the training dummy he’d demolished, leaving the space empty other than the weapons and the pile of mats. He flipped on the ventilation fans so the air would be fresh when they returned. 

The gong rang out as he climbed the stairs back up into the house. The hidden doorway slid open in the conservatory, and he closed it behind him. He walked into the dining room, doing his best seductive saunter, seeing Daniel and Octavia’s eyes follow him with a hint of a blush on their cheeks. 

The table was laid out beautifully because Nina was a goddess among assistants. The food was laid out on the china, the mahogany table dressed with a lace runner and crystal candelabra, lit. The overhead electrics were on dimly. Three wines had been opened on the sideboard to breathe and the proper crystal glasses were set at their places. He picked up the Chateau d'Yquem, and filled their glasses, leaving the bottle on the table between Octavia and Daniel to review. Then he picked up the two others, the same 2015 Beaujolais he’d drunk in his study and a Burgundy he’d yet to try, and placed them on the table.

Octavia was pale and shaking, holding her glass. “Astarion that’s a five hundred dollar bottle of wine.”

He smiled and did a little flourished bow. “I forgot, you were studying to be a sommelier, didn’t you say? Good catch. It’s rather a value year for Yquem, considering the quality. I hope you don’t mind I didn’t pull out my best stock, but I know neither of you are precisely enthusiasts.”

“No, I meant I can’t drink a hundred-dollar glass of wine. That’s… insane.”

He stopped, setting down his glass. No, Octavia was not going to be allowed to think like this. He couldn’t allow it. He barely knew her, and he knew she was exquisite, and not just because she looked, sounded like, tasted of, and smelled like her. He walked over to her and squatted down beside her chair. “Darling, you appear to be under the deeply incorrect belief that you aren’t worthy of the gift I’ve decided to bestow upon you. I cannot abide such absurdity. Allow me to tell you that you are utterly priceless, and you deserve everything that comes your way.” He held her eyes, trying to make her see it, but being careful to not accidentally compel it into her. 

Octavia blushed and looked startled. “You don’t even know me, Astarion, although I do appreciate the sentiment.”

He stood up and walked back to his seat, draping himself into the chair exactly how he knew was the most attractive. “I know you, Octavia Philomeena Martin, well enough to know that you are exquisite. I’m a man of exceptional taste, a taste-maker for centuries, and I see a rare value in you. I don’t know what circumstances or absolute idiots made you feel less than perfection, but I am certainly glad that I have been given a chance to rectify them.”

He gestured to Daniel. “Daniel, what would you roughly estimate by real net worth to be? Not just legal, the whole bloody totality of it.”

Daniel looked at him with shock and then looked pointed at Octavia. 

“Daniel, I asked a you question and I expect an answer. Octavia here is under a rather stringent NDA about speaking about anything she sees, hears, or reads here. Surely, the representative of the firm who manages my holdings has at least a rough estimate on hand?” He gave Daniel his best I-am-not-amused face.

“Legally, about one hundred billion, all but about four hundred million held by shell companies. In total, we estimate eight hundred sixty-four billion.”

Octavia’s eyes just about popped out of her head. “If that were true, you’d be the richest person on the planet. By double.”

“Darling, don’t be agog, but I am. Although the use of the word person might be questionable. So, I think I can easily afford a five hundred dollar bottle of wine, don’t you? Not even the manager of my funds questions that decision. Additionally, most expensive wine is merely expensive for the sake of costing more. This one is a bargain for the taste, truly a quality vintage. As you’d know if you’d gotten further in your sommelier training. Exquisite balance, smoothness, crisp fruits, and a soft finish. I’ve tried to buy them out a dozen or so times but the bastards refuse to let it out of the family.” He sighed dramatically.

Octavia looked at him, still in a bit of shock, not drinking the wine. “Darling, if you require an excuse, consider it a part of your furthering education in wine.” He offered, hoping it would mollify the girl into taking a sip.

She smiled at that. A small smile that grew until she finally took a sip of the wine. He watched, possibly too intently. He watched the pleasure flit across her face as he knew it would. The little flutter of her eyes, the way her pupils enlarged by enough he could catch it but few others would, the way her lips turned from petal pale pink into a slightly deeper flush. He smiled back at her, raising his glass and taking a small sip as well, then giving her a questioning look. 

“Well, darling, what’s the verdict from our sommelier-in-training?”

She blushed, this time it reached down to her collarbones, where her rather modest black shirt-dress covered in pink and purple butterflies started. “It’s exceptional. I don’t think I’ve ever tasted a wine that good before.”

He broke out into a huge smile, his real one. “There. So, would you agree with me that if one has the money, it is indeed worth it?”

Her smile turned wry and she sighed. “Yes. Although it pains me to admit it, that is one Hell of a glass of wine. I suppose the premium is justified.”

He clapped his hands together in delight. “Look, Daniel, I’m corrupting her already! Now darlings, dinner. I got everyone the dry-aged filet. There are fried zucchini with a horseradish sauce that is to die for, a side salad, steak fries, and broccolini with lemon and garlic. The true Chicago steakhouse experience. Gibsons is a classic. If you ever go when they are open, they make an exquisite dirty martini, Daniel. I believe that is your favorite cocktail, is it not?” He was playing with his lawyer. 

Daniel gave Astarion a look. “Alistair, why do you know what my favorite meal is? Even my father doesn’t know I like a dirty martini.”

“I know. He doesn’t approve of cocktails, so I assume you’ve hidden it from him. I am quite capable of doing my research, Daniel. I pay your firm because one, it’s boring and I have the money, and two, you can hire many agents, I do it myself. It does limit me to fewer targets, darling, but it provides bespoke quality.” He smirked at the young man. He was gleefully anticipating Daniel trying his hardest to kill him. He was still considering whether or not to invite Octavia, but given her reaction to his mention of viscera, he decided she probably wouldn’t appreciate it. 

They started eating, and the conversation wandered. He learned that Daniel had recently gotten out of a long-term relationship with a man that ended because his father refused to acknowledge his partner and his partner refused to be with him if he wouldn’t cut off his father. Octavia shared that she’d broken up with her last boyfriend because he was cheating on her, and she’d dated a bit since but not found anyone truly compatible. 

“What would you say you are looking for in a potential partner, my dear?” He asked her, sincerely interested purely out of curiosity. For all she appealed to him, he had a hard rule of never having sex with employees and certainly wasn't looking for a relationship. 

She looked thoughtful for a moment. “Well, I like people who care about things. I can’t stand people without passions in life. Like I have my music and sword fighting. I’m also pretty political, so they’d have to not be too far outside of my philosophy.”

He perked up. “I, too, am quite political. I wonder what your ideology consists of?”

She blushed and then swallowed. Daniel smirked, which threw him a bit off. Perhaps this was part of the background he should have read... 

“Um, well, I’m a communist. I’m fairly against the existence of billionaires. And I’m for a world of true equity and social justice.” She said, with conviction but he could see and smell the fear and discomfort.

“Ah, and you think I will hold you in some level of contempt because I, myself, am wealthy beyond measure?” He mused. “I will not. I agree. It’s obscene the amount of money I have.”

“Why not give it away, then?” She asked, pouncing on his agreement. Daniel was smirking harder.

“Darling, my money is my safety. I am a monster and not of this world. My money is how keep my identity hidden, my needs fulfilled. Giving it away isn’t like only keeping enough to live a decent life for a mortal human, for good or for ill, this is my reality. But I do give away enough that it often makes my solicitors quite angry, mainly because they make a percentage of it each year. I also pay all of my employees exceptionally. I avoid businesses that do things I abhor like utilize slave wages to increase profits or support human trafficking.”

She looked at him in shock. “Seriously?”

He looked over at Daniel. “Daniel, why don’t you tell her some of the activities I have undertaken in the past year that have pissed you right off?”

His lawyer started reciting. “You spent almost a million dollars to smuggle in the equipment to make insulin to a hospital in Palestine that the Israelis were blocking legally. You bought fourteen politicians in Texas to block an antigay rights law. You spent almost a hundred thousand dollars to send hand-made tiny doll hands from artisan crafters to Donald Trump’s various hotel rooms during his campaign tour.”

At this, Octavia breaks out into vicious, snorty cackles that she looks horrified to be making but could not seem to stop.

Daniel raised his voice and continued, maintaining a very smooth face. Astarion made a point to not look at the poor girl and make her feel worse while she fought for control. “You paid over twenty thousand dollars in fines to the State of Texas for breaking a profanity law by displaying a billboard that said, “As for my family, we shall serve cunt” made to look like a bible verse, across the highway from a billboard that said, “Abortion is murder.” 

Octavia had almost quieted herself and nearly fell out of her chair after this incited a fresh wave.

“They put it directly across from one of my properties. I cannot abide such ugly displays near my beautiful things. I did try to pretend that I had started a church where that was, in fact, a bible verse, but the bloody judge threw it out.” He pouted. He could have compelled him but it was utterly unnecessary. He had the money. It was merely the principle of the thing that irritated him still.

Daniel continued in his perfectly crisp, upper-crust voice. “You pissed off three separate international criminal organizations when you murdered the emissaries they sent to you looking for your assistance.”

Octavia’s laughter stopped, and she looked at Daniel, looking for something in his eyes she clearly didn’t find. “Astarion, you straight up simply murdered people?”

“They were all knowingly working for human traffickers, my sweet Octavia. I have no patience for the existence of such filth. Since the governments of Earth and their agents refuse to stop it, I have made it my business to excise it wherever I find it. Also, I have made my feelings quite clear with such people. They knew what they were risking.”

“So… that’s why you have a torture room in the basement.” Her voice was quiet and she looked quite shaken. 

Daniel choked. “You showed her the torture room?! And would you quit supporting his delusions, please, Ms. Martin? His name is Alistair Ancunin the second.”

He sighed. “Daniel, first, my name is Astarion Ancunin. Alistair is a figment created by your father, quite a bit of coin, and one judge I compelled a bit when it became absolutely necessary. Also, of course, I showed her! This is her residence, she has a right to know what is present! In addition, it is where I store my good weapons and we were doing a spot of archery practice. Now, are we going to enjoy this dinner or ask further questions about my philosophies?”

They ate the dinner and after several bites, conversation resumed. Mainly about the food. Astarion told them the history of the steakhouse, exaggerating only a tiny bit, telling stories of his activities in the area during prohibition, which Daniel rolled his eyes at his tales but he noted Octavia was hanging upon every word he spoke. He also noted the very appreciative glances she was making at him. There was something about being looked at in that way by someone who knew who he was, even if she was only getting to know him, she knew more about him now than anyone he had taken as a lover for a century. Possibly longer, he mused to himself, as he tried to remember when last he’d tried to have a real relationship.

Truly, the only objection he had to Ms. Octavia Martin was her clothes. Butterflies?!

Notes:

I promise I am going to also work on other stories but this one has my whole brain at the moment. Ugh. I knew I should have held off.... the curse of good ideas.

Daniel is a very fun character to play off of Astarion. And I adored getting to decide what Astarion was up to in 2019 that would be pissing off his lawyer and financial planner.

Chapter 5: Kill Me if you Can

Summary:

Daniel realizes the truth and has a small breakdown.

Octavia does a very impulsive thing.

And an old acquaintance appears with an ominous message.

Dinner went better than he had hoped and he sent Daniel to his room to put on proper fighting clothes. 

“Octavia, you are more than welcome to join us, but I plan to ask Daniel to do his best to kill me. It might be enlightening for you, but this is between the two of us and I would understand if you’d rather have a quiet night in.”

The girl was standing in that ridiculous black dress covered in a swarm of embroidered butterflies, looking at him like he had lost his last marble. Everything was wrong about that dress, it hit her in all the wrong places, was entirely the wrong shape for her, the quality was terrible, and butterflies.

“Astarion, please, as carefully as you can, explain what you mean by asking Daniel to do his best to kill you?” She spoke slowly and enunciated carefully, losing that delightful soft Bostonian accent that usually peppered her vowel sounds, one of the few differences between her and his Tav.

“I have laid out every weapon I believe that Daniel possesses the basic skills to utilize effectively. I am going to stand twenty paces away from him, blindfold myself, and let him attempt to kill me until he gives up.”

“Excuse me, but what the fuck, Astarion! What if he is able to?”

He giggled. That was adorable. “Oh, darling, you have no idea why that is so funny, but come along and you will see. Daniel might get a hit or two in. It will certainly hurt but there is no chance of me dying.”

“You know what? I am going to come along. So someone can save your ridiculous ass. I need this job far too much for you to die so recklessly before I have savings again.” She had that gorgeous accent back, it got stronger as she got frustrated, he realized. It made him want to push her buttons. He could just imagine what she would sound like protesting… He took a breath and pushed that thought away.

“So, yelling at you, is that like a thing for you?” She questioned, seemingly off-balance.

He blinked. How did she know what he was thinking? “Pardon me for enjoying that delicious accent of yours. You lean into it delightfully when you get frustrated.” He purred it at her and was rewarded with a little skip of her heart that went straight to his pelvis. He turned and headed toward the conservatory, where Daniel was to meet him. “Coming, darling?” He purred at her over his shoulder and was rewarded with a deep blush. 

He met Daniel, who was now wearing sweatpants and an undershirt, in the conservatory. Daniel stared at him. “Why are you still wearing your dinner ensemble?”

“Don’t worry, I will not let you ruin my vintage Valentino. Come now, Daniel. Get excited! Haven’t you always wanted a round of fisticuffs with my face?”

The lawyer’s mouth twitched in the corner, but otherwise he didn’t react. 

The three of them walked down the stairs. He flipped off the loud ventilation fans when they went into the subbasement. It smelled much better now. He walked over to a free-standing workout bar and began deftly unlacing his corset, loosening it and shrugging it up over his head. Then he slipped off the blouse and laid both pieces onto the bar. 

He sauntered over to where Daniel was staring at the weapons in disbelief, turned, and counted out ten paces as he walked. 

He smirked as he turned around, then pulled a red, silk scarf out of his pocket. He tied it around his face into a blindfold and then did a flourished bow. “Now Daniel, the rules are simple. You tell me when we are starting, and then all I am allowed to do is dodge. I cannot fight back nor retaliate in any way. I want you to try, within your ability, to kill me.”

“If either of you die, I don’t know how, but I will make you both pay for this insanity.” Octavia said, annoyed. 

“I’m ready, Mr. Ancunin. I truly hope you aren’t drunker than I thought. We are starting.” Daniel hesitated, looking at the weapons. He’d been to an axe throwing bar once, he wasn’t terrible. He picked it up, hefted it, and despite his feelings, hurled it at center mass. It went straight for Astarion’s sternum, and then the vampire turned to red mist, the axe went through, and the mist returned to solid form. “How did you…?”

“A good opening gambit, my man. Do try again.”

Daniel had reached his breaking point. First, the middle of the night calls, the smirking, the casual crimes, the refusal to listen to advice, then forcing him to fly here, driving him around in a convertible in the cold to go to the zoo of all places… and now this. He was done. He picked up the Glock. He’d never fired a gun before, but he’d seen it enough in movies he was able to click off the safety. He tried to aim and then fired.

Daniel’s aim was true. It hit him in the chest. In the heart, even, but luckily bullets aren’t made of wood. It merely tore a hole through Astarion's body, producing a fine spray of sanguine red behind him and a copious outpouring of it down his front. He hissed, but the hole closed back up shortly and he was right as rain in about thirty seconds. 

“No. That cannot…” Daniel dropped the gun and ran over, running his hand over Astarion’s chest without thinking. “I shot you. The blood is all over. But you just stood there like nothing was wrong, and now it's healed? How are you doing this?”

He pulled his lips back. “Darling. Fangs, red eyes, the whitest of white skin, the bluish circles under my eyes, I drink blood, I turn into mist, I regenerate nearly instantaneously. What do you get?”

“You’re a vampire.”

“I’m a vampire.”

“An actual, breathing, not-a-myth-oh-Jesus-Christ-and-all-that's -holy-you’re... an actual bloody - oh shit you actually drink people’s blood- vampire!”

“Now you’re getting it, Daniel! Well done.” He praised the man with a smirk.

“You’re a… I work for… You’ve really been…” Daniel's voice trailed off, he got a bit green and Astarion directed the man to the toilet in the prison cell slash storage room. 

He bent over to pick up the various weapons. The gun first, so he could click the safety and empty out all the bullets. As he was making the weapon safe for storage, he heard Octavia give a sharp intake of breath and instantly knew what had happened. 

“Sorry, dear, I’ll have the shirt back on in a bit, as soon as I clean up. I know the things are dreadful to look at.”

“No, no. I’m sorry. That was awful of me.”

He shrugged. “Honestly, darling, that was probably the most mild reaction they’ve ever gotten. It’s a devil’s contract, writ upon my skin by the sadist who turned me into a vampire.”

She looked horrified. 

He’d been so lost in his thoughts about what he’d done, to her, to himself, and how he felt about waking up to her, that he’d forgotten about the scars as he let the sun fall over his skin in the morning ritual he had adopted. But he realized when he heard her intake of breath that she’d seen them.

He stretched more, no use hiding them now. He turned and looked at her, trying to maintain a haughtiness he didn’t feel. “I suppose you’ll want to know about them - my scars. Most do.”

“Will they put me or our group in danger? If not, I only want to know what you desire to share with me.”

Her earnestness dug the pit of guilt he’d created last night that much deeper. He owed her… something. Something to make up for how he’d used her when she had tried so, so hard to make sure he wanted their coupling as much as she did. Like she could sense something was wrong, could sense his act.

“They might. My… master, Cazador, the vampire who turned me, carved them on my back. Said it was a poem. He liked to use his slaves as canvas. That one he decided would scar.”

“He wrote his poetry in infernal?” Her voice made clear her disbelief.

He choked. Infernal. What had the bastard done to him? “I… He was an utterly insane sadist. Who knows? He carved this one in a single night. He made a lot of revisions as he went.” He looked around, throwing his shirt on like a shield. “We should get back - before they come looking for you with pitchforks.”

She nodded, her eyes telling him more than her words that what she felt wasn’t pity or disgust, but rage.

“I’ve grown used to them. It reminds me of what I am capable of because when I see it now, I remember him dying, screaming, by my hand.” He smiled and bowed. “I like being reminded of what a magnificent bastard I am.” And to never forget the terrible price that I paid to do it. He grabbed a towel and cleaned the blood off his chest, tossing it in a bin by the stairs, then deftly slid his shirt back on. “As promised, m’lady.” 

Daniel came staggering back out, still looking pale and green. “Are you able to climb back up, or are you too bilious and sapless to make it yet?”

“I request your leave to return home, Mr. Ancunin.” Daniel said, shaking.

“Daniel, you are perfectly safe here. Your father has stayed at my home dozens of times. I wouldn’t harm a hair upon your head. I just needed you to understand, and now you do.” He said it softly. “Would you prefer if I went up alone, and Octavia escorted you up the stairs tonight?”

Daniel thought about it, Astarion was certain he wanted to say yes, but that British schooling stuck. “No. I am no coward. If I can take your money, Al… Astarion, then I can certainly handle your company.” 

Astarion decided not to tell him he should enlighten his visage as to his feelings. “Thank you, Daniel. I am honored that you would extend me your trust. I shall endeavor to be worthy of it.”

They’d climbed the stairs. He stayed in front so Daniel could see him. He knew what it was like to want to keep an eye on the person you were terrified of. He bid Daniel adieu, and the man left, still looking lost.

“Octavia, a moment?” He said softly as she went to head up the staircase, her hand lightly laying upon the banister. He briefly remembered that hand the same way on his arm, how it had felt, but he shook off the memory. He refused to be jealous of a staircase, gods below, what was he becoming since she'd appeared?

“Hmm? Did you need something, Astarion?” She turned back to look at him.

“I have. Well, I have something for you in the car. Would you mind coming to the garage with me?” He heard the plead in his tone so he quickly added. “It’s perfectly fine if you would rather not.”

She let go of the banister and walked back to him. “I’m not afraid of you.” Why did she say that so firmly? He wasn’t worried about that. “Lead the way, I’m still not entirely certain how to get there, to be honest.” She chuckled. “This house is a bit twisty. Or perhaps the issue is I’ve never lived anywhere with more than eight hundred square feet.”

“The main hall, I call it the gallery because it’s full of paintings, runs from the entry to the back veranda. Turn right on the veranda to go to the carriage entrance, and the garage is on the other side. See? No longer so confusing.” He held out a hand and she gave him hers. He led her back, trying not to think of how her hand in his felt perfect. Correct. 

They’d just watched Lae’zel be nearly consumed by the crazy device that was supposed to save them. And then Lae’zel’s people had turned on them. They’d fought the first wave that awaited them, but now they had to escape. He turned to check on Tav, her heart sounded strange. He looked at her but she seemingly had no injuries. He was confused until he saw her eyes. Her eyes, he understood. Tav was having a panic attack. 

They didn’t have time. He couldn’t keep her safe like this, and if she was lost, the others would surely kick him out. He didn’t know what to do. His usual response to seeing another panic would be to make fun of them, as it was always his siblings. He ran through everything he could think of, but all he could think was what Tav had done for him after the Gur had found them.

So he quietly walked over and took off his glove, he threaded his hand into hers. His cool fingers between her perfect, warm ones. He heard her breathing start to slow a little, that was why he felt so much better. Right? What else could it be? Why else did he suddenly feel so… right?

Gods, he had been a fucking idiot. They’d fucked in ways that would have made many a whore blush at that point, and he’d been ashamed of holding her hand.

He looked down at Octavia’s hand, so confused. Did this feel good because it felt like Tav? Or was it because he had these feelings for Octavia? He shouldn’t have those feelings for his employee, what in the sweet Hells was wrong with him? He kept walking, going to the garage. Why was he buying her gifts? What was he even doing? 

This wasn’t Tav. It couldn’t be Tav. She was stuck in the Shadowfell. That bitch Shar wouldn’t let her soul go, that shriveled jerky of a god Jergal had told him that, close to screamed it at him in the thing's dry, raspy voice when he’d dumped a thousand gold coins on the thing’s feet, begging him to try again to bring her back. She could not have reincarnated here. He swallowed, they were already in the garage. He walked over to the convertible and opened the boot.

“Um, you bought me a television?” Her voice squeaked a little, surprised. 

“Well, I noticed when you moved in that you did not have one. I do not have any here, and I did promise all modern amenities would be provided by me, so… I am fairly certain they are an expectation, yes? I apologize, I’ve never had one. Daniel helped me with the accessories, I hope everything you require is present.” He was talking fast. His stupid, fake-alive heart was racing. It never did that. He felt… dizzy? His mouth was dry.

Her hand lay upon his arm, exactly like he’d imagined when she’d been touching that bloody banister. It was better than his imagination. How was such a simple gesture making him weak in the knees? He swallowed, desperate for some measure of control, a smidgen of dignity. 

She took pity on him. “Astarion, it’s perfect. Truly. You are incredibly thoughtful. Would you mind helping me get it inside? It’s a bit much for me, on my own. I’m not sure it will survive me dropping it.” She laughed and he felt somewhat better.  

“Damn myself for setting such a precedent. I’ll have you know, not many have ever gotten Astarion Ancunin to stoop to manual labor.” He said airily as he picked up the television in its box and stacked the other boxes on top of it, taking them all himself. 

She looked at him like she was going to say something, but thought better of it and instead walked back towards the house. He followed her. They said nothing but it was a comfortable silence, like being in a library on a rainy day with a good book. They got to her room and he stood in the hallway, not wanting to enter without being invited, but she had gone in and not invited him. 

“Oh!” She realized what had happened. “Please, come in.”

He entered, taking in the space. It had previously been an empty room, with emerald green painted walls and a high ceiling with a fan. She’d filled it with a four-post bed and a fantasy chiffon canopy with little tiny lights shaped like toadstools wrapped about. Hand-painted canvases of all kinds of things lined the walls now: people, fruit, shoes, trash, a dumpster on fire. In the corner, a guitar case covered in stickers stood propped against the wall. The dresser took up much of the rest of the space, and she had a stack of books piled on one end. A bedside table had a phone, headphones, and a mess of cords. He gingerly set the TV on the empty side of the dresser top, placing the accessories on the bed. 

He felt ill at ease, so he shifted his posture to look poised. Some things last forever. “Goodnight, then, Octavia.” He started to turn, but he caught her swallow, so he stopped.

“Um, I don’t suppose you know how to set up a television?” She looked up with a little plea in her voice. He wasn’t sure what she wanted from him. 

“Darling, I am certain I have less of an idea than you do.” He laughed a little, but he saw her face flicker a bit of sadness and everything in him told him to fix it. “I suppose we could try and solve it together?”

She broke into a grin. That grin. Her grin. The one that made a warlock feel righteous and a dying tiefling believe she could live. The one that made a broken vampire spawn feel alive, for a moment. He could never deny anything that created that much joy.

“Alright. Well, one useful bit of being a monster.” He focused and let out his claws on his right hand. “One is never in need of a utility knife.” He ripped through the tape holding the boxes closed quickly. He placed his hand down, about to focus on retracting his claws back to his normal, polished nails.

There was a hand over his hand suddenly. He looked up slowly from the box to her face. They were mere inches apart. He could feel her breath on his skin. Hot and light. “You are not a monster. I’ve known monsters, Astarion Ancunin. They don’t care that you can’t move your own things, eat pancakes they get nothing out of to make you feel better, or apologize when they accidentally scare you because you weren’t prepared for the unknown.”

He was getting lost in those stormy eyes. He knew, knew , it wasn’t her, so why did his everything tell him it was? How did she still know exactly how to make him feel things he didn’t want to anymore? He stared at the shape of her lips and tried to distract himself with all of the reasons that Octavia Martin simply could not be Tavriel of Rivington. 

1. Tavriel was almost an elf, Octavia is human.
2. Tavriel died in the Shadowfell and Shar wouldn’t let her go, Octavia is not in the Shadowfell.
3. Tavriel could do magic, Octavia just plays music and sings.
4. Tavriel…

He was kissing her. When had that happened? Gods, it felt … it felt like home. It felt like curling up under a blanket and making fun of a silly friend, it felt like the first snowflakes each year, it felt like hot chocolate with chilis, it felt like fireworks but soft and whisper-quiet. It felt like the comfortable silence of a library, with the perfect person on the end of the chaise, and you shoot each other knowing looks over the covers of your books because you are reading the same thing and laughing at the same thing they did last chapter while your feet align so that some small part of you is touching.

She pulled away first, her eyes closed. He was glad, there was a stubborn tear in the corner of his eye. He blinked, and it finally flung free just as she opened hers with a flutter. He was still in shock, a bit, that he had done that. It was a stupid, impulsive thing to do.

She smiled a tiny bit. “I’m sorry. I… you said… I should have given you a chance to say no.”

“I was quite capable, but, there’s a reason I should have. We should talk.” He realized he wasn’t in a place to do it tonight. “I think I need to tell you. About her. ”

“You’re long dead friend?”

He nodded. “Her name was Tavriel. Tav. She was… more than a friend. She was the first person I ever truly cared about. Perhaps would have been something more, if we’d had time.”

Her voice cracked as she spoke. “Her name… was Tav?”

He held it together, somehow, a minute longer. “Perhaps now you understand my reluctance to use your chosen moniker.” He took a deep breath. “Goodnight, Octavia. We will talk anon. I promise.”

He turned, not waiting even a moment so he couldn’t lose his nerve. She said something after him, but all he heard was the sound of her voice as he walked, nay, fled, to his room to ponder. When he walked through his door, he nearly collapsed in shock, as amidst a scent of sweet cherries and sulphur, an uncomfortably familiar voice purred from the darkness within, "So, Ascendant, we meet again. This time, I wonder, if I am the fox or the cat in this tale."

Notes:

Oh dear... nope. Why wouldn't the best at plans boi be surprised he did an impulsive thing in the face of emotions that he doesn't want to think about? That is totally out of character for him.

Chapter 6: Am I Even Me?

Summary:

Astarion learns the truth about Octavia's origins and the fact that he's not the first person from Toril to make it to Earth.

Octavia has an identity crisis.

Notes:

I cannot tell you how long I struggled to find the song Octavia is singing in the kitchen in this chapter.
I did try to find one that was chronologically correct - after going through two hundred songs, tapping a friend on Discord, and rewriting like six times, I went back to the first song I picked.

So when that scene happens, pop this into youtube.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5MfeuuQkfLY&list=RD5MfeuuQkfLY&start_radio=1

Astarion flipped on the electric lights, revealing the human-ish version of the devil Raphael, sitting on the leather wingback chair in the far corner of the bedroom, next to the fireplace. 

‘“Devil, to what do I owe the displeasure of your presence?” He walked in and shut the door behind him, then casually sauntered across and stood, leaning against the wall. Unfortunately, while he was a bit tall for an Elf at five foot eight, the cambion Raphael was almost seven feet tall. Even with him standing and Raphael sitting, they were mostly at eye level.

“Now, now, is that how we talk to those who brought us the greatest of gifts?” Raphael smiled, and Astarion had to suppress a shiver. 

“Octavia.” He growled. “How? Why?”

“Oh come now, not even a thank you? I’ve only given you the one thing you truly desired.” The devil purred. “Surely, I’ve earned a little gratitude.”

“Not until I know what you’ve done and what you want.” 

Astarion might not be the smartest man, but he wasn’t stupid. If Raphael was involved, Octavia was almost certainly a trap of some kind, and he knew Raphael doesn’t give gifts, he makes deals. If he gave him something freely without a contract, what he wants must be terrible, indeed. Or, the devil is desperate.

The cambion clicked his tongue. “You were supposed to be interesting.” He hissed. “When I learned about what my father had given Cazador, my only thought was that boring, predictable sadist, was going to waste all that power on boring, predictably terrible things. I still gave it no mind, until my father bragged that your former Master was going to turn the Sword Coast into a new Borovia, drown the land in darkness.”

“And Mephistopholes wanted that?”

“That sort of darkness would have driven every wizard and sorcerer right to him for help. He would have gotten many powerful souls. Devils want souls, as currency, yes, but the power and value of them varies greatly, and some are worth more than others. The seven thousand you delivered with the Rite are mostly all soul coins, the cheapest kind. A few were worth making lemures. Dalyria, for instance, and she's doing well for herself in the Hells, for your information.”

Astarion smiled at that. Of all his siblings, Dal had been the only one he had something akin to a good relationship with. Although it was very transactional, it allowed them to have something that kept them sane. He found he was glad she was not merely suffering for eternity.

“But, back to you, Astarion Ancunin. The only reason I told you about the Rite was because darkness drenching the Sword Coast would have ruined all my plans. You were far too much of a hedonist to want to block out the sun. Not only that, but you are impulsive, emotionally-driven, and have a sense of humor. You would have been fun to watch wield all that power. And then you simply disappeared.”

“Sorry, I was transported against my will, darling.” He folded his arms across his chest. 

“I realized. You know, none of them wanted to bring you back? I offered all the survivors deals to bring you back, and not one of them bit.” Raphael smirked. 

“Good. Then my erstwhile associates were smarter than I thought.” It stung, but he understood. He had been barely in control of the power and mad with grief. He’d been a complete dick to all of them, scaring them frequently. “Back to the present, why are you here, Raphael?”

“My father was… mildly displeased when you took the Rite from Cazador. It disrupted several schemes of his. When you disappeared from your plane of existence and he could no longer find you, that displeasure grew into fury.”

“And he found out you are the one who told me about the Rite.”

Raphael inclined his head slightly. “I was ordered to find you.”

“Took you long enough.”

“Oh, no, I found you in months. Getting here took a bit longer. This plane has its own Hell plane that doesn’t connect to mine. I had to travel the feywilds to find you, and that meant getting an Archfey to deal with me. But I was fascinated. A vampire ascendent, on a world with only humans and no Weave? I expected you to start a reign of terror. To delight my senses by twisting these people into a symphony of pain.”

Astarion raised an eyebrow. “So, it would appear that I continue to be a disappointment. I’m still trying to understand why you are here.”

“To offer you a deal, of course.” Raphael spread his hands. “I have given you your darling Octavia. A perfect replica of your precious, precious Tav. Of course, just like Tav, she’s a fragile little mortal, one with a lifespan of perhaps sixty to eighty more years. A blink of an eye for you.”  Raphael chuckled darkly. “You could turn her, of course. Make her a spawn, and she’ll be your slave, never your equal. Make her a bride and she’ll likely go mad. Give her the freedom of a true vampire and the dark desires will warp that precious, bleeding heart you so adore.”

“But you offer a solution? Assuming I want to keep her around at all. She looks like Tav, but she is not her. What’s the deal you are offering, Raphael? I have had a very long day.” He tried to act like he didn't care.

The devil smiled. “I’ve left the contract on offer on your study desk, translated fully and accurately into Elvish. Read it, study it, and then throw the stone I’ve left on it into a fire when you are ready to talk.” Raphael stood up. “And you will want to talk, my dear Ascendant.”

The devil disappeared leaving behind that wave of sulphur and cherries. Astarion turned on the fan and cracked a window. The stench burned his sensitive nose, and unless it got below freezing, the cold didn’t bother him. He decided to go take a shower before bed, but instead of walking to the bathroom, his feet took him to the study, and his body sat down at his desk, and his fingers unrolled the long vellum scroll that was left there, while his eyes read it.

Well, now he knew the truth about Octavia, and Raphael was right. He wanted what the devil was offering. He wanted it bad enough that he might consider another dealing with the Hells. He was already destined for them, thanks to the Rite, anyhow.

Octavia was Tavriel. Raphael scoured the Earth for a girl with an uncanny resemblance to the woman he loved and engineered her death. That accident that had killed her adoptive parents wasn’t an accident and had also killed Octavia. At the moment of death. Raphael slipped Tav’s soul, with her memories repressed, purchased somehow from Shar, into the body. Doctors revived Octavia after that, and diagnosed her with amnesia, as she remembered nothing before the accident. 

Raphael was offering to give Tav her memories back and extend her life significantly, but the price… 

Astarion’s soul already belonged to the Hells. He hadn’t sold it to Mephistopheles, but the very act of sacrificing all of those people made him destined for it. When he was gone, someone would own him, the one thing that kept him from chasing true death after he’d ended up here. However, once he ended up there, the devils would fight for ownership. Raphael wanted it but the cambion knew he couldn’t win against Mephistopheles' claim in a fair fight. 

The vampire wasn’t worried about what Raphael would do with him, in fact, he supposed it would be better than what awaited him with most. What concerned Astarion was that Raphael was likely to try and speed up the timing of that ownership by getting him killed, as difficult as doing that would be.  

The contract was long and detailed. Astarion knew that his brain was not the best at a variety of things. But he was very, very good at contracts. And clearly, Raphael worked to use that in his favor, putting subclause after subclause. Trying to hide whatever his goal was in the fine print and vague wording. Nevertheless, he pulled out his laptop and began copying the scroll, making comments and edits to the document he created. He wondered just how badly Raphael wanted him, how much he could twist this to suit him without the devil fighting back. He supposed he was going to find out.

He reluctantly forced himself to trance for a few hours, waking up almost dizzy with thoughts. He promised Octavia he would talk to her today. Was he going to tell her about this? What he now knew about her? The thoughts swirled in his head as he showered. He debated ignoring his morning routine but he needed the reassurance of normalcy. However, he grabbed his silk robe in deference of there being two other people in his house. 

Sitting in his pool room with a strong cup of coffee and reading Twitter felt oddly soothing. Not the part where it seemed like those running the country in which he currently resided were all idiots who’d never bothered to read a single book about handling a plague, but the part where his morning was status quo. Next, he swam laps until his mind was blank and all he felt was the pleasant mild burn of exerting his muscles. 

He had just climbed out of the pool and was wrapping a towel around his waist when he heard the door to the house opening. He turned around, fully expecting it to be Olivia, but instead was surprised to see a tall, middle-aged woman with caramel skin, dyed black hair in a pixie cut, and a studded leather motorcycle jacket staring at him aggressively through oversized sunglasses.

“Good morning, Astarion.”

“What a delightful surprise, Nina. To what do I owe the honor of your seen presence?” He smiled at her playfully.

“Cut the shit. I know you prefer me never to directly interact with you.” She pulled off the sunglasses, tucking them into the neck of her black t-shirt. 

“True, but I don’t abhor your presence, darling.”

“I’m here to drive Daniel back to the airport. But I wanted to talk with you in person, while I was here. I’m thinking about retiring.” 

“You’re barely fifty, my dear. Seems a bit premature.”

“I think I’d like to be out in two or three years. But, and I mean this lovingly, you are an exceedingly difficult man to work for and you wouldn’t survive without an assistant for a month. You need to give me someone to train.”

He chuckled. “I’ve always appreciated the way you speak nothing but honesty refreshing.”

“That’s why I stayed working for you. Well, that and you pay better than anyone, ever. But seriously. Do you want me to pick a replacement, or are you going to find me someone? I need at least a year to teach them everything so it’s a seamless change for you. It isn’t going to be easy to find the right candidate.”

“I truly will miss you, Nina. I suppose we ought both look. Double our chances of success, if you will.”

“This Octavia girl, any chance you want to keep her on long-term?”

He almost hissed and then he realized Nina meant as an employee. “Ah, that’s… complicated. But no, I don’t think she would make a good assistant.”

Nina shrugged, her short, spiky black hair fluttering from the movement. “Well, look for someone.”

“I will. Did you have a house in mind?” He mused. She looked at him questioningly. “I can certainly just give you the money for one, but I wondered if you wanted one of my mine.”

“You were serious? I thought the house thing was a joke.”

“I don’t joke about compensation. You should get to retire someplace comfortable.”

“You’ve paid me enough over the years to do whatever I want.”

“Let’s call it me lending you a property then. It goes back to me when you are gone, but you can live in whichever one you want. I’ll give you life-tenancy. This one, Akhanmyr, and Daoinedun are off limits, but any of the others are open for the taking. You have access to the portfolio. Pick one.”

“Easy. I want Hyaline.”

“You want to retire to a remote part of the Swedish coastline? You’ll love the view of Gullmarn Fjord, but that’s possibly one of my smallest properties and doesn’t even have central heating, let alone wifi, Nina. Are you prepared to have to chop firewood in old age?”

“It’s just right for one person. Plus, to live on the edge of a cliff, between a primeval pine forest and the ragged river of the sea, watching the Northern lights overhead? Most people would kill for that kind of beauty, Astarion. I’ve talked enough - go get your pomade in. Your curls are starting to frizz.”

“Truly, that would be a crime.” He smiled wryly. “The cottage is yours. Get it updated, will you? Hire someone who understands good historic preservation, though. And put a sauna in. I wouldn’t want you to suffer without basic necessities.”

Nina put her sunglasses back on. “Love you, too, Astarion. You need me to do anything after I drop off Daniel at the airport?”

“No, darling. You enjoy the day. I’ll manage for once. I think you’ve more than earned it.”

Nina left without saying anything else. His gut sunk. Time moved so much faster than he realized sometimes. He hadn’t even pieced together how long Nina had worked for him. She’d been scarcely older than Octavia when he’d first held her while she sobbed at realizing that she was free from her tormentor. 

He had to get this deal to work with Raphael. He couldn’t stomach the thought of losing Tav so soon again.

He got dressed and came back down, headed to the kitchen to warm up breakfast. He wanted to have this talk with Octavia on a full stomach. He was still considering what to say as he poured hot water from the electric kettle into the bowl his breakfast jar was sitting in. He was debating if he should talk about his own past while he stared, waiting for the heat to transfer. He had started pouring the warmed blood into a goblet when Octavia walked through the kitchen doors, arms full of items. 

“Oh!” She paused. “Um, I was going to make breakfast, if that’s alright?”

“Of course, darling.” He finished filling his goblet. “Mine’s all done, so I can get out of your way. I wanted to go and say goodbye to Daniel before he leaves, anyhow. I’ll see you in a few?”

He found Daniel in the parlour, reading something on his laptop, and looking exactly, well, like a solicitor. “Daniel,” he murmured from the doorway where he stood. 

“Mr. Ancunin.” He looked up with apprehension in his eyes.

Silence filled the room as both men stared at each other.

“Are you still going to be my solicitor?” He asked Daniel, unable to handle the tension. 

“Yes.” Daniel said, reluctance in his tone. “God help me, but I will.”

Astarion broke out in a wide grin. “You know, I think you might be my favorite one yet. Do have a safe trip home, Daniel.”

He headed back toward the kitchen. Just outside the butler’s pantry, he heard Octavia’s voice start singing. He stood, rooted in place, listening to her sing. Her voice was higher pitched, but not like a bird, more like the deep notes of a flute. Richer in sound, filling the air instead of floating above it. She was using the deep part of her voice to its full effect, and it had him breathing deeply. Well, that and the words she was singing. 

You put a spell on me, I’m losing my mind

You better stop things, it’s a matter of time

Before I hunt you down, grab your chin and kiss your lips.

You bring me back, I lay you down and grab your hips. 

And we lose all control,

And before you know it…

I put a spell on you, now you're mine.

I’ve got a hold on you, at least for the night.

You know I can’t help myself when you ask tenderly

If I’d dim the lights as your hand brushes me

And the floor swallows your clothes,

And your silhouette puts on a show…

He ducked into the pantry, walking through the small room to the kitchen, not sure he was up to hearing another verse of this song. He loudly banged the kitchen door open, and she turned around suddenly, looking at him. She had on over-the-ear headphones, white, and they were huge on her small head, making her look slightly ridiculous in an adorable way. That and the pinafore dress with rainbow-colored hearts were rather discordant with the sultry, seductive song he’d been listening to her sing. She stared at him a moment, and slid the headphones off her ears and around her neck. 

“Sorry about the singing,” she blushed a bit. “I thought you’d be quite a bit longer. Um, I’m making waffles. I’m incapable of cooking for one person, so there will be extras if you want?” She looked at him oddly.

He lifted his goblet. “Already enjoying my breakfast but I thought perhaps we could have that talk. I can talk whilst you cook, if you’d like.”

She turned back to the waffle iron, pulling a finished one off the iron with a fork onto a waiting plate, then poured new batter onto the contraption and closed it. She walked over to the small table and sat. “Alright. I’m ready to listen, if you you still want to talk.”

“I…” He considered how to start. “You know that I’m a vampire, Octavia, but also, I’m not from… here. Earth.”

“You traveled through space? Are you… an alien?”

“No. And… not precisely? I think I traveled the planes? I think this is another realm, rather than another planet. Sort of an alternate universe? I went to law school in my realm, not wizard’s college, so I am not learned much in this sort of thing.”

She was staring at him. A hissing sound came out of the waffle iron and she got up and pulled another waffle out. She unplugged the thing and walked back and sat down. “So… in this alternate universe version of Earth, you went to… law school? You lived in a world that had wizards and you chose law school?” 

He cleared his throat. “I can see your point. And in my defense, I don’t have any memories of making that choice so I have no idea why I did that.”

She tilted her head. “You have amnesia, too? I lost my memories in a car accident. I can’t remember a single thing before I turned twelve.”

“I’m not certain how or when I lost mine. But that is a story for another day, if you don’t mind.” He took a deep breath. “So, I met Tav, Tavriel was her full name, about two and half months before I came to Earth. We were both kidnapped by an evil cult. In her case, that was a tragedy. In my case, it was a significant improvement in my quality of life. There were quite a few people kidnapped, most of who died in the ship we were taken in. A small group took out those running the ship and crash-landed it.”

“Jesus. What the Hell was your life that being kidnapped by an evil cult was an improvement?”

“I was a slave held by a sadist with a torture kink.” He said dryly, swallowing the last of the blood in his goblet. “As you can imagine, once we’d escaped into the wilderness, I was practically giddy at my good fortune.”

“Fuck… you’re serious, aren’t you?” Her voice cracked a bit. 

“Tavriel gathered a small group of survivors together, myself included. We’d landed relatively close together. She convinced us to work together, to overcome our situation.” He smiled. “Right away I could tell Tav was special. The rest of us could barely stand each other, but we all felt drawn to Tav. I was scared the others would kick me out, so I became obsessed with Tav wanting me around as the others would listen to her.”

“Because you were a vampire?” Octavia guessed. 

“Among other things. I wasn’t… a very pleasant person, at the time. Two hundred years of slavery and torture had left me ill-equipped to interact with others.”

“So, you tried to get Tav to like you?”

“I felt like I needed to be indispensable. Then, she almost died when we got into a fight with some goblins.”

“Goblins? Like… little green mythical creatures that swear a lot?”

“Yes, but not mythical. Anyhow, I offered to teach her how to fight. She was a bard. She sang and played the lyre, and had a little magic, but didn’t know how to handle a blade. I started spending every night after dinner sparring with her, giving her lessons. It worked, she got better at fighting, and we grew closer. I found that she was kind of fun. She had a very quick wit and a sharp tongue. I had fun trading observations with her while we walked for miles a day.”

He swallowed and thought of how to continue. “Then the fighting intensified. I was feeding on animals at night, after everyone went to bed I would go hunting, but all the walking and fighting took far more energy than I was used to and I couldn’t get enough blood to keep up. I got so weak and desperate that I tried to bite Tav out of desperation, because I thought that she might not stake me if she woke up.”

He smiled, remembering her reaction. “Instead, she yelled at me for not asking sooner. She was the first person I ever drank from. My Master had forbidden any of his slaves from drinking the blood of thinking creatures, you see. Well, I think I was already a little bit in love with her before that, but after… I’d never had anyone just give me something, not for two hundred years. I had thought to make her need me, and instead I’d ended up wrapped around her little finger. It took me another month to realize it, sadly.”

“Tell me what she was like.” Octavia said softly. 

“She was a bard. She had a beautiful voice that sort of floated above a room, ethereal and haunting. She played the lute. She had clever little fingers that could move impossibly fast and delicately. She could lie through her teeth easily, but had the most sincere eyes, the exact color of yours. You look almost exactly like her. Uncannily so. Well, other than she was almost an elf - her mother was half, her father a full elf like myself.”

“You’re an elf?” 

“Yes. A Tel’Quessir.”

Octavia blinked. “Tell me about some of the other types of people where you are from, Astarion.” Her voice was suddenly serious. 

“Well, there are humans just like here, but then there are also tieflings, githyanki, halflings, gnomes, drow, duegar-”

“And what city in Faerun are you from?” She asked, a smile on her lips and an eyebrow raised. 

He answered, “Baldur’s Gate,” without thinking. “Wait - how do you know-” 

She laughed. “You really had me going a bit there. Seriously, tell me about this long-dead girlfriend of yours, for real. Did you meet her in London?”

“How do you know of Faerun?” he growled, now suspicious of the woman in front of him. “Did Raphael put you up to this - coming here, pretending to be Tav? Did he put a spell on you to make you look like her? Or are you a shapeshifter?” He could see his eyes were glowing, the red light reflecting off the shiny white tiles on the wall.

Her face was serious, and more than a little afraid. He could smell her fear. 

“Astarion, I have no idea what you are talking about. I know of Faerun the same way anyone on Earth would, I am a nerd and I play Dungeons and Dragons. I don’t know anyone named Raphael and I am not pretending to be anyone. I am Octavia Philomeena Martin and I’ve gone by Tav since high school.”

He didn’t know what to think. “What is Dungeons and Dragons, Octavia, and why does it give you the power to know about my world?”

She got up. He got up. “I’m going to my room to get a few books.” 

She started walking and he followed, not trusting anything now. She sighed. “Fine, come with me then. I’ll show you the books in my room.”

When they got inside, he sat down on the bed as there was nowhere else to sit in the room. She opened one of her dresser drawers and pulled out a stack of books, dropping them on the bed. She pulled one of them out and handed it to him. “The Forgotten Realms Campaign Setting” the book was emblazoned. He opened it and nearly dropped it. It was a full-color map of the Sword Coast, with roads and cities noted. Places he knew. Places he’d been. 

She pulled another book out and handed it to him. “The Elves of Evermeet.” Then she pulled out a thick stack of printed sheets clipped together and handed it to him. “A Treatise on Espruar: A Field Study on the Elvish Language of the Forgotten Realms.”

“Like I said, Astarion, I am a giant nerd. Good try, though. If I didn’t know better, I would have believed it. The fact that you’re a vampire does help to sell it. But, I’m such a dork I can speak Espruar - well, such that anyone can. It’s barely a language. They didn’t bother to make enough verbs. But I can still say quite a lot.” She laughed. “Sal n’siffi kar, n’neshel linta’anden amax Quessiran,”

 ~ I am not easily made a fool, not even by the most beautiful Elven man I’ve ever seen. ~

“Don’t try to butter me with compliments, darling, I’m the only Elf you’ve ever seen.” He scoffed. “How in the sweet Hells did any of this knowledge get here, and what kind of sick asshole turns someone else’s life into a game?”  

“You actually understand Espruar?” Octavia looked at him with genuine confusion.

“It’s my native language, my dear. Your pronunciation is terrible, by the way. It’s not lin-ta-an-den, it’s lin-ta-An-den. When the last letter of the verb is a vowel and the first letter of the suffix is a vowel, the first vowel in the suffix changes to the elongated sound.” He tutted at her.

He was flipping through the maps some more. He found a few inaccuracies, but they were mostly quite accurate. “Who the fuck are the wizards of the coast? I’ve been searching for Earth’s mages for quite some time. I had despaired that there were none.”

“They aren’t real wizards, Astarion. It’s just a name. A company that makes everything that goes with this game. The rules books, novels, maps…” Her voice had gotten quiet.

“You don’t believe me.” He didn’t bother asking. It was obvious. He could prove it to her. “Come with me to my study. I will prove it to you.”

She followed him up to the third floor and watched him go over to the wall. He picked up the rosewood box with its little touch lock, placing his finger firmly down to activate it. 

“My ears are carefully carved into human shape. If you look, you can see the stitches. I can’t heal them or they simply grow back to how they were, thanks to vampiric regeneration, so I suppress the healing. I’d regrow them to show you, but then I’d have to find someone to cut them again and that hurts. Instead, you can see the stitches, and look, carefully, at one of the things I had on me when I got sent here. A sketch that Tav drew of my face. It’s been here for four hundred years, so the paper is very fragile at this point.”

He placed the box on the desk for her to look at. “She drew it for me because I told her I couldn’t remember what my face looked like. Back then, like most vampires, I didn’t have a reflection. She offered to be my mirror. I didn’t understand until she pulled a blackened stick out of the fire and started sketching.”

Octavia was staring at the sketch, then looking up at him, then looking back at the paper. She walked over to him and he realized what she was doing. He carefully folded his ears forward so she could see the stitches and the raw, open wounds they bound shut. 

“There’s more.” He walked over to the shelf and took the small, unassuming-looking leather bag. He reached into it and visualized a Baldurian gold coin. He felt the metal in his palm and pulled it out. He placed it into her hand. “That’s a Baldurian gold piece. You can see on the back a picture of-”

“Gray Harbor, and on the front is High Hall.” She stared at the coin in her hand. “Fuck. Either you are a very committed fan, which, you have the money to do, so I’m not counting it out entirely.”

“Or?” He pushed. 

“Or you are an Elven vampire from Baldur’s Gate, and Gary Gygax really did meet Volo and Elminster.” 

“Oh, well, that bloody well explains it! Elminster couldn’t shut up to save the world. I’m surprised so much is accurate, though, if Volo was involved. Then again, I note the use of the word Dragons in the title, so there is that. I promise you, darling, I’ve been in a number of dungeons in Faerun, and not a one of them contained dragons.”

“You knew Elminster?!”

“Knew is a bit of a stretch. I’ve met him, and watched him eat half of our scavenged supply of cheese before finishing off a particularly nice bottle of red I’d been hiding for a bad day.” He scoffed. “Then he complained about having to walk too much when he had come to tell Gale, who was supposedly his friend, to kill himself. I wasn’t terribly impressed, to be honest.”

Octavia wandered to the sofa and sat down. “I can’t do this. I honestly don’t know what to think right now.”

She looked pale again. Pale and scared and confused. She was still holding the coin, staring at it. He sat down at his desk, looking at the scroll Raphael had left. 

“Octavia, perhaps the answer is not to think. Thinking is rather overrated, in my opinion.” The humor fell flat against the weight of everything. And there was so much he hadn’t said, he thought as he went and sat down on the floor next to the sofa. “Are you ok?” He asked, not expecting an answer. 

She looked surprised when her eyes met his. Her face turned towards him, and then it was like everything went into slow motion. Her face, reddened with blushing and pale with stress reached out to his. Her soft lips melded into his, taking him home, again, her hand ran up the back of his neck into his hair. Were he a man of strength, of self-control and clear thoughts, he would have pulled away, apologized, pointed out that there was much that needed to be worked out between them. 

Alas, he was Astarion, a man of feelings that he wasn’t particularly great at managing, and now that he knew that she was, indeed, his Tav, all he wanted in all of eternity was to kiss her. To claim her. To make everything he could perfect for her forever. To show her how he had made the love she had given him into healing insomuch as it was possible to heal from what he had survived.  He leaned into her kiss with a moan of desperation. He rose to his knees carefully, not pulling away for a moment. His tongue ran over the seam of those soft, perfect lips and begged for entry, which she granted like sweet asylum across their borders. He kissed her the way he should have centuries ago, instead of being preoccupied about what things meant. He tasted her, savored her, worshipped at the altar of her lips and her tongue.

His hands held her precious head, his thumbs rubbing soothing circles against her jaw and neck while he pulled back a little, still giving her nibbling kisses on her lips. 

“You are perfect. So perfect. Every time.” Every word punctuated with a press of his lips to hers... 

“Astarion…” His name was like a soft, beautiful song in her voice. 

He kissed her temple, pressing his face into the side of hers. “Yes, sweet girl, I’m here.”

She hummed at that, kissing him again, passionately, before she pulled away and sat up. He tried not to complain at the sudden loss of her, and instead got up and joined her on the couch. She was wringing her hands a bit. 

“What are we doing?” She blurted out. “What… what is wrong with me?”

He tried to not let that sting and instead offered her his hands. 

“Tav, if you could get your memories back, would you want them? Would you want to remember everything?” He said it quietly, his eyes flickering to the contract on his desk. He decided in that moment he wasn’t going to tell her what the price was. If she wanted it, he’d pay it. She’d saved him. From Cazador, from himself, from an unending existence of self-loathing and pain. He’d give anything, everything, to make her happy. 

“I don’t know. Who will I be if I had them? Would I be me? Am I even me?” She looked up at him with huge, pleading eyes. Begging him to give her an answer he didn’t have.

Notes:

I am pretending BG3 does not exist in this AU. But DND does. And Octavia is a nerdy former theater kid. She definitely got into it during junior high/high school.

Chapter 7: Complications

Summary:

Astarion tells Octavia about the contract, and the possibility of getting her memories back.
Memories of his own come back to haunt Astarion, leading him to a decision.

Notes:

I am trying to work on some of my other stories that are overdue for updates, so this one may see slightly more delayed updates while I try and catch up.

“I don’t know, Tav.” He sighed. “But without your memories, even if you had worn a different face I would have recognized you. The way you sing to yourself, the way you insist on dressing like a small child’s idea of fancy, the way you insist on giving a damn about people? That wicked sense of humor? The way you would never enjoy a good stabbing but you love watching me do it? That’s who you were before, too. You are a little sweeter, I think, likely because as far as I know you’ve never had to kill people on Earth, yes?”

She shook her head no, still looking pale and shaken. 

“I thought not. Selfishly, I want you to remember. Of course, you are going to remember some not-so-great parts about me along with the good. But this needs to be your decision, darling, and yours alone.”

He looked at her and suddenly realized he was an idiot. 

“You never actually ate the breakfast. You have to be starving! And then to go through all this? Do you want me to go fetch the waffles you made?”

She giggled. “I’m sorry. There has been so much in the past half-hour but somehow ‘the centuries-old Elven vampire from the city my friends and I used to play make-believe wizards in just offered to fetch me waffles after we kissed’ has to be the weirdest fucking thing that has ever happened to me.”

“Darling, no.” He sighed dramatically. “Please, tell me you had better taste than being a wizard?”

She sighed. “Ok, they played wizards. I mostly played a multi-class rogue/bard who fucked and stole her way across the Sword Coast.” She sheepishly admitted, blushing.

He broke out in a huge grin. “I knew you were my favorite for a reason. Gods, I would love to take you there for real. We’d have a delightful time. You can’t quite adventure here in the same way. But! You distract me, my little nymph. I shall return in a moment.”

He ran at his full speed down the steps, hopping over between flights to speed things up. He grabbed a large tray out of the butler’s pantry, silver of course, and sat it on the table. He warmed up the now cold waffles in the microwave, started a pot of coffee, and then set up the tray with a pretty china plate, a matching cup and saucer, and a cut-crystal glass. After that, he went into the fridge he had turned over to her, getting the orange juice and cream. In about five minutes, he had a beautiful breakfast tray, which he carried back up, walking a little slower to keep it from jostling. 

He paused just outside the study, swallowing a giggle. The last time he had this opportunity, he would have died before serving anyone a meal like this, like he was some kind of maid. But this wasn’t anyone, it was his Tav. And rather than feeling ashamed, he felt a surge of pride. Pride that he could take care of her, for once, and not just the other way around. 

He walked in, beaming. She was standing next to his desk, staring at the sketch of his face. “Breakfast is served, darling.” He sat the tray down on the coffee table. “It’s a rather good likeness for the crude materials it was made with.”

“I sketched this with a blackened stick?” Tav shook her head. “I’ve never even tried to sketch with charcoal here. I’ve strictly been involved with music as art.”

“The paintings in your room then…”

“The work of friends, mostly. A few are pieces I got as gifts.”

“Do you want to try sketching?”

“Maybe? See, this is what I’m talking about. If I didn’t know that I had made that drawing, I don’t know that I would even be curious if I could sketch.”

He thought about it while she sat down and began to eat her breakfast. “I don’t know what color my eyes were.” He told her as she took her second bite. 

“Hmmm?”

“My eyes. When I got turned into a vampire, they became red, but before… Tel’Quessir do not have red eyes. They must have been another color, but I have no idea what it was. I can’t remember. Sometimes, I wish I could remember. And then others, I wonder if knowing might change me. And my eye color is a very tiny, barely meaningful detail.” He sighed. “I think I would very much like to remember my parents. Even if it did change me.”

Silence lay over the room. Octavia ate and Astarion flipped the gold coin he had pulled out between his fingers, practicing coin tricks. An old nervous habit. 

When the last of the breakfast was finished, Tav wiped her face gently with the linen napkin he had put on the tray. “It’s pointless, though. I mean, how would we even get my memories back?”

“A Devil offered me a contract.”

Octavia looked bewildered. “You mean, the Devil?”

“No, a Devil, a cambion named Raphael, to be specific. I have no idea how the afterlife and the currency of souls works on this plane, it has nothing to do with the Hells of Toril. But where we are from, there are a multitude of devils.”

“Your soul is surely not worth a few stupid memories.”

“I agree. There are other things the Devil wants, though, and while I may have made a rather silly choice in going to law school when I could have studied magic, it does make me viciously good at contracts. So the question remains for you to decide: do you wish to remember?”

“I don’t know.” She stood up and walked over to him, gently taking his hands into her own. “I like who I am right now. But then, the way you think about me, I think I’d like that me, too. I’d like to know why my nightmares are always in grayscale and why the smell of raw fish makes me panic. I want to know who I was that you still remember me with such longing for hundreds of years. It’s all jumbled together. And I certainly don’t want you making deals with the devil, or a devil, of any kind. Not for something I can easily live without.”

“Any deal I do or don’t make, my dear, is entirely my own choice. You taught me that. The importance of letting people have agency, even when we think they are making stupid choices.” 

“What if instead of trying to buy back what we had before, Astarion, what if we simply create something new?” Octavia gazed at him intensely. “The pull I feel from you has to be based on these memories I can’t recall, but it is real, nonetheless. I don’t need to know every detail to know that I have reason to care a great deal about you. What if we simply got to know each other as we are now? Even if I got my memories back, I’d still be missing four centuries of your life.”

Astarion blinked at that. Perhaps she was right, perhaps, dealing with Raphael was utterly unnecessary. Except there was the pesky detail of her lifespan. And the devil was right, turning her was asking for a nightmare. Vampirism was a curse, not a blessing. 

“Sweet girl, I would adore creating new memories with you. How about we start with trying to get that blasted television working?”

He sat down on her bed and watched as she pulled out her phone. 

“Looking up the directions feels rather like cheating, darling.” He teased her lightly, feeling giddy. “I approve.”

Her laughter filled the room. “The first step of any project is picking just the right music, Astarion.”

“And what is the “right soundtrack” for the two of us versus a pile of recalcitrant electronics?”

Her nose scrunched up in that delightful way that reminded him of a rabbit. “I already know - no rap or Russian classical composers.”

“Tchaikovsky was an idiot and I do not respect him.” He scoffed. He still, after all this time, couldn’t believe the cheek of that man, calling his face ‘too pointy.’ His bone structure was exquisite, and anyone with eyes could see it. 

“And that paints every Russian composer with such a broad brush?” She was flipping through her music app much too quickly, he realized she must have her playlists memorized. And there were so very many of them. “Ooooh. Perfect. How do you feel about The Dropkick Murphys? Their music always makes me want to get drunk and like try to build stuff, which is sort of like setting up a tv?”

“I have no feelings about them, as I have not had the opportunity to hear their music. Is this a well-known band?”

“Uh - sort of? Like, they are a very popular not ubiquitously known regional band. They sound like the Ramones, AC/DC, and traditional Irish music had an unholy baby that wanted to punch Nazis.” She tilted her head. “I could also put on Brittney, as a secondary option.”

He was slightly bewildered by the concept she was describing. “Well, darling, I will never say no to the brilliance of Brittany J Spears, but this Murphy group intrigues me, mostly because it got you so excited.”

She smiled at him and started the music, turning it up until the tinny speaker on her phone filled the room. It was… something different than what he had heard. He saw the appeal but it wasn’t his style of music. 

They turned to the task at hand. Embarrassingly, for all the discussion and preparation, setting up the system was quite simple. The hardest part was Tav trying to figure out how to connect to the house’s wifi network so Astarion could log her into his streaming accounts. 

When she’d gotten it to work, she had been so excited she turned around and kissed him in celebration, surprising him but in the best way. He leaned into it, then lifted her small form, putting her arms over his shoulders while she wrapped her legs around his waist. 

She put her hands around his face, kissing him intensely while his hands slid under her dress holding her up by her surprisingly well-muscled thighs. Her skin was silken heat under his hands, and touching her like this stirred heat of his own. He moaned a little into her mouth, tasting the sweetness of the maple syrup she’d had on her waffles as he felt his pants grow tight.

He pulled away to look her in the eye. “Tell me if this isn’t what you want.” He tried to give her a chance to tell him if she was uncertain. if this wasn’t what she wanted. He owed her that more than anything, the first person to ever give him a real choice to say no. Who’d always respected his agency.

“I want this.” She kissed him, nearly breathless with desire. “I want you, Astarion. I want to know what it is I can’t remember.” He looked at her face, pupils wide, her face flushed hard. Gods, he thought he remembered the way she looked perfectly, but it paled to this. She was stunning when she was wrought with desire. “I want to know why your scent leaves me feverishly needy.” She moaned into his ear, and he nearly dropped her. 

He put her down on her feet gently. “Then let me remind you. I’m going to take this ridiculous frock off you now.” He started swiftly undoing the buttons that held the dress on as he kissed her again, using his tongue to massage hers, and nipping her pouty lower lip lightly as he slid the dress off her.

He stepped back to admire her. She stood before him in only a small pair of pale blue lace pants, her small but pert breasts standing bare, her areolas flushed and nipples pebbled. Her stomach was smooth but slightly soft, with that delectable little roundness at the bottom that made him feel fizzy inside. He wanted to run his hands over it, let it fill his palm perfectly. The Renaissance painters had truly understood how feral that little tiny bit of softness could make one feel.

His breath caught, which given his lack of need for air was as ridiculous as it was appropriate. “You are so beautiful.” He forced himself to breathe. “Even more than I remembered.” She blushed, and all that pink skin meant the scent of her flooded the room. Blackberries. He could feel his infernally active heart pick up faster in response. 

She closed the distance between them, her hands softly on the buttons on his shirt, her eyes wide and staring up at him. “May I?” 

He had thought he was feral from looking at her and smelling her in this tiny room, right up until she asked permission to unbutton his shirt when he’d already stripped her nearly bare taught him the real meaning of feral. He might go truly mad if anything interrupted them now. 

He took her hands and helped them undo the tiny, fiddly mother of pearl buttons that held his blouse on. He felt her feverishly hot hands slide over his skin, the silk shirt falling off him with a whisper into a puddle on the ground with the plastic bags and little paper instruction books that littered the floor from their endeavor. 

One of her hands reached up and carded into his hair, pulling his head down until their lips met again. The other traced over the planes of his chest, running softly over skin and muscles, gently whispering against his nipples and drawing moans into her mouth as he undid the hooks that held his trousers up and the button on his breeches. He embraced her, pulling her body up against his as he twisted his hips slightly, shaking the rest of his garments to join the mess below them.  

He froze as something happened he hadn’t run into in two hundred years. A feeling of nausea began to spread through him and he felt his mind start trying to retreat. The shock of it broke him out of the spiral before it went far, but the moment was over now. He picked his shirt up off the floor, feeling exposed.  

“Did I do something wrong, Astarion?” Octavia was looking at him, confused. 

Shit. He was not ready for this discussion. How does one even start it? This was Tav but it also wasn’t. He didn’t know how she would react and… it wasn’t something he had talked about since before the invention of the steam engine. 

He looked at her. She was starting to wring her hands. He had to say something.

“Darling, I promise, that had absolutely nothing to do with you. You are perfect.” He swallowed, trying to summon courage. He felt dizzy. If everything about him, about their past, wasn’t already too much, surely this would be the feather that tipped the scales against him. “I have… some complications that you used to know about.” 

He was desperate for a distraction, and his eyes cast about the room. Unlike usual, his hopes were answered. Not by some god, but a post-it note on her dresser mirror: Swords, 2 pm Saturday, Horner Park. The clock on her bedside table said 12:42 pm.

“Don’t you have a class to teach?” He said, gesturing to the note. “I’d hate to make you late.”

She followed his hand and looked. “Oh, shit. Yeah - I gotta get changed quick and get out of here. Fuck!” She jumped up, then turned around and put a hand on his chest that made his heart race and his stomach churn. “Are you sure I didn’t mess something up?”

She threw open the closet, pulled out a hanger, and tossed it on the bed. He watched while she pulled on a pair of linen breeches in a style he hadn’t seen in a very long time. She was fighting with the laces. “Oh darling, please, let me. You were always terrible with these. Let me.” He laced them up quickly, tucking the ends into her waistband. He grabbed the padded doublet from the bed and handed it to her. 

“Nothing is wrong, Tav. I’ll be here when you get back.” He reassured her, but she could see through him. She always could. “I have some business to attend to anyhow today. Shall we plan on dinner tonight?”

She grinned. “I’d love it. I’ll be gone a few hours, and I’ll be in desperate need of a shower when I get back.”

“I’ll plan on seven, then, darling.” He leaned down and gave her the barest whisper of a kiss before he left, walking back up to his study to brood.

The moonlight barrier over Last Light Inn gave Tav’s face an ethereal glow, making her eyes just a tiny bit more blue than normal. His hands were almost shaking as he swallowed all of his emotions. He’d walked into torture with less trepidation than this. 

“Tavriel, we need to talk… I want to thank you.” He’d started, his voice cracking.

“I know I’m unbearably awesome, my dark prince, but it hardly requires dragging me out of my trance and into the shadows to tell me that.” She’d teased him, their usual method of communication, but something she saw when she looked at him cut her short. “Oh, Astarion. What’s happened?” Her concern dripped from her sweet voice.

He stared at her, watching as a tiny lock of her hair fell from her braid into her face. He reached out unthinking and swept it behind her ear, wanting to kiss her one last time before he told her the truth and lost her forever. 

It struck him, as it always did these days, the way she would come with him into the dark without question. He’d sought after that trust, pushed her, manipulated her with all the training that had been carved into him, and yet he’d never thought he would attain it. He’d realized, in the end, she’d simply given it to him. 

All of it. Every lie. Everything he had done had been all so fucking unnecessary. And he’d tainted that precious gift with what he had done.

No. She’d given him agency. And now it was time for him to return that gift.

“Bloody Hells, Tav, I need to thank you for what you did whilst I was in front of that vile drow woman. I was being ridiculous. Completely precious about nothing important. We could have used that potion and you just let me say no. ”

“You were not being ridiculous or precious, Daoine, and I didn’t let you do anything. I simply respected your decision.”

“There is nothing simple about it!” He shouted, then bit his lip. “No one… I wasn’t allowed…” He didn’t know how to explain it to her. “It would have been so easy, though. A moment of disgust to push myself through and I could have gotten us that potion so easily. I don’t know why I didn’t.” He tried to smooth this over with a gesture, to cover his discomfort with theatricality. 

Her eyes went wide and then narrowed in that way they did when she was about to do something unspeakably clever, like convince an undead surgeon to kill himself to teach her a lesson.

“But you,” He looked at her, still not understanding why she wasn’t angry, not truly. “You let me say no.” He took a breath. “You don’t understand! For nearly two hundred years, what my body did, what was done to it - it wasn’t my decision. I existed mostly to pleasure whomever and in whatever way Cazador desired. My screams or my body, it was all the same. They weren’t mine to do with as I pleased.” 

“Astarion.” Her voice cracked, but it wasn’t pity he heard. It was a quiet tremble he’d only heard out of her once before when they’d met that crazy woman wanting them to steal a Githyanki egg outside the creche. The sound of Tav building up to a terrifying rage. 

She kept listening as he explained. Explained that he’d done what he’d been ever so painfully trained to do. He’d seduced her to get her to do what he’d needed, his safety, his place in the group. He saw the pain in her eyes but she didn’t react, so he kept going, asking her, pleading with her, to try and make what they had something real. She’d held his hands and told him it always had been for her.

“But, Tav, I don’t know what real looks like. And…” He took in a deep breath, he could do this. She was worth it. She’d said it was real. Hadn’t run yet. “If I want this to be real, for me, it can’t be about sex. When we are… together, like that, my mind can’t separate it from all those times I didn’t want it. I know it’s different, with you, but I feel it all. The hands of thousands - my victims who were also my abusers. I’ve spent two hundred years as the object of people’s desires and I can’t do it anymore. I don’t want people to look at me and think about sex.” He’d had to look away as he spoke. Couldn’t bear it if he saw pity in her eyes. “Not even you.”

“Ok.” She said it like it was something simple to agree to.

“...Ok?” Had he heard her right?

“If being with you means never again having sex again, that’s a price I’d pay a hundred times over. I was never with you for the sex. You are so much more than a pretty face, Daoine.”

She’d died just two days later, before they’d even begun to figure out what they were to each other. He’d had to sort that out on his own. He hated, more than anything, that it took her death for him to say out loud that he had loved her.

He’d gotten a few hours out of it, but he was still fundamentally stuck with the same problem. She’d come back, and she’d want an explanation for why he had frozen and pulled away from her. He still didn’t know why it had happened. 

He’d had hundreds of bed partners since he’d been on Earth. Not right away. It’s been almost fifty years before he’d even decided it was something he wanted to try again, but he’d slowly, painstakingly reclaimed his body for himself. Learned to discard the shame he’d had for what he had done, what had been done to him. He’d rediscovered the joy of sex being just… well, sex.

He’d even come up with a clever set of rules to make sure it never, ever felt the same.

Never with someone who owed him a debt.

Never with someone who had anything he wanted or needed.

Never with someone who’d given him something he hadn’t paid for.

Oh. The sudden realization felt like being in the shadow curse, like something cold and hungry was here, just waiting to sink hooked claws into him and drag him down into the darkness. 

She’d given him everything. Everything he was started with her caring about a vicious, bitterly angry man who greeted her with a knife to her throat when they’d met. Who’d insulted her, questioned her every decision, taunted her, rarely helped, and manipulated her for his ends. And still… she’d believed in who he was and who he could be. It was that belief that he still was certain was the only reason he’d been able to wrest control of the power of the Ascencion and stop it from twisting him into another power-obsessed sadistic vampire lord. 

He’d done it, but only because she believed he was better. That he could be better. And he refused to dishonor her memory by proving her wrong.

She’d given him everything, and he’d let her die. He should have been there. He wasn’t able to bring her back. And then, he just kept failing. He’d watched Karlach die when her engine burned her up as they fought Ketheric, and he didn’t save her. He’d watched Halsin and Jaheira fall in that battle as well. 

He didn’t try and stop Wyll from signing away his soul to save his dad.

Nor Lae’zel from giving her life trying to kill the Emperor. 

Orin had killed Arabella before he could rescue the little tiefling. 

He didn’t even try to stop Gale from blowing himself up to take out the brain. 

Everything she had fought so hard for, the lives of all of those she held dear, he’d watched one by one as they were snuffed out or compromised, and failed to save them. 

No. He wouldn’t be able to make love to Tav until he’d corrected the incomprehensible imbalance between them, and there was only one thing he could think of. One thing he had in his arsenal that would come anywhere near enough. 

His eyes were trained back on the scroll on his desk. 

Raphael might think that he’d get the upper hand, but Astarion could tell the cambion was desperate for this contract. Bringing Tav back before offering it? Something had him terrified of Mephistopheles getting ahold of his soul, and he was going to use that desperation to carve every concession he could think of out the devil.

Notes:

Oh no. Astarion is trying to make a plan.

Chapter 8: What is the Worth of a Single Immortal Soul?

Summary:

Daniel is roped in to help in writing a counter-offer to Raphael's contract.
Astarion divulges (some) of his past trauma to help Octavia understand why he pulled away.
Despite his complications, they work on forging a path forward. She does not know that his solution is to engage with Raphael to get her memories back.

Notes:

TW: Discussion of Astarion's past trauma

He had to get out the mechanical keyboard to plug into the little laptop. The keyboard had already broken from him typing too fast. He’d fully rewritten, in infernal - Latin, they called it here -  the original contract. Raphael giving it to him in Elvish, a language better suited for poetry due to its vagueness and reliance on metaphor, was a trap. The devil would know the appeal his tongue, so long denied to him by circumstance, would have for him.

Now written in the deeply precise, technical words of the Hells, he proceeded to annotate the document. Astarion rarely focused to this extent, his brain trained by two hundred years of surviving one moment at a time and four hundred years of relative indolence for immediacy and stimulation. The lack of practice was coming back to haunt him as he felt his focus skip and lag.

After an hour, he had to admit he wasn’t doing well, so he tried to force his brain to heel. He got up and took a quick walk through the house. He put on some instrumental electronic music. He repeatedly stuck himself with a pin. 

Still, he was struggling to focus for more than fifteen straight minutes. He could not afford to make mistakes here. This was far too important. 

Planning had never been his strong suit, but on Earth, he’d learned there was one way he was good at planning. The modern term for it was outsourcing. He opened up his email and quickly put this plan into action. 

 

Daniel -

Attached for your immediate review is a potential engagement I am considering entering.

Given the considerable price being requested by the offering party, I believe that it is in my best interest to carefully and deliberately wring every last bit of marrow from the bones of this opportunity. 

In light of that, I would like to engage you in the process of drafting a counter-offer tomorrow after my meeting with my tax advisor, approximately eleven am USC-ST.

I expect that this process will require forty or more hours of billable time not currently accounted for under my personal retainer agreement. Should you accept after reviewing the attachment, consider this my authorization to withdraw the funds from my personal account for the retainer.

Sincerely, 

AA

Post Script addendum - this is, as of right now, my highest priority 

 

He glanced at the clock and noticed it was past five. He picked up his phone to text Nina about dinner and realized he’d given his darling assistant the rest of the day off. She had beyond earned the time, and he would handle dinner himself this evening. He considered for a moment if he would be eating as well, and decided that making dinner a social affair would give him a way of making less awkward pauses while telling his sordid tale. Pauses he may sorely desire when the time comes. 

He signed off his laptop and put the contract and stone in his safe in his bedroom. He did not want Octavia to find it, now that he knew she could speak Elvish. He could already hear Tav explaining how that meant that he should, in fact, be telling her about it. Because if he thought what he was doing was appropriate, he would not feel the need to hide it. 

He blew raspberries at the Tav in his head as he headed out in short sleeves due to the unseasonably warm weather this spring.

JJ’s Fish & Chicken, a delightful little shop not far from the house, was crowded. He popped on the now requisite mask and waited in the little line outside, the tape markings on the sidewalk already becoming seemingly normalized to the populace. He was still waiting for the anger he knew would come soon enough. 

Humanity never truly changed, in his experience, every historical event was rather like a new movement in an infinite canon. The key changed, sometimes, though. Every great plague he’d lived through had started with fear and compliance, shifted into anger and paranoia, and usually ended with grief and a shift in the society, rarely for the better. 

Perhaps this time it would shift into a major seventh instead of the usual minor fifth? He didn’t hope, per se, but he chose not to be deliberately pessimistic.

He wasn’t sure what Octavia would prefer from their menu, so he went all out. He got them both the fried perch, the superior option in his correct opinion, but he also got the catfish. Then, on the off chance she didn’t eat fish, he added fried chicken. And of course, he got the best sides. The chips, of course, but also the hush puppies and fried okra. 

He walked back as quickly as he dared in public, jogged, really, so the food would still be hot when he returned. He ended up having to text Nina to figure out how to keep it warm until Tav arrived, including a short phone call on how to operate his oven. But it had all worked out. 

He was waiting in the dining room, plates set, candles burning when she arrived, hair wet from the shower, wearing a dress that appeared to be an oversized sweatshirt with a hood. He had a lovely concerto playing, soothing dulcet tones of cellos filling the room. 

“Good evening, darling.” He pulled out her chair for her. 

She blinked, clearly confused, but after a moment she awkwardly sat down. He scooted her in. 

“I picked up dinner. I wasn’t certain of all of your preferences, so there is more than I think we will eat, but I hope something is to your liking.”

He ran into the kitchen, picking up the trays from the oven with hot pads. Nina had imparted on him the importance of putting trivets on the dining table for the trays to go on, so he already had those set. He carried them out and Tav stared at them, wide-eyed, while he sat them down with a flourish. 

“What beverage does the lady desire with her dinner? I have an excellent Riesling chilling, perfect to accompany the fish, but I believe you also have cold fizzy drinks in your refrigerator, should you prefer.”

“Uh, the Riesling would be lovely, thank you.” 

He could hear a questioning tone in her voice. He looked around for what might be askance and noticed he had not placed service utensils on the table. He quickly grabbed the silver tongs out of the sideboard and placed them on one of the trays, before ducking out. 

He popped one of his blood bottles in the bottle warmer on the kitchen counter. He was greatly amused when Nina showed up with it, asking her what infant she thought he would be harboring here. She laughed and explained that while it was intended as a food device for feeding infants, it warmed liquids to exactly body temperature without ever accidentally overheating them, a perfect device for providing him with delightfully warm blood.

Sometimes he imagined the confusion of a detective who was sent to assess his kitchen in a crime drama situation. The bottle warmer in a house with a single man who bedded mostly men would certainly be a red herring. 

He pulled himself from the intrusive thought when the bottle warmer chimed to indicate it had reached temperature. He poured his sanguine meal into a goblet, so as to make his nature less intrusive for Octavia, then uncorked the Riesling and headed back to the dining room.  

“So, darling, how was the class?” He asked as he filled her glass on the table with a practiced flourish, spinning the bottle as he lifted it to prevent any drips. 

She stared at him while he took his seat across from her, looking a little lost. “Um, Astarion? What… what is this? I mean, I’m pretty sure that’s fried chicken, and those are fries…”

“And those are fried fish, perch and catfish. On the other tray are hush puppies and fried okra.”

Octavia swallowed. “I mean this in the sincerely nicest way possible, but what the fuck? You are the fanciest person I’ve ever met. I would never, in a million years, have guessed that this is what you would have for dinner. Are you even going to eat it? I know food isn’t a thing for you.”

“Oh, darling, food has no nutritive value for me, but it does have a taste. And in this case, I found myself missing fish and chips. This is the closest equivalent here. And I can enjoy many pedestrian things, but perhaps the issue is that fried fish and potatoes are exquisite delicacies that are misjudged as mundane. Like fried okra. And the music of Brittany Spears.” He picked up the tongs and pointed with them. “Now, chicken, perch, or catfish, my dear?”

“Perch, please.”

“Ah, a woman of taste. Of course, you always have been, given that you picked me. Except for your sense of fashion. Gods, that dress you were wearing when we first met.” He giggled, remembering.

She lit up, taking a sip of the wine. “It could not have been that bad.”

“It was this incredibly tiny thing, absolutely indecent for anyone but a bard on the stage, and even then… darling, you were a half an inch of fabric above being arrested. The skirt barely made it past your bum, and it was so low cut that if you hadn’t had a tightly laced bodice over it, you definitely would have exposed yourself with every move of your shoulders. Even more ridiculously, it was made of vertical strips of silk satin, literal ribbons, sewn together. I’d never seen anything so garish.”

She took another sip of wine, raising an eyebrow. “So, I was wearing a costume?”

“You’d been mid-performance when the Nautiloid crashed through Baldur’s Gate. Everyone ran, and you got picked up in an alley not far from the alley I got picked up in. Although I’d been just about to suck a man’s cock rather than running from anything.”

“Jesus! Do you just say things like that?”

“When they are true, yes. I refuse to be ashamed of things I did not choose. Which brings me to earlier.”

Her eyes got big and then narrowed. He knew that look. She was puzzling something, putting clues together. 

“Yes, darling, your little mind is correct. Do you remember what I told you about what I was doing before I was kidnapped? Why being stolen by evil creatures was an improvement in circumstance for me?”

“You were a slave, owned by a particularly sadistic person, who tortured you.”

“He didn’t only torture me, love. He was a vampire lord, the one who turned me. Among other things, one of my duties as his slave was to go out into the city, into the bars, taverns, and whorehouses, and find the prettiest people I could and convince them to come back to the palace for him to feast on them.” He laughed. “We had a little ritual at the palace. If we brought him someone he liked, he’d ask us if we wanted to eat with him. If we said yes, we got given a single, already dead rat. If we said no, he’d have us flayed. Of course, it could be substantially worse if we brought him someone he didn’t like. Or worse, came home empty-handed.”

“Oh… Oh. You-”

“Yes. I was a prostitute, of sorts, perhaps better termed a pleasure slave. He kept us, myself and the other spawn he referred to as my siblings, so poorly fed that we didn’t even bleed much when cut, so I was much too weak to force anyone to come back with me. But this face and this body were weapons of a sort, and I was carefully trained to use them. For two hundred years, I prowled the streets, luring the unsuspecting. Of course, he found uses for those skills outside of that, but as to why I was in that alley that night...”

She thankfully said nothing. He saw her jaw twitching though. 

“So, sometimes, during intimate moments, my memories rise and haunt me. To be honest, it has not occurred in a very, very long time. My apologies if I didn’t handle it well, it was quite a shock after so long.”  He took a big swig of the pig's blood in his goblet. Thin as it was, it was fortification against the burn of the shame running through him. “I’ve lived twice as long free as I spent enslaved at this point.”

“So, why, then, with me? I never… I never forced you, did I?” She looked horrified at even the possibility.

“Oh, gods, no. Quite the opposite. Hells, I tried to seduce you, lure you to my side, and you kept stopping me and asking for my permission to touch me and if I liked what you were doing. You quite literally gave me emotional damage the first time we had sex. I’d not had someone care about my consent, let alone my pleasure in the act, mostly ever. Perhaps a few very sweet individuals gave lip service, but… You were my first in a strange number of ways considering the tens of thousands I’d bedded before I met you.”

“You… seduced me for… protection? Um, I can’t imagine anyone would think I could protect them from anything.” She spluttered a bit. 

“Ah. Yes, well. You have to understand. The parasite we were infected with broke the magical power that a vampire lord has over their spawn, but as soon as we got rid of them, I would have been a thrall once more. I was desperate for an ally who would protect me and help me never go back, and it was what I knew how to do, what I had been very carefully, painfully taught how to be the best at. Two hundred years of conditioning that it was the only thing of value I had to offer had twisted my view of people, Tav.” 

“How are you so… normal? Ok, not normal at all, but even vaguely functional?” She shook her head. “I’m sorry, not trying to judge, but-”

“But it is a lot. As to your question, mostly, there was this incredible little bard who forced me to learn how to care about people who were not named Astarion again, mostly by being ridiculously kind to me and trusting me, repeatedly, when it was a genuinely stupid thing to do.”

“Surely I could not have done that much. Didn’t we only know each other for essentially a month?”

“Thirty-six days. I was blessed to be by your side for thirty-six days before that bitch backstabbed you in the dark.” He took a big swallow, finishing off his actual meal. “Not that I was counting.”

Tav’s eyebrow went up. He looked away. 

“Not at first, anyhow. And yes, you did that much. In thirty-six days, I went from a man who thought murdering refugees sounded like a good time, to trying to save the world at great risk to myself because I needed to be the man you had seen in me, to be worthy of you having loved me. Someone you would have kept loving. To be clear, I do still enjoy murder, I am simply far more discerning in my victims.”

He forced himself to look back at her, and he saw there was a tear in her eye.

“Oh, darling, no. Don’t cry for me. See, things got better. I learned how to live, here. I survived. I thrived, even. After a long time, I was able to fall in love again, a few times, although nothing has ever held even a candle to how I felt, how I feel, about you.”

“I’ve had one boyfriend, Astarion. One. I’ve been on dates before but… One relationship. We dated for six months. I thought I was in love. I moved halfway across the country for him and he was cheating on me the whole time.” She took a deep breath. “This is - well, the idea of something this serious is terrifying. But some part of me must remember everything because I was drawn to you the moment we met. It's overwhelming. I barely know anything about you and I feel like I’ve been in love with you all of my life. I guess, in a way, I have.”

He reached out towards her, and she slipped her hand into his. “As far as I’m concerned, my life began when I met you. And I’ve never stopped loving you, never stopped thinking about you.”

“Astarion,” she swallowed thickly. “I know that… there might be issues with intimate activities. But maybe, could we cuddle?”

“Cuddle?” He asked, amused. “And where shall we do this?”

“Well, there is this lovely television someone got me and helped set up in my room today. Perhaps you’d like to sit in my bed and watch something with me?”

He was suddenly quite flushed. He had the urge to run to her room and pull her into that bed piled with blankets and pillows and tiny mushroom lights. He squeezed her hand instead. 

“I would adore that. Whatever shall we watch on your television?”

“There is this sort of documentary thing I saw mentioned on Tiktok called The Tiger King that came out today. It’s like a reality tv meets true crime podcast, with people who own tigers.”

The show was complete garbage. The characters were dreadful, the wardrobe worse, and the plot nonsensical. It was absolutely the best kind of filth. He could find almost endless depths of insults for these people, and, because they were rather despicable, he was fairly certain he was being only mildly terrible by doing so.

But even better than the opportunity for petty banter and fashion policing, was cuddling. When they had gotten into bed, he had piled up pillows against the headboard and sat down, assuming she would do the same next to him. Instead, to his shock but delight, she sat down on his thighs, nudging them apart and laying back against his chest. He instinctively wrapped his arms around her, and then nearly cried because it felt so perfect. 

The noise of the show luckily covered it up. Or she pretended. He didn’t care. 

He realized at the end of the episode that she was asleep, the side of her cheek pressed against his chest. He sat, indecisive as to how to deal with the situation. Should he gently extricate himself and abscond to his bed? Did he presume and stay the night? 

He chose to stay still and wait for her to wake, allowing himself the warmth and comfort of her presence. It felt like a dream. It had been, for so long, the idea of having her back. To have her in his arms, warm and alive, in a bed. 

They’d never spent the night in a bed, he suddenly realized. It was perhaps an hour before she’d shifted in her sleep and woke a little. 

“‘Starion, is it over?” She’d yawned like a sleepy kitten, eyes fluttering. He had to stop himself from kissing her.

“Yes, love. I should let you get some rest, go to my own bed.” He got up carefully, not moving the bed much. “It was truly lovely, Octavia. Thank you for inviting me.”

“Night, Astarion.” She’d sleepily whispered as he left her room, his heart fluttering strangely.  

His trance had been as pleasant as they ever were. The memories were good this time, the accompanying screams of the souls he’d condemned the same nightmare as ever. He woke up and started his normal morning routine. He didn’t hear a sound from her until he was already fully dressed and ready for the day.

He was in his study, setting up his laptop and phone for his meeting with his tax consultant when she’d walked up to the open door and knocked on the frame. He looked up and smiled before he’d even thought to, the joy her presence brought him bubbling up and out. “Good morning, darling. Have a good rest?”

“I did. You busy?” She gestured to the folders on his desk.

“I have a meeting with my tax advisor. I am certain that the IRS will decide I owe them money even when I am dead and in Asmodeus’ grasp.” He chuckled. 

“Truly, what is certain in life but death and taxes. Well, perhaps I should change that one to nothing is certain except taxes. Because, well, you know.”

“How very droll of you, darling.”

“So, what tax situation is this about?”

“No idea. He sent me a ninety-six page attachment of ideas. I do believe the dear man thinks I was going to read that. How precious that he doesn’t realize I have hired him precisely so that taxes are not something I ever have to think about. I don’t even write the checks. That is Daniel’s job. Well, one of Daniel’s young reports, anyhow.”

“Your deep and abiding disrespect for the institutions under which you have created and maintained wealth based on ill-gotten gains is strangely charming.”

“Excuse me, everything about me is charming.” He scoffed. 

“Except the singing in the shower.” Tav smirked. “But that aside, I’ll probably be running some errands today. See you for dinner?”

His heart fell a little. He’d hoped to spend the day together. He’d spent so long apart from her but he had to remind himself she had no such experience. “Of course! Just text Nina whatever you’d like and she’ll bring it over later. Don’t worry about getting me anything. I’ll be working quite a bit today, but dinner at eight?”

She smiled and walked away. 

The meeting was quicker than he had hoped. Paul.. or Peter? Perhaps Parker? The name started with a P and was boring and English. That much he was certain of. The man had quickly realized that Astarion was more likely to eat his thumb than get excited about anything related to taxes, and instead agreed he would have the meeting with Daniel and the business managers and simply email him the plan for his review.

He grabbed himself a liquid second breakfast to try and trick his brain into remembering how to do boring work properly in preparation for Daniel being a good sport and working with him on the contract. Coming on the heels of Daniel’s clear discomfort with his true nature, he wasn’t sure the poor man was going to be able to handle assisting with brokering a deal with a devil.

He opened his email and saw a replay had come through while he was filling his goblet downstairs. 

 

Mr. Ancunin -

Please allow me to assure you that as a priority client of the firm, your priorities are our priorities.

I have cleared my schedule for the next eight hours to work on this draft. Please call me as soon as you are able. I will require that you share the specific outcomes you are hoping to achieve so I can best aid you in “sucking the marrow from the bones of this offer.”

Daniel Bramston

 

He dialed Daniel’s number and put him on speaker, setting his phone on the desk and opening the contract as the line rang.

“Astarion, are we actually drafting a counter-offer to a contract with the devil?” The man sounded genuinely excited. Almost out of breath. 

“ A devil, Daniel. This is not the adversary of your Jesus. This is a cambion, the half-human son of the Archdevil of Cania, a powerful devil of Avernus, the first layer of the nine hells. He is cunning, cruel, and exceedingly full of himself.” 

“I get the sense that you do not subscribe to the pot and kettle theory of social interactions.”

“I may be guilty of a little too much enjoyment of petty vanity, but Raphael has a sex slave enchanted to look like himself. No one is as full of himself, literally, as that devil manages to be.”

Daniel choked on the other end for a moment. “Is there a purpose for this contract being drafted in Latin?"

“Latin is the language of the nine hells, the tongue they call infernal. All such contracts are written in it to be binding. I do not want to give him the opportunity to make alterations during translation. It will have to be translated into their writing system, though, so a clause to require that process to be a full and perfectly accurate translation would be in order.”

“Noted. Luckily, I studied Latin at Eton and furthered my education while studying the classics at Oxford before entering into my law program, so I am well qualified for this endeavor. Any other general information I should be aware of regarding this Raphael character in particular, or devils in general?”

“Do not misjudge this adversary. Whilst his bedroom activities are both deplorable and hilarious, he is extremely clever when it comes to his contracts. I do not know why he is, in particular, desperate to win the prize of first claim on my already damned soul, but I do know that he is beyond desperate. Desperate enough that he already gave me the thing I wanted most without strings as his opening gambit.”

“Miss Martin. I gather from the contract that you believe the devil’s proclamation that she contains the soul of your dead paramour?”

“All signs point to this being a fact. Not only does she look, sound, and act like her, also… hmmm. Let’s say that my heightened senses can detect other ways in which she is identical.”

Daniel tutted. “I see. If we are not going to contest this fact nor require proof, then the next point of contention I see is the lack of a protective clause for yourself. As your soul does not transfer to his claim until you are present in the Hells, he will have every motive to find a way to draw you there as soon as possible. The obvious method is your death, which while difficult to achieve is not entirely impossible, according to the trust. The second issue would be if there is a way you could travel to this place, ‘the hells,’ while still in your physical form, the current contract would still give him immediate claim.”

Fuck. “How did I not see that? Gods damn it!” He slammed his hand down on the desk and then swore again as he saw that he had put a small crack in the glass where his palm hit it. “I used to be good at this. Well, I must have been. I was the youngest Elven magistrate in the city’s history when I was promoted. I know I was intelligent, but at some point, my brain was turned into a spoiled little brat that will not be brought to heel.”

“Do you genuinely want an answer to that Mr. Ancunin, or shall I treat that monologue as a rhetorical device?” Daniel’s arch tone brought a smile to Astarion’s lips. 

“Oh, please, darling. Share your observations at will.” He mostly meant this.

Daniel cleared his throat. “In my knowledge, you neither follow a practice of study nor academic work on a regular basis. The brain may be fat and gelatin rather than muscle, but it still requires regular exercise to maintain its strength. Yours has been allowed to stagnate. However, you have enough wit to do anything you desire. I would suggest starting a regular habit of reading dense material as a start.”

“I had truly expected that to be something a lot more witty and fun, Daniel. Instead, that was merely depressingly accurate. Full marks for accuracy, zero for being an utter drip. Perhaps keep the observations to yourself before I am too morose to function at all.” He whinged a little, then stopped to try and regain his dignity. “Oh! Daniel, while I have you on the line if you could also be a dear and have a contract drawn up giving Nina lifetime tenancy to Hyaline? She plans to retire in a few years and I told her she may live there as long as she wishes. Maybe set up some kind of trust for maintenance and repairs she can access as well?”

“I’ll proceed with that. The forms will be sent for your signature within the week.” His transition from his casual tone to his crisp, proper pronunciation and lawyer voice brought a smile to Astarion’s lips. “Let’s proceed, Mr. Ancunin, starting with, what are the goals of this process for you?” 

“I want Octavia’s life to be extended. A perfect world would be for as long as mine without shortening my own. And, of course, that she would maintain an appearance no more aged than mine and keep her quality of life the same, as well. Also, I’d like to see her memories of her past life, at least the time we spent together, to be fully restored to her.”

“I see. Simple enough, and yet the potential pitfalls loom enormous. I am glad you engaged my expertise, Mr. Ancunin. I will treat this with the utmost care and attention, you have my word.” 

Daniel got to work on details concepts, swept up in the challenge of it all. The chance to outsmart a devil seemed to provide a particular thrill to the process for the lawyer. The moment his solicitor had put it into those terms. Astarion’s brain was suddenly fully onboard with focusing on the dense, complex test. All the excitement and potential for chaos must have provided the requisite adrenaline stimulation his brain cells needed to get in line.

Hours seemingly flew by while the pair debated methods of memory recovery, researched the human aging process to provide precise and unassailable descriptions of how the proposed extended lifespan for Octavia would work, and then they both tried to find every loophole the devil might use against him. Any sliver of daylight coming through the walls that required patching. 

Suddenly, Daniel was begging off the call, noting that it was close to midnight in London which drew Astarion’s eyes to the clock on the wall which would shortly be chiming six pm. He bid the lawyer good evening, and Daniel promised to schedule another working session as soon as possible. 

Without the contract to occupy his mind, he felt slightly at a loss of what to do until dinner with Tav. Should he get dressed up? She was quite casually dressed prior to leaving for errands but she might get dressed up for dinner with him. Then again, if he dressed up but she did not, he may unintentionally make her uncomfortable. 

He was already uncomfortable enough for both of them since the disaster the other night.

All he had dreamt of was at his fingertips. His love was here, in his house, where he finally had the means to treat her properly, to worship her as he should have done all along, here in his perfectly appointed boudoir. To have her properly on silk satin sheets, or perhaps he’d leave that for later and start by having her ride him on his favorite leather chair. Should he pull her into his shower the next morning, or perhaps he should invite her for a morning swim and investigate the potential of the weightlessness that the water would provide? 

He desired her, more than he’d ever desired anyone, and yet now he knew that until he resolved the enormous debt between them, he would be unable to properly bring those desires to fruition. But his mind and his cock seemed to be quite unaware of his predicament and instead felt the need to conspire to see his home in terms of every potential fantasy he could unlock with his sweet little bard.

He pulled himself out of the spiral by getting under the spray of his shower and taking himself in hand as his mind drifted back to their first time. 

She’d come seeking his help. A mission she wanted kept secret from the others. Another chance to secure her to his cause, he’d immediately agreed without hesitation. 

The entire operation had been a series of him becoming more and more impressed. She led him all the way to the heart of the grove along paths she’d been told of. Apparently, being kind to the little thieves earlier had a payoff he’d missed. Her plan was simple, he’d hide along the path to the harpies, she’d disguise herself as Nettie, the druid healer’s apprentice, and she would lure the snake bitch back to him, where he’d cut her throat. 

No way for even her spirit to identify her killers, the little bard had said with a sly smile, turning his view of her as a naive little bleeding heart completely upside-down.

He didn’t know how she’d convinced the woman to follow her back, but it didn’t take long before she led her prey right in front of his spot in the shadows. She’d nodded and he struck, reaching around and cutting her throat, deep enough to sever the trachea and keep the woman from crying out. His little bard had been caught in the arterial spray, glistening red drops falling on her cheeks like ruby red freckles. 

They’d slipped back out of the grove, then wove their way carefully back through the woods towards the camp. He was near giddy from the surprise and delight at their little murder spree when she’d stopped halfway to their camp to catch her breath. She’d looked at him with bright, gleeful eyes and thanked him for his help. 

The blood was still wet on her face, her little rabbit heart was racing, her cheeks pink with excitement. Her gratitude. All of it called to him in a way he wasn’t used to feeling. Well, an opportunity as good as any to put his plan into action. 

“Darling, I do think that was the second most delightful way we could have spent our time this evening. I must say, it is a shame though that we need to race back to camp so our companions don’t suspect what we may have been up to this evening.”

“Hmmmm.” She’d purred. Not in a careful, practiced way, but in a way that seemed like a genuine reaction. “What if I made your night a little more delightful and gave our companions a simple explanation of why we snuck off into the woods tonight?”

He dropped into his act without thinking, his eyes drooping to half-lidded, a practiced seductive grin that kept his fangs hidden spreading on his face. She was making this entirely too easy for him, barely any work at all. 

“I’d think that the gods themselves must have made you just to ruin a man like me, little bard.” He let the honeyed line roll off his tongue in his most silvered, seductive tone. The one that regularly got his marks squirming before he’d even touched them. He reached out and ran his finger over her cheek bone smearing the still-wet sanguine freckles like paint over her skin. He followed her exquisite bone structure across her jaw, down the column of her throat quickly to avoid temptation, and then across her collarbone, exposed by the unlaced shirt she’d worn. 

The little gasp she’d let out at his touch made him smirk. “So responsive. You are going to sing for me tonight, aren’t you?” He purred it at her. 

She nodded, seemingly struck mute by lust. The feeling of power that gave him was as heady as the scent of freshly spilled blood and arousal. 

“Undress for me, darling. Show me that delicious little body before I devour you.”

He’d been shocked that she’d acquiesced to his command without question or hesitation. She put on a delightful little show, making the process sensuous without taking any unnecessary time. Standing bare before him, her clothes draped over a low branch, he took in the sight of her. 

He’d originally assessed Tav as cute but nothing special. Standing here, her pink-porcelain skin glowing in the moonlight, dark brown hair falling in perfect waves down her back, wide eyes the color of starlight on steel, pouty pink lips begging to be kissed, perfect little mouth-sized tits pointing straight out with delightfully flushed nipples, and a dancer’s lithe body except for the soft curve of her lower abdomen laid out before him, she wasn’t cute. Nor adorable. Nor pretty.

She was a nymph, a siren, the sort of beauty that existed only in the paintings of a high-end pleasure house, too perfect to be real. Too good by far for the likes of him. His desire sank like a stone, but desire was never his dance partner in the bedroom, and its absence was more comforting than a hindrance.

He’d kissed her, a bruising press he used to test her desire for force, feeling proud of himself when she’d responded exactly as he’d guessed, by submitting completely. When he’d turned and pleasured her instead, letting his mind drift as his body completed the act of perfectly drawing out one orgasm after another out of her, she sang his name sweetly and loudly into the night, informing their companions of exactly where they were and what they were doing. 

He had undressed after that, the next steps following automatically, prepared to force the physical reaction that would read to her as his enjoyment and be done with this charade, when her hand reached out and gently drew his face to look at her. 

“Astarion, what do you desire?” She asked in a low murmur.

His mind had gone blank but instinct provided a response... “The same thing as you, I suppose. Our collective ecstasy.” He kissed her, crawling up over her to complete the process.

She stopped him with a single, gentle hand flat on his chest. “Then allow me to help you find it.”

He’d expected her to do something performative for a few moments, before relenting to be fucked. Instead, she’d shocked him again.

“May I touch your ears?” She asked in a tone that was hesitant, not a demand. He typically avoided overly intimate moments like this, but he needed her to have that sort of bond for his purposes, so he agreed. 

She gently kissed him, and ran her nails lightly along the edge of his ears, right up to the helixes. He felt the most wonderful shiver pass through him, shocking him into being in the moment. She kissed him a moment longer with her full, soft lips and then murmured, “You have such beautiful shoulders. May I touch them?” 

The request for permission made him feel light-headed. He’d nodded again, still shocked and she gently ran her hands over the planes of his muscles. “Watching you shoot a bow is going to be very distracting in the future.” She murmured into his skin as she placed kisses along his shoulder blades. “I’ll be imagining how you’d under my hands and lips while using all these lovely muscles.”

He smirked a little, he knew how to work this. “So, you enjoy a strong man in your bed, little bard?” 

He was about to show off his strength and toss her onto her back when she pulled him up short. “I like watching you fight. You make death look like dancing.” She hummed into the curve of his collarbone. “May I touch your chest?”

“Darling, you needn’t ask permission for every touch. I’m here to be enjoyed, after all.”

“What if I said it isn’t for you, it’s for me?” He felt her smile against his skin. 

“Well, then, I suppose I shouldn’t withhold your pleasure from you.” He said it lightly, but it scraped against the hollow part of him he tried to never be aware of. “Yes, you may touch me there.”

Her hands ran over the planes of his chest. Tracing the edges of his sternum, running along the edges of his entirely too visible ribs, traces the edges of his nipples. He didn’t even know he liked having those touched by another, but somehow her hands soft but calloused on the fingertips, turned the pointless things into a feeling that made him keen and arc his aching cock into her thigh, seeking out some kind of relief. She’d followed her fingers with a clever tongue that was strong and pointed, tracing the edges and then following with feather-light kitten licks. 

Astarion had forgotten what this felt like, something new that was good. It was not the had never once had a pleasurable moment with a mark, but the dance was choreographed and this wasn’t in the routine. If he’d ever been touched here or like this… it was when he was still mortal, lost forever to his memory. 

He’d been gasping putty in her hands after that. When she’d asked if she could taste him, he nearly finished from the thought like a foolish teenage boy, but her’d managed to squeak out a please. He’d done this a thousand times to others, but only a handful had ever returned the favor, and none of them had been particularly skilled. This little bard clearly had practice. The things she did with her strong, pointed tongue and those pillowy soft lips were probably illegal in some circles. He nearly broke out into tears before she was done. He felt so good, so desperate for a release. 

Then she’d proven she didn’t have a gag reflex and as she suddenly swallowed him into her hot, tight throat, his eyes rolled into his head.

The memory faded as he released with dizzying, white-hot pleasure, imagining it was her hot little mouth on him rather than his hand. The shower washed away the evidence and the hot water helped his mind ease. 

He debated what to wear for dinner after, standing in his closet. Part of him wanted to pull out all the stops and wear something that showed off his best features to full effect. He opened his corset drawer and debated if he should wear one with leather trousers, or if Octavia might be a woman with an open mind to one of his more feminine pieces. He had a silk kimono-style robe that looked phenomenal on him held closed only by a tightly laced leather corset. He sighed and forced himself to not visually throw himself at her tonight, opting for sensible woolen trousers, pairing them with a cashmere sweater instead of a half-open shirt.

He looked boring. Thoughtful. Like a person who was actively trying to get precisely zero action. The sort who would ask someone back for coffee and then make them a literal cup of coffee.

Notes:

Oh, dear, Astarion. Even you know how disappointed Tav will be when she finds out you were negotiating a contract with Raphael behind her back.

Chapter 9: Exquisite

Summary:

Astarion somehow is falling even deeper for Octavia, and after they spend an unsual day with her acquaintances, he shares a little bit of what their brief time together had been like.

Notes:

This is my note that while writing this, I've essentially had to write 85% of the story of the no good, terrible canon run that happened in this fic. I realized that there aren't many main story novelization fics where the outcome is terrible. Not just evil, but sad.

If you'd want me to finish the missing bits and polish it - understanding that it will be a story that goes from sweet to terrible pain and ends in agony - let me know in the comments.

He lounged at the table, sipping on wine as he waited for Octavia to join him. He’d heard her come in almost an hour ago, but she’d gone straight to her room and then to the shower. He still didn’t know what her errands entailed. 

Perhaps he should have asked? But he didn’t want her to feel like he wanted to control her. She was living in his house. He was her employer. Everything was so tricky. He needed to fix their standing but he was also terrified… would she leave? What if she was simply humoring him and was lying through her teeth?

Panic spiraled in his stomach so hard he shattered the wine glass in his hand. The shards sliced open his palm, the wine burning where it touched the open wounds for the brief instant before they regenerated. The pain grounded him, and he looked around. The white tablecloth was splattered with his dark, bitter-scented blood and the claret red wine. Glass shards glittered in the candlelight. 

He stood up with a frustrated growl at his loss of control. He was moving the dishes off the table and onto the sideboard when Tav walked in. He nearly dropped the plates but managed to set them down, slowly, while he let out a breath that turned into something between a moan and a plea.

She was a vision. He stared at her open-mouthed and wide-eyed, not a care in the world for dignity. A gloriously rich, shimmering silk dress, draped perfectly over her, emphasizing slight curves and clinging to flat planes, rippling like a dance with her every move. The color was that color of her eyes, only slightly deeper and more blue. It made her skin glow like it was lit by moonlight. 

He’d never gotten to see Tav like this. Clean. Healthy. Dressed in the luxury she was surely meant for. She’d been the most beautiful creature he’d ever known covered in gore and swamp muck and the grime of a month of sleeping in the dirt, dressed in naught but rags and stolen armor. But seeing her like this… tears were openly running down his face. 

“Astarion… are you… did I do something wrong?” He heard her voice, her worry, but he couldn’t respond. He was frozen. still taking her in. 

Her hair was pulled into an artfully mussed updo, leaving the column of her throat exposed, little tendrils of her deep brown tresses drawing his eyes down the lines of her veins, right to the mark of his bite she now bore. His, the dark passenger that kept him alive whispered to him in delight. His mortal heart cracked open with the force of his feelings. 

“Tav… Octavia… “ His voice cracked. “Tath ennemar arsurinya d’salu salen ailleser.” ~ The only goddess worthy of my devotions ~

Her eyes widened as understanding flickered through them. He heard her heartbeat quicken and flutter. 

“Tath staciar teushtasa vian ama kerradun’ennae“   ~ The stars themselves rain down tears for want of your beauty. 

“Astarion…” 

The way she said his name was everything. Nothing existed but the invisible tether that hung heavy in the air between them. Thiramin… The word slithered through his thoughts and his knees went weak at the realization, and the weight that the concept still had on him, causing his eyes to close involuntarily. How had he not known? For all this time he had loved and lost and grieved… 

He didn’t know when she’d crossed the space between them, didn’t notice until he felt her hands on his face, cradling it gently. His eyes snapped open to her wide-eyed stare. 

“Astarion, you can’t just say things like that to me.” Her voice was a soft whisper. 

“I never… I’ve always known you were perfect, my love. You were always the most beautiful person to me. But to see you like this. Gods, if you could only remember what it was like. The conditions we were under…”

He shuddered, thinking about being grateful to scrub in freezing, gritty river water, the way they’d all smelled after being in leathers all day in the heat of Grymforge, the way her softness had slowly melted away under the fighting and walking and then the lack of food that last tenday within the curse.

The words finally came to him. 

“Salen’itae, millentu’and vian ama, millentu quor’she vian fisax d’aro sha.“  ~ My love, I knew you were beautiful, now I know you are brighter than the summer sun. 

He placed his hands on her bare shoulders and leaned down into a gentle kiss. She pulled him in deeper with her hands on his face. He lost himself in the plush press of her lips, the sweet sighs he swallowed from her mouth, the feel of her slight form pressed into him. He pulled away with regret when he realized her heart was racing from lack of breath rather than excitement. 

The excited flush that now spread on her skin, the sparkle of her eyes and those enlarged pupils, the way her heart beat so hard it drowned out any worries he had… warmth and lightness spread through him like the most euphoric high. 

“So… I was going to ask what you thought of this dress…” Her lips curved up in a grin. “But I think I have my answer.”

Her sudden levity broke through the seriousness of the mood and he giggled. “I may have been a tad enthusiastic. But what I think? Well, I’ve only seen the front. Do a turn for me, darling.”

She threw him playful look, and then proceeded to do a little model walk across the dining room, complete with the turn at the end and a few poses before walking back. He took in a few more details than he had at first when he’d simply been overtaken by how stunning she was. 

The cowled neck draped down into an open and perilously low back, revealing the tiny dimples that graced the very top of her derriere. As she moved, the color had a slight silvery shift beneath the blue color, and the skit had a way of pooling about her knees she walked that made her seem to be floating rather than walking. It was somehow more breathtaking, more alluring than even he’d initially thought. 

“Do you have a verdict to issue?” Her teasing tone was back, pulling him out of his thoughts and putting a smile on his face. 

“Do I need to say it out loud? You are simply stunning, love. You always are, but this…” He gestured, “amplifies it. Is there an occasion? It cannot possibly simply be having dinner.”

“No occasion. This was finally finished. I picked it up this morning from the boutique. It was supposed to be for my friend Pink’s wedding in May… but given that we aren’t talking and there’s a global pandemic, I’m assuming I won’t be wearing it there. I figured however, you might be the sort of person where dating you would mean I’d need to own at least one classy dress like this.”

“Are we dating, then?” He asked her, keeping his tone light but desperately searching her face. She’d kissed him, tried to have him in her bed… but he knew better than most how little that could mean. 

“Unless you have a better term.”

He stared at her, thinking of his earlier revelation but keeping it to himself. Now more than ever he was determined to get her memories back. “You can call me whatever you’d like, Octavia, as long as it’s yours.”

She suddenly looked around the room, taking in the mess. “Um, what happened?”

He smiled wryly. “I got lost in thought and forgot there was a wine glass in my hand. My apologies, I was cleaning up but there was this divinely beautiful creature who waltzed into the room and stole all my thoughts.” 

She laughed while he started folding up the tablecloth, capturing the glittering shards of broken glass. “Well, I am a touch overdressed for dinner tonight. There’s a pizza coming shortly. Would it be silly if I went and changed while you cleaned up?”

He gave a flip of his wrist to send her off and finished getting up the mess. He put the cloth and the glass inside in a bucket he found in the laundry room, and put a note on top warning the cleaners of the glass inside. By the time Tav came back in a worn fuzzy purple sweater over black leggings, he had the table reset. 

The doorbell rang just then, and she grinned as she ran to presumably get the pizza. He poured himself a new glass of wine, and poured her can of Dr. Pepper into a highball glass. She walked back in with the pizza box and her eyes zoned straight in on the glass. 

“Was the can at the table too low-brow for you, Mr. Ancunin?” Her teasing tone felt like old times. 

“Well, when the company is this exquisite, it feels like the glassware ought to match.”

She rolled her eyes but said nothing further, even when he pulled the chair out for her and scooted her in. She grabbed a piece of the pizza and took a big bite, closing her eyes while she chewed. 

“You know, I miss home sometimes, but the pizza in Chicago is far superior.”

He looked at the pizza. It was nothing special, just the local kind called ‘tavern style.’ He wasn’t a fan. Not of this pizza or the dish in general. It was the texture. 

She was eating more of the pizza with that expression of enjoyment. He watched, a little smile gracing his lips as he remembered watching her trying to swallow down the food Gale would manage to scrap together. A part of him loved knowing that he could feed her properly now. She’d never have to go hungry or eat rotten food with him this time. 

“Tell me about your home, in Boston.” 

“What do you want to know? I had a few…” She said, a slightly sad expression crinkling her eyes. 

“Did you like it there?”

She seemed to consider it. “I liked some things. People there are more direct than here. I miss hearing the old people with strong Boston accents. The seafood here is appalling. And there is a sense of history there that doesn’t exist here.” She looked off for a moment, then flicked her eyes back to his. “What about you? What do you miss about home?”

He grimaced. “That is a hard question to answer, my sweet.”

“Well, then, what do you miss about Baldur’s Gate?”

“Oh… What’s not to miss? The smell of piss and unwashed bodies? The sewers that served more to house murderous cultists and rats than to rid the city of effluvium? I barely even got to see that place. For two hundred years I stalked the shadows, barely part of the city at all, and then I returned for a handful of days during which I murdered an archduke, a vampire lord, a Chosen of the god of murder, a powerful archmage, and blew up a factory. I barely had time for sightseeing, my dear.”

He sighed. “I suppose, the closest thing I have to home, is my first house on Earth. My estate in southern England.”

“You have an estate? What are you, some kind of Lord?”

“As far as a title of aristocracy, no. I did a favor for King George II. A few years later, when he was crowned, he gave me a dispensation to buy acreage in Dover from an impoverished noble family despite my status.”

“Of course, you knew an English king.”

“He was German, my dear. Well, Hanoverian. The map was quite different than now. I made quite a bit of my money in the textile trade, which meant I had ships and caravans that could move almost anything quickly between most of the continent and London. We weren’t friends. I was a useful criminal and played cards with some of the same people. Either way, I saw an opportunity and seized it.”

“Tell me about your house.”

“Estate, my dear. It’s near the coast in Dover. From the second and third floor of the southern wing, you can see the channel.” He pulled out his phone and pulled up the pictures, passing it over to Tav with a small smile. “I spent a decade designing and overseeing the build, and I’ve remodeled it about a dozen times over the years. It’s my favorite house.”

She stared at the pictures, eyes wide. “It’s beautiful . I’ve never seen anything quite like it. I mean, the outside looks like every Regency movie’s estate house but the interior…”

He grinned wide. “You wouldn’t have. That is Tel’Quessan architecture. Well, as close as I could imagine. Traditionally, the columns and supports would have been living trees grown with magic into the proper shapes, rather than trees carved from stone and adorned with living plants to bring in the proper greens. The windows would have been similarly formed from fey magic, as opposed to stained glass, but the effect is almost identical. Also, as far as I know, it was the first first private home in England to have hot running water since the Romans. I always strove to have a very, very small staff.”

“You don’t seem like me to be the type to feel guilty about having hired help.”

“In an era when witch burnings still occasionally happened, the only way to keep my secret safe was to enthrall my staff. I tried to limit the horror of it all, I truly did. I kept as much of their personality, their self intact as I could, and every person I hired knew what they were signing up for.”

Tav looked as horrified as he had feared. “Why would anyone be willing to become a thrall?!”

“It was a particularly terrible time to be a poor person in England, darling. Civil wars, religious fighting, terrible outbreaks of disease, famine… I could provide a safe home for them and their families. I had a reputation for being a kind man to work for in a time when that was rare. But I was still preying on the desperate, no matter how I tried to justify it to myself. I embraced every technology I could to lessen the number of people I had to subject to it.”

“Are you still… is Nina a thrall?” Her voice was shaking. 

“No, darling. I haven’t enthralled anyone since 1892. The enlightenment meant I no longer had to fear if someone saw my goblet with a particularly thick red liquid in it, or had too many questions about how my successor would suddenly appear fully formed upon my death to inherit my wealth. Loyalty alone and keeping emotionally distant was enough. Anyone who learns an inconvenient truth now is simply fired and paid off before they can learn enough. I am far too friendly with Nina but we have an unusual partnership, to be honest.”

“Then why did you need to convince Daniel?”

He paused. “My lawyers have always known. If they didn’t believe it to be true, they wouldn’t understand the stakes.” He sighed. “If this changes… how you feel about me, I’d understand.” He wasn’t going to break down, he swore it to himself. 

She bit her lip and wouldn’t look him in the eye. It felt like a crack was opening up in his chest, and the pressure of the universe was crushing him. 

Time stopped, at least for him.

And then she looked up. “Tell me something, Astarion. When we fell in love, did we ever disagree about things like this? Morals and philosophy?”

He burst out laughing and she looked at him angrily. “It’s not funny.”

“Oh, but it is, my sweet. If you had any idea... We were constantly butting heads. You wanted to rescue every bloody kitten up a tree across the continent. My basic philosophy was that we should murder and steal our way through.”

“How in the fuck did we ever manage to get together?”

“Well, the undeniable attraction helped.” She raised an eyebrow at him. “And… we both bent, a little. I conceded that not everyone was terrible and that having friends was actually kind of nice. You taught me that other people could be worth taking care of and I taught you that you were worth taking of.”

“So I knew that you were kind of morally questionable and selfish?”

“I was so much worse than questionable. On the seventh day we knew each other, we had to make a choice. To take on an entire encampment of goblins, orcs and drow - hundreds of them against five of us, or to lead the goblins to an encampment of refugees, most of whom were children, and let them slaughter the helpless.”

“That’s hardly a choice.” Octavia folded her arms. 

“I believe my exact words were… ‘Hundreds? That’s going to take hours to kill them all. We should just go.’ But you… you didn’t give up on me, or dismiss me like the rest of the others did as an evil creature. You understood why I didn’t want to help, that I’d learned over my two hundred years of torment that helping people always got me hurt. You were patient and kind. Far better than the likes of me ever could have deserved.”

He sighed. “You never got to know, but they were there, at the end. The ones who survived and made it all the way to the city, they joined us for the final battle. All of them - all those annoying kittens you’d made us save. They all came. The pregnant woman we saved from the hag. The tieflings from the Grove. The prisoners we released from Moonrise Towers. The gnomes from the underdark. The dog and the owlbear cub.”

“We had an owlbear cub?”

“Yeah. I named him Ni’klatha.” He smirks.

“You named him… little meal? You named him S nack?! I don’t know whether I love that or hate that. Tell me you never fed on him.”

“Why? Are you jealous?” He let his voice purr a little. “I promise you were the only one at camp I tasted, in every sense of the word.”

“No, you absolute lech. I can’t believe I had the chance to have an owlbear as a pet and you went and named him Snack .” 

He noticed she seemed to have forgotten any discussion of her ability to forgive him, and he could deal with a non-answer easier than being rejected so… he decided not to bring it back up. 

“Speaking of time spent in Faerun…” Octavia looked up at him questioningly. 

“What? Why am I suddenly worried by the look you are giving me, Tav?”

“I may have told my Discord DnD group that you’d be joining our next session.”

“Absolutely not.” He spoke in a clipped, annoyed tone. “I’m not going to pretend to traipse around my world, pretending to be someone else.”

She looked up at him with devastatingly huge eyes, and he knew he was somehow going to lose. 

“Would you at least be in the room with me so I can show off my devastatingly handsome boyfriend?”

“Only if you call me your paramour. Or partner. Beloved would work, if that’s not too much pressure on your feelings. But darling, I have not been a ‘boy’ in a very, very long time.”

She smiled. “I can handle that. If you do decide to play-”

“Not a chance in the Hells, my dear.” 

---

Two days later, Astarion was sitting in Tav’s room, doing a remarkable job of holding his tongue while an angry man, currently ‘playing’ an Elven ranger named Kevin, was explaining to him that he, the only Elf on Earth, didn’t understand how Reverie worked. 

“No. Ok, dude, Astrion or whatever. I’ve been larping as an elf since the ‘90s. I know 5E doesn’t address the whole thing, but, like, it’s been motherfucking clear since the early 80's that their eyes are open during reverie. That’s why they get initiative if attacked.”

Luckily, they weren’t on a video feed or he might have accidentally compelled Kevin to shut the fuck up. Tav could see his face though, and she was giving him, “please don’t” eyes. 

“First, it’s Astarion - four delightful, perfect syllables. Please do work on your elocution skills, darling. Secondly, I assure you that the eyeballs of a Quessir will dry out the same as any other species if left exposed to the air for four hours. Now, perhaps, the clear secondary eyelids of the Alu’Tel’Quessir might serve this purpose, but for the rest of Elvenkind, the eyelids shut during Reverie.”

“What in the fuck are the Alu’Tel’Quessir? And clear secondary eyelids? What kind of homebrew bullshit is this?”

A woman ‘playing’ a human feylock named Blaze popped in. “Kevin - you don’t know your people? The Alu’Tel’Quessir are the Sea Elves.”

“Thank you, darling. Yes, Kevin, our cousins, the Alu’Tel’Quessir have evolved to their semi-aquatic lives, including a special eyelid they can see through while in the water. I’m genuinely shocked you are lacking in such basic information. Were you perhaps raised amongst the N’Tel’Quess?” 

He had been assigned a character upon joining as the group did not want to spend the apparent hours that character creation might take. He still ended up spending several heated minutes arguing with the leader of the game, Rob, until Rob relented and made his character a proper Tel’Quessir. Like Hells was he going to pretend to gallavant around Faerun as anything lesser. It was bad enough they had made him a wizard. 

Rob cleared his throat. “If the Elves could be ever so slightly less Elvish for five minutes, there is a man in the corner of this tavern that has been making eye contact with Blaze for a while now. You’ve all noticed it, except Blaze, since she has been communing with her patron.”

“I turn to Blaze, and quietly say ‘Don’t do anything hilarious, darling, but I think that man may be looking for a bit of a tumble, should you be interested in it.’ And then I glance in his direction.”

“Blaze gets up and saunters over, dropping a coin on the tray of a passing barmaid and stealing a tankard meant for another patron. I place it on the table in front of the man, and flip around a chair at his table, sitting down on it to face him. ‘It seems like you wanna talk. So… talk.’ Blaze rolls a 23 for persuasion.”

“ Noice.” Tav says appreciably. Tav is ‘playing’ a half-orc barbarian named Matilda this evening. It’s hilarious thinking of her wielding a great axe. Karlach’s axe was almost as tall as Tav. Tav couldn’t even pick it up, let alone effectively wield it.

Rob responds as the man at the table. “Well, pretty lady, I can hardly turn down a free drink and company, now can I? I’m Thorin. I’ve got a caravan coming in next week, but the thing is, my mercenary crew hasn’t shown up to meet it, and the current guards don’t want to stay on.”

“Why me? Why my crew?”

“I’ve met Kevin. He couldn’t lead a hungry rat to a piece of cheese three feet away. I’ve never met a wizard who’s in charge of anyone. And your large friend looks capable and terrifying, but typically orcs don’t have the brains necessary to be leadership material. Which tells me you must be in charge. You have a name, or shall I simply refer to you as the ravishingly beautiful redhead with the phoenix tattoo?”

“You can call me Blaze. My crew might be interested. How far are you going south of Daggerford?” 

“The caravan is destined for a Master Lyndon at the Wide in Baldur’s Gate. Shouldn’t take more than two weeks travel. A hundred gold for your crew to share upon delivery, provided that all the goods, people, wagons, and oxen get there in one piece.”

Astarion was fairly certain this was the single most bizarre thing he’d ever engaged in, and he’d been part of a clown orgy once. At least that had a goal-oriented outcome. He wanted to yell at all of them that this was not at all how one got hired on to defend a caravan. Along the Sword Coast, you’d certainly need to be part of a guild, either the guild or the Zhents in Daggerford. You could be a private crew but then you’d be hired for the whole trip before they ever left, not along the way. 

Also, plenty of mercenary crews are led by half-orcs. Although, any Elf going around by the name Kevin would likely be killed because everyone would know he was either criminally insane or using a poorly thought-out disguise spell.

All of which he relayed to Tav while he held down the mute button on the laptop. Except the bit about the clown orgy. Tavriel had been a very open-minded, absolute freak in bed. Octavia seemed so far to be a bit more... inexperienced, at least.

“Astarion, you need to suspend your disbelief. I know, I know, we are going to get this world wrong but-”

He let go the mute button. “Out of a belief that we all may die of sheer boredom before we get to the point, Astarion casts Tasha’s Hideous Laughter on Kevin.”

“What the fuck, dude?” Kevin was not amused.

“Ok. Kevin, roll a Wisdom save.”

“ Fuck me. Nat one.”

“Absolutely not darling, I’m far too busy tickling you with magic right now. I’m rather talented, but that’s more multitasking than I enjoy.”

“Kevin, you see the wizard pull a white feather out of his robe and wave it in the air. Shortly after, you are gripped by the sudden urge to laugh. Despite your attempt to repress it, a hearty guffaw breaks out from your chest. You stand, bracing yourself on the table as you attempt to control it, but soon the deep laughs turn into staccato, high-pitched giggles. As you fight to get enough air into your lungs, your arms and legs begin to weaken. You start to slump to the floor-”

“Matilda puts out an arm and catches him. I roll a 12 dex.”

“You start to slump to the floor but Matilda jumps from her seat and catches you like you are a swooning maiden. She gently lowers you to the floor as the fits of laughter continue to wrack through your body.” Rob clears his throat. “What do the rest of you do?”

---

Tav closed the laptop two hours later, giggling and looking at him murderously at the same time. 

“I can’t believe you got our entire party killed in our opening tavern scene, you absolute gremlin! Rob is either going to love you or get on a plane so he can stab you.”

“It’s not my fault that none of you understood how to follow my lead. We could have robbed that taproom blind, killed everyone, and still been sympathetic survivors who got sheltered by the caravan without having to do any work.”

“Maybe if you hadn’t started it by attacking our ally out of boredom, the others might have been willing to follow your lead, Astarion.”

“Excuse you, I attacked him out of boredom and malice. Kevin is a complete idiot and deserved what he got. I would have stabbed him but somebody had to go and make me a wizard. Anyone who’s ever spent any time around eyeball torture would know why the idea that a people would rest with their eyes open is insane.”

“Um… Astarion?” Her voice was hesitant.

“Yes, my treasure?”

“Are you operating under the assumption that ‘eyeball torture’ is something most people have been around?”

He looked at her, searching for what the correct answer might be, but her neutral expression held valiantly for several minutes. Much longer than his patience. 

“Um… I’m guessing that I shouldn’t be, based on that question?”

“Good guess.”

A slightly awkward silence spread through the room while they both looked at each other, the same awkward silence that seemed to hit them at a certain hour each night. He was sprawled out on her bed, in linen lounge clothes that looked and felt a rather lot like his old camp clothes. She was sitting at the end of the bed, legs folded up under her butterfly-style, in leggings and an old t-shirt. 

He tried to imagine they were back at camp. His mind filled in the roaring, crackle of the ever-present campfire. Lae’zel’s never-ending grindstone whining. The sounds of Scratch and Snack playing. Karlach’s laughter randomly bubbling up. He tried to imagine they weren’t in this room but in his red tent. Sitting not on a bed but pillows thrown on top of two bedrolls. The smell of dirt and sweat and his old cologne and her clove soap lingering over the dull scent of old blood from the two or three jars he always kept as emergency supplies. 

“Whatever are you thinking about?”

“I was trying to imagine we were back at camp. During the good times, after we’d defeated the goblin army but before we got to the creche.”

It was quiet again, but it was a comfortable quiet. He was lost in his memories, and then he felt her lie down next to him, lying her face on his chest and curling up into his side. He sighed softly with happiness and wrapped his arm around her lightly. 

“Tell me about it. What made those the good times?”

He laughed. “Well, for a start, they were not the bad times.” His free hand tapped on the mattress while he thought. “Against all odds, we’d survived. We survived the equivalent of a plane crash. We’d lived longer than anyone, ever, with the parasites in our heads and had reason to believe they probably weren’t going to kill us anytime soon. We’d found each other, made a team that was functioning, and defeated an army. We’d taken on powerful enemies - a hag in her den, a goblin army, a Matriarch phase spider blessed by Lolth… and survived them all.”

“But you sound like it wasn’t just that things were going well, but like… it was fun?”

“It was!” He laughed. “At night, Gale - the wizard - he made dinner out of whatever we found. You would play your lute and sing songs to entertain us all. Karlach - she was a tiefling warrior, huge and muscle-bound - she would tell jokes and laugh and dance and build up the fire. The pets would play chase and generally be adorable. Wyll, our folk hero and monster hunter, and I often went hunting together, if you can imagine that. The two of us, who couldn’t be more different, hunting together for deer and boar with spears and teeth.”

She listened with her eyes closed. “It sounds kind of like a very strange summer camp. For weirdos.” A smile grew on her lips.”

“It was, my love. I was still terrified of the world, but I was having fun. For the first time, ever, really. And you were the fulcrum around which it all worked. You brought us together. It was your influence that kept us all the very best versions of ourselves. As soon as you were gone -” His voice caught on the thought. “Well, everything fell apart very quickly.”

“What did I do before our adventure? Do you know?”

“You were a bard, love. You played your lute and sang and danced at bars and inns and brothels. You also worked as a barmaid. Living in the Gate was expensive, you constantly complained about it to all of us.”

“So… what I’m hearing is that I was the only one of you weirdos with a normal job.”

He thought about it, but she was right. The rest of them all had been leading rather unusual lives for the average person in the Sword Coast, but not Tavriel. She’d had an utterly normal life. Worrying about paying the rent, trying to get work. One of her biggest worries was if her stuff would still be in her apartment when they got to the city. 

It wasn’t. Her greedy landlord had sold her things the day after her rent was next due, according to her downstairs neighbor. He’d tasted as terrible as his personality.

“I suppose, as much as I dislike using the word in relation to you, you were the most normal of our companions in that respect.”

“Oh, and what words would you use?” She laughed. 

“Extraordinary. Enchanting. Exasperating. Just off the top of my head.” He kissed the top of hers, feeling warm from breathing in the scent of her. “Exquisite.”

She was quiet after that, leaving him to wonder if he’d done something wrong. But then he listened to her heart slow and her breathing soon followed. He stayed still in the way only a non-living creature could, feeling the breathtaking peace that came over him as she fell asleep in his arms.

Notes:

Is this 100% based on the times Neil Newbon has played Astarion during DnD games? Yes. Yes it is.

Is the dress going to come back up? Yes. Yes it is.

On a scale of enchanted by his sacrifice to will stake him in his sleep, how angry do you think Octavia will be when she finds out about the contract Astarion is negotiating with Raphael behind her back?

Why?

Just in general, if you have thoughts to share, I'd love to hear them.

Next up: Nina checks in on Octavia, more contract negotiations and Daniel, and spicy times.

Chapter 10: Whatever the Fuck This Is

Summary:

Tav and Astarion get closer... and Astarion comes up with an impulsive plan after Nina accidently suggests a course of action.

*batstarion makes his first appearance!*

Notes:

Trigger Warnings

Mild Homophobia
Implied domestic violence

Elven Terms

Astarion has Nina as N'Velahrn in his phone. This roughly translates to ‘covert operative.’
The literal translation is closer to ‘one who does battle not in the light.’

Shiorell A state of utter contentment and bliss, similar to what a soul experiences while in Arvendor. A state which Elves remember in their trance only during their earliest years and then cannot clearly remember, leaving them with a longing that is impossible to fulfill. It is said that Elves eventually die not because they get too old, but because their desire for Shiorell outweighs their desire for life.

d’Aasterinianaiatae the beloved wife of Aasterinian, typically a term reserved for those who married under the Elven ceremony of u’aestar’kess.

U'Aestar'Kess "one heart, one mind, one breath" - an ancient High Magic ceremony, which was once the standard of marriage ceremonies among the Elven people. It created an empathic and partially telepathic link between the newly-bonded couple. It is perhaps a testament to the tragic state of the Elvenkind that they have lost the knowledge of this ritual now, except among a select few, and it has become very dangerous to perform.

Shiorell. He hadn’t thought of the word in a long, long time. He used to believe it was a myth, the level of peace and contentment it implied. And yet, he had found it, holding her all night. He’d never even drifted into trance. Everything was simply too perfect to risk a nightmare.

He listened to her breathing, it was slowly increasing in pace, telling him soon she’d be waking up. Her slowly increasing pulse told him the same. She was so warm against him under the blanket he’d pulled over them after she had fallen asleep, so alive. He closed his eyes, soaking up the last few minutes of bliss. 

She took in her waking breath and lifted herself to kiss him on the cheek. The soft press of her lips against his skin caused his eyes to open back up. 

“Good morning, little love.”

“You stayed.” The statement was half a question, half a sigh of wonder.

He smiled at her and kissed her forehead, wrapping his arms around her a bit tighter. “I was rather comfortable.” He sighed. “I suppose we should get up, though.”

She made a little sound of displeasure and his heart swelled with the sweetness of being wanted. He kissed her forehead again. “We could stay in bed all day.” She snuggled her face into the crook of his neck.

“Don’t you have a class to teach today?”

She groaned into his collarbone, a pleasant little buzz. “Don’t remind me.”

“If you don’t like teaching, you should stop. Honestly, love, it is utterly unnecessary for you to work at all unless you wish to.”

She stiffened and sat up, staring at him with confusion written plain on her face. “I am not expecting to be taken care of. Whatever this is, it certainly has not reached the level of what’s yours is mine yet.”

Shit. He’d poked a sore spot, and indeed it was a sore spot for both of them. He’d been putting off this conversation for a few days now. 

“I think…” He started and then stopped, rolling the words over in his head a few times. “I don’t want you to work for me anymore. I’d rather not have ‘whatever this is’ getting messilly entangled with employment.”

“So… you’re going to hire another blood donor?” She looked at him, still confused, and perhaps a little... hurt?

“No.” He said quickly. “Certainly not.”

“Then… color me confused. Didn’t you hire me because you need blood?”

“Need is a… strong word. I can live on animal blood alone. But I weaken over time, rather like someone living on bread and water alone.” He sighed. “I can manage for however long this blasted pandemic takes to burn out.”

“Oh. Well then…” Her voice trailed off and he saw her eyes begin to calculate something. “I think I should be able to be out in a couple of weeks... if you don’t mind giving me that long. One of the other sword teachers needs a roommate starting in mid-April. But I’ll have to try to find a job by then to get added to the lease.”

He was confused now. “You don’t… why do you want to move out?”

“Isn’t living here part of the compensation?”

“Oh, my love. I believe you misunderstand me entirely. I would sooner be burned at the stake than for you to move out.”

She blinked. Several times. “A bit dramatic, don’t you think? So, you don’t want me to be your employee, but you want me to live in your house?”

“I want you to be… and I apologize for the term but for lack of a better one, I would like you to be my girlfriend. Being my employee would rather muck that up, don’t you think?”

“Oh.” She was still for a moment. He exercised all of his limited patience to try and let her process. “So… I do still have some bills, you know. Fairly limited but more than I make from teaching swordfighting a few hours a week. And I won’t be able to help you with expenses.”

“Octavia,” He took a moment to give her a serious face. “Firstly, as established, I have vast resources at my disposal. You would struggle to spend enough to be a noticeable drain on my finances. Secondly, what’s mine is yours, as far as I am concerned. I would have nothing, be nothing, had you not first deigned to foolishly trust me.”

She stood up, starting to pace in the little room. “I don’t like the idea of being a kept woman, Astarion.”

“Ok.” He started forming a plan… well, the nascent beginnings of one. He was good at that part. He’d talk to Daniel and Nina later to flesh it out.

“If you are paying my bills and I live in your house for free, that’s kind of the very definition of being a kept woman.” She enunciated the words carefully, slowly, like she was explaining something to a child.

“Yes, I can see how that might feel to you. Perhaps I should create a better situation then. One where you have financial status of your own to lean on?” 

She tilted her head and stopped pacing. 

“What if I put a sum of money in a trust exclusively in your name? It would be, legally, entirely your money, fully independent of our relationship. If you decided tomorrow to leave, you would still have those funds.”

Her eyes scrunched a little, the little line between her eyes wrinkling. “You’d do that? Just give me something, no strings attached, so I'd feel more comfortable with... us?” She seemed to roll that term around in her mouth. 

He laughed. “My sweet, sweet girl. I’d give you the moon were you to but ask for it. I’d burn down the world just to make you smile. My heart and sanity have been in your hands for centuries. What’s a little money at this point?”

The scrunching disappeared and her eyes went wide, her heart pounding so loudly surely she could hear it thundering. “I… I think that would work. Yes.”

“Splendid! How much do you think would make you feel independently wealthy? Ah, never mind. I’ll ask Daniel to do the calculations.” He was elated that his idea had worked. It would be so much simpler, of course, if she would just accept his view that everything that he had was already hers, but Tav had always been concerned about things like independence and equality.

“Independently wealthy?!”

“Of course, darling, I wouldn’t expect you to risk poverty to escape being with me. No, if this is to be a relationship of something approaching equals, you must be able to live the same lifestyle you would choose no matter what. Like I said, I’ll have Daniel get that information from you and come up with the number. He’s most excellent at that sort of nonsense.”

He got up and kissed her lightly. “I’m so glad we worked that out. It’s been weighing on me, the idea that you might be swayed to be with me due to your employment status. I’d never want you to feel pressure like that.”

She still looked a little dazed. “To be honest, it hadn’t even occurred to me.”

“Ah. Well then, crisis averted!” He clapped his hands excitedly. “When is your class today, love?”

“One, but I have to pick up the equipment from the gym, So I should probably be on my way by noon. Why?”

“I thought I might join you. Come and see what it is my… girlfriend is teaching the youth. Perhaps offer them some pointers from someone who has had real battle experience.” He considered the term around in his mind, hating it. But he couldn’t very well go around calling her his soulmate when she was still barely admitting they were in a relationship.

“I was under the impression that I also fought in battles.”

“Not often with a rapier. Mostly you fought with your hand crossbow or magic. Also, you don’t remember it. I do.”

She made a little noise of displeasure. “I suppose. You’ll have to sit with the parents who stay and watch. On the ground ‘cause there are no chairs. Right now we are practicing at the park.”

He rolled his eyes. “Darling, I am not afraid of a little dirt. If we are to be on our way by noon, we best get along with the morning. If we do not otherwise see each other, I will meet you in the garage by noon.” He kissed her on the forehead once more. She surprised him by standing up on tiptoe and pulling him into a full kiss on the lips.

He headed out for his normal morning routine, rather on a cloud of euphoria. He’d have to deal with his actual business a bit this week, but he’d have plenty of time to spend with Octavia and to work on the contract as well. He considered what she might be interested in doing. With the world locked down, they were somewhat limited.

He went through his morning routine and was swimming laps in the pool when he heard the door shut. He smiled and pulled himself upright to face Tav, recognizing her heartbeat. She was wearing a short robe, and carrying a towel over one arm. She nodded at him and walked over to the little table where his robe and coffee sat. Laying the towel on the back of the second chair, she turned to him. 

“I thought I might join you, should the offer still stand.”

He grinned. He might still not be sure that his complications might not show back up, but he wasn’t going to turn down the chance to see her in a bathing suit. “I would be most pleased if you joined me for a swim.”

She smiled back, a little shyly. One of the differences between his Tav’s. Octavia was younger and a touch less worldly than Tavriel had been. It was adorable, honestly, but he also looked forward to when it passed and he got to experience the utterly debauched side of her that was waiting to bloom. He waited patiently for whatever had her flustered. 

She untied her robe and shrugged it off onto the floor, revealing her to be as bare as he currently was. He took in a deep breath, feeling the rush of blood race to his pelvis in response to the image. He watched as she blushed, a pretty pink that ran from her cheeks down to her sternum, he could see without one of her ridiculous outfits in the way. He loved the way her lips and nipples darkened in tandem with that flush that kissed her skin. 

“Gods, you’re beautiful.” The words slipped out of his mouth as she put her first foot into the water. 

“Oh! It’s warm.” She looked at him in slight surprise. 

“I’m not a fan of the cold, darling. I keep the pool heated.”

She was confidently walking into the water now, her eyes straight on him as she headed towards him. He walked towards her as well, keeping her eye contact. She had to tread water, as the pool was about as deep as she was tall. When he got to her, he was suddenly struck that he didn’t know what he planned to do next. 

She made the move, wrapping her arms around his shoulders and threading her hands up into his hair. He kissed her lips gently and slid his hands over her hips, lifting her legs up and around his hips. As she wrapped around him, he deepened the kiss, letting her hold on to his waist and sliding his hands up to hold her shoulders tightly to him. 

He could feel her heat pressed up against his hardness, feel her heart racing against his chest, and it spurred him into kissing her harder, his tongue exploring her mouth while their lips danced. She broke away after a minute, catching her breath and smiling. 

“I wanted to do that the first day I walked in here, you know.”

He preened a bit under her gaze. “And now what do you want?”

“Well,” she said the word slowly, thinking. She ran one hand lightly over his shoulder, tracing the curve of it. “I want to be with you, Astarion, but it’s not entirely about my wants. I know you talked about having complications, but we didn’t establish what the limits around that were. And the last thing I want to do is to ignore your needs.”

He sighed. Of course, this was coming up. He decided to deflect a bit first.

“You know, Octavia, Astarion is not my real name. Not my true name.”

She looked at him warmly but didn’t respond. “You see, Elves rename themselves upon adulthood-”

“I’m familiar with the custom, yes.”

“Right. The game. I’m surprised they captured that.” He kissed her lightly. “I never told Tavriel my true name, because I had forgotten it. So, this will be something that only you have. A new memory, if you will.”

She said nothing but her smile said everything for her. 

“I forgot almost every detail of my life as a mortal, other than the last hour or so of my life and few exceedingly hazy memories. I remember the scent of my mother’s perfume. The callouses on my father’s hands. I had a friend, as a child, who once pranked me by putting a clear dye in my bath that turned my hair green. I was furious. I remembered the bath and the anger and the green, but not the friend, or my face.” He kissed her again. “So trust me when I say I understand the frustration of memories that are denied you. The first time I tried Absinthe, the real stuff filled with halucinogens, I regained a few remembrances. They were muddled, confused. It took many months before I was able to sort them into understanding. But one thing I learned was I was always a magnificent bastard. I left home very young. Much like if a human moved out at fourteen to another city.”

“You are rather impulsive, aren’t you?” She said it fondly.

“Guilty as charged." He did his little high-pitched titter. "But I was happy to find out that was me, and not leftovers of my former master’s will or side-effects of his tortures. So, little child me - and no, I don’t remember my child name at all - moved to Baldur’s Gate and enrolled in law school. I decided, even though I was eighty years away from becoming an adult in my parents' eyes, to give myself an adult name immediately. I chose Aasterinian.”

“Quicksilver.” She murmured, staring into his eyes. “It… suits you. Your inability to be pinned down.”

“Darling, you can pin me down any time you’d like.” He smirked at her. “But, thank you. So, I picked my name. It was a lovely name, full of meaning, perfect. And then none of the bloody humans could pronounce it. So, one night, I got drunk on fine brandy and out popped 'Astarion' when I was running through simplified pronunciations. Since I only knew my name from introducing myself to the bastard who turned me, and later, my headstone, I only knew myself as Astarion. I didn’t even remember my surname for a long time until I found my death record while doing some other espionage for the bastard.”

She suddenly kissed him, intensely, her legs wrapping tightly around him for a moment as she did so. 

“Thank you. For sharing yourself with me.” He raised an eyebrow suggestively and she shook her head. “Speaking of which… we do need to talk about what you are comfortable with.”    

He rolled his eyes at her. “I, uh. Well, that is to say, I am uncertain? Like I mentioned, what happened… it had been well over a century since I ran into it.”

“Oh.” She was silent for a bit, still tracing her hands along his shoulders, collarbone, and neck. It was lovely. He closed his eyes, leaning into the feeling. “Was it something I did wrong?”

“Oh my love, absolutely not. I think I simply have many feelings about intimacy where you are involved. The way things left off…” He took a breath, steadying himself with the sound of her very much present and alive heartbeat. “I had just admitted the problems I was having. Asked you to not think of me in terms of sex.”

Her hand instantly stopped and she froze. “No, no, little love, I don’t need that now. That was then… you have to understand. I’d been convinced, utterly, that my only value was this body and what it could provide others. I needed a break from it. Time to form an identity outside of sex object and slave. But I’ve had that time. It’s not something I have suffered from in centuries.”

“Oh.” She said it again, but he noticed she didn’t return to touching him. 

He kissed her forehead. “You’ve always been this thoughtful and caring, you know. Do you know what you told me when I asked you that? Utterly ridiculous thing that you are, you said, ‘If being with you means never having sex again, that’s a price I’d pay a hundred times over.’ And you wonder why I’ve never been able to forget you.”

She didn’t respond, instead laying her head down on his shoulder, melting into him. He held her close, pressing a kiss into her hair while she took the time she needed. A minute or so later, she gently pulled her face away and looked at him. 

“It’s not ridiculous.” She snorted. “Sex is… well, it’s nice, but it’s just sex.”

He suddenly smirked. “Challenge accepted, my dear.”

“... What?”

“Not this morning, but soon. Soon, I am going to make you sing a very different tune about the pleasures of the body. Clearly, you’ve not been able to indulge with the right partner if you feel that way. Although I must warn you, I’m going to absolutely ruin you for anyone else.”

He felt her shiver under him and smirked a little. 

“This morning, however, we simply don’t have enough time for what I have planned for you.”

“We have almost two hours, Astarion.” She pouted a little.

He leaned over and nibbled at her ear until he felt her heart fluttering, and then he spoke directly into her ear. “I am going to take you to the absolute brink of your ability to experience pleasure, and then I’m going to send you over the edge into the abyss.” He said the words slowly in the low voice of authority that had always made her shiver, then he pulled back to look her in the eyes with a half-lidded gaze, hazed with all the desire he was feeling just thinking about how to unlock her body. “Of course, only if you want me to.”

Her eyes got very large and he felt her go through a full-body shiver. 

“But trust me, you do want me to.” 

He carefully detached her from him, noting with smug satisfaction that it took her several seconds to remember how to coordinate herself. He didn’t let go until he was certain she was able to keep her head above water. 

“I suppose we should both finish our workouts and get ready. But don’t fret, my sweet. We will have the time. Soon.”

---

Horner Park was larger than he had expected when Tav described it as a neighborhood park. They were in a sunny corner, near a large building that usually housed classes and other facilities but was, of course, shut down due to the pandemic. A handful of people were present, he was certain this place was usually much busier. Parents tried to keep small children wearing masks while they ran about, people exercised dogs in the fenced area where they were allowed, a couple was jogging through, occasionally calling things out to each other. 

He draped himself across the large campaign chair he had brought with from the house. Tav had cracked up laughing when he’d carried it to the garage along with a handful of pillows, but he was not, in fact, going to sit on the ground today. A few children were walking up from the parking area. He was certain they were coming to Tav’s class given the angle they had chosen to follow. 

Tav was dressed again in her anachronistic gear that made him miss his old clothes. Modern clothing left much to be desired, in his opinion. The masculine cut of the outfit suited her lithe shape, and he was quite enjoying watching her bend over as she set up the practice weapons and headgear that each child was to take. 

He’d decided today was a corset and leather pants sort of day, paired with a shirt near identical to his old ruffled one he’d worn for so long. Although this one was black and the silk was still radiant and unmarred. He’d combined it with a black brocade wasp-waist corset and oxblood leather pants that laced down the outsides so he could fit them perfectly against his form. Soft black boots and a pair of small, round sunglasses completed the ensemble. 

After their interlude in the pool, he’d rather been in the mood to make her, as the young people these days called it, thirst, so he’d left the laces on his shirt undone. The fact that he’d be simultaneously making it clear to any coworkers of hers what they might be trying to compete with, well, that was a bonus. He’d watched at least one young man give him a look of despair when Tav had introduced him as her boyfriend when they’d picked up the equipment. He’d tried very hard not to smirk. Too much.

“So, where’s your kid, or are you just a creep?” 

He turned to see a tall, muscle-bound man staring down at him, a sneering expression on his face. He raised an eyebrow back at the man.

“Luckily for the world, I have no progeny. Could you even imagine if there were more of me?” He laughed a little high-pitched giggle. “I’m not here for the children. I’m here for her.” He gestured towards Octavia.

The man tilted his head. “I wouldn’t have pegged you for a ladies’ man. You just stalking her, or…?”

“We live together, darling. Do you not have an urchin of your own who requires your attention?” He dismissed the man with a gesture and returned his focus back where it belonged. 

The man stood over him, huffing with his arms crossed for several minutes. Perhaps he thought he was being intimidating. Astarion mostly ignored him as he neither cared for his opinion nor was he a threat to him. Besides, Tav was demonstrating some delightfully interesting stretches. 

Eventually, the class progressed to practicing footwork while balancing their rapiers. Whichever child belonged to the man, they were disappointing him, based on the faces he made while he watched. Tav patiently went from child to child, loosening an elbow here, demonstrated a back position there. He was impressed with her. He’d never seen her teach anything before, and she demonstrated a quiet confidence that made his heart swell with pride. 

She was announcing something to the kids when his phone buzzed, stealing his attention. He picked it up to see an email had come through from the firm. An EU regulatory storm was gearing up to hit perfume makers over environmental concerns and decisions would need to be made that were above what he allowed the executives he appointed to do. He frowned. He did not want to be drowning in bloody meetings all week, he had far more important things to do.

It wasn’t as bad as the early 1700’s, at least. All he’d bloody been able to do for a few decades was manage the damn business. If it wasn’t a document he had to read or a decision to make, it was a relationship to court or an enemy to murder. Nowadays, he sometimes had entire fortnights where he didn’t have to so much as read an email. 

He opened up his messaging app to take care of a few things. Well, to have Nina take care of a few things.

🌟A

I’ll need to visit Paris and Cologne this week. EU nonsense.

N'Velahrn

Daniel already let me know. The pilots are ready for Friday evening. 

The plane has new tires and I made sure you have a fuel credit account in Cologne.

We need to renew your passport soon. You have a little over a year left.

🌟A

Octavia will be joining me.

N'Velahrn

Can’t go a week without your new fix?

 You’re hopeless. I hope she has a passport.

Assuming you’re staying in the Paris apartment,

I’ll let J know there’s a guest.

I got you a suite in Cologne. I’ll get a second room, close by.

🌟A

Remember, once, when you were first working for me and you asked

why so much of what I own is that particular shade of blue-grey?

 

The sounds of play-fighting had broken out in the background, and he looked up while waiting for Nina’s response. He smiled. Of course, she hadn’t realized what was happening between Octavia and him. Nina had worked for him for twenty-eight years and in all that time he’d had something akin to a relationship exactly once. It had lasted all of eight weeks, longer than usual, shorter than it should have been. Or perhaps eight weeks longer than it should have been, in all honesty.

Tav was running over to break up a play fight that had escalated into a real fight on one side of the fray. A large, red-headed boy, which he instantly recognized as the spawn of the idiot who’d bothered him earlier, was refusing to accept a yield from a smaller boy, and instead was thrashing him soundly. The ‘rapiers’ they were using were blunted and made of a kind of plastic, so at worst the small child would be bruised, but still, it wouldn’t do to allow a bully to run roughshod over early training like this. 

Their job was for later, when it was closer to when the skills would be potentially used under threat of violence. He looked at his phone and saw a reply.

 

N'Velahrn

I remember. I called you a hopeless romantic.

I think that was the most wrong I’ve ever been about you.

🌟A

Octavia Martin is Tavriel. Don’t ask for details.

But two things. We only need one room. And anywhere I go, assume she will join me.

 

“Come on! It’s a fight. Let the boy live a little.” The father complained.

As Tav firmly took the faux weapon away from the bully and led him to the side, the man jumped up, his ire now directed at her. 

“What the Hell! I paid for him to get to participate. If that little bitch can’t handle a bruising, he has no business in this class!” 

Tav turned and stared at the man. The kids went silent and still as they took in her expression. So did most of the adults. Octavia Martin was a tiny little thing. All of five-foot tall and weighed perhaps a hundred pounds, soaking wet. But inside of her was the soul of a woman who once stared the lich queen of the Githyanki into backing down, and she did not disappoint. Her disdain pierced like a laser beam.

“We are training, not fighting. When we train, we are here to elevate each other and grow our skills. Fighting is for those who would harm us. If your son wishes to fight, there are sparring sessions weekly on Sundays he can join, once he exceeds the rank of squire, having proved he can manage to follow directions, has mastered the basics, and is prepared to be injured with grace should he face a superior opponent.”

The man looked at her and made a fundamental error in calculation. He thought because he was big and she was little, he could win if he changed the rules of their battle of wills. “A little thing like you shouldn’t be teaching this class at all, now that I think of it. I mean, one of the children could probably defeat you.”

Tav didn’t take the bait. She stared at the man, tilting her head like she was waiting for him to get to the point.

“I mean, how do we even know you are qualified?”

She walked across the field towards the man, slowly. Astarion ran his tongue across a fang, enjoying the little hit of pain that elevated the entertainment that was unfolding. He was not worried whatsoever about this man. Tav was certain she had this fight, and if she was wrong, well, he was right there. He very much hoped she was right. He hadn’t gotten to watch her in her element in so, so long, but it was once something he very much enjoyed.

When Octavia stood in front of the man, barely reaching his pectorals but somehow still radiating a larger-than-life strength, she spoke. “You wish to test my qualifications?” The quirk of her mouth and the raised eyebrow really, really should have warned this man, but his intellectual capacity was too limited to process that there must be a reason this tiny woman wasn’t the least bit scared.

The man nodded emphatically. 

“Well, then. Longsword or rapier?”

“What the Hell is that supposed to mean?”

“Pick your weapon, sir. Since you’ve challenged me in front of my students, you leave me no choice but to defend my honor. I will give you the grace to choose your own weapon. There is a long sword and a rapier by the oak tree.” She gestured with her eyes. “They aren’t practice weapons, but they are blunted. Those are the ones we use for fights rather than training. Pick one and meet me here in the center. I suppose today’s class will be about understanding skills versus abilities.”

She walked back to the center, not waiting for him to answer her. She announced to the children that there would be a match today, and had them gather in a large ring, forming a perimeter. He had to move his chair to accommodate the new space. He watched her pick up her rapier, and flip it around in her hand quite professionally. He suddenly got more excited. His phone buzzed again.

N'Velahrn

Astarion, please tell me you aren’t doing anything idiotic.

Never mind. Of course you are. Just -  She’s 21 for fuck’s sake.

🌟A

I am aware of her age. She was only 28 when last we met.

It was fine. We were perfect. It’s really her. 

You should meet her. You’ll understand, then.

 

The man came back having selected the longsword. He looked far more unsure of himself now. 

Tav gave him a small incline of the head and turned towards the students and parents. “My name is Ms. Octavia Martin. I have attained the rank of Provost in the Chicago Swordplay Guild, meaning that I am certified by a master swordsman to teach both the basics of European martial arts and specifically, wielding the rapier. However, I am still a student as well, under the auspices of our Master at Arms of the Rapier, Mr. Lee Johannsen.” She walked ten paces back from the center. “I have been training in sword fighting, starting with fencing, since I was eight years old. I have also trained in gymnastics, pilates, and obstacle course competitions - such as American Ninja Warrior, where I placed third in my run, and fourteenth overall last season. Now, please give your attention to my opponent, who will introduce himself and step ten paces west of the center to begin our match.”

The boor looked lost as everyone stared at him expectantly. This was obviously not how he thought this would go. Astarion was feeling a lovely rush of excitement. The curse did love a show of violence and it didn’t come up often these days that he got to watch one unless he was also participating. 

“Um. I’m Mr. Brad Howard. I’ve never fought with a sword before. But I lift every day. I can bench 285.”

While he walked, Tav turned towards her students. “Please pay close attention to our bout, free scholars especially. Mr. Howard has what three advantages in this fight? Yes, Scholar Lubbeck.”

A small boy stood up. “He has reach, weight, and strength.”

“Correct. Excellent answer, Scholar Lubbeck. Yes, Mr. Howard has significantly longer arms, more body mass, and greater muscle strength than I have. Now, those are all known as what? Yes, Scholar Miller.”

A teenage girl stood up. “Abilities. They are capacities he was either born with, such as his height, or trained, such as his strength.”

“Another excellent answer. Now, abilities, although they can be trained, are somewhat determined by our birth and cannot be altered. We must all seek to work with our abilities. I am quite small, you may have all noticed. There is not much I can do about that.”

There was a tittering laughter that broke out from the parents, mostly. The kids seemed to know better than to think it was a weakness. 

“Which means I have sought to increase my skills such as speed, stamina, and flexibility. These are skills that work with my abilities, rather than against them. Now, if Mr. Howard wanted to do the same, Free Scholar Glen, what skills should he focus on?”

A boy of perhaps fifteen or sixteen stood up. “He should focus on finishing moves, balance, and leaps.”

“And what abilities do each of those skills support?”

“Finishing moves will utilize his superior strength. Balance is important because it allows him to better use both his reach and weight advantages. And leaps take advantage of all three.”

“Excellent. I can see you’ve been paying attention, Free Scholar Glen.”

“Finally. All together. What are the terms of winning a sparring fight in this guild?”

“THREE HITS TO ANYWHERE BUT THE HEAD.” They all said, loudly, in unison. She nodded her approval.

She turned back toward the man, and gave him a deep, formal bow, lowering her rapier like this was a true dueling circle. The man tried to bow with his long sword but clearly didn’t understand that he needed to be front-weighted, not back-weighted as though it were a rapier, and nearly fell over.

He started to giggle but another buzz came through his hand and he looked down.

N'Velahrn

I’ve met her. She’s very pretty. She’s also TWENTY-ONE FFS.

I’ve pulled your Air BNB listing down, I know you too well.

🌟A

I am not with her because she is a vision, although she is stunning.

Get to know her. You’ll understand. We are soulmates. 

Why take down the listing?

“BEGIN.” Tav’s voice rang out authoritatively.

He watched in delighted anticipation. She began simply, circling, letting the man figure out how to hold the weapon, giving him some practice swings. She let him decide when to come at her. He made a few half-hearted tries, which she dodged, first a simple feint and turn, then a duck and roll, and finally a very well-executed acrobatic tumble where she performed a back handspring right over his sword.

That got a round of applause from the audience, which now included several passersby who had walked over to get a closer look at the exhibition performance. Astarion was grinning like a madman, on his feet to get a better look. That tumbling move he’d seen her use more than a few times in real battle, where it was far more impressive. 

That made him have a thought. If she didn’t have her memories, how is it that she does so many things the same? Are they there, but simply suppressed, accessible only to her subconscious? His ponderings caused him to miss something that must have been spectacular, given that several people who’d been sitting were now standing and whooping. 

The bastard was breathing hard and sweating profusely despite the cool breeze. Tav calmly faced him, stance low and ready to spring, perfectly poised like they hadn’t even started yet. She still wasn’t attacking, merely reacting, giving the man every opportunity to get at least a single hit in. This seemed to enrage him further. 

“Come ON! Why aren’t you attacking me?!” He yelled at her, made another attempt to hit her that she dodged like it was a choreographed dance. 

“Oh? You’re ready to lose?” She taunted him, smirking. 

That set him off to launch a series of swings and stabs that would have seriously injured Tav had they connected, keeping the audience enraptured. Tav dodged and tumbled all around them, showing off a bit at this point, making it clear that this was easy for her. 

“Scholars, what mistake is Mr. Howard demonstrating?”

“STRENGTH DOESN’T MATTER IF YOU CANNOT TOUCH YOUR OPPONENT!” The children roared in unison, clearly something they were taught.

He roared and tried again. This time, Tav didn’t dodge. She smiled directly at him, widening her guard and letting him make a full contact hit. Astarion nearly jumped in to stop it, but something in her face told him she was doing this on purpose, and he knew better than to interrupt her in a fight. 

The longsword made full contact with the right side of her rib cage, coming down with a great deal of force against her padded doublet. He watched as she timed a fall to move with the force of the hit, lessening the impact by turning it into kinetic motion, she rolled back under and on her feet.

“One to Mr. Howard!” Free Scholar Glen shouted out.

He glanced at Tav but she seemed fine. Still smiling, even. The only hint that anything had happened was a slight tightening in her jaw that he was certain only he could tell was there. So she’d taken some damage, probably a bad bruise. He didn’t like it, but she’d heal simply enough. 

Because you don’t want anyone to mark her but you, you selfish beast. He chided himself, feeling the truth of the thought as it rolled through his mind. 

“Scholars, what did I just demonstrate?”

“WHEN A BLOW IS INEVITABLE, WORK WITH IT, NOT AGAINST IT!”

Lae’zel would have loved to see this, Astarioni thought. He imagined the gith woman jumping in, showing the asshole what it was like to fight someone who had every advantage in a fight. But she wouldn’t, she would already have assessed that Tav required no assistance to defeat this loser. 

Another buzz announced Nina’s reply.

N'Velahrn

I’m assuming you are going to propose in the next two weeks, if you haven’t already.

Where else would you honeymoon when you built the perfect Elven bower in her honor?

You’ve never done things halfway. If she is your soulmate, you won’t wait to put a ring on it.

 

He hesitated to respond. Would he? He’d never even thought about getting married. What a strange concept. If his contract with Raphael went through, well, they’d be something more than married. Aeterna Amantes - lovers forever. What would be the point even of such a pedestrian concept as marriage?

Yet, as he watched Tav creatively demonstrate in the span of three minutes how easily she could have won the match from the beginning, his brain kept circling back to the concept. The thought of her in some crazy beautiful costume, declaring herself his before an assemblage of the public, of the law, of whatever god she stupidly believed in. 

He suddenly realized religion was something they hadn’t talked about. Among other things that they ought work out before things got more complicated. He sat back down on the chair, sprawling sideways as he considered possibilities that had simply never occurred to him prior to that moment.

The idea of such a public, ceremonial demonstration was… deeply compelling. He had never considered it before that moment, but now he craved it. She would be d’Aasterinianaiatae , he decided right then. 

🌟A

I had not considered it. But yes. 

Indeed, she will be d’Aasterinianaiatae . How does one propose a marriage these days? 

I’m assuming it doesn’t involve a contract anymore.

 

His mind was completely consumed by the thought of hearing her named as such as he watched the end of her match. 

The idiot stood hunched over, red-faced and hands on his thighs, trying to catch his breath desperately while she had her students run a post-mortem on the fight, expounding all of the mistakes they saw. Almost all were the idiot’s, of course, but Tav graciously accepted when Free Scholar Glen called her out for showing off at the expense of good technique. 

Lae’zel would have loved Free Scholar Glen. And Nina, he thought, as his phone buzzed again.

N'Velahrn

Did you already propose? In the 10 MINUTES since I mentioned it???

Just got Daniel’s message about the trust. 

You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me. 10M?!? On a girl you’ve known two weeks?

Please tell me she isn’t pregnant. Fairly certain that’s not possible. IS IT???!!!

Of course, what do I know about your weird situation???

This is why I need to retire. I’m too old for your level of crazy anymore!

There’s impulsive, then there’s you, then there’s whatever the fuck this is.

He chuckled at the level of frustration he could hear in Nina’s words. She was an excellent assistant because she took everything seriously, but it also meant she was constantly harping on details. 

“Oh, so my humiliation was funny to you?”

The man was back, looming over him. He wasn’t very good at looming, despite his height and size. Then again, as a vampire, not to mention the Vampire Ascendant, Astarion was a champion loomer. It wasn’t about who was taller, it was all in the attitude, the confidence, the poise. None of which this man contained in any perceivable quantity. 

“I know this may come as a shock to you, darling, but I’m not thinking about you at all, currently.” He didn’t bother to make eye contact. 

The man made the dumbest decision of his day at that point, apparently too insulted by the flippant answer to think through why a man who looked like Astarion would be utterly unphased by a man twice his size standing over him angrily. Or perhaps the man was simply that stupid. Hard to tell, honestly.

“Listen here, you twink-” 

Astarion intercepted the fist swung at his head with a single hand, grabbing it and stopping all movement forward so abruptly the man nearly fell backward, but Astarion stopped that motion as well with a yank of his arm so fast it was nearly imperceptible to the humans around him. Then he slowly increased his grip around the man’s hand until he began to make a protesting sound. 

A few of the parents heard and looked, but no one came over and intervened. Probably because he was still draped casually over the chair, phone in one hand, with a perfectly calm expression on his face. People looked and probably assumed the man was being a whiny little bastard, given his earlier behavior. In any case, they said nothing.

“First, you would do well to understand that whom I, or anyone else for that matter, choose to engage with in my boudoir is no one’s business but our own, and it has absolutely no bearing on the ease with which I could crush you with my bare hands. Second, what in the sweet Hells is your issue? That there are men that know how to dress well? That my paramour wouldn’t let your kid be an utter reprobate? Did a kitten piss in your oats this morning or do you always awaken this delightfully?”

A groan of pain spilt out from the man’s lips. “Please, man. I didn’t mean anything by it. It… it was… a joke. Yeah. A joke! Jesus Christ! ”

“A joke?” He tilted his head, squeezing down a little harder. The bones were beginning to protest but not yet break. 

“ Fuuuuuuck man.” 

“Perhaps I simply lack a sense of humor? We Brits are legendary for being rather dry of wit.” He said the words lightly, teasingly, a coy smile on his face. “In that case, good sir, please do explain the punchline.” He dropped the man’s hand. 

The man looked panicked, rubbing the stricken hand with his other. “What in the fuck are you freaks?” He looked around and spotted his son, walking quickly toward the child. Astarion waved him off, and focused back on replying to Nina when his ears picked up a strange sound coming from the direction the man had walked. 

It sounded like cries of pain. Very faint. So faint that he almost didn’t hear it. If he hadn’t been listening for the man to leave, he wouldn’t have picked it up at all. 

He got up and casually walked toward the parking lot where Mr. Howard was, listening intently towards the pale blue sedan he and the boy were sitting in. He crossed the parking lot and quickly realized the source of the cries was the trunk.

Damn it. He had a lot to do today. Playing hero was not on his agenda for today but he could neither explain to the cops how he had heard what he heard nor allow this ruffian to abscond with a victim under his nose. The annoying downside of having a conscience. He sent a text off to Tav while he kept an eye on the sedan. 

The man was still arguing with the boy. He ducked down between the two cars he stood between, checking for eyes and cameras, and seeing none, he tapped into his reserves of necromantic energy and shifted into bat form. He’d have to feed more than normal later to make up for it, Earth magic being as ridiculously thin as it was. Flapping little wings, he made his way to the sedan. He planned on grabbing ahold of the little ledge between the trunk and the rear window, but they’d left one of the back windows open just wide enough that he could squeeze in, so he did. 

The man was ranting about the boy's poor performance in class all the while the woman was whimpering in the trunk and the boy looked terrified. The woman must have been gagged it was so quiet within the car. That he’d heard her at all had been a miracle. If Howard hadn’t been such a belligerant ass, he would have never strained his ears in that direction. 

He burrowed under a jacket thown on the backseat and waited to see where the night would take him. 

Notes:

posting a day early cause this is so damn good.
FYI - the posting schedule for all of my fics is now every other week, thursday or friday.

OMG OMG OMG Nina do NOT suggest things to Astarion. He does not require new impulsive ideas - he's got enough of his own.

Astarion : I'm gonna marry you and call you mine and give you everything. I will kill for you, bleed for you, change the course of human history to bring a smile to your face.
Octavia: Wow this dude is intense and we might be dating. I think? Still early days. Guess I gotta decide how I feel about it before it gets too serious.

lololol

Chapter 11: A Half-Time's Show Worth of Red Flags

Summary:

“You shouldn’t be here, pet.”
He sounded different. His voice firmer, more commanding. An edge of desperation to it. Another wave of arousal pulsed through her, leaving her aching. She swallowed, trying to respond.
“I thought… Nina said you’d…” She bit her lip in frustration. Why was she so damn flustered?
“Oh? What did Nina say?” He glared daggers at the woman, who leveled a cool gaze in return.
“Well, that you’d need help with a… body.” The word came out a whisper.
“I do.” He tilted his chin up, his whole presence commanding in the most visceral sense of the word. 

Notes:

This chapter takes a bit of a turn for the dark but not too dark. This is not DD territory.
However, um, Astarion did Ascend. And that did some shit to him, and we get to find out about it.
So does Tav.

TW: violence
people being tied up for unfun reasons
domestic violence
vampire shit

By the time class was over, parents were mollified, children were calmed, and equipment was gathered, Octavia was exhausted. She hadn’t planned on hosting an exhibition fight today, and she was feeling her lack of proper warmup. But, she did feel good about showing the kids how to properly handle a bully. She hadn’t yet peeked under her doublet but she was certain there was an enormous bruise on her side where she’d taken that blow.

She looked around, spotting Astarion’s ridiculous throne-like folding chair still sitting there, but not the man himself. One of the parents noticed her searching and responded.

“Your boyfriend took off. Walked over to the parking lot after your fight. That asshole who fought you tried to goad him into something, but he brushed him off.” 

Oh no. Octavia didn’t know Astarion all that well at this point. But she did know that he didn’t brush things off. He was more likely to escalate any problems that they faced. rushed it off, it’s because he felt it was a matter for private resolution. She shuddered, remembering the cell in the basement. 

This. This was the thing where she was uncertain. When it was just the two of them… so what if she barely knew him? The chemistry between them was unbelievable, and not simply the attraction. The way she fit so perfectly into his arms and he into hers. The way the slightest touches felt like home. She felt like she’d known him for all of eternity, and would continue knowing him until the world fell down.

But then… she had to think about what it meant, being with him. She was essentially signing up to be a Mafia Don’s girlfriend. A sexy, undead, blood-drinking vampire sitting on top of his own criminal empire. Astarion tortured people. Casually, without remorse. He had killed people and would certainly do so again. He bought politicians and committed crimes the way normal boyfriends order Doordash.

What had he said to her? ‘ I’d burn down the world just to make you smile.’ She was fairly certain he was not exaggerating. Was she really prepared for that life? Was he worth the complications?

Every cell in her body screamed yes as loudly as every cell in her frontal lobe screamed no.

She sighed and pulled out her phone. There was a text from him. 

🌟 A

An urgent matter arose I must attend to immediately.

 Ask Nina to fetch the chair if it is too much.

Do not fret, I shall return anon. But perhaps, plan for dinner without me.

She rolled her eyes, hearing the text in his voice and smiling at the anachronistic phrases. It was like dating a hipster except he said things like anon because he’d been around when it was the way one spoke. She knew somehow she was going to end up carrying the ridiculous campaign chair. At least she had the minivan so it wouldn’t be hard to get it in the vehicle. 

Later, as she soaked in the ridiculous bathtub big enough for four of her in the guest bath, she allowed her mind to float once more to the insanity that was her life. She’d seen the email from Bramston, Boleyn, and Bunduck, letting her know that a non-revocable trust had been set up in her name. Ten million dollars. Legally hers to do with as she wanted. Daniel strongly suggested she get a lawyer of her own and a financial advisor.

She had no idea how one acquired either of those. Probably not something you should just Google. 

She giggled just thinking about it. A month ago, a thousand dollars was more than she could seem to get in her bank account at once. And technically, she hadn’t even fucked him. Yet. That was definitely a yet. After what he had said in the pool… 

God. Who just says things like that? Out loud? With a straight face?

Why was it so fucking hawt? It should have been cringe. It should have been beyond cringe. Instead, she’d been so wet she’d noticed it while treading water. Had to get herself off twice in the shower, after, just to be able to think again.

What was her life even? What had she ever done to deserve, well, any of this? 

If she could remember, would it make sense? Would she understand the fixation he seemed to have on her, or would she be even more confused by his choices? She sank back into the almost too-hot water, letting her muscles relax. That bruise was already throbbing. As bad as it was now, she expected it to be right wicked come morning. 

She had her head half-submerged in the water when her phone began blaring the opening beats to Toxic. 

She sat up and glared at it. The song meant it was someone in her contacts list, but no one on that list was likely to call her right now. She reached over and grabbed it, hitting answer symbol when she saw Nina’s name on the screen. 

“Hello, Nina.” She said, haltingly, unsure why Astarion’s assistant was calling her. 

My boyfriend has a fucking assistant. Her mind reeled with new things about her reality she hadn’t yet considered.

“Octavia-”

“Tav, if you would, please.”

“Right, Tav. I know this is a little irregular, but I was… hmmm. Well, I was hoping you might want to grab dinner together tonight?”

“Are you asking me… on a date?” Her head hurt at the thought.

“No. You’re cute but first, Astarion would kill me and second, you’re a little young for my tastes. I prefer my relationships to be age-appropriate.”

Oof. So, that’s the issue. She doesn’t like the age gap.  

“Sorry, just got worried there for a moment. Why do you want to hang out?”

“Look, I’ve been working for Astarion for a long time. 28 years, to be specific. He’s not just my boss, he’s my friend. I’d like to get to know the woman who has him in such a chokehold.”

Octavia nearly spluttered. She had him in a chokehold? More like he had her. She pulled it together. “You saw about the trust. I swear I didn’t ask for it.”

“I’m certain you didn’t. If you had, we wouldn’t be talking. Also, you wouldn’t be ten million dollars richer today than yesterday. Astarion’s an idiot but he’s not stupid.”

“I’m lost. You want to talk to me because you want to get to know me, but it’s not because you think I’m taking advantage of him?”

“Oh, you sweet summer child. I’ve worked for this man for 28 years. I already know you aren’t taking advantage of him. On the other hand, you are a twenty-one year old girl from a highly underpriveleged background suddenly swept off her feet by a rich, dangerous man making grand romantic gestures. I might love my friend but I’m concerned about you. You should know who Astarion really is before you let those gestures pull you into something you are not ready for.”

Tav’s first impulse was anger. Who in the fuck did this woman think she was to decide what she was or wasn’t ready for?

Her second impulse was fear. How bad did Astarion have to be that his own friend and employee would warn her?

Intrigued, worried, and out of her element, she decided to agree. “Alright. He’s apparently busy tonight, anyway.”

“Want to get out? You could come to my place.”

“Sure. Text me the address.”

“It’s the house to the west. The purple victorian. I’ll order in. How do burgers and beers sound?”

There was a pause while Tav considered her feelings on the fact that Nina lived next door and Astarion never told her that.

“Burgers and beers sounds like heaven.”

“Great. Why don’t you stop by around six? And Tav?”

“What’s up?”

“Don’t tell Astarion we are getting together. At least, not until afterward. He can get tetchy sometimes.”

---

She stood at the door to Nina’s house at 6:05 pm, wearing yoga pants and an oversized green sweater with a frog face on it, a plate of fresh-baked chocolate chip cookies in hand. She knocked on the door, still not sure what she was doing here. 

The door swung open to reveal Nina. She was casual, in a white undershirt and a pair of old, worn jeans, barefoot. Her toenails had little cat faces painted on them.

“Oh my god, are those kitten faces on your toes?” She squealed, unable to contain it.

Nina’s face lit up. “Yes, yes they are. Are those homemade chocolate chip cookies?”

“Still warm from the oven.” Tav offered, holding out the plate. Nina snatched one off it and took a bite, closing her eyes at the flavor. Tav walked through the door, letting the woman have a moment with the cookie.

The house was quite the opposite of Astarion’s. Where his whispered class and wealth and style, Nina’s screamed comfort and violence. It started with a parlor kitted out with a chair big enough for three people topped with a big fuzzy faux fur blanket. The furniture was all plush and oversized. Even if all of it was black. Bookshelves were everywhere, stuffed with paperbacks and knick-knacks and Funko pop dolls of every fandom. 

There were also weapons everywhere. Swords and knives in displays, on the walls. There was a crossbow just casually leaning by the staircase.

“That cookie was fantastic. Come on. There’s Heines in the fridge and the burgers are on the table.” Nina was off, walking quickly. Tav kicked off her shoes next to the door and followed. 

She entered the small, very much not-updated kitchen, and inhaled. The burgers on the table looked fantastic. Huge, piled with lettuce and tomato and pickles, sitting on pretzel buns. Tav smiled and went into the pink fridge that had to be from the 60’s to grab a green bottle of beer from the door. Nina was already sitting at the table, almost sideways on the chair, taking a bite of her burger. Tav sat down and flicked the top of the beer off with a practiced gesture and her thumbnail. Nina gave her an impressed nod as she chewed thoughtfully.

The beer was cold and the tiny hit of alcohol helped calm her nerves, as did the first bite of the burger that was as good as it looked. Between the two, it gave her the courage to speak up. 

“So, what did you want to know?”

Nina swallowed the food that was in her mouth, then took a long swig of beer before setting down the bottle and looking at her thoughtfully. 

“You’re barely 21. You’ve had one serious boyfriend. Maybe dated three people that were more than a hookup. Why Astarion? What do you see in him?”

“It’s not precisely like one thing, Nina. It’s… when I first met him-”

“At your job interview. ” Nina throws in and she feels the weight of the judgment. 

“Yes, when I first met him at my job interview, there was this feeling that I knew him already. And, I don’t know. We had this amazing chemistry immediately that made no sense and honestly kind of freaked me out. He was - well, is but I’ve gotten used to it a bit I guess - so weird. I wasn’t going to take the job.”

She took another bite of the burger, considering how much her perception of Astarion had changed in a few weeks. 

Nina’s eyebrow peaked. “Yet, you did. Why is that?”

“For real real? That was about the money. I know - cringe - but I had like negative dollars and my lease was up. Without a provable income I couldn’t renew it and I certainly couldn’t get another place. All my experience is in waitressing which died with this damn pandemic. I was basically back up against the wall - I had this insane option or starting an Only Fans account, which like, I really didn’t want to do.” She took another, long sip of the beer. “And I still said no at the first offer. Daniel came back and practically begged me to take it. Doubled the pay.”

Nina looked surprised. Did she not know about that?

“So, you took the job a bit out of desperation, despite Astarion freaking you out?”

“I mean, he fucking bit me during the interview! Like, I didn’t think that part of the job description was for real. That he’d like literally drink my blood. Just imagine … it was so… weird. And personal. And weird.”

“Yet… two weeks later you’re his girlfriend? How on Earth did that happen?”

Suddenly, Octavia felt weird. Weirder, she supposed. Why was Nina pressing her on this?

“I mean, hasn’t he told you what happened? He talks about you like you know everything he does.” It was Tav’s turn to be the suspicious party.

“All he’s said to me about you was telling me that you were Tavriel, his long dead girlfriend from like before the Rennaissance, somehow, and that you were his soulmate, and that I should expect that from now on wherever he goes you will be with him.”

Tav’s brain short-circuited. Soulmate? No… way, way too soon for that. She wasn’t even, like, entirely sure she was really dating him. It was so fast and so undefined and so, very, very weird. Which was honestly the entire Astarion Experience™. 

“Earth to Octavia?” Nina teased, leaning oddly on the table with a grin. “You still with me?”

“I… we just got to defining that we were in a relationship . Soulmate’s a pretty heavy term.”

“But you knew about Tavriel?”

“He told me. I still don’t know if I believe it, but there is an awful lot of coincidence. And of course, the whole contract with some devil he knows from his old life that’s on offer does tend to lend weight to the weirdness.”

Beer sprayed into the air, just missing her as Nina managed to turn to the side, choking. “I’m sorry. WHAT THE FUCK?!”

Octavia stared at Nina. She was very quickly losing all composure, her fists gripped knuckles white and her left eye twitching hard. 

“Astarion said that after I showed up, a devil he knew from his old world showed up and told him that he could restore my memories from being Tavriel, and apparently some other stuff between the two of them, in exchange for… well, his, you know, soul? Well, not exactly.” She tried to remember how he had explained it. “I guess the rights to his soul once he goes to Hell, where apparently he already is going because of some ritual he did? It all sounds crazy to me - except, like, I’m living with an actual fucking vampire who mostly lives on blood, including mine, and turns to mist and I’ve seen him do it, so…” She trailed off as she watched Nina appear to dissociate before her.

Nina swallowed, took in a deep breath, and stood up, walking woodenly over to the counter to grab the paper towels. She stood there holding the roll like it was giving her strength, her eyes closed. Octavia sat still, unsure what was happening.

“He… Hmmmm… Astarion is considering contracting with an actual, literal devil over you?” Her voice was cracking and in more of ‘a violent storm was on the horizon’ than ‘emotional overload’ kind of way. 

Octavia put her hands up instinctually to shield herself from the oncoming storm. “Hey, I told him not to. That I don’t need to remember. I don’t even know if I want to… Like, I like being me, you know? Who would I even be if I suddenly remembered this whole other life where apparently I wasn’t even human, for fuck’s sake?”

Forcing herself to relax, Nina walked across the room, still with that slightly wooden expression as she mopped up the beer and spit with paper towels. Tav just watched, still uncertain if Nina hated her for this or if she was just scared for her friend or if she maybe had some particular feelings about talking to devils.

When Nina had finished and washed the table with soap, and dried it, she sat back down at her spot, the color back in her face. 

“Octavia, Astarion is not a good man.” She tried to object but Nina steamrolled her. “Listen to me. He’s my best friend. He saved my life and he’s saved so many lives over the years but he has killed and ruined just as many if not more. It’s not a joke. I’ve helped him hide bodies. He’s a sadist - well, also he’s not, but… I know it sounds like you don’t believe in any of it but… Devils are real and that ritual he mentioned cursed him. It gave him the sun and food and god knows what else but it cursed him to want to be evil. Like really evil. Like over-the-top you cannot imagine the depths to which he will sink evil.”

“So… he’s so, terribly evil, and yet, you help him, but also he’s a good guy? What are you trying to do - scare me off? Nina, why are you saying all this?”

“Because Tavriel is the only goddamned thing that keeps him from falling into the abyss!” Nina reigned herself in, taking a breath when she saw Octavia’s shocked and scared face. “If you really are Tavriel, you are the reason that man has been able to fight off a fucking Devil’s curse for centuries. Whatever she did, whatever she said or did or was to him, the only thing, the only thing that motivates him enough to pull back when he starts to go down that rabbit hole is talking about what Tavriel wanted, what Tavriel would say, what Tavriel died for. If this doesn’t work out… or he decides you aren’t her, I don’t know what he’ll do. Something pretty fucking terrible, most likely. One time, he got in this real bad spiral, and he started rambling on about how he was going to take over the world and create an army of vampires and blot out the sun . So, like, maybe…  don’t destroy his faith in the thing holding him back, ok?”

---

The car ride took forever. 

Well over fifteen minutes without anything to distract his brain or for his hands (wings) to do was a kind of torture to a man like Astarion. 

Brad Howard ranted the entire time he drove, which didn’t make things any easier. He was furious that his wife had planned to leave him. With a personality like his, who wouldn’t? 

Astarion considered his plans for this man. The level of pain would, of course, depend on what had been done to the woman. But capture, imprisonment, and verbal humiliation were forgone conclusions. There were a cavalcade of delightful ways he could instruct the idiot why attacking the mother of his child was unacceptable behavior. First, he needed to decide if his intention was to leave this waste of human life alive in the end. 

The longer this car ride went on and the more he had to listen to this man’s deranged inner thoughts, the increasingly less likely that was going to happen. 

It took nearly forty-five minutes to get to what was, hopefully, this man’s house. Astarion preferred as few witnesses as possible. He prepared to follow them inside, his mind thinking through ways of keeping the child from seeing what happened.

Astarion was not a man who harmed children, even if the curse inside him would like him to be.

The man sent the child into the house, alone, and threatened him with violence if he called anyone. The child, thankfully, ran inside. This simplified things. He would be alright when the mother returned alive. The child was not his current concern. 

He was no hero, present to make things right.

No. That was not his place, hadn’t ever been. His fate had been sealed long, long ago.

A deal he had made. Not with some devil nor god, but with the curse that swirled within him. A deal that kept him… well, mostly in control. He would feed the beast with what it desired. Pain. Suffering. Blood. Control. Power. But in return? Astarion was the one who decided how and when to harvest those meals. 

Howard pulled back out of the driveway and kept driving.  

Astarion let go a tiny bit of the iron grip he kept on the evil that lived in the back of his mind. Or soul. He didn’t know, precisely. It’s not like the Ascension had come with a textbook. 

The sick sense of pleasure rolled in, uncurling in his veins like toxic smoke. No more never-ending hunger for blood, the return of the pleasures of the living - but a never-ending need to cause pain. To spill blood. To tear and rip and… ohhhhh. The sick high made his eyes want to roll back in his head as the pleasure at the thoughts of violence ran through him. He dug his clawed feet into the seat cushion, reasserting his control over himself.

It had been too long. Well over a month since his last offering. He knew better. But the lockdown and Tav’s return had been potent distractions from the ironclad rhythm of this danse macabre.

The car came to a stop far sooner than he had expected. He glanced out the back window to note they were in a patch of forest, thick. They had driven off the road at some point. His victim was making this all too easy. And all of sudden, he knew exactly what the dance would look like today. He hadn’t had a real hunt in ages. 

The man was looking for something in the front seat, so he took advantage and clambored up and out the cracked window, his tiny furry body easily squeezing through. He looked around and sighted a thick stand of pine bushes, still full and green despite the recently ended winter. He fluttered over and shifted back as soon as his claws hit dirt. He carefully moved forward until he could watch. The man had a shovel out and a tarp. 

Astarion suddenly realized Howard planned to dig a grave. He let him find his spot. Even shovel the first few scoops of dirt. He wanted the scene set for the police to find. He could see it now in his mind's eye. The anticipation was making it hard to focus. He began undressing. No need to leave additional fiber evidence. Or ruin his clothes. 

Sweating after just two shovels, the man stood up, leaning on the handle to catch his breath. 

Glancing at the open trunk, the woman was tied up. Blindfolded. Gagged. But still alive. Still fighting. 

He took one deep breath, stretching out his legs as his claws and fangs lengthened, the curse roaring to life inside him. Reminding himself just the man. The woman lives. No bystanders. You can have this one, and this one only. His mind filled with the haze of red as the devil’s magic wrested control away, as he merged with the beast inside. He focused hard, ready to fight back if needed. 

Astarion melted away, only a tiny portion left of himself in the corner of his mind, and the Vampire Ascendant emerged, it’s toes suddenly dug into the cool, loamy soil, launching over the shrubs in a predatory leap, landing on his prey’s back. Heard as the curse taunted him with a growl.

“You’ve been a very, very bad man, Brad Howard.”

The ear-piercing scream prey let out as it tried to shake the Ascendant off was amusing. A dark chuckle rumbled into Howard’s ear. 

“Get off of me, pervert!”

“No.”

A clawed hand reached out, grabbing his head by the hair on the crown, yanking it back hard enough to elicit a cry of pain. The delicious scent of terror wafted into the air, a nose skimmed along the would-be predator’s neck, savoring it like the bouquet of a fine vintage. 

“What… what do you want, man? What are you?”

“I want you to run, little prey.”

A single talon ran over the man’s cheek, cutting a thin line of crimson down the soft flesh. A promise for later. The Ascendant brought it to his lips, licking the taste off the razor sharp black claw. The real purpose was to ensure that he’d have a scent to follow. To make the game last longer. Another dark chuckle rumbled in Brad’s ear. 

Brad Howard wasn’t a smart man, but even his limited grey matter realized that he was in trouble. His breathing began to stutter as his heart raced to its limit. He tried again to throw the strange, naked man off his back, this time shocked as it worked. It was… easy. Too easy. 

He realized with a start that the man had let him do it. He wanted… oh fuck. He wanted him to run. He wanted the chase. The tiny little hindbrain he’d inherited from tens of thousands of generations of prey animals kicked in, ready to do its job. Run. It whispered. Dodge. It begged. Get to the trees. It ordered. Return to your pack, there is safety in numbers. It reminded. 

Brad Howard’s million times great forefathers and mothers had never encountered a vampire, let alone a vampire Ascendant. There was nothing he could have done, really. The conclusion of this game was foregone from the moment he caught the attention of the beast.

But he tried. He tried so valiantly. He ran harder than he’d ever run in his entire life, the soft dirt and dead leaves and pine needles churning up into the air from the force of his footfalls. When his ankle gave out as he tried to zigzag back towards his car, he ran on it anyway through the blinding pain. He got within a few steps when a swift movement of air came by and his keys were suddenly gone from his hand. 

He stared at the empty space, and heard that voice again.

“I think not. I said RUN.”

Brad’s mind emptied as he faced the reality of his situation, but his legs were already moving. Instinct propelled him forward, back towards the road. Towards people. Surely the madman wouldn’t attack him if there were witnesses. His ankle was crunching and screaming with pain. He looked around, panicked, but he didn’t see the man with the pale skin anywhere.

He fell a few times on tree roots but kept going. His heart felt like it was going to explode but still he kept running. He threw up to his side as he kept running, bile burning and eyes running. And still, he kept running. 

The road was so close now. He could see the glow of the headlights through the copse of trees. He was going to make it. Hope fueled his muscles against the burn and trembling, he found a second wind and picked up his stride for a second.

He heard the Ascendant as he leapt from the branches above him, but not in time to move. The knee to his back planted Howard’s face down into the dirt, the instinctual inhale after his lungs being compressed pulled the dirt right in, burning and making him choke.

The laugh that broke out of the creature’s mouth chilled him to the bone. “Did prey think he could escape me? Adorable. Hmmmmm. What else should we do with you?” 

Astarion felt the sick pleasure the man’s fear-scent brought curl through him. He pushed away the worst of the Ascendant’s desires. There were lines he would not cross. But he owed more than usual. It had been too long. 

He looked around. He needed more time. More control over the environment. 

He swallowed, he had to give the beast enough so he could take back over, so he opened himself back up to the haze, and bit down hard, draining the man to weakness. The Ascendant, mollified but not satisfied, burrowed back down into his mind, leaving him with a large, sweaty, limp man to transport, a terrified woman to deal with, and a crime scene to tamper with. 

---

The words sat heavy in the air between them. 

Octavia was deeply unsure of what to do here. She thought, for a moment, about taking the money and running. It would be the logical thing to do. She barely knew Astarion, and if even his closest friend casually referred to him as evil, she’d have to be an absolute idiot to stick around. 

But the thought of never seeing him again made her feel the most intense pain she’d ever felt in her life. The pain she could never forget waking up from that car accident with a broken pelvis wasn’t even close to the white-hot tearing that ran through her. She gasped, having to steady herself against the table to not fall out of the chair. 

Nina looked at her, questioning. 

A tablet on the kitchen counter, seemingly innocuous, suddenly rang out. LOUD. Tav covered her ears instinctively. 

Nina hopped up, running to look at it. “Sorry! I have to make sure I hear it.”

She tapped the screen, her already thin lips tightening to a white line. 

“I have to go.” Nina turned back to her. “Or, perhaps you do.”

“What’s… what’s the message about?”

“Your boyfriend just sent out the bat signal.” Nina showed her the tablet. A twitter account called HotGirlsLikeChairs had posted a cat picture.

Tav was confused, to say the least. “What?”

Nina rolled her eyes and zoomed into the innocuous picture of a cat with glasses. In the background, a calendar showed the date as March 35th. While the clock on the stove showed 17:21. Nina pointed to a truck outside the window in the picture, emblazoned with a logo.

“It’s a code. He just bought 3517 shares of Safety Kleen at $21 per share. When he buys shares with his retail trading account, I have a bot that sends a tweet out using a cipher. We worked it out almost ten years ago.”

Nina hopped over to a small cabinet that opened to reveal a full gaming rig with four huge monitors. She began opening programs and Tav watched, having no idea what she was looking at. It mostly looked like strange, boring databases.

“What are you doing?”

“Figuring out what 3517 and 21 means.” Her voice was curt. 

The words had no meaning to Octavia. She suddenly had a thought. “He just… buys shares of a specific corporation every time he needs help?”

“Safer than picking up a phone. Like I said, it’s a code. Plus, every few years I get the fun of getting deposed by some overworked government worker about these weird twitter bots I build. Driving them nuts is better than sex. Well, with a man, anyway.”

Her fingers continued typing. Octavia was entirely unsure what she was doing here. She was… mostly normal. She didn’t date the sort of men who needed secret codes and bat signals. 

“Under the couch in the front room there are blue ikea bags filled with stuff. Grab two of them.”

She got up, grateful for something to do. 

When she returned, Nina was biting her lower lip, now with entirely different screens open. “Drawer under the knife block. Grab two of the grey bags with the orange sliders.”

She added the items to the pile now on the table. 

“You know how to handle a gun, Octavia?”

Her eyes snapped up to Nina. “No. Do you?”

Nina laughed. “Octavia. Why do you think Astarion pays me a million dollars a year to be his personal assistant? I’ll give you one hint. I’m not sleeping with him.”

Octavia sputtered. Safety Kleen was a hazardous waste cleanup company. She protested them once in high school. They’d built a medical incinerator in her neighborhood and kids were getting asthma at super high rates afterward. If it was a code… what did Astarion need cleaned up that was hazardous?

“OK, then tiny medieval badass, I think I’ve figured out where to find the idiot. Any reason you can think of why he’d be near the Wisconsin border right now in a forest preserve?”

Octavia paused. She might not entirely trust Nina, but Astarion did. And if he were in trouble… “There was a guy at sword class. Real ass. He challenged me to a fight, and I heard he confronted Astarion after.”

Nina sucked in a breath. “Well, shit. You ever hide a body before?”

Her stomach dropped. This wasn’t a joke.

“No? Well, there’s a first time for everything girlie.”

---

He’d left the man unconscious and tied securely to a tree using rope he’d found in the car. Dressed again, he headed back over to deal with the woman after sending off his help signal to Nina. 

“I’m going to let you out of there. I’d like to take off your blindfold first. Can you nod if that’s alright?”

The woman gave a small incline of her head. The way she was tied, she probably couldn’t do more right now. He reached over, from the side so he wouldn’t be looming when she saw and untied the shirt that was used as a makeshift blindfold. 

The woman’s eyes opened, and she blinked several times, her eyes darting around.

“Brad isn’t here, if you are worried. May I remove the tape from your mouth? I apologize, but it will hurt.”

She nodded again, so he carefully prized the tape off her skin in one corner, then ripped it off as fast as possible. The woman cried out once but then stopped, gasping for a moment. 

“Who… Who are you?” Her voice was rough. She’d been screaming or crying quite a bit.

“No one important.”

“My son? Where is he?”

“Brad dropped him off at a house in Skokie about two hours ago. A blue colonial with a black door.”

She swallowed and sagged, clearly relieved. 

“Where’s Brad?”

“Plausible deniability, my dear. Best you never ask that question.”

She looked up at him, eyes wide. 

“Oh no, you are quite safe. I have no quarrel with you, darling.”

He walked over to the back seat of the car, pulling the fold-down seat out. He sat his phone in the center console. He came back and looked at her. She was still terrified. He reached in and carefully began to loosen the ropes around her hands.

“Now, I need to tell you something very important before I remove those ropes. Can you look me in the eyes for a moment?”

He threaded the compulsion into his voice all too easily. It felt awful, but there was no getting around using it here. 

“You’ve been unconcious for hours. You just woke up to find yourself exactly as you are. You will pull the ropes off and crawl into the car, pick up the phone in the console and call 911. You’ve neither seen nor heard anything since Brad locked you in the trunk.”

Certain the ropes were loose enough even an idiot could escape them, he slammed the trunk shut with his elbow, and transformed back into a bat. He sat on the hood of the car, and waited, making sure she found her way into the back seat and found the phone. Then, he took off, heading back to where he had secured his prey.

---

They’d taken a hidden tunnel from the basement at Astarion’s house that opened up into the basement of a very shady used car dealer. Nina popped on a pair of black nitrile gloves before they entered, and dropped a thick stack of hundred dollar bills on a desk in the back before grabbing a key off a series of hooks. Tav followed, freaking out, trying to come to terms with her concept of Astarion with a man who needs someone to hide the bodies.

Nina had them change into leggings and t-shirts that were wrapped in plastic inside the ikea bags at the car dealership.

“Generic from Walmart. Tens of thousands sold a month. Useless as fiber evidence.” She’d said as explanation. 

Their phones went inside the little Faraday cage bags she’d retrieved from the kitchen drawer. And then they wiped down their skin with bleach wipes, to reduce the amount of DNA they’d leave in the car, Nina announced like this was normal. She made Tav put on a pair of the black gloves as well. Then Nina had put hairnets on both of them. 

Octavia was mostly focused on not panicking. It was getting harder. Clearly, this was something Nina did often enough that she had go bags prepared for this situation. 

They’d taken a rather nice SUV from the dealership. The last piece of kit from the bags were oversized sunglasses for the both of them, apparently to obscure their faces in traffic cameras.

They were about twenty minutes on the road when Tav finally felt her heart slow back to something near normal and she decided she needed to talk to Nina. 

“So… you do this often?”

“Not really. Define often? Usually he cleans up after himself but something must have complicated things. Or he was in a hurry.”

“Nina,” Tav got rather quiet, because she wasn’t entirely sure she wanted the answer but she felt like she had to know. “How often does Astarion murder people?”

“Murder? A handful a year, on average.”

“So he’s a serial killer. I’m living with… I kissed a serial killer.”

“Get a grip. You’re living with a supernatural predator. Did you think he was all unicorns and rainbows? Jesus. You cannot be this naive around him. I told him not to date a fucking 21-year-old.”

“So, this is just because he’s a vampire? Like the way house cats kill birds?”

Nina huffed. “He should really be the one telling you this.”

Silence broke out between them as they left the interstate and headed onto a local state highway. The traffic was barely present, and the car grew silent, the hum of the engine the only sound for near half an hour.

“We’re getting close.” Nina broke the lull.

Tav hummed a response. 

“If it helps, he doesn’t go after innocent people.” 

“I’m sorry?”

“He wouldn’t have killed that guy just for insulting you, or him. Scared him a bit? Sure. The people he kills have done things like trafficked kids or tortured their wives.”

“That makes it better?”

“That moral high ground feels real comfortable until something pushes you off it, Tav.”

---

Tav blinked but the scene in front of her stubbornly refused to change. Astarion was saying… something. The words were there but her brain couldn’t process them. She was too busy staring at the corpse of the man she’d fought earlier that day. 

Astarion looked different. No, Astarion was different. His eyes were glowing red right now, for one thing, this glint of red light that felt sinister and cold. Also his face…

Astarion’s fangs were usually such delicate little things. Barely noticeable unless you looked closely and even then they didn’t look dangerous. Right now they took up so much real estate in his mouth that his lips were forced back slightly. They looked like FANGS. 

Everything about him was screaming danger. Monster. Run. 

A halftime show’s worth of red flags tossed into the air in unison. 

She jumped back and screamed when the corpse suddenly took in a deep breath and began pulling at the ropes wrapped around it.

Astarion whipped around, grabbing the man’s face and holding it close to his own. 

“Sleep now.”

The tone of his voice was… different. Dark. Commanding. She felt the strangest surge of energy ripple through her as she heard it. The man, Howard-something, immediately fell over, still but breathing slowly. 

Compulsion, she realized. He had compelled the man to sleep.

Hearing him talk about compelling people it sounded made up. Like something you do in character in a game of DND. Seeing it was the creepiest thing ever. The idea that someone could just tell you to sleep and you would… no fighting back. Utterly at their mercy.

Tav felt a coil of heat twist between her legs that was both embarrassing and confusing. It was all she could do to not obviously press her thighs together tightly.

She turned her gaze back to Astarion, still trying to put together the silly, impulsive man she’d spent the past few weeks falling for with this man who casually ties men up with ropes in the woods and has an assistant who carries a gun and is ready for body disposal at a moment’s notice.

A man with blood running from the corners of his mouth down his neck, she suddenly realized. He had fed off the man tied to the tree. Fed on him then restrained him and now compelled him to unconsciousness. 

Why wasn’t she running? Intellectually, she was horrified. As she should be. But her emotions were ranging from calm to… incredibly turned on.

What in the ever-loving-fuck was wrong with her?

“You shouldn’t be here, pet.”

He sounded different. His voice firmer, more commanding. An edge of desperation to it. Another wave of arousal pulsed through her, leaving her aching. She swallowed, trying to respond. 

“I thought… Nina said you’d…” She bit her lip in frustration. Why was she so damn flustered?

“Oh? What did Nina say?” He glared daggers at the woman, who leveled a cool gaze in return. 

“Well, that you’d need help with a… body. ” The word came out a whisper.

“I do.” He tilted his chin up, his whole presence commanding in the most visceral sense of the word. 

She should be terrified. Why wasn’t she terrified? 

“Um, if he’s not… dead, what did you need help with?” 

Nina smirked, her arms folded over her chest as she leaned against a tree. “Tell her, my Lord. Tell her what it means when you’ve left them alive. For now. ”

Tav’s eyes flashed to Nina at the title. What the hell was going on?

He stared back at Nina. “You play dangerous games.” His voice was dark, deep, and chilling. “Bring that home. I find… I require more time.” His words were curt. Careful. He was still glaring at Nina when his nostrils flared briefly. Tav would never have noticed if she hadn’t been staring at him so intently. She also wouldn’t have caught a tiny upward quirk of his lip, or the tiny lift of his eyebrow.

Of course, he could smell her interest. Fucking vampire. She flushed a deep red as she realized the situation.

Nina looked confused, glancing between them. 

“Do tell me, Octavia, have you always felt this way?” He sauntered into her space, his hips undulating in a way that had all of her attention. It was so damn unfair that he could move like that. 

Even moreso that it made her weak in the goddamn knees. 

She tilted her chin up, refusing to give him satisfaction. “I have no idea what you are talking about. What do you require time for?”

She heard Nina’s snort.

Astarion reached out with startling speed and grabbed her chin, firm enough that she wouldn’t be able to move but not painfully hard. He stared with his strangely glimmering eyes into hers and she wondered what he was planning as time seemed to stretch. Suddenly he pushed her away with a low growl. Before she could react, there was a flash of light and the man was gone, replaced by a tiny white bat that took off into the sky suddenly.

Nina opened her big blue ikea bag and snapped on another pair of gloves, passing a pair to Tav.

“Come on. This motherfucker’s gonna be heavy as shit, and I don’t wanna be mid-move when the cops show up.”

Notes:

Soooooooooooo who saw that coming?

Chapter 12: We Need to Talk, Don't We?

Summary:

The aftermath of the woods. Raphael is getting antsy. Octavia makes a choice.

Notes:

Trigger Warnings

Panic attacks/dissociation
Raphael being a slimy jerk
Discussions of specific tortures
rather explicit sex

Octavia knew what was happening to her, as she watched her body help Nina move the unconscious and bound man into the vehicle, as she numbly spread the trash Nina had handed her, the contents of a gas station garbage can stolen earlier. She’d heard the term at some point on social media or a podcast or something. But knowing she was having a dissociative episode and stopping it were apparently unrelated mental states. 

F

She sat in the front seat of the SUV, suddenly aware that they were back close to the city again. Their passenger was tucked under a blanket in the back, the ropes hidden from any prying eyes around them. She felt empty, like a husk, drained of energy and feeling. 

“Welcome back.” Nina dryly said as she deftly avoided them getting hit by a van that merged without looking. “It’ll pass. After a few bodies, you don’t even think about it anymore.”

“He’s…” Her voice cracked. “He’s not a body.” She forced herself to say. Her throat was so dry it hurt. 

Nina sucked in air through her teeth. “Matter of time. He’s going to kill him when he’s done with him. It’s best you accept that right now, girlfriend. You’ve already committed like three felonies today.”

Octavia stared at Nina as the woman held herself utterly unbothered, not by the rush hour traffic and not by the fact that they had a half-dead man tied up in ropes in the back of the car. 

“How are you so calm right now?! Fuck.” Tav slumped in the seat. What in hell was she going to do if I cop pulled them over???

“Well, for one thing, it’s not my first time. For another, I’ve accepted the cost of the bargain I struck with the devil.” Nina laid on the horn as a minivan tried to merge into their front bumper. “It’s part of being a grown-up, Tav. I wanted out of the life I was born into and I wanted safety and comfort. Astarion gave me everything I asked for. This is the price and I’ve never regretted it.”

“He’s not a devil, Nina.”

“An agent thereof, same difference.” She scoffed. “He’s got evil inside him. Like real evil. He made a bargain with the demon Mephistopheles to get all that power he has, and it consumes him if he doesn’t feed it. Good people don’t do shit like that. People like him and I do. People willing to be selfish as shit if it means protecting themselves. He wanted to be safe from people who would use him. Same as me. I just made a softer deal with a less terrible demon.”

Octavia had never really done the church thing. She’d lived with people who followed too many different churches, for one thing, and whatever she’d believed as a kid had died with the rest of her memories. But she played DnD. And Astarion had made clear that he was from the Forgotten Realms. If he was telling the truth, as crazy as it was, well… there was a devil named Mephistopheles there, the Lord of Cania. A powerful sorcerer, creator of Hellfire. A particularly cruel Master of those who pledged themselves to his side due to the manic anger he exhibited. 

She swallowed at the implications of that. No wonder he hadn’t immediately said no to the deal this other devil had offered him. How many dealings had he had with the infernal over the years? What was the price of his deal?

“Look, Octavia. I’m not telling you to run. Obviously, I’d be a hypocrite. But you deserve to go into this with your eyes wide fucking open. Do not let your feelings get you into a bargain you regretfully strike. It can be hard not to be charmed by Astarion. He’s pretty, fun, sweet -  in his way… but he also ritually tortures people to feed his demonic curse and he’s going to live forever. He’ll be everything to you, the love of your entire life, and you will be, at best, a beloved interlude during his eons. That’s what you are signing up for. That’s your price.”

Octavia said nothing. What was there to say to that? 

They drove in silence until they got to their exit. As they pulled off the highway and into Chicago’s west side, they were greeted with abandoned lots filled with trash blowing in the wind, catching in piles against chain link fences and knee-high weeds in between dilapidated buildings. Wig shops, churches with smiling pictures of charismatic preachers, and fried food shops running out of buildings that still stood only because they were once so well-built were situated on wide boulevards built for the upwardly mobile folks who lived here a hundred and fifty years ago to show off that they had carriages of their own.`

Octavia felt a strange kinship with this place. She’d once been something else, too. Something she couldn’t remember but seemed to be grasping at. She got whispers of it sometimes. When she sang, songs and dances would come to her from nowhere in languages no one knew. When she picked up a sword the first time, it had felt right, she’d instinctively known how to hold it, and wield it like it was part of her body. And when she’d touched him the first time, she knew he was her home. 

Could she really walk away from that feeling?

Could she really walk towards what he was?

---

He paced in his house. He’d already done the needful tasks. Reporting his phone and wallet stolen by the odious piece of trash whose blood still warmed his veins, giving the cops a reason for the woman finding it in the car. 

Waiting had never been his strong suit, but this was torture. She’d seen him. He knew eventually he wouldn’t be able to keep it from her. Wouldn’t be able to hide what lived in his soul from her, but he hadn’t wanted her to see it on display like that. He’d only just stopped himself from compelling her into having him right then. Why had she reacted to him like that?! The scent of her arousal had been irresistable to the Ascendant. Even now, it whispered to him what he could do with her. Sick, twisted, horrific things that made his stomach flip.

He’d have to finish with the man before he could be near her again, sate the dark desires that swirled within him before they latched on to her. Not her. Never her. He’d never do that to her. Not again. 

Not after what he’d done in the Underdark. 

The others had quickly learned to avoid him since the first time they’d awoken in this tomb. All of his memories burning in the front of his mind put him more on edge than he’d been in the dormitory with his siblings, all the horror of the palace, and none of the numbness the lack of agency had wrought.

And so his sharp edges gleamed and shone, cutting all those who approached with equal fervor.

Tavriel, though, she'd seemed to take it as a challenge. Matching him insult for insult. Refusing to take his treatment personally, approaching it instead as a game.

Perhaps things might have gone differently if it hadn’t been for the damn singing mushrooms. Maybe he would have adjusted. Maybe he would have found a way to force the damn mask back on right, to manipulate her like he ought to have done, put himself firmly in the lead of their dance. But the fungal freaks tempted the others with a celebration after the Duegar were killed and then they’d drugged them all with their thrice-damned spores. 

He should have known. It wasn’t like he was a stranger to such things. Cazador enjoyed using them, provoking even the chaste models of virtue amongst the elite into lewd behavior in front of their peers, or driving his spawn to the edge of madness when they tried to refuse their duties…

But he didn’t recognize it until the scent hit his brain, and by then it was too late. They were deep in his useless lungs. 

He’d run. Run from the safety of the colony, run into the underdark, like an idiot. Who cared if he did something untoward to these idiots? Not him! Not really. Not enough to risk the drow and the spiders and the ceiling falling in, except… 

He was a person to her, even now. Even after feeding on her. Even after nearly killing her. Even after she’d spotted his venom glands. Even after all the ways in which he’d slowly, haltingly revealed how not-person he was. 

So he ran away before he could finally break the illusion.

And of course, because she was Tav, she followed him, and because of the spores, he missed it.

For once, his broken mind granted him a small mercy. He never could remember the details of what happened. He caught her hiding, he remembers that. The curse more in charge than him by then as the spores lowered his willpower and inflamed his basest urges.

He’d grabbed her by her tiny wrist, flinging her out from behind the rocks he’d found her amongst, the scent of her fear and arousal hitting him all at once, driving him on. He knows he’d overpowered her. He knows he restrained her with… something. That part is all hazy. 

He knows he fucked her so viciously it took five healing potions to get her on her feet again.

She claimed she wanted it. That she’d agreed. That she didn’t regret it. 

But he’d seen her when his mind cleared. He’d seen the black and blue marks he’d left on that porcelain pink skin. The way her sex was so battered she’d bled through her pants when she’d stood. And despite her protest, he could smell it wasn’t her moonblood. He saw the dried tear tracks that spoke of fear and pain, not bliss. 

Had he ever hated himself more than he had in that moment?

He realized that he still hadn’t forgiven himself for that one. It was still there, festering, in his soul. And unlike then, he knows now that he does, in fact, have one. It was a hot commodity in the Hells.

---

“And we just leave him here?”

Nina stared at her like she was being an idiot. Octavia winced. She probably was being an idiot.

“He’ll come get him. There are ways to here straight from the basement. We take the bus home. Come on.”

Here being the docks of an abandoned midcentury factory, where they’d parked the SUV just inside the doors. Invisible from the surroundings. They’d locked that man inside. She shuddered. Just because he was still alive right now, well, as Nina had told her, he wouldn’t be for long. She’d participated in a murder. And in a few days, she was supposed to go and teach his son, as though she didn’t know what had happened.

She followed Nina numbly as they walked down the trash-strewn sidewalk. It was silent here but for the sound of nearby traffic. Most of the buildings here hadn’t been used for a decade or longer. Some were burnt. Others filled with squatters who kept quiet and out of sight. And some were carefully bricked up. 

She’d always wondered why. At least for one, it was a backdoor to a murder basement.

They’d ridden the bus in silence. Nina reading the news on her phone. She’d simply looked at the faces on the bus, wondering how many of them were murderers, too. Would she feel like this forever, now? Like she was somehow one step removed from humanity?

When they’d gotten off the bus, she’d forced herself to say goodnight. But she was shaking. Going home meant going to him. There was no putting this off. This was a bright line in the sand. There was no going back from this, no undo button now. 

She chickened out. Took a turn a block early and now she was sitting at a bar. A trendy little hipster place with twelve-dollar cocktails with paragraph-long descriptions. She looked at the menu but her eyes swam with visions of ropes and bruises and red eyes in the woods.

“You seem lost. Rough day?” She looked up, and a hauntingly familiar man sat on the stool next to her. He was a large man, tall, broad-chested, and muscular. A little ruddy in complexion, oddly so, but otherwise handsome.

She pasted a customer service smile on. “Oh, you wouldn’t believe it if I told you. Mostly, though, I have no idea what to get. Usually, I just get the cheapest possible beer, but it doesn’t seem like that sort of place, you know?” A nervous laugh broke out, terrified that somehow strangers would be able to simply tell what she had just done.

“You’d be surprised what I’d believe coming from lips as pretty as yours..” His smile was easy, warm, but something about it set off alarms she couldn’t understand. She’d learned to listen to these though. Now, she wondered if this was part of her lost memories. “I’m Raphael.”

“Octavia.” She haltingly added, “And I’m, let’s say, off the market at the moment.”

Raphael chuckled in that far too smooth to be natural voice. “Sounds…complicated.”

“Isn’t everything worthwhile?” She quipped. “But back to the dilemma. What is that you are drinking?” She stared at the tall glass of multilayered liquids, topped with a smoking foam.

“The geologists’ dream. A drink designed for Instagram and not taste. Honestly, I’ve had my tongue in assholes that tasted better.”

She nearly choked at the way the blatant filth sounded in that smooth, urbane voice. “Well, that’s quite direct. I’ll stay away from that one, then.”

“I’d strongly recommend it, Octavia.” He sighed. “Is there no way I could convince you to have a drink with me? Strictly non-romantic. You intrigue me.”

“Based on what? That I’m complicated and didn’t flinch at your tasteless joke about buttholes?”

“You remind me of someone. And I can see you feel it too, don’t you?” The way his voice dropped into a purr was entirely too much like Astarion. Only for this man, it wasn’t natural. It was practiced. Too smooth. Not just an act. Someone else’s act. 

Her brain was racing. She pulled out her phone as if to check for a message to give her a moment. Alarm bells were ringing now. Why would this stranger be imitating Astarion at her? Think. Why was he familiar??? Raphael…. Oh shit. The ruddy skin. The overly large body. A cambion wearing his human skin. The devil Raphael. She pressed the button to call Nina, hitting the volume silence button and tucking it back in her sweater pocket.

“Sorry. No. I’m not interested, Raphael.” She stood up, hoping Nina was listening. The bar only had a few other customers, and the bartender looked barely there. Something was wrong here. The vibes were completely off. It was a weekend. A bar like this should be packed after dinner. 

Raphael clicked his tongue, an irritated sound... “I did so hope you’d be more gullible this time around, Tav, but sadly you seem to have retained that irritating habit of being entirely too perceptive.”

She tried to look confused. “I have no idea what you are talking about. I just came in for a drink, to take a little time to think. I’m sorry but I am very taken, and it really isn’t a good idea to make my boyfriend mad.”

“Why? Is he dangerous? Isn’t that why you are here? ” He stares at her knowingly, and she feels fear spreading cold and paralyzing through her. “My poor little mouse, can’t remember who she is, but it doesn’t change it. Did you watch him then? Finally see him for what he truly is, your love? Not a sad little kitten, after all, but a big, angry, monster.”

“Who are you?” She whispered. She’s fairly certain she knows already, but she needs to buy time. Nina’s heard by now. She’s not far from the house. How long will it take her to get here? Five minutes, ten at the max. “Why are you saying these things?”

“Come on, little mouse. Truly, you don’t remember me at all? We spent so many wonderful years together. You living in that cabinet, stealing my lover for hours a day to play tea party or…  whatever you two did together. Or perhaps the time you spent studying in my library might seem more familiar? I’ll never forget that. How a little mouse bested me with knowledge she stole right under my nose. Or perhaps, you might remember the day you truly broke my heart? Called on the council of Dis to dispute the validity of the contract your mother willingly signed, and masterfully won a debate with the most impressive legal minds of the Hells, all at the tender age of 13.”

She stood silent. Stunned. This… that couldn’t have been her. “I don’t know what you are talking about. I grew up in Boston. I’ve never been to Hell, for fuck’s sake. Are you on drugs or something?” She tried to sound incredulous. 

“I didn’t see it then, little mouse. I saw you as leverage, and nothing more. It’s true. Haarlep told me how special you were from the beginning and I didn’t listen to him.” The devil’s voice broke from that smooth tone for the first time since he’d begun. Haarlep? What a strange name. “He’s gone now, you know. My father took him away, all because of what your boyfriend has done.”

“That’s very sad, but I think you have me confused with someone else. I’ve never met someone named Haarlep. I’d remember a name that weird.”

Raphael tilted his head, suddenly, eyes widening, frighteningly large and black. The glass front of the bar shattered. The patrons didn’t seem to notice, which was more terrifying. And yet, she didn’t freeze, she focused. Everything was clearer than it had ever been. As though time had slowed so she could notice the finest details. 

She turned and saw Astarion standing in the doorway, a cloud of shadows surrounding him, his eyes glowing like burning embers in the dimly lit space. “Raphael.” His voice wasn’t just dark. It was night. The very essence of it. Fear speared down her spine like ice-cold lightning. 

“Ah! There he is. The Ascendant, finally, in true form. Do come in, darling. ” Raphael grinned. “I’ve been waiting for you.”

She ignored the devil, suddenly realizing that he was acting. He was egging Astarion on, making him angry on purpose. What didn’t he want him to notice? One of these things is not like the other, one of these things is different. It hits her what was so out of place. 

“As you well know,” Astarion blurs into a red mist and suddenly returns next to the devil, “I require no invitation.”

“And neither do I.” Raphael sits back down at the table and spreads his arms in greeting. “Sit. Have a drink. We have much to discuss.”

Astarion turned those burning eyes in her direction. She wanted to flinch, to run and hide, but she knew she couldn’t show weakness in front of the devil, so she held his gaze. “Are you alright, my love?” 

His voice warmed, ever so slightly. It was still cold, terrifyingly cold, but that tiny change. She felt it. And she bet on it, throwing herself into his arms despite the fear. He wrapped one arm tightly around her, bracing her against himself. She leaned up like she was burying her face in his chest, and murmured against his skin. One word. Vampires. 

He tightened his grip on her. With her face buried against him, she couldn’t see, but she could still hear. 

“She’s fine. I wouldn’t harm her. After all, I spent quite a bit of my own wealth to acquire her for you, Astarion. And yet, you leave me in the dark, waiting for an answer.”

“I see you’ve brought friends, Raphael. You should introduce us.”

She stiffens. Was she right?

There was silence. And then the loud thud of bodies hitting a floor, literally. 

“That was unnecessary.” Raphael’s drawl is tight. Forced now. Gone is the easy warmth, as slimy as it was. “A waste of perfectly good power.”

“And raising them wasn’t? Or did you forget, Raphael, that the Ascencion gave me dominion over other undead? I’ve sent them back. The half-life of a mind-addled slave is a torment no one deserves.”

Silence filled the space while she waited for how the devil would respond. She felt Astarion’s grip relax just slightly, his thumb start tracing circles on her back, as though he was trying to soothe her. It was… strangely endearing, that this creature of the night was concerned for her comfort , of all things. 

“Can we please go home?” She asked loudly. Hoping the devil would hear.

Astarion chuckled. “My little love is impatient, devil. Perhaps you’d like to speed up this tete-a-tete.”

Raphael sucked in a breath through clenched teeth. “When?”

“Apologies, but you’ll need to use a complete sentence.”

“When will we talk, Astarion?”

“Next week. Sunday. Dinner at 8 sharp? It is, however, a single invitation.”

“Well, that hardly seems fair. After all, I’ve given you such a lovely companion.”

“Bring the incubus if you so desire. If you can.” He stilled his hand for a moment. “Oh, and Raphael?”

“Hmmm?”

“If you ever try and threaten my treasure again, I will carve my name into your infernal flesh with a permanent brand.”

He suddenly swept her up into a bridal carry and walked through the ruined glass wall, striding over the remains of the door. She buried her face in his chest, her mind registering him as safe,  her body crashing as the immediacy of the danger passed. 

“Rev’el va, thiir d’ath tel quiet.” ~ Rest now, my dearest treasure. 

She wanted to protest, to argue she was fine, but her body betrayed her. A chill began to ripple through her as he walked as quickly as he could without drawing attention, shivers building in her muscles. She was slightly confused that his chest was wet all of a sudden, and then she realized she was crying. 

He held her tighter. “Na’haran va avae'mhaor.” ~ No harm can touch you here.

The words were almost sung, repeated in a low, crooning musicality, in time with the soothing strokes on her back. It worked, drawing her into a strange, out-of-body experience, much like the one on the drive back from the forest but soothing this time. The whole world became the sounds of his strange, slow, undulating heartbeat and voice, the scent of his cologne and the earthy smell that lay beneath, the softness of the silk shirt she was pressed up against, and the movement as he walked. 

---

The sun was coming up, bright and sparkling through the leaded glass window, highlighting Octavia’s features as he watched her sleep. He’d snuck away last night, having Nina stay and watch over her, and taken care of the man. Well, the first round. He’d be visiting him for a few days before the Ascendant had his fill of fear and pain. In the meantime, he'd used his personal favorite torture. Wrapping the future corpse up with silk ropes, like a spider cocoon, and suspending him from the ceiling. The fear scent that would fill the basement would be delicious when he returned.

He’d made sure to shower thoroughly, scrubbing with a brush to ensure not a particle of blood remained on him. No need to stress his precious love any more than Raphael already had, a slight for which Astarion intended to make the cambion pay dearly for having inflicted. He had considered his options as he watched the rise and fall of her chest, the slight flutter in her eyelids that told him she was dreaming. 

There was, of course, simple violence, but unless he was willing to step foot in the Hells, it was pointless. And the moment he did that, there was a chance he could be claimed. So that was not an option. Which left psychological pain. Besting him in the contract negotiations was his most likely method of extracting schaudenfreude, but it did require him knowing what Raphael did and didn’t want from this contract. 

He wanted the claim to his soul. But Astarion also wanted that. He didn’t like Raphael. But he was a known quantity. A devil who did not enjoy pain for pain’s sake. He’d had quite enough of that in a master for all eternity. But Raphael also wanted something out of Tav, and it hadn’t escaped his notice that the only thing the devil had mentioned were the downsides of Astarion sharing his curse with her.

Raphael probably thought he was still the same flighty, terrified man he’d been the first time they’d met and didn’t realize that little exchange gave him away. Something about the vampiric curse would ruin his plans for Tav. Something that other means of lengthening life would not. 

He would have ruminated further, but she was waking up. He heard her heart rate slowly increasing its tempo as her breathing deepened and sped up. Watched as her eyes flitted open, and then she turned and caught his gaze with her own. The sleepy smile that broke across her face could have brought him back to life.

“You brought me home.”

“ Eath’she. Did you rest well? You went into shock last night, love.”

She blinked. “Oh.”

He took in a deep breath, steadying himself for what might possibly come next. “I expect you have some questions for me.”

“I do.” She looked at him softly. “But not right now.”

His throat suddenly felt dry as he watched those soft eyes stare at him longingly. “And what, then, did you want? Right now?”

She flushed and seemed to not be able to meet his gaze any longer. “Do you have anything you have to do today?” 

He suddenly realized what she was getting at.  “Darling, Octavia, are you sure that’s what you want? Even after what you saw…”

She got up from the bed and took his hand, gently pulling him up from the chair he had tucked into the corner of the small room. “You know, in all this time, I’ve never seen your room.” His desire was unfurling in him, like smoke curling upwards, a haze overlaying his thoughts as he imagined her, bare before him, spread out on his bed, saying his name like a prayer. “Would you show it to me?”

She stretched out her hand to him, but it wasn’t enough. He swept her back up into his arms, just like he had held her the night before, kissing her deeply as he carried her through their home, up the stairs, down the hall, past his office, up one more flight of steps, his lips remembering all their favorite places on her face, her neck, her lips… 

He’d walked in the room and sat her feet on the floor, closing the door behind him. He spent a tiny burst of magic and lit the candles in the room, eliciting a gasp from her. 

“How did you-”

He leaned down and lifted her chin with two gentle fingers, taking control of her with barely a gesture. Her eyes were huge, pupils blown as she stared at him. Staring deep into her eyes, watching them widen and her pupils slowly expand as he drank in her perfection. Slowly, he lowered his lips to her, keeping the pressure featherlight at first. 

The sweetest sigh escaped her as he took her soft bottom lip between his, and he took the opportunity to press a little harder, sweeping his tongue softly into her mouth. She rose to meet him, welcoming him, sliding her hands along his jaw and weaving her fingers into his hair, sending a lovely tingle through him. Then she used that grip to pull his face further into her, pressing her body into him until there couldn’t have been daylight between them.

He hooked his fingertips under the bottom edge of her t-shirt, his lips leaving hers to trace her jaw to her ear, and then down her neck, lingering just for a moment to reverently rest on the nearly healed mark he’d left on her. The sweet little sighs she let loose were torture, taking that haze of lust and setting it ablaze. He slid her top up and off of her, dropping it unceremoniously on the floor. He let his eyes roam over her newly exposed skin appreciably while he unbuttoned and dropped his shirt. 

He moved towards her, and she nearly fell backward onto the bed, catching herself at the last minute. He crawled on top of her, using his hands on her hips to scoot her back until she was more centered on the king-size bed. He caged her body with his, knees between her thighs, hands on the mattress on either side of her torso. His mouth found hers once more, but this time, she shocked him, taking his lower lip between her teeth, drawing a moan from him. 

“You little vixen.” He growled approvingly, noting the little smirk it brought to her face, and it made him feel a bit playful. So he dropped his voice lower. “You like it with teeth, do you, darling?”

The shiver that rippled through her shocked him a bit, and seemingly her as well, based on the way she blushed. 

“I… well, I mean… it’s a bit more theoretical than anything.” She barely stammered it out. 

The admission went straight to his cock. His memories flashed to the way Tavriel had so deliciously submitted to whatever mood struck him during their times together, always letting him take the lead. 

He leaned down, kissing along her neck from the nearly healed mark he had left near the crook to the sensitive spot behind her ear, enjoying the lovely richness that arousal added to her summer-sweet scent. Then he deliberately scraped down the stiffest part of her muscle with a fang, ever so slowly, teasing but not quite breaking the skin. The broken little moan that tore out of her left him reeling. 

Another time. There would be a day, soon, when he’d test this out. But not their first time. No, he wanted to make love to her, not test where pain became pleasure. Not this morning.

So he followed that sharpness with the soothing tip of his tongue, then a soft kiss once more. He pulled away slightly, turning on his side and propping his head up on an elbow to look into her eyes. 

“Do you remember what I promised you, Octavia?”

She nodded. And he shook his head. “No, no, love. I need you to use your words. What did I tell you I was going to do?”

She swallowed, her voice coming out raspy and dry. “Ruin me. For anyone else.”

He smirked. “Well, that’s certainly true. But I meant how I intend to do that, love.” He drank in the sight of her practically trembling in anticipation. “But don’t worry, songbird. I’ve not forgotten anything about you.” 

He leaned slightly, taking her hand in his, lifting her thumb to his lips. Kissing it lightly. “I remember everything. ” He pulled her thumb into his mouth to a sudden gasp from her, and then a moan ripped from her as he proceeded to fellate the digit, sucking on it with just enough pressure to pull at the joint, just the way she liked it. 

Her eyes rolled back and her mouth fell open from the sensation, and he heard her heart stutter with every pull he made with his mouth, watching her fist the linen coverlet on his bed. He’d had this dream so many times, never believing it would be real. 

He had to take in a deep breath to ground himself, and then he dropped her hand, returning to kiss her, softly. She immediately opened to him, and he followed, kissing her deeply, before making his way back down her neck, over her collarbones, kissing each little faint freckle along the path down her chest. He lathed one of her perfect little tits with his tongue while he held the other in his hand, toying with her nipple with his thumb. She gasped and arched her back towards him, and he rolled his hips against her once more, letting the pleasure of the touch and the knowledge that it was her writhing beneath him flood his body and mind. He teased and toyed with those sweet little mounds, drawing the sweetest sounds from her lips. 

“Gods, everything about you is so damned perfect it feels unreal.” He murmured against her skin, tasting the salt of the sweat she had begun to work up under his ministrations. 

She’d responded by running her hands into his hair, ever so gently pulling his face back onto her nipple. He’d rewarded her by taking it into his mouth, careful to avoid his fangs, and ran his tongue slowly around the edge, lightly, until he’d heard a tiny breath of protest. Then he’d pulled it in with the flat of his tongue and sucked. Lightly at first, he was rewarded with a deep groan from her lips, so he deepened the suction as he slid one knee between her legs, scooting them apart.

He pulled off of her with a pop, lifting his head gently. She’d immediately let her hands drop out of his hair, freeing him. He kissed down her abdomen, appreciating the softness over powerful muscle that was her body. The way she was trembling, her breath catching and breaking and coming in gasps, was driving him further and further towards the precipice. 

Nothing had ever wrecked him like the way she responded to his touch. And this was… well, it was better than before. He wasn’t afraid, or panicked, or desperate, or anything but filled with desire for this woman. He slid his hands into the waistband of her leggings, slowly, giving her time to object. She lifted her hips, so he slipped her leggings and underthings off. Lifting up just enough to free himself from his remaining garments as well. 

He took a moment to appreciate her beauty, again. She was a vision. Eyes closed, head tilted back, a flush down to her nipples that still shone with his saliva, her mouth open a tiny bit as she breathed. She fluttered her eyes open, her eyes falling half-lidded as she looked at him. 

He nudged her legs open with a knee, making space for himself between her legs. Fuck, she was already dripping on his sheets, the sight of it sent another lurch through him. It was going to be quite difficult to hold himself back the way he wanted to. If he had his way, she’d never forget this morning. She’d dream of it for the rest of her days. But it did mean exercising a level of self-control that seemed to be slipping through his fingers like water. 

He slowly lowered himself, bringing his lips down to her belly, lightly pressing soft, reverent kisses into the skin. Her navel was perfect. Adorable. And one of her quirky little erogenous zones he remembered. He wondered if she knew about it yet, if it carried over the same way she loved having her fingers sucked on had. He ran his tongue lightly around the edge of the rippled little depression, and she gasped. He smirked, and grabbed the skin between his dull front teeth, capturing it and ever so gently tugging, his reward immediate.

“ Astaaarion… What…. Oh god….”

Her back arched up and her legs fell further apart, like she was begging him with her body.

But he wanted to take this slow. To edge her. From what he knew of her attitude towards sex, her experiences so far had been mediocre at best. Not focused on her. 

He’d thought about what he’d do if he had her again for four hundred years. How he would touch her. How he would show her just how much he loved her. How much he worshipped her. How she was the center of his entire universe.

He dipped his nose across her skin and inhaled, calming himself, grounding himself. He kissed the skin he’d bitten, soothing it, before pressing more soft kisses along the edge of her rib cage, another spot she loved to be touched. He felt her stiffen then melt under his oh-so-gentle touches, listening to the hitched breaths that escaped from her mouth. 

He traced her skin with his hands, teasing every sensitive spot, not quite touching her where she wanted it most, following with tongue and teeth, occasionally rewarding her when she’d plead with her responses, but mostly further teasing her. He worked his way up and down her body twice over until she was a shaking, begging mess. 

She came the first time with just the slightest brush of his finger across her clit.

He’d watched her break apart and nearly followed simply watching her, but he held it together. He was far from done. He’d promised to ruin her, and he intended to keep his promise.

He waited until she was no longer gasping for breath, but when was still panting, to crawl between her legs and taste her. He started off light. Using the tip of his tongue and avoiding her nub at first, not getting her oversensitive… yet. 

The stuttering gasp it drew from her was as delicious as the sweet taste of her cunt.

“I wonder…” He whispered, lifting up so she’d hear him. “How many could you give me?” 

There was a pause and she responded, her voice strained already. “What?”

“How many times do you think I could make you come?” He said it louder, matter of fact, watching her flush from the directness of it. Well, that was delightful but he’d break her of that naivety soon enough. He dropped his voice lower. “Four? Five?” He ran a single finger ever so slightly along her folds. Hells, she was wet. He felt himself throb at the sensation. 

“ Five?” Her crackly little whisper already held the edge of desperation, so he stroked her a little more deliberately. 

“Six, then?” He was certain he could. He’d done it before, to her, before. Octavia and Tavriel were almost identical, but there were certain differences between Elves and Humans, and, well, sex was one of those differences. Elves simply had a higher tolerance for endurance in the bedroom. But, six was not outside the realm of possibilities for a human woman, if one knew what they were doing.

And he might not have wanted to, but Astarion knew exactly what he was doing.

“Six, then. You’re going to look so exquisite when I’m done.” He purred it at her, partly a performance to spur her on, but partly a genuine feeling. There was simply nothing more beautiful in all the world than seeing Tav utterly wrecked with pleasure he had given her.

He watched her eyes grow wide, but when she started to speak, likely to protest, he caught her gaze, staring deep into her eyes while pushing his finger inside her as slowly as he could while continuously moving. Watching her swallow down her words, her eyes slowly falling back, then her back arching up slowly, he kept his hand in place and moved around her slightly, bringing his lips back to her nipple. 

Keeping his hand perfectly still, he began teasing her nipple with his tongue, alternating between firm flicks with the point, and soft, long licks with the flat of it. He brought his other hand to the party after some time, using fingers on one lovely point and tongue on the other. 

The second time he brought her, she’d begged.

The third, she’d had tears run out of her eyes. 

He’d gone back to using his mouth, taunting and teasing her pretty little cunt with his tongue while she writhed and whined and wonderfully begged him to let her touch him. 

He’d said no of course, then returned right back to devouring her. He felt like a man starved. He wanted every part of her, all at once, but restrained himself. Stretching out her pleasures as long as he could.

When she’d come the fourth time she’d done so gasping his name, her legs shaking so violently he’d had to hold them down to not be kicked. 

He’d given her a brief break out of mercy, crawling up her body to capture her chin, the same way he’d done in the woods, though not quite as hardly. She’d rewarded him with a long, broken moan. He leaned down and kissed her, softly, then hard, then he’d opened her mouth with his tongue and kissed her deeply.

She’d shocked him, grabbing the back of his head when he’d gone to pull away, pulling his mouth back to hers. When their lips met, he went to kiss her sweetly, but she had other ideas, running her tongue over his fang, knicking it, and letting blood trickle into his mouth. 

He froze. He’d avoided this. An intimacy he’d never let himself share with another since, well, her.

Blood or sex, never blood and sex. He lost control far too easily. But… this was Tav. And he could deny her nothing. So he pulled her tongue back into his mouth, straddling her hips suddenly by jumping over them, sliding himself right up against her clit as he gently sucked the blood from her tongue. Hearing himself making rather obscene noises of contentment as her blood flooded him. 

The sharing of blood did more than taste good. His skin flushed and grew warmer. His mind cleared and the afterglow of the pleasures he’d given her sparked in his veins. 

His arousal spiked like a flash fire.

He gasped as it burned through him, unable to stop himself from rolling his hips against her, reigniting her, it seemed, as well. 

“Please. Oh god, please.” she gasped under him, her voice thready, needy, broken.

He took a deep, calming breath, and looked back in her eyes. He’d never seen them so big. Glossy. Pupils having near eclipsed the iris. 

“Tell me, love. Tell me what you want?” He dropped his voice to a deep whisper. “What you… need?”

A tiny little mewl broke out of her while her hips canted into his. She was so wet even this brief contact left him a mess, and a frisson of pride rippled through him at that. 

“You.” She choked another breath down. “I need… you. Please. I can’t…”

He smiled. “Oh, darling. You can.” He kissed her neck, nibbling up the side of her ear, suckling at the lobe while she squirmed delightfully. “You can and you will. You want to be good for me, don’t you, Octavia?” He used the darkest tone of his voice, putting a little bit of command in it, and oh. The way she melted in submission stirred more than his body. 

The Ascendant rose up at that, too.

Notes:

OMG things are happening. The plot is ramping up. The darkness is unfolding.

And things are getting HOT in here.

Do you all think Octavia is making the right choice here? Or is she being naive and falling for the Astarion Effect TM?

Chapter 13: Somewhere Between Pain and Ecstasy

Summary:

Astarion and Octavia continue to - ahem - reconnect in new ways.

Notes:

TW: some very mild (I mean very!!!) pain play/BDSM vibes.
Lots of emotions and thoughts about sex, worth, and love.

Never in her life had sex been like this. It was like she could feel the very cells of her body, wracked with the need for something, something that would toss her across some boundary she hadn’t even been aware existed before today. 

When she’d decided to share her blood it hadn’t been a thought, it was something she’d remembered, suddenly, not exactly a memory but a feeling. 

And oh god what it had done to him. 

She stared at him, watching his eyes burn, knowing it was all for her. And then his voice… the most exquisite pain of need and desire wound like a vine around her spine and deep into her pelvis, burning, pulling taught… she felt like she might break if something didn’t happen. 

She’d begged. “I need… you. Please. I can’t….”

And his response. The whisper of his breath across her skin, across the sensitive spot where his last bite was still healing. “Oh, darling. You can.” The feel of his lips across it sent a slight burn of pain with the increased pressure around her core. “You can and you will. ” She felt it with his next word. The softest bit of command. She could have fought it - it was wispy and weak, not meant to bind - but it made something in her settle. A warm burst of rightness flushed through her at his command. “You want to be good for me, don’t you, Octavia?”

Everything in her gave itself over to him at once and it was like she began to float away. Not from her body, that was ever present, but from every thought, every worry. Nothing else mattered. Nothing but this moment, this feeling, this man for whom she would deny nothing.

His grip on her tightened in agonizing, tantalizingly slow motion until it reached just past the point where it hurt, fingers bruising the soft flesh of her hips, thumbs burrowing into the tops of her thighs. A dark chuckle rumbled from above her as she let loose a tiny cry of pain threaded with pleasure. 

“You love this, don’t you, pet? You asked for it, after all. Asked for the vampire when you shared your blood.”

Anticipation thrummed through her so powerfully that her body tried to shiver, but those hands held her in place. 

“Now I was planning merely on giving you pleasure, but it seems that wasn’t enough for you, was it?”

She held her breath, waiting. 

“Eyes on me, pet. Answer me.”

Again. The whisper of magic, feather-light. It wrapped around her gossamer thin, breakable. She didn’t know why it felt so incredible. So perfect. 

She opened her eyes to look at him. His ruby eyes were alight, glowing like they had been when he’d rescued her from Raphael. But rather than angry his face looked transcendent, eyes hooded with lust and lips quirked with his amused smile. Any tension she had, any desire to ignore his demands dissipated under his gaze. 

“I wanted…” she wanted to answer him but a tiny memory of shame held her back. Something she wasn’t supposed to admit. It felt so very far away though. And he was here. Her desire to give in to him just barely won out, but she had to tear her eyes away from his. It was too much to look at him and admit her desires... “I want it to hurt. A little.” Her voice was barely a whisper, the shame threading through it. 

He breathed out sharply. “Oh, my perfect little love, my lost treasure… I know. ” His voice was so dark it chilled her and yet the fear and the anticipation set her alight with desire rather than fear. “Someone made you feel bad about that, didn’t they?” 

His voice soothed the refrain of shame, shame, shame that rang through her head, the only discordant note in her universe right now. She bit her lip and nodded, still unable to look him in the eye. “Oh, my love. This isn’t a defect. ” His voice dripped dark honey, a promise of delights and danger. He whispered something in Elvish, too low for her to hear, but his tone was one of awe. 

“Now, have you ever done this before? Let someone bring you to your pleasure through pain?”

She caught his eyes briefly, still burning, still focused. She looked away and shook her head no. 

He let go of one hip, his hand catching her chin firmly and guiding it back until her eyes were aligned with his. “Eyes on me, Octavia. I want to see what I do to you.” 

She bit her lip as she caught her breath, the words nearly sending her over the edge. She trembled, unsure what he planned. After all, she had seen - this wasn’t some random fling spanking her in jest or that one time she’d convinced Maverick to tie her up that had ended so horribly. Astarion was … well, what he was. She almost couldn’t think the word for the cold chill of fear that threatened, and yet it made her need burn yet more intensely. 

“You’re shaking like a leaf, my dear. I promise I won’t take it too far. I’ll give you just enough… just enough to sharpen the edge of your pleasure. Unless, of course, you ask me for more.” She didn’t think his voice could get lower but it did on that last word and the tension in her body dropped straight into her core, her hips fighting to rise against his grip. 

He chuckled. “Needy little thing. Alright, my dear. Eyes on me.” There was a pause as she forced herself to look at him again, losing herself again in the intensity of his gaze. “I’m going to bite you. Here.” He brushed just above her nipple with his lips and then brought his eyes back into hers. “And here.” He bent down again and brushed just below the same nipple, the silken rush of his lips caressing her even as she was anticipating the pain. “I’m going to bite you and it’s going to hurt. Unless it’s not what you want.”

He stared at her, eyes lit from within, waiting. “I… “ Her voice cracked as she forced the sound over the wall of anxiety that told her it was wrong to want this. Wrong to ask for it. “Please.”

He leaned down and kissed her so softly. Such contrast between that delicate brush of his lips on hers and the promise of what was to come. “Breathe through it for me, my sweet, and then let yourself fall into it.”

She still had her lower lip between her teeth, the anticipation almost bringing her over the edge to another orgasm by itself. She watched as he let his eyes finally leave hers, sweeping down over her body and focusing on her breasts. His hands finally left her hips, forcing her to focus in order to keep still, and swept up her body to her shoulders. He pinned her again, forcefully, against the mattress. Utterly in control of her. 

And yet the pressure was just right. Just hard enough to hurt the tiniest bit. Enough to light up her nerves but not overwhelm her. 

He made a small little hum, as though he was enjoying this as much as she was, and her body answered in kind. She had to push her tailbone down into the ridiculously soft bed to keep her hips from rolling up, desperate for friction of any kind. 

Before she could even think, he struck. Snapping his face down to her, his fangs sliding through the skin above her nipple as though it were made of tissue paper. Sharp, cold, burning pain followed immediately by the heat of his mouth over the sensitive bud, making her gasp and soar and want all at the same time. 

Before she had even acclimated to it, he lifted up, seeking her gaze and finding it, he smiled. She saw her blood on his teeth, like a wild animal, some small part of her brain recoiling in terror of being prey and another part… one she had tried for so long to deny… let out a pleading moan through her lips, begging for more.

“You’re doing so good for me, brave girl. Do you think you can handle one more?” His voice was still dark, almost chilling, but had just a hint of his warmth. The contrast of the pain and the pleasure, the praise and the fear, heightened everything until she could no longer think beyond the moment. The shame has disappeared like mist in the wind. She nodded, no hesitation this time. 

The second bite was harder than the first. She cried out this time, couldn’t help it, the pain sharp and burning in the already bruised and tender flesh. She felt him stiffen slightly, a small little moan coming out of him, barely audible. Then he pulled out his teeth, slowly, dragging out the sharp, stinging. Tears were in the corners of her eyes but it was somehow exactly what her body was demanding with the way that it sent an aching pulse right through her clit. Her hips rolled up, out of her control, as he finally withdrew from her skin. 

He looked down at her and she followed his eyes as they widened and his pupils eclipsed the red flame of his iris while he watched four tiny ribbons of blood trickle out, trailing down from her breast onto her belly and the sheet beside her. A broken little noise escaped him that nearly sent her over the edge on its own. 

His gaze was short-lived, before a hot mouth drew in her breast. He alternated between drawing her blood out, the pull of it making her lightheaded, the pain of it singular against the heady pleasure of his tongue toying with her sensitive nipple. She tried to watch, but her back wanted to arch, her head stretched back as the sensations took her to a place she’d never reached. When he finally pressed his cock into her, brushing soft skin against her, she shattered, exploded into a void of starlight, utterly detached from every sensation but the feeling of pleasure that washed through and over her like a wave. 

---

Astarion stared in wonder at the nearly unconscious woman on his bed. Awestruck. Yes, that was the word. Struck dumb in awe of her perfection, how well she completed him. 

The ache of his cock was exquisite, but he could ignore it for a bit longer. The pain was more than worth the gift she had just given him. He could have her again later if she was willing. Hells, he would pleasure himself forever, in exchange for reliving the memory of what just passed. 

When he’d worried things might be different here, with her being in a different body and without her former memories, it never occurred to him it might be better. He watched as she went through the mild shock of coming down from subspace, gently pulling the blanket from the end of the bed up over their bodies to prevent the chills that would hit her shortly. 

Had she ever gone there before? Did she even know what she was experiencing?

It sounded like she did not. That someone had made her feel wrong for this beautiful surrender she had in her. 

He was torn between wanting to tear their throat out and wanting to thank them for their stupidity. He’d been afraid, so very afraid that he let loose the monster on her and she would run away in fear. That he’d ruin everything. 

It hadn’t occurred to him that she’d want it, even a little bit. 

After how she’d reacted in the woods, perhaps he should have. He gently pulled her closer as her eyes fluttered open. He kissed them, softly. 

“Shhhhh. Relax, my sweet. Let yourself enjoy the moment.” He brushed her hair from her face, gently scraping against her scalp with his fingertips, watching her lean into the sensation as he knew she would.

“Feeling better, love?”

She melted into his arms. “I’m sorry. I’m not sure what… what happened. I’ve never…”

He kissed the top of her head, the sweet smell of her rising above the perfume of her shampoo. “No need to apologize. If anything, it’s quite the compliment. Now, sweetling, are you alright? I didn’t hurt you too much, did I?”

He pulled the blanket back, running his eyes over her, wincing when he saw the dark marks on her hips and shoulders, his arousal sparking when he saw his mark on her breast, a drop still welling from one mark. He ran his tongue over his teeth, still tasting her in his mouth. 

She shook her head slowly. 

He gave her a hard look. “Use your words, pet.”

“I feel fine. Better than. Kind of, um, floaty. Like being tipsy but way better. A little sore in a few places but worth it.” She blushed, a flush so dark it spread down her chest. He gave her a soft smile. He’d have to help her get past whatever nonsense she’d been taught.

He bent down and kissed the still bleeding wound, her sharp intake of breath from the pain unmistakeable. He looked up, catching her eye. She didn’t look upset. She looked deliciously wrecked. He grinned, and slipped under the blanket, finding his way between her legs once more. 

He was gentler with her hips, avoiding where he’d grabbed earlier, lifting her, and teasing her legs apart. Her skin here was so soft, petal smooth. He wondered if she removed the hair that grew here on humans. There was some, but it was sparse. And far softer than he was used to. She mewled when he’d dipped his tongue back into her cunt, the taste of her making him shudder with need. He’d lied to himself. He couldn’t deny himself this pleasure, not when she was still so present. He could taste how ready she was for him.

“Ah, Ast-” she couldn’t even speak, his name devolving into a moan on her lips like a siren’s song, designed to ruin him. 

“ Salen itae, kerradunes’anden avae tel’Sharess faen’she. Na’teshuel salen quarlani, salen nee va’suyoll’and . ” ~ My love, I have been denied the highest joys of Sharess for a lifetime. Take my soul, my heart that you have resurrected.”

He gasped as he entered her, her tight heat nearly strangled him for a brief moment and then she opened to him like he was always meant to be here, part of her. He paused when they’d fully joined, gently holding her to him, his legs wrapping around hers as though he could merge them into one being in that moment. 

Her small hand came up and cupped his face, holding his head against the crook of her neck where he’d tucked it. “I…” her voice was so soft he almost couldn’t hear it, even from this close. “I love you, too, Astarion.”

A weight fell off of him he didn’t know was there, warmth spreading through his chest, like he had finally taken a deep, cleansing breath after a lifetime of sour air. She loved him. He’d never doubted that she had, before, but… He’d hoped, but he’d never quite believed… After everything, that she would love him still. 

Maybe it was just in the heat of the moment. And maybe she’d still walk away when she knew everything. But… she loved him. For now, it was enough to fill him with heat, to bring him to the brink of need. He didn’t think anymore, just took her on instinct, slow but firm, insistent, their bodies moving in a dance older than evil curses and devil’s contracts. 

And when she reached one last climax with a soft little moan, so worn out from all she’d given him, he let go, the ecstasy of release dissolving every worry, every fear, every thought he had until all that was real was her. 

---

The afternoon light was pouring into the room, casting a golden glow over everything, when he opened his eyes. He realized he had fallen asleep. True sleep. It had been years since he’d done that. Octavia was curled around his side, her face soft in repose, the light bringing out the peach tones in her porcelain skin. 

The warmth of the light mingled with the warmth of the afterglow of their lovemaking. He smiled, a real, uncontrolled grin of joy. It truly had been making love. Of course, her words might have been an exuberant response to such an experience, but he wouldn’t allow himself to ruin the moment unless she told him herself it wasn’t true. 

She loved him. 

She loved him. 

She loved him. 

Tears spilled down his face at the overwhelming force of emotion that unlocked within him. Four hundred years. Four hundred years of waiting. Of wishing. Of grieving could have beens and should have beens. Fearing that if she was aware of him at all, somewhere, she would hate him for what he had done. What he had become. 

All lifted in an instant at five words. Words that rang through his head like the most beautiful symphony. 

I love you, too, Astarion.

Not one doubt had crossed his mind since he’d been certain Octavia and Tavriel were the same person that she was his thiramin, that they were meant to be together. But he had feared she might not feel the same. He didn’t know what he would have done otherwise.

He brushed the now unnecessary dark thoughts and urges out of his mind. They didn’t matter.

She loved him.  

He smiled, again, gently moving a small lock of her chocolate hair out of her face. He gazed at her in adoration, basking in her presence, when he saw the marks he had left on her fair skin. She marked easily, he needed to remember. He’d been a touch rougher than he’d intended, the darkening purple on her shoulders where he’d restrained her silently admonished him. 

If this was to be her taste going forward, he’d have to acquire gentler restraints for her. 

His eyes drifted down from her shoulders, landing on the bites he’d left on her breast, and wincing. He’d meant for them to hurt, she’d wanted it. Needed it, based on the way she reacted, and yet… The puncture marks were still ever so slightly oozing lymph, red and puffy around the edges from irritation. His blunt teeth had left deep bruises where he’d held her in place for his fangs to sink in. Blood that had oozed out in the aftermath had dried in smears and trails on her chest and abdomen. 

Well, this wouldn’t do, his treasure being left in this condition. Not even by him. 

---

The world was moving. 

Octavia’s thoughts were still somewhere floaty and safe and warm. Somewhere she didn’t need to think so much. She worried about the motion for a half-second, but then she realized she was in Astarion’s arms. She’d know his scent anywhere, that peculiar mix of herbs, citrus, and a darker, earthier scent that lay underneath. She settled into his arms, laying her cheek against his chest where his strange, slow heartbeat made a soothing rhythm to lull her back to that floaty place.

His beautiful voice, so warm and happy, said her name. 

Then a soft brush of his silken lips on her temple, a pressure that lingered a moment. 

Her thoughts filtered up through the haze as she heard him say her name again. 

“Little love, we need to clean you up.”

She blinked, realizing she was in a bathroom. It was unfamiliar. Not overly large although bigger than the hall bath she used. He was holding her, bride-style, and standing by the biggest tub she’d ever seen, inset in an arched nook with a detailed tile mural depicting mermaids… doing some extremely naughty things, she realized with a chuckle. 

Her eyes flickered up to his, finding a joy so blatant, so immense that it took her breath away. He was smiling wide, what must be his natural smile, the little tips of his fangs easily spotted without a care on his part, the corners of his eyes ever so slightly crinkled. She couldn’t help but return the expression. 

“It would be quite a waste to let this water get cool. Would you care to join me?” He asked, one pewter brow raised in amusement. “Use your words so I know you are coherent enough not to drown.”

She rolled her eyes. “You can set me down. I won’t drown.”

Prepared for him to put her feet on the ground, she instead let out a little squeak of surprise when he climbed into the tub still carrying her, settling her in front of him in the perfectly ever-so-slightly hot water. She sighed at the feel of it. It soothed the aches their earlier activities had left in her body, particularly her pelvis. 

She grinned as she remembered exactly why she was deliciously aching.

“Something on your mind?”

“Hmmmmm. You.” She smiled. “My exercise routine. I’m going to have to get back into competition shape if this morning was what I should expect going forward.”

“Oh?” His voice sounded casual, but the way his fingers caressed over the bruises he’d left on her shoulders was anything but. “Was it too much?” 

She bit her lip. It was. Entirely too much. And also perfect. How did she even begin to-?

“Your heart is racing, my love.” He whispered, breath racing across her ear and making her nearly shiver. “You can tell me if I went too far.” 

He sounded confident but she felt the tension that passed through him as he awaited her judgement.

“It was lovely, Astarion, I just wasn’t… prepared. You did warn me, but I had no idea. That it could be like that. ” 

The way he practically sagged against her back, resting his face on her shoulder briefly, told her how much he’d been hanging on her approval. It was sweet. And slightly terrifying, how would he handle it if she ever didn’t like something?

“I had no idea, either. That it could be like that.” 

His voice sounded so unpolished. Honest. Raw. 

“Surely you have.” She protested with a small laugh. “You proposed that you would, in your words, ‘ruin me.’ I can hardly believe you didn’t know exactly what you were doing after that experience.”

He gently kissed her shoulder, the bruise aching but the touch soothing nonetheless. 

“No. I wasn’t speaking of indulging your interests, my dear.” He spun her around, the enormous tub plenty big enough for her to sit facing him. She saw then how round and soft his eyes were, that grin still on his lips. Every bit of his countenance screamed wonder and sincerity. It almost hurt to look at. It brought up so many emotions. The ghosts of memories of another time he had looked at her this way. 

She held his face in her hands, giving him the same focus he was giving her, losing herself in those expressive eyes. 

“Octavia, I’ve… I mean… I’ve never…” He took a deep, slow breath, and let it out like a meditation. “I have never made love before. Ten thousand unwanted lovers used me, another ten thousand I chose, but never, not once, have I been with someone I was in love with before.” His eyes, glistening with tears, shone with an overwhelm of feeling. 

She rocked forward on her knees and kissed him softly, taking his hands in her own. 

“Not even before? With me?” She asked, honestly curious. She had thought they must have been in love before given what he had told her, and her own strange feelings that had risen unbidden in his presence before she’d even known him. 

He shook his head gently, his eyes falling to their joined hands that sat on his knee.  “I didn’t know how. Didn’t know how to… How to be present. To not perform sex for another, but to experience it with them. And…”  He looked up, so hopeful she felt her own heart in her throat. “We never. I mean, well, we felt that way, obviously, given everything that happened, but…”

She realized what he was struggling to say as he trailed off, the words failing to reach his tongue.

“We never said it, did we?” She asked softly, like one might speak to an injured animal. Something in her told her this was delicate territory for him. 

He nodded. “I don’t think I could have. Those words… they were a performance. For my victims. For him. And you, you were so gentle with me. So careful not to hurt me. I think you were afraid I might push you away in fear.” He smiled, a wry grin. “I probably would have.”

She looked up at him again, letting go of his hands to hold his face gently, careful to avoid his wounded ears. “I love you, Astarion. And I’ll tell you over and over again until you are sick of hearing it.”

“That will never happen, Octavia. There is no music that could ever be sweeter to my ears than those words, on your lips. I love you, my beloved Octavia. Ath tel’quiet, eath’she, ta’hiine eath’she.” 

~ My soulmate. You are mine (a part of me), always, as I will always be yours (a part of you). ~

---

Nina grinned when she saw the number on her phone. She sat down her black nail polish, glad she hadn’t started the second hand yet.

“Daniel, what can I do for you?”

“Ms. Allred, I trust I haven’t caught you at a bad time?”

“I’m all good. And it’s still Nina, Daniel.”

“Hmm. If you insist-”

“I do. Insist.”

“ Nina, I got your email in regards to acquiring a passport for Ms. Martin. It wasn’t easy to get a rush passport issued, but…”

“Someone in the state department has seen Mr. Red Eyes angry before?”

“An apt way to describe it.”

“Yeah, well, I also didn’t want to tell him he couldn’t take his shiny new girlfriend with him to Europe.”

Nina paused. She hadn’t had much communication with Daniel’s father. He’d been rather off-putting. A jerk who thought he was better than her because he was a man and English. But she’d liked Daniel so far. Perhaps…

“So, Daniel. Astarion tells me he’s literally negotiating a contract with a devil. What’s that about?”

Daniel cleared his throat. “You know I can’t speak of contract negotiations, Ms. Allred.”

Well, fantastic. She’d managed to fuck it up that quickly. Well, one more try.

“It’s not someone named Raphael, is it? Because he invited him to dinner. In Paris. And I’m not sure he told him dinner would be in Paris.”

---

They’d spent the day in bed. In each other's arms. And legs. And mouths. 

That had been particularly enjoyable. If Astarion had his way, tomorrow would have been a continuation. He probably could have convinced her, had he dug into his old skills. She was quite malleable to sex. Poor thing, clearly denied a decent partner until now, to be so easily impressed. 

He couldn’t wait to see how she’d react when he dug deep into his repertoire.

But the end of their detente was inevitable. After all, the hours of lovemaking had started only because Olivia didn’t want to have the conversation he’d been dreading since she’d shown up in those woods. 

His love stretched out on his bed, the gray-blue of his silk sheets matching her eyes perfectly. She looked more beautiful here than he’d imagined her. 

“I think, as lovely as this day has been, we need to attend to some things.”

“I can get you food if that’s what you mean.” He rushed to stall her. And to take care of her. It would hardly do to wear her out all day only for her to pass out from hunger. 

She smiled at him fondly. “Food is on the list, but... Well. We need to talk.”

His heart sank. Was this… was this going to be one of those - I love you but it’s not enough speeches. He certainly wouldn’t blame her. Being with him wouldn’t be easy. He came with demons, devils… complications. He reminded himself what he’d sworn. That despite what he wanted. Despite what felt right. Despite his instincts (and he was sure most of them were the curse and the ascendant), he would never try to keep her with him against her will. 

He would have her willingly or not at all. No matter that every cell of his being screamed at him to take her, to tie her up and teach her to love only him, to desire nothing but him. To keep her in a perfect gilded cage where no one could ever keep her away from him. Not even her.

He ignored the way the darkness in him cried out in longing for such a thing. He wouldn’t let it win on this. She was too precious to stifle or break. He’d never forgive himself.

“No, not like that . I’m not breaking up with you, Astarion.” She smiled. “I just think we need to talk about… well, the everything that has happened? I mean. It’s been a lot. For me, anyhow. Maybe this is just normal life for you.”

“Well, then, imp, say what you mean.” He grinned back, playfully swatting her rump as she lay on her belly on the bed, kicking her feet up.

“Ok.” Her voice flipped from the teasing flippancy she normally employed to a lower, richer sound. Authoritative. It reminded him of her bardically-trained storytelling. “If you haven’t noticed, I decided that I, well, I do care about the fact that there is a man in your basement you plan to murder, but I don’t care about it as much as I thought I would? I somehow care far more about being with you which is really throwing me for a loop.”

He grinned. “Tell me, darling, why do you care about a little murder?”

She thought an answer would have been at the tip of her tongue. He just sat, patiently. Well, not patiently, his fingers were tapping and his eyes sought out various amusements in the sunlight upon the various textures in the room. Still, nothing came. 

“Well, I mean… It's bad?” She couldn’t believe the questioning tone in her voice. How could she not know why she was against murder. “How do you know he deserved it?”

He chuckled. “Love, he had his wife in the trunk. Her mouth duct-taped closed. He was digging her grave when I first attacked him. How much more of a smoking gun do you need?”

She sunk into the bed. “But then, why not just call the cops?”

He stared at her, slightly incredulous. “Because I have to feed on someone, I’m sure you’d rather it would be on garbage like our guest downstairs.”

“Feed… Isn’t that why you hired me in the first place?” She sat up, a slightly more serious look on her face. 

He had trouble focusing with all of her on display like that. Especially with so many of his marks upon her skin. But he somehow managed. 

“Darling Octavia, I’m not speaking of blood.” He sighed “I’m… well, I’m something more than a common vampire.”

She tilted her head at him, the unspoken question writ upon her body. 

He stood up, nerves taught as he considered how to explain it. To explain the ascension. What he had done. Why he had done it. Would he lie, or at least omit the cost? Would she still consider that a lie if she found out?

Her oh, so mortal stomach granted him a reprieve, growling. 

“Oh god, I’m sorry!” She blushed, burying her face in her hands. 

He swiftly crossed the space between them, pulling her hands gently from her face. 

“Having needs is nothing to be ashamed of. Let’s get dressed. We’ll feed that mortal body of yours, and perhaps I can drum up the courage to answer your questions.”

Notes:

They are going to try to put off this conversation as long as possible, aren't they?

I honestly don't know yet how much he decides to tell Octavia. I'm kind of letting him get in my head and guide this one.

Next chapter. Talking. Europe. Dinner with Raphael.

Chapter 14: They Had to Talk Eventually

Summary:

Octavia finally asks some questions.

Octavia stood in her room, wearing Astarion’s shirt, in a daze as she stared at her closet. 

If it wasn’t for the aches and pains that his hands and teeth had left behind, the entire day would feel like a dream. A really, really good dream, that had followed a nightmare. 

Her stomach swirled as she finally let herself think back to the previous day. She’d kept it out of her mind. A smile flickered across her lips as she admitted to herself that part of the success of that was Astarion keeping her from thinking much at all since she’d awoken. The warm, floaty feeling that filled every part of her body was a testament to just how successful he’d been. 

I’m going to ruin you. 

She heard his voice again, and fuck if he hadn’t. Now that she knew it could be like that, she couldn’t imagine putting up with the lukewarm experiences she’d had previously. She would have laughed Maverick right out of her apartment when he’d fallen asleep without even getting her off their first time.

She shook the thoughts of her ex out of her head. He didn’t deserve to even be in the same postcode as what she had just experienced. 

Clothes.Right. She forced herself to grab a shirt off a hanger, not even looking at it. She pulled Astarion's fine silk shirt off her, a brief moment of loss as the scent of him went away, and then pulled the top she'd grabbed over her head, pulled on the first pair of underwear her hands touched, and wiggled into the jeans that were tossed over her dresser from a previous day. She went to head out when thank god she saw herself in the mirror and did a double take. 

She was wearing her gym uniform shirt from high school. And her hair looked like the hair of someone who’d been fucked unconscious multiple times in a day. She giggled, still partially fuck drunk, and wriggled out of the top, going back into her closet with a bit more care. 

---

Stomach churning, Astarion arranged the fruit he’d found in her fridge and carefully cut into shapes on a platter. He’d already made scrambled eggs and bacon. They looked correct. He was not an afficionado of eggs, so it was hard to judge. 

She was taking far longer than normal to simply put on clothes and he was beginning to spiral.

He hadn’t felt like this in so long, he was out of practice. This swirling, irrational fear. Panic. Paranoia. When was the last time he had even cared, truly, about the potential outcome of anything? And to be honest, it was rarely uncertain. What he couldn't obtain through wealth or influence, violence usually procured.

No lover had truly mattered. He could always find another equally as suitable. No business deal was irreplaceable. No partnership that he needed. Even his safety wasn't a matter for worry, because he knew that ultimately, it would be nearly impossible for anyone to truly harm him.

But Tav…. Tav was everything. He felt like the very atoms the scientists here claimed made up his body might come apart if she were to leave. He did not know if he could let her go. Truly. The beast … it knew her now. Claimed her. 

He could feel the darkness in him already plotting ways he could stop her.

His hands were shaking as he set the tray on the kitchen table. He’d started by putting everything out in the dining room but that room… it was too much. This was a more intimate discussion. The closeness of the kitchen felt better for baring himself so fully.

“Hey.”

He spun, almost sputtering. When was the last time someone had snuck up on him?

She stood in the doorway, clearly having gotten a bit more put together. She looked, well, breathtaking. But she always did, to him, though he had no need of air. Her hair had been brushed free of the tangles they’d made of it, and she’d washed her face clean. The concert t-shirt and jeans did nothing for her figure but he didn’t need them to. He could still feel the shape of her on his hands. 

“I made some… well, breakfast foods. Now that I think about it, it is nearly sunset, would you prefer if I-”

“No.” Her hand came out quickly, landing on his bared forearm, the heat almost scalding him.  “It looks lovely. I… I can’t believe you cooked for me.”

“I like taking care of you.” The words shocked him. He hadn’t meant to say them. Hadn’t realized how true they were until they appeared on his lips. 

She gave him the sweetest, softest smile that washed away his discomfort at his admission, and then, as though she, too, felt like the weight of it was too much, her eyes left his, landing on the table. “Did you really cut everything up into little… stars and moons?” Her voice got that giggle that made his heart lighten. 

Perhaps it wasn’t going to be so bad. That weight in his chest threatened to become buoyant but he stopped it. Better to wait. Until he was certain. Temper the crash.

“I… uh, well, I have always had a certain flair with knives, after all. And you gave me quite a bit of time to work with.” He added, feeling a bit of tension at his admission of desperation for her return.

She picked up a little star of melon and popped it into her mouth. His mind couldn’t help drifting back to watching her lips wrapped around his cock not long ago. His breath caught slightly before he could stop himself, but she didn’t seem to notice. Her eyes closed in enjoyment, and suddenly he was wishing she didn’t need to eat so badly. 

He bit his lip. No. They needed to talk. He could not keep her in his bed indefinitely, vacillating between needy to sated. No matter how much that appealed to him.

“That’s wicked good. Or maybe I’m just really hungry.” She grinned. “Either way, thanks.” 

She sat down and grabbed a plate. He took the chair opposite. He took a deep breath, waiting for her to eat a few bites of the eggs. She needed something substantial after their day, whereas he’d fortified himself on her.

He tasted one of the little pieces of melon, and its sweetness mixed with the taste of her that was left on his teeth, almost making him groan.

She ate for a few minutes in silence, absolutely devouring the food. He smiled a little, feeling proud both of taking care of her and of putting her in that state. But that paled compared to the anxiety that swirled when he drew himself up to speak. 

“You have questions. About me.” He said the words carefully. Enunciating. Keeping his tone even and calm. 

She sat her fork down. The soft clink against the plate rang out like an alarm. 

“I do.” Her eyes didn’t meet his. “You said… it sounded like you need something, well, other than blood. Something that has to do with the man in the cellar.”

“I did. I do.” He suddenly wasn’t sure what to do with himself. But then she looked up and caught his eyes, and he got lost in hers.

 “I’m not a normal vampire, love. I, well, how do I put this… I sort of, hrmmm, happened, upon a deal with a devil.”

“Yes. You've mentioned it. And this happened after I died, right?”

Just the thought of it made his chest tight. “Yes. After you died, well, and after several other events. Aha, it was a very, eventful time.” 

The nervous energy was winding tighter and tighter. 

“But we, eventually, those of us who were left, got to the city. And, uh, after some events… I’ll not bore you with the details here, darling.” He waved a hand at her, not wanting to have to explain about his siblings and how he’d been captured. Or remember what he had gone through that night. “But the important part is I faced my Master. Cazador. He’d made a contract with the Archdevil Mephistopheles to be changed into a new kind of vampire. I was supposed to be sacrificed as part of the exchange, which is why those scars were carved on my back.”

He was talking faster and faster, the anxiety making him feel sick as he watched those clever eyes of hers narrow, thinking through what he was saying. 

“When we defeated him, I had a choice. Kill him, or sacrifice him in my stead, and take the deal for myself.” He forced himself to still his voice. “We still had two more powerful people to take out before the power behind the cult itself, and we were weak. More than half of the group was dead, at that point. The contract promised not just that I’d have ‘the pleasures of the living’ returned to me: the sun, food, warmth, but that I’d be the most powerful vampire to ever exist. Impossibly strong, fast, and with powers beyond the norm for my kind. I felt like I had to take it, to ensure our victory.” He reached across the table and touched her face. “To make sure that you didn’t die in vain.”

She held his gaze for a moment, then closed her eyes and leaned into his hand. 

“I’m so sorry you had to make that choice. That must have been terrifying.” She turned and kissed his hand, and hope rose swiftly, blooming in him. Maybe she could understand…

“Astarion, you said part of the exchange?” 

He lamented the sharp perception he so often praised when it was not turned on him.

“So your Master took your place, but what was the rest of price?” Her voice was careful, each word pronounced so carefully her soft Bostonian accent all but disappeared.

The hope that had grown in him shriveled painfully. He felt the screaming of the Ascendent as it believed it was losing her. Would this… be the point where she left? His hand dropped, pulled back into his lap, gripping his leg with painful force. He took in a slow, deep breath.

“Please, my love, before you react, do keep in mind that I genuinely believed that without this power we would lose. That the consequence would be every person on the Sword Coast being enslaved and likely killed or transformed into an Illithid.”

He watched as she stilled. Swallowed. He waited until she gave a small nod.

“Cazador didn’t just turn me into a spawn. I was the second, and over the time I was his prisoner, he turned five more. Seven of us in total. And we had… a job. Going out into the city and finding lovely mortals who wouldn’t be missed overly much. We were told that the people we lured back to the palace were his food. I assumed they were also… playthings. In the same way that he tortured us. But I was horribly, horribly wrong.”

The image of all those spawn packed into the the cells flashed through his mind. The scent of rot and unwashed bodies and grave dirt making him sick. Sebastian’s face, the sound of his voice begging Astarion to end his torment one way or another, then cursing his name. 

He pushed it away with some difficulty, the act of shutting down his feelings almost alien after so long a time of indulging them. He was left trembling. With fear. With shame. With guilt. It was disorienting. When was the last time he had felt any of this?

He took another useless, grounding breath, and continued.

“The bastard probably did feed off them. Perhaps he even killed some of them. But most… most he turned into yet more spawn. And locked away in a deep cellar, left starving and in the dark. To be sacrificed for his ritual.”

The sharp intake of breath forced him to look back at her. Her eyes were wide, lips in such a hard, tight line they were turning white until she opened them to speak.

“How many?" Her voice was barely a whisper. "Astarion, how many people did you sacrifice?”

He forced himself to look her in the eye when he said it. When he confessed to the fullness of his worst crime. 

“Seven thousand and seven.” Her gasp was so sharp it echoed in the small room with its tiled walls. “My six siblings, Cazador, and seven thousand feral spawn.”

He let the words hang in the air, the silence louder than any noise could be. He tried to hold her gaze, his usual poise slippery, too hard to hold onto as the drumbeat of his stupid infernal heart pounded harder and harder until he broke.

He turned away.

Was he ashamed? Or simply terrified that he’d lost her all over again? 

Tears, tears of all bloody things were threatening in his eyes, and that clawing feeling was gripping him. And the anger. Oh, the anger was breathtaking,  the beasts within him demanding he act, that he stop this. She was his. HIS. His mind quaked with the rage of the Ascendant, felt his vision bleeding in red and his thoughts starting to twist.

He shook himself. No! He was in control, not this creature inside him, and Astarion Ancunin did not force people to be in his life. 

Especially not the one person who’d truly given a damn about his freedom, about him.

The softest, gentlest touch of a hand upon his shoulder pulled him out of it. He turned up to look at her as she stood by his chair, not able to hide the way the tears in the corners of his eyes broke free and spilled down. 

Spoiled thing. Weak thing. This is what comes from giving up control.

He stared into her eyes and ignored the Ascendant’s taunts, though they curdled in him like milk left in the hot sun. He stared into her eyes and he prayed. Not to any god or devil or prophecy, but to the one being who’d ever been worthy of his worship. 

He fell hard on his knees before her, his face tilted up to look at her face now that he was eye-level with her chest, unabashedly pleading.

“Have mercy on me, my love. Please. I… I cannot…” His voice cracked, his dignity gone and he did not care. For what was the point of dignity without love? 

She cut him off with a kiss and he shattered. His hands ghosting up the sides of her face, gentle because he feared she might disappear. Choking, rasping sobs escaped around their lips as he kissed her, tears pouring down his face hot and burning. She put her hands on top of his, carefully lacing her fingers with his. 

She pulled her face back but kept their hands interwoven, gently leading him upward. 

“I’m not upset, not at you, anyways.”

He almost could not believe her words. But her tone was firm. Her eyes filled not with fear or disgust, but warmth. 

“Astarion, look at me. I’m not leaving you. You were given a dreadful, impossible choice. Sacrifice not only your happiness and potentially doom everyone on your world, or sacrifice thousands of people whose only crime had been falling to a villain’s plot?”

He took in a breath, finding himself about to remind her that many, likely most of them, had fallen for him. That he was that villain. They were his victims, twice over.

“Hey.” She cut him off before a sound could come out of his mouth. “You made a hard choice between two terrible paths, and you picked the one that would doom the least people. How could anyone blame you for that?”

---

They were curled up in his bed, again. It felt like a dream. Because this could not possibly be real. 

How could it be that he had confessed to his worst, most terrible, and most selfish choice, and she was still here? Still looking at him like he was something precious and good. Still letting him hold her and kiss her and saying his name like she could want him as much as he needed her. 

She yawned, her body stretching like an invitation, reminding him of how firm she felt beneath his hands, how tightly she wrapped around him. 

“What am I going to need on this trip, anyway? I mean, you have business stuff, but what am I even meant to do?”

It took him a second to remember the context. Right. The EU legal issue that he had to deal with. 

“Ah, I suppose whatever you would like, my sweet. Paris is quite a lovely city. I imagine you’ll love listening to the buskers, eating pastries at the cafes, and of course, museums and other such things for those new to it.”

“Astarion. There’s a pandemic.”

He stared blankly. 

“The cafes and museums are closed. The buskers are at home. Paris has a full lock-down order. I’ll be stuck inside a hotel room for the entire trip. I’m guessing your meetings are likely going to be on Zoom. I’m not even sure why were are going in person.”

“I have to inspect the factories. I cannot properly do that virtually.”

“Oh. That… makes sense. I guess I forget that, like, you really do have a job. Of sorts.”

He laughed. “Of sorts.” He smiled at her indulgently, running his hand over her cheek lightly, sighing when she nuzzled into it. “I must admit, Octavia, I selfishly do not wish to be parted from you for so long. Now that I have spent the night with you in my arms my most fervent desire is to never spend another night without you there.”

Suddenly she was practically on top of him, kissing him so fervently that had he been mortal he would have had to break for breath, but he was thankful that he did not. He returned the feeling, putting all the need for her he had through his lips, his hands that pulled her closer to him, his hips that pressed into her. 

She finally pulled away with a gasp, utterly out of breath. 

“You… you can’t just say things like that to a girl.”

He smiled, drunk on the effect he was having on her. He gave her his softest, biggest eyes, knowing how devastatingly, nauseatingly vulnerable they looked. “And if I mean it? Then, may I tell you, my darling, all the ways in which you are all that I need?”

He took her by the hips and flipped them over, so he had her on her back, pinned between his legs. He stared into her eyes as he continued, dropping his voice so that it vibrated just at the edge of her hearing. “ All that I desire? That this world could burn and if you yet survived then I would be content?”

He put all his desire for her into his face, feeling her respond, which only drove him madder. Her thighs clenched together as she swallowed, staring at him incredulously. 

He leaned over her, softly letting his body brush against hers as he settled his lips against the shell of her ear. “Am I allowed to ensure that the woman I treasure more than all things, all things that have ever been or could ever be, knows the depth of my feelings for her?” He purred the words low and soft, as intimate as he could make them, letting himself smirk a tiny bit as her heart fluttered and raced, and the scent of her arousal flooded the room. 

Then he pulled away at full speed, to her perspective suddenly disappearing to the other side of the bed, the cold chill of his swift exit all that was left. It was unfair, perhaps, but he knew she wasn’t physically up to another round or seven tonight. Poor thing was still littered with bruises and likely sore muscles from their day. 

“A-” She began, her eyes darting around before landing on him lounging and letting his eyes drift over her wonderfully lithe little body. “Is something wrong?”

Her voice sounded so forlorn he truly felt bad, for a moment. 

“No. No, my treasure, merely my concern for you. I want quite badly but I think you need some recovery time. Yes?”

She flushed so beautifully that he sighed, which made her flush even deeper until her skin was as pink as her lips usually were. 

He smiled, propping up a few pillows behind him and sitting up. He held out his arm and beckoned her over. She scrambled across the bed, still gorgeously pink, and snuggled up into his chest. It felt like a good time to talk, but the only thing on his mind was how insanely happy he was. 

“Was it with Raphael?”

“Pardon?” He was quite confused. Why would she bring up the devil now?

“Your deal. The one you made. Was the devil you dealt with Raphael?”

“No. Remember, I told you it was with Mephistopheles, the Archduke of Cania. Why?” 

His curiosity burned ceaselessly, but he said the words lightly, as though he didn’t care if she answered. A small, slow smirk crept up on her lips. 

“He wants me to think he owns you or maybe that he has some kind of hold over you. At least, I’m pretty sure. That’s why he was imitating you when he tried to flirt with me.”

“I’m sorry, what?!?” Astarion felt the sharp cut of jealousy ring through him, jealousy and cold rage that the devil would dare touch what was his. He took a breath, recognizing the bitter taste of the Ascendant’s magic mixed with those emotions.

“When I went into that bar. It was the first one from the bus stop. I wasn’t really thinking, I was lost in my head and I wasn’t ready…. To talk. About things. When I got there, I was trying to decide what to order, and he came over and started using your lines on me. I recognized it right away, it’s why I knew something was wrong. But then, to have vampires working there?”

“Zombies.”

“What?”

“You were right about them being undead. Impressive for a human from this realm,” he felt a surge of pride when he thought about it. His beloved was indeed most impressive. “But they were zombies, not quite as living as a vampire. Husks of those brought back, their souls trapped in a  mindless corpse.”

“ The half-life of a mind-addled slave. That’s what you said to him, about why you killed all of them.”

“Turned.  Released them from undeath and returned them to the grave. It was a kindness. We undead are too corrupted to allow near the precious gods should we die in this state.” The old bitterness leaked out, so he forced himself to breathe. And then smile. “It served the dual purpose of preventing Raphael from merely resurrecting them. Magic’s quite the trick to come by on Earth. I can siphon it from the veins around me but Raphael… it’s a bit trickier for him, I would imagine.”

“Well…” She looked up at him with wide eyes. “Look at you, being compassionate.”

“Don’t get too excited, dear. I’m still the same magnificent bastard I was yesterday that you feared.” He rolled his eyes. “I sense you weren’t done talking about your encounter, love.”

“He also said some things to me, things that make me think that I had some kind of relationship with him before I met you. The first time.”

He tilted his head, suddenly realizing he hadn’t said anything about it to her yet. It didn’t seem terribly important, at the time. “I mean, he did seem rather familiar, more than a mere acquaintance when he tried to offer us a deal to remove the parasites. I don’t know much about it, except that you grew up in Avernus. And you freed yourself through some tricky legal maneuvre when you were still an elfling.”

“I’m sorry - are you saying that I… I mean, the other me, me before, grew up in Hell? ”

“Well, yes. I suppose that’s what it would mean. I wasn’t precisely a details person back then, so I’m not certain of exactly what occurred.”

He struggled trying to remember the bits Tav had mentioned in those early days. Things that hadn’t seemed important, at the time. “Your mother had some kind of devil’s deal, she got too sick to fulfill it, and you were the surety in the contract. Then when you were, hmmm, twelve, perhaps? You were able to escape by outwitting Raphael in the court of Baator. Quite the feat for any mortal, literally insane for a child.”

She was quiet, but he could feel her heart beating very hard against his chest. He decided to let her think a bit, enjoying simply having her in his arms. 

“Astarion, I’m going to need you to tell me everything you know about my former life. I have a hinky feeling about what this devil is up to.”

---

He was in his office, packing his carry-on bag, when he heard a loud sigh, followed by the sound of Octavia flopping upon her bed. He considered whether he should intervene.

His instinct was to immediately rush to her side and fix whatever was bothering her. 

But, she’d already asked him to stop doing that twice this week, and he risked irritating her. Even if it was enormously difficult to let her struggle when he could probably easily solve the issue, whatever it was.

Gods, it was like watching her try to pick a lock all over again. 

He tried to focus on his packing, but he could hear her constant little huffs, and slams of drawers, and the sound of her getting in a fight with hangers in the closet. When he finally managed to distractedly get his things into his leather satchel, he could take it no longer. 

When he walked into the room with a “Hello, darling,” on his lips, he nearly burst into laughter. It would appear that every single item of clothing she owned, except that utterly gorgeous dress he had seen the other night, all tossed in a pile of rejections on one side of her bed. Her suitcase lay open, nearly empty, and she was sitting on the floor, looking like she was about to scream. 

She pulled it together, a little , and stood up. 

“Oh, um, are you ready, then? I thought we weren’t leaving for at least another hour.”

“We aren’t, but little love, what have I walked into?”

She flushed deep red, avoiding his gaze. “I’m…. trying to figure out what to pack. That’s all. I’ll be ready in time.”

“Don’t worry about it. I’m sure whatever you would pack will be fine.”

She looked up at him. “Astarion, am I going to be meeting any of these friends or business associates of yours?”

He shrugged his shoulders. “With the lockdown, I do not know. But it’s certainly a possibility.”

Her face made a twisting motion that was deeply unbecoming. 

“Something is upsetting you. Tell me.” The words came out with more force than he intended, he realized when he watched her shrink back. “Love. Please. Let me help?”

She deliberated for what felt like an eternity.

“You hate my clothes.” She sounded, resigned, like it was a simple truth.

She wasn’t, precisely, incorrect. He didn’t hate them, but he did think they were rather ludicrously unbecoming attire on the most beautiful woman he’d ever known.

“But what does that have to do with,” he gestured at the pile, “all this?”

“You love me and I can tell you loathe how I dress. That you think I’m ridiculous. How much worse is it going to be when I am the weird, obviously gold-digging girlfriend hanging out with billionaires and powerful people?”

He had never heard anything more ridiculous in his life. 

“Firstly, I do not loathe how you dress. I certainly think that you, perhaps, have a style that isn’t as flattering to you as it could be, but it comes from your heart, darling. From who you are. And that’s what I love most, not this package, breathtaking as it may be.

She looked so vulnerable and wide-eyed he could not help but to kneel before her and take her hands in his. 

“And secondly, you’ve got to let go of this ludicrous notion that you are somehow not worthy of me. Trust me, I’m the fortunate one in this relationship. That you didn’t leave me yesterday, when you learned of my… true nature, shall we say, is a grace I do not and could not ever deserve.” He smiled at her, trying to put all of his feelings for her into his face. Then he grinned, perhaps a little sharply but it was hard not to at the thought of a little bloodshed. “Besides, if they ever implied something like that, I’d simply eat them for breakfast and the world would be better for it. Aha.” 

She stared at him. “You can’t murder every person who looks at us and sees the obvious imbalance here.”

He pouted, a little. He knew he obviously couldn’t kill them all without consequence, but certainly one or two he could easily pull off to send a message. It’d be more fun if she would simply play along. Perhaps, with time, once he’d worn down the still pristine edges of her moral framework.

“Fiiiiine.” He said, with theatrical hands and waggling his eyebrows. “If I’m not allowed to shut them up with my knives., am I allowed to assist you? If trying to blend in is what you desire, well, my treasure, all you have to do is ask.” He crawled up over her,  straddling her lap, forcing her to lean back slowly as he cradled her head, trailing kisses from collarbone to the curve of her ear. “After all, it is my most sincere wish to fulfill every desire you’ve ever had.”

Her anger and annoyance faded quickly as she wilted under the full force of his charms. 

---

“Are you comfortable, love?”

She looked at Astarion incredulously. He looked like someone in a movie, in his ivory-toned cashmere lounge set, while the light streaming through the open window on the opposite aisle limned her view of him in sparkling light, like the gold gilt around a medieval painting of an angel. 

How could she be un comfortable on this luxurious jet where it seemed someone had thought through every detail of her comfort? It was so comfortable she felt ridiculous. 

Out of place next to this creature of unholy beauty and poise, wearing her nicest jeans (Gap, bought at a thrift store) and her favorite sweater (knit by a former foster grandma, with cutesy little smiling mushrooms on a green background.)

He’d picked the outfit out. Assured her it was lovely on her but she’d also seen his face as he was going through her clothes. Astarion had a very expressive face. At least fourteen separate expressions of distaste she had found so far. And so, despite his assurance, she felt awkward.

Because, well, besides the clothes, she, Octavia Martin, foster kid, out-of-work waitress, and failed musician, didn’t fly on private jets or have staff whose entire job was making her comfortable. And she wasn’t sure she wanted any of it. Except that it came with the man next to her. A man so out of her league that multiple people just today had been shocked when they realized they were traveling together.

She swallowed down that particular fear. The fact that she was about to be held thousands of feet up in the air by nothing more than speed and a hunk of (hopefully) well-designed metal was enough for her nerves right now.

“Everything is perfect.” She replied, putting on a brilliant smile.

She’d always been an excellent actor. It was what made her such a talented server. Which is why she said her next words, knowing how much they distracted him at this point. It made no sense to her, but there was only one thing Astarion Ancunin was ever anxious about, and reassuring him tended to lull him into not asking other questions, as though he were afraid of finding out he had misheard her. 

She slipped her hand into his free one, squeezing lightly. “I love you.”

The way the words still caught him by surprise, the way his whole face lit up as he smiled at her, made her heart squeeze. It made her feel worse to be using it against him.

“You know, one thing we could do while we’re in Paris is work on your wardrobe.” He said, softly, clearly remembering the minefield he’d waded into that morning. 

She made a noncommittal little hum, taking a moment to buckle her seatbelt while her thoughts wandered. 

How could she explain to him, someone who was so fully himself, someone who couldn’t be more self-assured, that her clothes weren’t just some stylistic choice, picked because she thought they looked good?

They were the way she had cobbled together an identity after she’d lost everything. She didn’t remember anything about herself when she woke up from that accident. Not her name. Not her favorite song, her favorite food, not even if she liked to wake up early or stay up late. 

She’d had to rediscover it all, brick by brick, surrounded only by strangers who’d never known her. 

For a foster kid, she’d been fairly blessed. Families that were in the system for good reasons. No one had beat her or touched her in other ways. She’d been fed. Given what she needed. But she’d been older, so most of her time had been in group settings. Families that took in four or more kids at a time. 

No one had the time to help her with rediscovering herself when most of the kids had things like disabilities or lead poisoning or real trauma.

So she’d turned to the one source she had, the one place she could find examples of how to be a person and figure out who she was and who she wanted to be. Fandoms. Books and tv shows and webcomics and games filled with characters she could think about and try on like costumes to find what fit just right. 

Dr. Who had taught her she wanted power but only if it was tempered by curiosity and a sense of whimsy. Star Trek had taught her that she much preferred belligerent optimism to fatalism. The future could be better, and it was worth it to believe it, even when it hurt. Babylon 5 taught her that we had to know who we were and what we wanted so we were ready to stand against real evil, the banal kind that came with a friendly face and an offer of help. 

All these stories and symbols meant things to her.

She didn’t wear these things because they were cute, she wore them because they grounded her. Reminded her of who she was because she had decided to be that person. Stripping that away just to fit in with a bunch of billionaires, people whose values couldn’t be more different from her own, felt wrong. 

She didn’t tell him any of this. She’d never said it out loud to anyone.  It sounded ludicrous, even to her, when she thought it.  

Instead, she leaned into his shoulder with her cheek, breathing in both the strangely soothing cologne he always wore and the vague earthen scent that was his. “I’ve only been on one flight before, you know. I almost didn’t, but Maverick insisted. Didn’t want to wait for me to take two days to get the Amtrak to Chicago. It was nothing like this, of course - packed with dumbasses being loud and screaming kids and the smell … rather like the subway on a hot day, honestly.”

“Were you afraid of flying?” He asked, incredulously, like it wasn’t a totally normal fear.

She didn’t give him the real answer, which was that it didn’t matter, she hadn’t flown anywhere because that required money, something that previously had been so out of reach it might as well have been a fairytale. “I mean, a little bit. It’s kind of weird that something this heavy can just float because the air has weight. I remember the science from school and all but the vibes were always off.”

He slid his arm around her, pulling her close, making her feel so incredibly safe the way that he always did.  “Truly, there’s nothing to fear. I would never let anything happen to you, Octavia. Trust in that.”

She did. It felt bizarre to do so. Especially after everything that had happened with Maverick, but… Astarion was nothing like her ex. She was only too sure that Astarion would do anything, things she didn’t want him to do included, to keep her safe. She leaned into him and closed her eyes, only vaguely listening as the pilot announced that they’d be taking off shortly. 

Notes:

Octavia's last shreds of good sense have clearly buckled here under the weight of the full Astarion experience, and, I mean, whose wouldn't???

Hopefully she doesn't get so distracted she forgets about Raphael....

Author's note: I posted a complete BG3 Longfic called Taters. You might enjoy it if you like this one.

Chapter 15: Poor Marceline

Summary:

Octavia's slow but inevitable descent into hedonism continues, while Astarion grapples with feelings bubbling up he'd thought were long since put to rest.

Notes:

TW: From here on out, this story is earning that gratuitous smut tag

Sexy Tags for This Chapter

Teasing
Semi-public sex
Not quite dubcon but definitely some manipulation happening here
A hint of size differential
Light painplay
Barely there bloodplay
D/s vibes
Visit to subspace

Paris Stuff

A Hotel Particulier is the French word for mansion located in a city, typically nestled between a courtyard and a garden.
Astarion's row home is located at 151 Bd Pereire, in the 17th Arrondissement.
He reminds the driver to pick him up a 7 am the next morning.
100 Euros, in April 2020, was worth $92.50.
A pied-à-terre is a tiny studio apartment, literally a "piece of earth"
Haussmann buildings are famous apartment buildings in Paris, built as part of the 19th-century revival of the city by the architect Baron Georges Eugène Haussmann, which were intended to modernize the city as well as improve the living standards of the average resident. These are probably what most people think of when they think of a charming Parisian boulevard lined with apartment buildings.
During Covid, the lockdown in Paris was far more stringent than in the US, even in the most strict blue states. One even had to fill out a pass to go on permitted trips, and if you didn't have the pass if the police stopped you, there were fines and potential further consequences.

Elvish Words and Concepts

Thiramin - a soul mate. More than that. Two Elven souls made for each other by their creator, Corellon Larethian, such that once bonded, they will even reincarnate together for all eternity, so they never have to be alone.
aia’tae - Beloved Wife.
Aestar’kess - an Elven ritual of marriage that binds the souls of two Thiramin together for eternity. Thiramin who have performed the rite of Aestar'kess develop an empathic bond, allowing each other to fully experience each other's emotions, physical feelings, and thoughts. In addition, their life forces become intertwined, such that both will live for as long as the most long lived of the pair, even if they are different species, and should one die an untimely death, the other will perish within days.

The flight had been quite smooth, allaying her fears. The sun had set, and it would be morning before they reached Paris. 

Paris. She was going to Paris. 

She wished she had friends to share it with. She never exactly was a social butterfly, but … probably the worst thing Maverick had done to her was to steal her friends. They’d gotten her through a lot. Memories that had been warm and precious, now forever tainted. Were they thinking, even then, that she was some kind of freak?

Did they all whisper about how needy and unstable she was when her foster mom had been shot? When she’d been so broken down with grief at suddenly being truly alone in the world?

She felt Astarion idly running his fingers over her arm while he read his book. Some kind of law text. In French. Which he spoke. Along with Russian. And Latin. And god knows how many other languages. 

If it weren’t for the steady, slow thrum of his heart, she’d already be anxious again. Everything she thought about made her hyper-aware of how much she simply didn’t belong here. Not with this man. Not in his world. She barely belonged on the planet, apparently.

The book in his hand snapped shut and was dropped into the open bag by his feet. 

She froze, worried that her nerves must be disturbing his study. She’d meant to rest. Although for what purpose… well, what was she even going to do? Nina had given them a list of rules they had to follow in Paris for the quarantine, which amounted to staying in the house.

That sinfully low voice of his crooned in her ear as he lifted her with ease onto his lap, resettling the fucking cashmere blanket the air steward had given her when she’d started shivering. 

“Now what has my little love so unsettled? Hmmmm? I can hear that little rabbit heart, you know.” 

She could hear the smirk she couldn’t see as she felt his cool breath run along her ears, heat immediately pooling between her legs at the feeling. She shifted slightly on his lap, her jeans suddenly feeling too tightly pressed against her. 

She swallowed as his hands softly traced the thick denim seams up her hips, ghosting under the edge of her sweater and onto her skin. 

“What are you doing?” She whispered the words low and as quietly as she could muster, not wanting to alert the air steward, a woman with a warm smile and golden hair, whose name she hadn’t picked up in all her panic earlier. She was sitting near the cockpit, reading some kind of novel, distracted. For now. 

A throaty chuckle, so soft she felt it rather than heard it, rumbled through her where her back touched his chest. It made her hyper-aware of how close they were. How inappropriate this position was in public. But his hands distracted her almost immediately, silken skin sliding upwards under her sweater, making her suddenly both wish she’d worn an undershirt and thankful she hadn’t even worn a bra.

“How positively naughty,” the words came out in a purr, his lips buzzing as they nipped at her ear while his thumbs brushed the bare bottoms of her breasts. 

A little whine broke out of her throat, although she wasn’t sure if it was a keep going or what if someone looked . He responded by cupping her breasts with his hands and lightly teasing her nipples with the pads of his index fingers. She blushed furiously when she looked down and realized her sweater was doing nothing to hide what was going on, pulling the blanket up to her shoulders. 

“Are you truly so modest, pet? Haven’t you ever been touched like this?” That deep voice in her each had her almost throbbing. Or maybe it was how perfectly he was touching her nipples, making them rock hard and sensitive with the lightest, softest little touches. “Do I truly get to be the first?”

The way he said it with such pleasure felt like falling into heat. Fucking hell , she wanted to make him sound like that, sound so desperately pleased by her. 

She tried to answer, tried to focus enough to be coherent around the growing build of want that was throbbing through her. “Um, not, like, in public. Where people might see.” She tried to shift, to naturally cause his hands to fall, but he suddenly gripped her breasts. Not hard enough to hurt, but hard enough to prove that he could.

“Tell me you don’t want this.” That firm, authoritative voice of his rocketed through her, curled along her spine, lighting up that part of her brain that desperately wanted him to take control of her, and then settling right in her cunt, making her suddenly clench around nothing. 

She bit her lip to keep from gasping at the sudden gush of slick that pooled into her panties. 

The sharp edge of his nail (claw, her brain helpfully reminded her) nicked her nipple, the sharp pain causing her to moan. She slapped a hand over her mouth, but the damage was done. The air steward flipped around, that golden ponytail swinging, checking on them. Octavia felt her eyes go wide as the woman looked at her with a knowing look and rolled her eyes, before turning back around, and deliberately put air pods in her ears. 

Behind her, Astarion giggled. “Now look at what you’ve done, naughty thing. You’ve gone and spoiled the game.” He pulled his hands out of her sweater and lifted them. Fuck. Why was it so fucking hot that he was sucking her blood off his thumb? 

She could feel the skin on her face turning almost as hot as her needy pussy felt. “You’re a menace.” She hissed, but it was half-hearted and they both knew it. 

As uncomfortable as she was, part of her craved it. Craved that feeling of being out of control, of being dominated. But it also terrified her to trust him enough to truly let go.

“Penny for your thoughts, love?” There was a pause, and then that light teasing tone dropped away, and his voice became soft, almost tense. “It wasn’t too much, was it?”

She reached up, grabbing his hand. “No. I… I’m just… I guess I’m not what you’re used to, am I? You’ve probably been with so many people who know what they’re doing…” She squirmed, suddenly realizing she was going to be stuck in these soaking wet panties for hours yet. And her nipple stung. And these thick jeans were pressing on her rather swollen clit, and it was suddenly uncomfortable.

Suddenly, she was spinning to the side, being repositioned so that her legs fell across his lap. He grabbed her chin, and those crimson eyes stared at her with a longing so painful it took her breath away. “There is no one. No one who could even hold a candle to you, love. You are the one I’ve been comparing them all against, for centuries, and every single one has been found wanting. I wouldn’t care if you were a sworn virgin, I’d still rather have you chastely in my bed than a hundred wanton, talented lovers.”

She lifted an eyebrow. “That seems a stretch, for a man of such vast appetites.” 

He smiled, one of his fangy grins that oozed pure joy. “Well, I’d be trying as hard as I could to persuade you to break your oath, but… can you blame me? When all of that exists?” He gestured vaguely across her body, his eyes hazy with want once more. 

She reached up, suddenly overcome with the need to kiss him. Even seated, she barely came to his shoulder. She gently pushed on the back of his head, and he immediately folded down, lips seeking hers like he was as hungry for it as she was. 

But when they touched, he was gentle. So very, very gentle. Even when she’d sighed softly, and he claimed her mouth with his tongue, it was slow. Methodical. Done with such delicate grace that she found herself melting into him when he’d released her mouth and turned her back around. Still dreamily relaxed when he slipped his hands back up on her hips. 

“Now, unless you tell me to stop, Octavia, I mean to have you. Right here. But you’ll have to be very quiet, pet.” Her brain was foggy, and it took the words longer to resonate than it did for his hands to slide to the front of her jeans, carefully but quickly unbuttoning the six stiff buttons that held them on. 

She tried to parse his words, not believing what she’d heard. People don’t do things like this. Not in real life, she thought, even as his hands slid inside her jeans, down her hips to the elastic edge of her underwear. Soft fingertips sliding down, and bringing her pants with them, shifting her legs onto one arm while the other shimmied the thick denim down to her knees. All while keeping the blanket over her. 

She glanced worriedly over at the air hostess, but the woman was still engrossed in her book, her hearing muffled by the engine noise and her headphones. 

Astarion tutted. That was all the warning she had before he shifted her back around, somehow tearing her perfectly well-constructed panties off with one hand as he did it, so that her bare and soaking wet vulva was sitting right on his - oh. 

He’d also gotten his pants down, somehow. The sudden press of his hot, fully erect cock against her made her eyes fall shut. She felt her hips grind down on him, even as she snapped her mouth closed, trying not to let out the moan that threatened. 

She kept quiet, but he groaned. “Oh fuck, Tav, how are you this ready?” 

His hands grabbed her hips, hard. Holding her still against him. She felt his teeth on her ear, firm enough to hurt a touch, not enough to break skin. She stilled herself, a breathy little sound escaping in protest. It almost hurt how ready she was. 

She couldn’t believe he made her this needy. Couldn’t believe she was going to do this. That she was begging to do this. 

His teeth released her ear. “I was going to tease you more. Drive you crazy until you wantonly begged me to take you.” 

He slowly rocked his hips under her, dragging his cock along her clit. She felt muscles tightening while heat bloomed in her pelvis. Some miracle of self-control kept her from trying to grind against it, but it wouldn’t last long. She was almost, but not quite, desperate for it. 

“Hmmmm. Maybe I already have.” His voice slipped over her, velvet and sin, and she felt her toes curl up hard as she felt herself start dripping again, slick running down onto him where he was ever so slowly sliding against her. “But I don’t think you’ve quite had enough yet, have you?”

She tried to shake her head, but his teeth took her neck, still not breaking skin, but holding her with the threat of it. Like a lion does to its mate. The sheer dominance of it made her heart beat harder, causing a strange flutter to ripple through her, right into her center.

He never stopped that impossibly slow, drawn-out rocking. Sliding skin against slick-wet skin. His hands held her hips, trapping her as powerfully as his jaw held her head. 

Her breathing was stuttered. 

Keeping quiet was agony. Her cunt was rippling, desperately trying to pull him in, aching with that strange, deep need to be filled. It was a new feeling for her, delicious and desperate and dangerous. She could already feel how easily she could get addicted to this. She’d do practically anything he asked right now. Maybe literally anything.

His teeth pressed just a tiny bit harder. Sharp, tiny pains as capillaries burst under the skin, heightening the tension that coiled in her. The aching need was building, drawing tight like a spring under pressure. 

One hand released her hip. She almost gasped, guessing his plan, but somehow swallowed it. Even as she balanced on this precipice, she was hyper aware of the woman not twenty feet away. Every lesson drilled into her told her this was criminal. Sinful. Bad. And yet, she wasn’t sure she’d ever felt this alive before. 

His hand traces little patterns over her hip, a fingertip pressing into her jutting hip bone when he finds it, a burst of shame flooding her. Hearing another voice, one that was always critical, always judging - only ever praising her in front of others, and even then, only to make him look good. Of course, I look at other women, Tav, have you seen how fucking bony you are?

She tensed, only for a second, and he let loose of his teeth. Another purr in her ear. 

“You feel like heaven on me.” His hips canted upwards, firmer, the pressure exactly what she was missing. “My sweet, beautiful treasure.”

His hand slipped down between them, a soft thumb firmly tracing a pattern over her clit that had her breathing harder than a ten-mile run in fog. She was writhing on him at this point, the blanket a moot point. Anyone who’d glanced at them could have told what they were up to. 

She was way past the point of giving a shit. 

“Please.” She tried to whisper it, but her voice was strained, filled with a whiny, needy little whimper that sounded strange to her ears. 

A stuttered moan came out of his mouth, and it was the most beautiful sound she’d ever heard. Like he wanted her as much as she wanted him right now. Which was absurdly impossible. And yet, she latched onto it. Needed it to be true, so she pretended it was. 

“Tell me. Tell me how you want me.” That authority was in his voice again, the one that made her want to do whatever he wanted. 

She rocked on him harder, but her hips were stopped by his forceful, lightly painful grip.

“Use. your. words.” His voice was dark, almost a threat, the implied or else hanging in the air between them. 

She pushed past her discomfort, though the words felt wrong in her mouth. Shameful. Still, she persevered. Her desire to please him, to bend to his whim, far outweighed her fears. “Take me.” She whispered, her voice shaking. She clenched down. “ Please. I need you… inside.”

He suddenly wrenched her up, and then slowly, achingly slowly brought her down onto him, not stopping even as she writhed and whined, trying to muffle herself with a hand in her mouth, until she had taken the full length of him. Her back arched, her cunt fluttering and weeping at finally being filled. At the ache deep within her because he was just a tiny bit too big for her, yet her body still let him in. The pain made the pleasure all the sweeter. 

He growled in her ear, and using her hips like handholds, he fucked himself with her. His long, flexible fingers gave him the leverage to reach around, toying with her clit enough to keep her on the edge as he slowly pumped in and out, sliding right over that glorious place inside her that ached and yearned and built up the pressure. 

“Is this what you wanted?” He growled in her ear. “To be used like a toy? My toy?” 

She shivered, the suggestion startling and undeniably true. He snapped his hips upward, hard, making her whimper as the pain hit slightly harder than the pleasure. 

“Or is it just that you needed my cock so bad, you were willing to take it, however I gave it to you?”

She bit her lip as he lifted her, nearly pulling out of her, and then held her still. Just the head still inside her, even that stretching her slightly. Fuck. That was an entirely new experience. She tried to move, but she was easily overpowered by his grip. 

“Mmmm. So desperate for it. So desperate for what only I can give you, aren’t you?”

“Yessss, damn you. Please….” She tried to keep her voice soft, but it was impossible. Between the way he’d been fucking her and the filth he was pouring into her ears, the tension was like knives. She was so close to finishing that it hurt something wicked. 

“Please, what?” He crooned, sliding a few inches into her, then pulling back up. “Please stop? Please play with you more?”

She couldn’t stop herself. “Stop it. Just fuck me, dammit!” The words came out gasped, forceful, and loud enough that there was no way it wasn’t heard, even with the jet engines roaring and headphones turned up.

She felt his lips curl up against her neck, a brief inhale, and then he slammed her down on himself, throwing her against the seat in front of her, and began fucking her from behind. Plowing her into the seat so hard she had to reach around and grab the frame to keep her face from bruising against the cushioned leather chair. 

It was glorious. Within a moment, she hit her release, but still, he didn’t stop, didn’t even hesitate as he rode her through one gasping orgasm and into another harder one. This time, it had knives in it. Good ones. Aching little bursts of white hot pleasure that blurred out her thoughts entirely. 

He slowed, less frantic, but harder, even deeper, more forceful. He traced over her clit softly, then harder as she groaned, too stimulated to be teased any longer. 

“Give me one more. One more, so I can finish with you. Please…” The way he gasped in her ear. The little tone of desperation in his voice. That alone brought her. 

This was softer. Not knives but just a collapse into something soft and perfect and him. She felt him stutter, felt his whole body tighten, pulling her so fucking close with those impossibly strong hands, and then the heat of his release filling her, while he breathed a stream of words she couldn’t quite place into her hair. 

Everything got hazy. That sense of peace and tranquility that had taken her when they’d made love in his bed came back, and she went back to that place. Not quite dissociated, more like there was a filter between her and reality, one made of contentment. She felt him pull her back onto his lap, still buried inside her, and wrapped the blanket back around them. His arms felt sturdy and safe.  

She was aware of him whispering the sweetest little words of praise in her ear. Calling her perfect. And beautiful. And most devastatingly, his. 

That almost made her brain want to wake up. 

But not even that was enough. She slipped further and further into the peace. Drifting possibly right off into bouts of sleep, contentedly curled in his arms with his cock, though soft, still buried in her. She woke at one point to him discreetly wiping between them with a cool washcloth. 

She must have leaked all over him, she realized, suddenly feeling a tiny built guilty for leaving him to deal with the mess. Right up until he kissed the side of her head and thanked her for letting him keep her there. 

She smiled, unsure if her face had truly moved or if she was imagining it. “I can’t believe I did that.” 

“Oh, my love, we are going to have so much fun together if you let me convince you to try new things.” His voice sounded truly joyful, but there was a dark edge. She’d seen some of what he called fun. 

Torture. Murder. Hunting men in the woods for sport. 

And yet, here she was, begging him to take control of her. She let out a sigh for the self who used to judge the victims on murder podcasts harshly. Because she was being the idiotic girl in every horror movie right now. 

“I know you’re awake, darling.” He clicked his tongue. “Come on, you should go to your seat. It’s nearly four am. Just enough time to eat breakfast before the plane has to start its descent.”

She kissed him. Kissed that cheek she’d seen covered in blood. Kissed it like it was something precious, because it was. She swallowed down every fear, because she already knew. None of it mattered. She wasn’t going to let him go. Not even if it meant standing upon the corpses of a thousand victims. 

She was simply going to have to learn to live with it.

---

The plane had landed, right on schedule, at five ten am, local time. Octavia had slept quite soundly after the thorough ravishing, so he’d had plenty of time to finish his brush-up on manufacturing law and the historical importance of the perfume trade as a French cultural heritage. Not that he gave a particular care about that, but the easiest way to get one’s way in business in France was to wrap a flag around it.

Le Bourget was a quiet gem of an airport. In the city proper, catering to private flights mostly, customs barely batted an eyelash at their passports, and other than the requisite display of a negative covid test and a temperature check,  they were whisked to the private car Nina had arranged. 

He smiled indulgently, watching Octavia take in her first experience of international travel. It was strange to reverse the roles. After all, on their first adventure, he’d been the one who’d spent two hundred years in a single city, and she’d been all over the Sword Coast. 

“So, what kind of house do you have in Paris? Are there even houses here?”

He laughed. “A few. Most are museums or government buildings now. Mine was a hospital for a while, and then it got torn down to make room for public housing.”

“But I thought you had a home here?”

“I have a little row house. It’s a rather nice place, but nothing like the hôtel particulier I had at one time. I used to host regular salons, you know. Philosophers and artists would come, along with the most fabulous people of the day. Actors, courtesans, the wealthy who dabbled in science - all at my fingertips.” He sighed. He did rather miss the early 1700’s in France. What a time to be alive , he thought, if you were rich and powerful, anyhow. 

She squeezed his hand, still looking out the window as the car made its way into the city center, her eyes taking in the stately stone buildings side-by-side with midcentury architecture squeezed in between or replacing what had been destroyed by war or neglect. 

Usually, there’d be people everywhere. The cafes would normally be setting up tables and chairs on the sidewalks for breakfast. People would be walking their dogs, perhaps smoking a morning cigarette. On the corners, some would be yelling into cell phones in rapid-fire French that sounded lovely but often translated to filth. But the pandemic kept the streets clear and the traffic non-existent.

He'd seen this before, too. Sometimes, the weight of all his history was a bit much for him to bear alone.  

“How did your, um, house become a hospital?”

Like always, Tav knew just how to lift his burdens without even knowing. Like she had a secret sense of when it was all too much, and just what to do. 

There was simply no other explanation that fit. She had to be his thiramin . The conviction that had been growing ever since Nina's offhand comment was settling into certainty. How did he never see it before?

“Ever heard of a little event called the Reign of Terror?” He rolled his eyes at her wide-eyed head shake. “A special little time during the French Revolution, aha! A literal mob armed with pitchforks and torches. Well, and a few had muskets. They drove my poor staff away. Killed several of them for the crime of not hating me, I suppose. I wasn’t even in the country!"

He took a breath, calming down. He couldn't believe it upset him after all these years. Not the revolution itself, no, the masses of disenfranchised people with nothing left to lose burning down the system that stole from them - well, he'd be a hypocrite of the highest kind if he hated them. It was how they had killed the servants, his people, that still enraged him. 

"In any case, darling, there were quite a few grand houses taken by force during that fun little time in history. Then Napoleon came to power, and I bought another house. Not nearly as elegant, smaller, in a far less fashionable neighborhood.” He paused for dramatic effect. “And then, they had another bloody revolution and stole my second house. I didn’t come back for almost seventy years after that point.”

“Oh. Oh.” She turned around and looked at him, her head tilting curiously. “You… you were…”

“Yes, dear, the movement you praise with your cutesy guillotine earrings and your ‘viva la revolucions!’ considered me a target.” He spread his hands in somewhat false graciousness, one eyebrow quirked up. “If it helps, I forgive you.”

“I meant that you were an aristocrat.” She said the word like it was tainted. He kept forgetting that she still had this adorably naive sense of morality, but it was sweet, if slightly annoying. 

He wasn't worried. Those weren't deeply held ideals, he could already tell. If they were, she would have left after seeing him with a victim the first time, but instead, she had reconsidered her opinions, simply to stay with him. There was something exceptionally satisfying about that. Something that soothed both parts of him: the man and the monster.

“I am an aristocrat, love, by every definition of the word. I have an actual title in several different countries, I own land, and I don’t have to work for anything. You are one, too, now, as my paramour.”

“Take that back!” She didn’t seem mad. “I’m still a member of the proletariat.”

He grinned. He knew that sparkle in her eyes. “I don’t know. The kind of decadence you indulged in on the plane - now that was truly aristocratic behavior. Neither the proletariat nor the bourgeoisie would engage in such debauchery.”

“I still can’t believe I - we - did that. Poor Marceline.”

“I promise you, Marceline’s had to ignore worse.” He hadn’t forgotten, precisely, about earlier, but now that she’d brought it to mind, he could feel himself stirring. He wondered what else she might be willing to indulge in. What other pleasures he will be able to indulge with her someday. He’d kiss her right now if they weren’t both wearing the required masks. “I can believe it quite easily, though. I think you liked the risk of it. The danger. I think you perform shyness because you think you are supposed to , but you enjoy a bit of decadent debauchery far more than you let on. Don’t you?” He let the last words drop into a deep purr, letting the sound linger as his eyes swept over hers, not letting her squirm away. 

Indeed, she did. He could hear her heart almost trembling at the suggestion. A smirk slid onto his lips. 

“You are a very bad influence, Alistair Ancunin.” She looked back out the window, sighing. “I finally get to go somewhere, and everything is shut.”

“There’s a plague, Tav. Trust me, it would be far worse if everything was open. I’ve seen an uncontrolled plague. The Black Death, Yellow Fever, Cholera, Tuberculosis, the Spanish Influenza, AIDS... I've watched what it is for 20, 30, 40% of the population to just suddenly disappear. We'll visit Paris again. When it's safe for you and that precious little mortal body to be exposed to others." She blinked like she hadn't considered this Covid outbreak as a plague. "Besides, I cannot think of a single place I’d rather be than in my bed, with you.”

The flush that kissed her cheeks above the mask told him all he needed to know. “Can we go anywhere ?” It was almost a whine, but he understood. He felt much the same way in the early days of his freedom, still stuck with a group of people he didn’t pick. 

Being in the sunlight and Tav’s willingness to indulge his penchant for mischief were the only bright spots. And here they were, out in the sunlight, discussing some mischief. The warmth of that, the certainty that she might not remember, and yet, despite the wildly differing circumstances, nothing had changed between them, etched his impulsive plan in stone. 

This time, he would do things correctly.

This time, he would secure her in every way he could. Protect her. Keep her at his side. 

The little gold band he’d brought with him sat securely in his pocket, waiting for the right moment. Not now, but as soon as his contract was negotiated with Raphael, he wouldn’t hesitate. Octavia Martin would be his - lawfully, spiritually, and eternally.

He spent the rest of the car ride daydreaming of it. Of taking her to the home he had designed and had built so long ago, not realizing until now that in his heart, he had built it for her. Of carrying her through the doorway, his beautiful aia’tae , into their bower. There, they’d spend at least a season, learning to truly become one.

He suddenly wondered if the ancient rite of Aestar’kess would work in this world. Then his stomach sank as he realized it might simply reject him due to his corrupted soul. 

The car came to a sudden stop, pulling him out of his downward spiral. He looked up and saw the familiar sight of the promenade along the Boulevarde Pereire, taking in the stately Haussmann buildings mixed with modern and art deco maisons and apartments. The park, usually well attended, was completely empty save for one lone man, pulling down his mask to furtively smoke a cigarette. A few people were out on balconies, perhaps desperate to get out of the tiny pieds-à-terre   most of the buildings had been carved into over the years.

The driver parked the car smoothly, blocking the courtyard entrance to the building for a moment to let them out. 

Normally, the driver would come and open the doors, get their bags from the trunk, but plague protocol prevented unnecessary contact. Instead, he passed a folded hundred euro note into a gloved hand through the window. 

“Merci. À demain, sept heures du matin . ”

“Oui, Monsieur Ancunin. Sept heures du matin.” 

The driver sounded bored. Astarion loved that about the French. They didn’t pretend to give a shit about anything they didn’t. They also had the kind of morally flexible world view he could appreciate, and excellent wine. He could live without the ubiquitous sting of cigarette smoke in his sensitive nose, though.

He carefully opened Octavia’s door, offering her a hand to help her out of the car, warmth spreading through him as she took his hand, her eyes showing the smile that the mask hid. There was a spring in his step as he picked up their bags from the trunk. She insisted on taking at least her small bag, and he felt a tiny wince of sadness as he handed the burden off. 

Strange, he thought to himself, I can’t remember ever wanting to care for someone before.  

She stared upward at the stone maison, a five-story row home, unassuming looking from the street. Just a grey stone building with a deep blue door, tucked between a modern glass and steel structure and a classic, golden beige stone Haussmann building. The fingerprint lock opened at the press of his hand, and he gestured to Tav to follow. 

The door opened to a hallway that ran the length of the building, straight to a door in the back that opened to the shared courtyard behind. A small play area for children and a sitting area with flowering bushes filled the tiny space, visible through the large glass doors. “

He watched her take in the place as he walked with purpose towards the beautiful vintage art nouveau caged elevator, the wrought iron formed into beautiful birds flying upward, some of the twisted metal coated with copper had long since formed a beautiful green-blue verdigris, forming vines and leaves that wove with the design.

There was something so soothing about pieces like this. Probably the elf in him, still hanging about, even after all the corruption and years he’d been away from his people. It seemed like the longer it went on, the more often he found himself reaching for it. For the part of him that wasn’t just blood, fear, and obsessions.

Octavia was looking questioningly at a heavy wooden door off the side of this reception space with its long cushioned benches, potted plants, and abstract paintings chosen for color rather than image.

He couldn’t resist, setting the baggage in the elevator and turning to wrap an arm around her, pulling down their masks, no longer necessary, to kiss her cheek. The softness of her skin was decadent, even when he was performing such a chaste bit of affection. He found his free hand sliding possessively around her opposite shoulder, the perfect curve of it settling into his palm. 

Like she’d been made precisely for him. A little thrill trilled inside him, and he kissed her a second, entirely unnecessary time. 

“My office. The one I use for guests. No need for business to intrude into my private space. Our home lies upstairs.”

At the word our, he heard her heart flutter a second, and it sent an unimaginable surge of pleasure through him. He knew she did not yet feel for him the way he did for her, but he had hope, that terrifying thing. Hope that she would find her way there. Hope that the bond he felt was as inevitable for her as it was for him. 

That this wasn’t merely infatuation on her part, that she’d not tire of him even if he was his true self.

The old voices whispered to him as she followed into the metal cage that would ascend them to their temporary abode. Spoke to him of how unworthy he was. It left him feeling broken, like the spawn he'd once been, so long ago. The sound of his dead master's voice no longer controlled him, no longer held the key to his emotions, but, and he’d never admit it to another, perhaps not even to his darling, it held power over him still in the quiet dark of his soul. 

The fear had never been disentangled from him, just overpowered. But what good was his power here? 

He didn’t want to force her to be with him. He needed her to love him freely , needed it like her mortal self needed the air, needed to know that he was, finally, enough for someone. Not the powerful rich man, not the Lord of the manor, not the evil villain, not the Vampire Ascendant, but just that Astarion Ancunin was all that she wanted, exactly how he was. 

Notes:

Ooooooh boy.

Octavia is very, very caught up in the wild ride (lol) that is Astarion. But how far will she be willing to bend for him?

And Astarion, man, after the Ascension, he doubled-down on not being afraid because he could simply destroy anyone who might hurt him. But he's not willing to hurt her. Which means all that fear is suddenly bubbling up, undealt with, plus 400 years of interest...

And there's a devil coming to dinner in just two days.

Chapter 16: Les Liens Qui Unissent

Summary:

Astarion knows one thing. He wants what he has with Octavia to be real, this time. Real and last forever.
Octavia worries that she'll never live up to Tav's memory, that Astarion's feelings for her are just transferrance, and eventually he'll wake up and find her lacking.

In the meantime, the dinner with Raphael looms just two days away.

Notes:

Smut TWs

D/s relationship (although mild)
Shibari (rope bondage)
Use of remote toys by partner
Teasing
Use of safewords/Kink negotiation
subspace
the threat of exhibitionism

Other TWs

negative body image
low self-esteem in general

Astarion carefully picked up the tablet off the coffee table with his toes, bringing it back to his hand without disturbing the tiny, exhausted woman sleeping on his lap. They’d managed to unpack, she’d taken a shower while he pulled out a breakfast of pastries and cheese from the groceries he’d had delivered, and after eating excitedly, she’d collapsed on him as soon as they sat down. 

He loved it that she trusted him so fully to let her guard down like this. She was wearing a soft dress now, a soft satin slip in a pretty pale pink that gleamed beautifully against her skin. Her face was soft in that way of humans when they sleep, all the cares gone. Not that her face showed many with how few years she’d had to gather them. 

He gently brushed a strand of her brown hair off her face, sliding it behind her shoulder. He let his gaze linger on her a few more minutes, feeling indescribably content to have her here. With him. His. Sometimes he felt like he might burst with the feeling. 

The few times he’d felt anything akin to love since he’d lost her, three times with two individuals to be exact, had been nothing like this. They were more about sexual heat and comfortable companionship. He had those with Octavia, as well, but there was this secret other thing. This longing and contentment. The impossible yearning for her return every time they were apart, and the sweet, unbelievable shiorell of her presence.

Well, that and the strange pleasure he felt in taking care of her startled him. The same urge was telling him to cover her now, when he saw her shiver slightly. That dress wasn’t holding in any heat, and the room was cool. He’d turned on the heater this morning, but it took a long time for stone to warm. 

He sighed, pulling the throw from the back edge of the couch and settling it over her slight form, watching as she curled up slightly, trying not to let his heat rise as she nuzzled into his lap, sleeping and unaware of where her face was burrowing. He shifted, moving her a few inches to the right and onto his thigh. Preserving a little sanity. As much as he’d love to ravish her again, she’d probably get sore, and he did need to send this email.

In order to certify to this annoying woman out of Brussels that his recently acquired atelier wasn’t polluting, he needed to inspect it. He’d never actually set foot in the place, having bought it only this year. He sighed, typing out an email to the company President in regards to what he would need to see and whom he would need to speak with.

It wasn’t his first time dealing with anxious officials, and he knew why the factory was being targeted. After all, a historic, centuries-old business being sold for pennies after the death of a beloved owner was going to make the news in certain circles. People would ask why. It must be a crisis, they would assume. They were hiding losses. Or perhaps breaking laws…

Astarion rolled his eyes, hitting send. Then he made the mistake of looking at his inbox. 

Between Nina and Daniel’s team, he mostly doesn’t have to do this. Genuinely, he only dealt with perhaps two or three emails per day. But he hadn’t checked for a few days. He’d been extremely caught up in the far more delightful events of his personal life. 

There were almost a hundred unread messages. Mostly from Daniel. 

Bloody hells. 

Daniel had been busy with the contract. The man had been doing research. Looking through folklore and, with Octavia recently alerting him to the fact of this Dungeons & Dragons game had so much accurate knowledge of his world, Daniel had been reading all the material about devils and their contracts from his world. 

And about Elves.

He opened up the most recent email. 

Mr. Ancunin,

In reference to the question of how best to approach the brevity of the subject’s lifespan, I looked into a variety of approaches.

 

• Biological approaches, included prevention of aging and death by all but injury. 

• Fae type deals, changing the effects of time or material qualities of the body.

• Straight magic, such as your own solution, which seemed to rely on tying the vitality of the individual to one of the more chaotic outer planes.

 

All of these approaches have significant drawbacks, namely, unknown effects which would be difficult to foresee and account for in the contract. 

However, doing this research brought a question that initially seemed simple, yet led me down a troubling path. Under what rules was Raphael able to acquire the rights to the subject’s soul, and thus bind her to a body on Earth? Based on the materials provided, it would appear that the infernal are bound by stringent rules regarding the procurement, ownership, and disposition of souls. 

He procured his initial investment through a third party, namely the subject’s mother. However, he lost that ownership. While you did not provide the entire specifics of this loss, it sounded like the adjudicators of record determined that the contract was invalid. And I wondered, based on what?

It was while pondering that question that I came across a passage. 

The information you have provided was that the subject is what is known as a half-elf. A hybrid of human and elf, without the distinctive features tied to having a specifically Elven soul.

But according to one source, while rare, it is possible for a full elf, such as the subject’s mother, and a half-elf, such as the subject’s father, to produce a full elf. That is, a child with the genetics of an Elf and a human, but an Elven soul. If that happened, then Raphael could not have been involved in the conception. That would have been at the discretion of Corellon Larethian, per the source material.

If Raphael had acquired the subject under a contract in which his specific performance required was to create a child, then it would certainly be a void contract if the subject were to have been a true Elf. This would explain the strange circumstance of their escape from bondage.

Furthermore, if this is the case, then Raphael is once again violating the laws of Hell. As he acquired the subject from the prior captor, under false pretenses of having a claim, putting him at significant risk of consequence should his deceit be discovered. We should attempt to use this weakness as a bargaining chip.

In addition, we now have another means for approaching the problem of the subject’s mortality: reincarnation. 

We should discuss these matters with haste, prior to your meeting with Raphael. I believe that it would be best if I also attend the conversation. Therefore, unless I receive a reply by noon London time, I will be booking a flight to Paris.

Regards,

Daniel Bramstom, Esq. 

Bramston, Boleyn, and Bunduck, Ltd. 

Astarion had long known that Tavriel’s parents were an elf and a half-elf. He’d thought she was a full elf when they’d met. Her lovely ears were much like his own, long and expressive, not to mention her tiny stature and build were very typically Elven. But when she’d revealed that her grandmother was human, he’d simply readjusted in the knowledge that she was a half-elf. He’d cared mostly about her lifespan at the time. 

Daniel was right, of course. Astarion should have known, all along, that Tavriel was one of those exceedingly rare true Elves born of a half-elf. She had tranced! 

He was an idiot.

He looked over at her still sleeping form, her face so impossibly youthful like this, without any of the stresses or worries she carried coloring it. Just relaxed and still. 

He picked up the tablet and responded to Daniel. He knew exactly what they were going to say to Raphael.

---

Octavia felt like she might explode. 

She was in Paris! Yet she was trapped inside. Bored. Unable to do anything. 

It didn’t help that after practically demanding her attention at every moment for days, Astarion was suddenly busy. 

She felt like a whiny brat, so she said nothing, but she was edgy. Pacing about. She tried reading, but couldn’t focus on the page. Singing helped for a bit, but none of her songs felt right here. 

She didn’t want to lament old hurts or rage against injustice. And she’d never written a real love song.

Astarion was sitting at the dining table, a long carved wooden affair, legal books spread out around him, taking careful notes as he referenced them. Something about it, the seriousness of his demeanor so at odds with his usual playful spirit, stirred something in her. She found herself leaning in the doorway, watching him. 

His crisp white shirtleeves were rolled up, revealing those muscled forearms with their prominent veins, which danced with each stroke of his … was he writing with a glass quill? 

She did a double-take. Yes, he was writing with a glass dip pen. A blotter set out with a sand shaker next to him. He’d read a passage, carefully tracing it with those long, flexible fingers, and then pick up the stylus, dip it in ink, and carefully scratch out his notes in perfect calligraphy. 

It was mesmerizing to watch. All she could think about was the way those hands had touched her. Gently. Roughly. The way his hand curled around his pen caused her to gasp when it made her mind remember him curling his fingers inside of her. 

A sly little smirk formed on that serious face, and he turned his head to look at her. 

“Like what you see, little love?”

“I’m so sorry, I … “ She swallowed. “I didn’t mean to disturb you.” 

He laughed, seemingly unbothered. “I can smell you, you know. When you get aroused like that. And I’m quite happy to be disturbed. But I do need to prepare for this, unfortunately.”

She nodded, more than a bit embarrassed, trying not to blush or sound upset. “I’ll go take a shower. Or maybe a bath, then. Good luck with your, um, preparations.” 

Before she could leave, he was suddenly beside her, holding her eyes with his. It was like gasoline on the fire that had already sparked, making her skin start tingling, begging for his touch. He leaned down and gently kissed her lips. 

“I shall not make you wait too long, my love.”

She nodded, breathless and wanting. She turned, face flushing, and immediately headed up the stairs, running because she could. It helped to uncurl that manic energy that was driving her. She did some pushups and squats while waiting for the water to get hot, deciding that for all the often physical rigor of her new sex life, it really didn’t make up for ignoring her exercise regimen. 

She’d packed her usual toiletries. Dove soap, the white bar kind, and the dollar store two-in-one shampoo that smelled kind of like rain. She stared at Astarion’s beauty regimen, laid out on the bathroom counter so carefully. Each, a beautiful container that made it seem like a little adventure of its own. From the enameled jar of pomade to the cologne in a cut crystal bottle, it felt more like a museum exhibit than someone’s morning routine. 

And it made her feel even more self-conscious than packing her clothes had. 

She shook off the sinking feeling, looking in the mirror with a cheerful grin. 

“You are in Paris, Octavia Philomeena Martin. A gorgeous, wealthy man who could probably have anyone he wanted, inexplicably wants you here with him, not anyone else. You are going to enjoy yourself.” She spoke the words aloud, but as quietly as she could. Praying a bit that the vampire with absurdly good hearing downstairs was distracted. 

It sounded ridiculous, but sometimes, admonishing herself worked. It did manage to bring her anxiety back inside of her skin, long enough that she relaxed into the ridiculous, giant bathtub. She’d found some kind of oil in a small decanter on an adjacent table, and added it to the water, making the bathroom smell like the most gorgeous incense she’d ever encountered. 

Hot water, a good scrub, and time did wonders. The fact that the bathroom had a heated towel rack, meaning she got out to a gloriously hot towel, was a step beyond imagined luxury. She wanted to enjoy it. She should be enjoying it. Hadn’t she struggled enough for a lifetime?

Drying off, she stared at her paramour’s toilette, trying to imagine what it could even be doing for him. She’d seen him when he first woke up. He needed no cosmetics to be beautiful. Astarion had the kind of beauty that sunsets and mountain vistas, and space had. The kind that left the viewer in awe, feeling small in a way, but lucky to even be close to it. 

She shook her head. Perhaps she’d never understand it, but she’d still feel lucky he even wanted her here.  

The mirror that stretched across the wall kept catching her eye, reminding her why she didn’t bother. It wasn’t just money, although it had certainly been a good excuse. Because the real reason was just pathetic. Pathetic and unfixable. 

She simply wasn’t very pretty. Oh sure, she was okay-looking. A nice, solid five or six. Especially in decent clothes. But get her undressed and she bordered on hideous. 

She turned and stared, eyes running over sharp, bony edges and taut, wiry muscles. Not an inch of softness on her. Hell, she barely had tits. Other than being thin and having a kind of big eyes, small mouth thing going on, she was plain. Boyish. And all the bruises and bites left behind from the past three days weren’t helping.

Perhaps it was time to try? She could afford it now, and she had someone who would appreciate the effort. She had to do something, because she was giving him no reason to stay right now, was she? 

Oh, let's see - she’d freaked out about what he was, cried at him, had a panic attack, nearly disappeared, forced him to rescue her, and then kept being difficult about what he wanted in bed. Yep, Octavia Martin, real catch right here, bringing so much to the fucking table. She rolled her eyes at herself, combing her hair out with her hands and wrapping it up in a towel to dry before padding back into the bedroom. 

Thirty minutes later, she was standing in her last pair of lacy underwear, trying to pick out clothes, and having a slow-motion breakdown about it.  

She was holding up a t-shirt in front of her, blue, fitted, with the pigeon from Mo Willem’s book series on the front. She sighed, folding it back up, knowing that it was no more or less terrible than the other seven shirts she had pulled out. It wasn’t like clothes were going to give her a different body.

She flicked her eyes up to the mirror and happened to catch Astarion walking out of the dark hallway, a little flirty smirk on his face. 

“Taking in my favorite view, I see.”

She huffed a little laugh, the truth embarrassing, and put on her waitress face. The “I’m ecstatic to be here!” smile she could fake without trying, a second skin at this point. She picked up her wet hair towel off the floor where she’d dropped it, heading to the bathroom to hang it up to dry. 

Because it needed to be done. 

“I’m sorry.” He almost tripped on the syllables, like he rarely made those shapes with his mouth. “I - I left you alone too long, didn’t I?”

Fuck. He was reading her mood, but thought it was his fault. That was… not what she wanted. 

Another laugh came out, this time just pure nervousness manifesting. “It’s barely been an hour, Astarion, and I got to use that magnificent bathtub. Somehow, I will survive.” 

She came back out, wishing she had put something on earlier, but here she was. Walking around in nothing but ratty polyester lace black panties, all of her imperfections on display. She swallowed the self-consciousness, looking over at him to say something. 

The words disappeared when she saw his gaze, the wide-eyed way he took in the sight of her. The smoldering look he dropped into could have set a wet log on fire. It certainly ignited something in her, in spite of herself. She tore her gaze away, pulling out the first shirt she could find in the drawer. A worn and soft concert tee that once was black went over her head quickly, the comfort of the familiar garment on her skin helping to ground her against the swirl of feelings. 

“The view from the terrace on the roof is quite spectacular at sunset. Perhaps you’d join me for dinner there? I made us something.”

“You made dinner?” She grabbed a pair of worn blue jeans from another drawer, pulling them on as she spoke.. “I thought you had a meeting tonight - the work thing.”

“I do. In another hour. But until then, I am all yours.” He grinned, a little crinkle in his eyes that melted her heart. “Don’t keep me waiting too long.”

He took off, leaving that deep little purr lingering in the air and under her skin, making her tingle with anticipation of what he was promising. She needed to get a grip on herself, get some control over the way he made her feel. It was almost embarrassing.

But, a little voice in her mind whispered, you don’t want to be in control, do you?

---

Astarion tapped his fingers nervously on the little glass table, staring out over the roofs of Paris, colored orange and red and pink by the slowly setting sun. He looked around at the candles he’d lit and the little solar-powered lanterns that soon would come on, hoping it was enough light for her eyes. 

He reached down and tapped the little box in his pocket, reminding himself of the plan, and then tapped his phone, pressing a few buttons to make the little speakers hidden in the plants fill the space with the soft sounds of a string quartet. 

Feet were on the stairs, her soft little tap-a-tap walk when she was nervous, her heart pounding in her chest. He wasn’t sure what had his dearest treasure so anxious today, and he didn’t know how to ask. Was he supposed to ask? 

Perhaps he should have tried harder at some point to be in a relationship. He could have made all these mistakes with someone he didn’t care about. A practice run. 

Hans didn’t count, even if he did care for the man intensely. They’d been less partners and more two feral cats that occasionally visited each other, one or the other disappearing after a few weeks when they could no longer tolerate having to bend to someone else’s needs. Sometimes the separation would go on for years before they’d fall back into bed again. And George, well, George was whatever a fortnight of spending every possible moment in hedonistic glory or witty repartee could be called, ending in Astarion wishing death on the man and never seeing him again. Hardly an experiment in a healthy relationship.

The door opened, slowly, her little rabbit heart beating a rhythm that sang to his senses. 

His own heart slowed when he saw her, and his breath caught in his throat. 

It happened every single damn time. 

Maybe someday he’d be used to her being here, instead of expecting to wake up and find that it had all been a dream. 

“It’s so beautiful.” Her honeyed voice caught in her throat as her eyes went wide. 

He crossed the space to her, capturing the curve of her face in his palm, turning her from the view of the city and to his gaze. 

“Yes, you are.” He leaned down to capture those soft lips with his, sighing when they touched. She surrendered to him, letting him lift her to take her mouth with his, falling into him as their tongues slid against each other. 

It felt like coming home. Like the rest of the world was shut behind a barrier, and here, here was his safety, his comfort. All he had ever needed. 

He felt his face lifting in a grin, and spontaneously, he reached down and grabbed her by her bottom, lifting her into his arms while she squealed in surprise. 

“Astarion!” She admonished him, but a grin was on her lips now. And unlike earlier, he was certain it was real. 

He spun them around, wrapping her legs around his waist, holding her securely with ease. She had her hands on his shoulders, her eyes sparkling in the way that made his heart feel like it was flying. 

“I love you, Octavia.” He suddenly had to kiss her, so he did, the soft mint of her toothpaste making his tongue tingle. He placed his forehead against hers, like he could make her feel how he felt if he simply pressed their minds together. 

For the first time, ever, he suddenly missed the tadpole.

Realizing that the dinner he’d made was going to get cold soon, he settled her back on her feet, already missing the closeness of her as soon as he’d done it. 

“Come now, pet, let’s get you fed.”

Octavia was quite awkward when he’d tried to pull out her chair for her, unsure of what she was supposed to do. He frowned. It meant she’d never been treated properly by her previous partners. And that was a travesty. 

The more he’d learned about this boyfriend of hers, Maverick, and what a bloody stupid name, the more he wanted to make the man experience true fear and suffering.

They settled in, and he lifted the covers off their plates, watching her eyes grow three sizes. She was so adorable like this, his doe-eyed ingenue. His fingers itched to reach out and touch her skin, but he kept them still. Tav deserved the real thing, this time. 

He wasn’t just going to sweep her away with sweet words and sighing orgasms, not this time.

She deserved better, to be wooed properly, like the wonderful, worthy woman she was. If only he had a clue what exactly that was supposed to involve. If Wyll were here… 

No. He was NOT going to miss Wyll bloody Ravenguard. That was quite enough of that thought.

“You made this? It looks… honestly, it looks amazing.” 

He flushed a bit with the praise, almost in wonder that she did that to him with such ease. “The restaurants here are closed, sadly. No takeout, so I had to improvise. I have cooked before, I’ll have you know.”

“And how often has that been?”

She held his gaze, challenging. It did things to him. Gods, that fire in her, the only one who was a match for his own. He swallowed, forcing himself to calm as much as he could manage. 

“I took a class.” He was quite proud of how casual he kept his tone, pretending to inspect his fingernails. 

She stared harder, tilting her head, the weight of her gaze destroying his faux ease.

He sighed, holding out his hands in a conciliatory gesture. “In 1986.”

She burst out laughing. “Ok. So what fucking happened in 1986 that made you learn how to cook? I gotta hear this.”

He grinned and leaned over. “My mother insisted.” He whispered it conspiratorially, then leaned back. “At least taste the fish before it gets cold. It’s not nearly as good as it is hot.”

He picked up his fork, taking a small bite. It was decent. The lemon, butter, and caper sauce was doing quite a bit of the work, as the fish wasn’t as fresh as he would normally insist upon. But this damned shutdown meant his options for their provisions had been limited. 

“Your… mother? Don’t bullshit me, Astarion.” She took a bite of the fish, and he got to watch those eyes widen and a little tiny hum escape her. “This is wicked good. What the hell? Are you secretly good at anything else?”

“Oh darling, I’m an expert at so many things I’d love to show you.” 

“Oh my god, you are such a fucking dork. No, but for serious. What is this?” She popped another bite in her mouth, gesturing at the plate with her left hand.

“Cod, pan-seared in butter, with a beurre blanc sauce finished with lemon, a white burgundy, and capers. There’s also some caramelized brussels sprouts with shallots and bacon.”

She stared at him like he was talking in a foreign language, then shook her head, spearing one of the vegetables with a fork. “So, do I get to meet your mother, then?”

He shrugged. “If you want. It’s been a while since I’ve visited Jennifer. Perhaps I should invite her for a visit. Although that does raise a point, and one that will affect you, now that you are here. I’m forty-two.”

She tilted her head, questioning silently.

“Alistair Ancunin is 42 years old." He answered her unspoken question. "His mother is named Jennifer. She’s a lovely woman with a comfortable trust fund who spends her time on the socialite circle.” Astarion took a breath. “Of course, Alistair Ancunin is a legal fiction. He is a legal fiction I require to function in this world. I cannot be convincingly less than twenty, nor can I pass as older than sixty. So, each of my incarnations must pretend to reproduce the next version of me roughly around the age of forty.”

She seemed to take that in. “So, this Jennifer, how is she Alistair’s mother?”

“She needed money, I needed a woman willing to lie to a judge. She’s maintained that fiction for decades. And I’ve provided her with an exceptionally comfortable lifestyle in return for hiding from the world for nearly two decades and pretending to have been a single mother.”

She blinked, taken aback by the offhand way he talked about committing perjury. But then again, he also murdered and tortured people on the reg. She made her face relax. 

“What’s the plan, for your next self?”

He shrugged. “That depends on the advice of my solicitors. It grows more complex with each generation, as identification becomes more and more stringent.”

“How did you make brussels sprouts taste good?” She shook her head, then popped another one in her mouth. “Not to change the subject. It’s just gastering my flabbers here.”

He stared at her in slight wonder for a moment before bursting out in laughter at her ridiculousness. “The secret, darling, is that everything tastes good if you drench it in butter and add shallots and bacon. And I wouldn’t mind a bit of a subject change. After all, you’ve heard so much about me. Yet I feel as if I have learned precious little about you, my dear. I do so desire to make your remarkable acquaintance.”

She choked a bit, taking a swallow of the white wine he’d put out to cover it. 

“Like what? I mean, what would you possibly want to know?”

He grinned. He’d prepared for this. He slyly pulled a stack of cards out of his pocket and began to shuffle, enjoying the way her eyes flicked across his hands, a flush spreading on her. He flipped the top card of the shuffled stack with a flourish, catching it in his hand. 

“What’s something that someone you’ve lived with did regularly that drove you crazy?” 

She stared at him, somewhat confused. “What is this?”

“It’s called Talking Points, a sort of game to help one get to know another person. I got two such games. This one, Daniel recommended. Nina recommended the other.” He placed the card he had read aloud down on the table, reaching across and taking her hand, steeling himself to peel open his feelings. “Please? I truly wish nothing more than to know everything about you, Tav. And for you to know me return.”

“Just curious,” She tilted her head, knowing that Nina would use an opportunity like this to punk her boss. “What's the name of the cards that Nina recommended?”

“Cards Against Humanity. A strange name. Most unappealing. Hence why I brought these.”

She couldn’t help it, she burst out laughing at the thought of watching Astarion’s face as he played his first round of that game. 

His eyes went sharp. “Why is that so funny?”

She couldn’t help the smirk on her face. “Nothing. Nothing at all. It’s a perfectly normal icebreaker game.”

He rolled his eyes at her. “Keep your secrets, darling, but I’m certain it will be less amusing than you think.”

“I’m going to remind you of that later.” She took a breath, considering his earlier question. “I guess the person who drove me the most nuts was my roommate Pink-”

“The one whose wedding you bought that delicious dress for?”

“The same. Anyway, she used to drink my milk out of the fridge. Drove me bonkers.”

“Your milk? You lived together, and you bought separate milks?” 

“We live together, and I buy my own food.” She gave him hard eyes. 

Oh. Oh. “We should stop that. Immediately. I apologize that I didn’t say anything sooner.” He lifted her hand, pressing a kiss onto the back of it. “Look. It’s already helping us!” 

She laughed. Grabbing the next card off the stack and turning it over. “Alright. My turn.”

---

Octavia took the plate that Astarion passed her, dripping with hot water, and began to dry, somewhat in disbelief that she was watching him wash dishes. He was endearingly awkward about it. So unsure of what was involved at first, she’d almost laughed. But then he’d asked for advice with such utter vulnerability that all she could do was be amazed. 

She couldn’t be certain, but she wouldn’t be surprised if he had never before done the dishes. And yet, when she’d automatically started stacking their dinner dishes to take them down to the kitchen, he’d stopped her with a kiss. 

“No, let me, my sweet.” That voice. Ugh, that voice ! It was deeply unfair how it affected her. “I wish I could take you to bed after this, but alas, my time is spoken for.”

“What is your meeting about, anyway? I mean, it’s 8 pm on a Friday. Isn’t that kind of abnormal?”

“I have to inspect the factory tomorrow, while it is closed. Since we are quarantined, I cannot be present when others are. The meeting is for the factory manager and the lawyers to take me on a virtual tour first, so I know what I need to look at, so I can testify that I have seen the equipment and processes in question.”

“Oh. That makes sense, I guess. I can go up to the bedroom. I was thinking about practicing, anyway. I’ve been writing a new song, and it needs some work. Unless that will disturb you.”

He stopped washing, setting the dish cover in his hands back into the soapy water. “I had a slightly different idea. If you might be interested in a little… anticipation.” He turned and gave her one of those looks that hit her like a truck made of sexual heat. 

Her mouth went dry while a flash of want rushed to her core. How the fuck did he get her number so damned fast?

“Hmmmm.” He leaned over, his lips softly working up her neck, sending a tingling sensation over her skin. He ghosts his nails down her back, right along her spine. “Your heart is quivering, Octavia, just shivering like a little rabbit. It’s making me hungry.”

At the mention, the still-healing bite he’d left on her breast throbbed in the best fucking way, sending little hot pulses of desire through her whole body.

“Oh.” She almost gasped it, and then forced her voice normal, suddenly realizing something. “Right. You don’t get anything out of food. I forget, sometimes.” She paused. “Wait, Are you able to get blood here? Like at home?”

He chuckled. “So thoughtful you are, pet. I am fine. I can go weeks without it, if required. As long as I don’t need my powers. But what I am hungry for right now isn’t blood, darling.”

The heat gripped her spine, dove straight into her suddenly clenching cunt. 

His hands, still slightly damp from dishwater, suddenly slid between her waistband and her hips, sliding to cup her ass while his mouth sucked at her earlobe. “The dishes can wait. But, if you want to take me up on my offer, we need to get started sooner rather than later.”

“What…” Her voice cracked. “What are you offering, Astarion?”

His voice dropped so low she felt it more than heard it purr in her ear. “Anticipation.” He slid his hands up, out of her pants, skimming along the sides of her body under her shirt. “For us both.” His hands cupped her breasts gently, the gentle sensation utterly at odds with his voice. “And for you, hmmmm…” His thumb lifted, brushing right across that bite, ripping a moan from her throat.  

She felt him get hard against her back. 

“Oh, for you, my dear,” that voice like sin and silk washing across her. “I’m offering something I know you want. To submit. To give up your control. To be fully,” he kissed the spot between her throat and her shoulder. “And completely.” His teeth nipped her ear again. “ Mine.”  

The growl did her in, making her knees almost give out.

He caught her, of course he did, and it was wonderful, and also embarrassing. She felt the smirk on his face against her neck as he pulled her fully against himself. 

“You do want to be mine, don’t you?”

God help her, she actually whimpered at him. 

He swept her up into his arms, a feral kind of grin on that angelic face as he carried her back through the dining room and a door she’d thought was a coat closet, but turned out to be a small study or library. He set her on a couch, one of those fancy ones without a back and with one curved arm, the kind that women fainted onto in old movies. 

He knelt by the couch, looking her straight in the eyes. “Now, my sweet, you must use your words this time. Will you allow me the privilege of having control of you?”

“Yes. Please. ” The words came out breathy and desperate. 

“Good girl.” He had that little pleased growl in his voice again, and his eyes were so intense she felt dizzy. He opened a door on what she thought was a wood-panelled wall, but was some kind of cabinetry, and pulled out a bundle of thin, red rope. He turned around, that pleased grin now sharp, and his eyes hard and demanding. “Now, darling, off with those clothes for me.”

She undressed quickly, her eyes darting back and forth from the rope to his face. Was he really going to tie her up? To what? She didn’t see anything in the room that would accommodate that. Her clothes were discarded in record time. 

“Oh my. Aren’t we an eager little pup?” 

She flushed, not sure if she was more embarrassed at the slightly humiliating way he was talking to her or what it was doing to her. She stood, watching Astarion as he approached, his clever fingers unwinding the rope. 

“Have you ever heard of the art of Shibari?”

She shook her head, fascinated by the way his hands flowed through the movements, the way his pale skin shone against that particular shade of red. It rather looked like when her blood got on his face, a thought that sent another wave of confused heat through her. “What, um, is it?”

“I’m going to bind this rope around you, making pleasing patterns and shapes. Turn your body into art, not that it already isn’t. And it will also provide restraint. There will be certain, limitations, to your movements. Plus, it will give me, shall we say, handholds.” He took the end of the skein and slowly ran it across the skin of her upper arm. The rope was soft, smooth - silk perhaps? It left fiery tingles in its wake. 

He stopped, running his nose along her neck and inhaling deeply. “You want this so badly, don’t you? Gods, you smell like the sweetest summer day when you’re aroused. Hmmm.” He pulled back slightly, kissed her lips, and then looked her in the eye. 

“You’ll need a safeword. This can be dangerous - should I tie it too tightly, or put too much pressure on certain points, it can cause permanent harm. You have to tell me if anything hurts or if you start to lose feeling anywhere.”

She nodded, loving how caring he was being about this. How careful he was with her. She would have enthusiastically let him do whatever, honestly. “Bunny.” She said carefully, the first word she thought of that she couldn’t imagine saying during sex, but not a turn-off.

He nodded. “Bunny, it is.” There was a trace of amusement in his voice, and then it went serious. “ You must promise me that you will use it immediately, if anything at all is discomforting you.”

“I promise, Astarion.” 

A slow, pleased smile spread across his face. “In that case, arms out, dear. We start with your chest.”

He wrapped the rope around, first above, then under her breasts, looping it through itself to make a snug harness. With each movement, his hands gently touched her, pulling on the ropes to check their tightness, sliding under them along her skin after. 

Each touch lit up her nerves with such desire that after only a few minutes, it was hard to breathe. 

He wove the rope around, making intricate knotted patterns around her breasts, holding them in place like a bra but leaving them completely exposed. He braided the rope in an intricate pattern, along her midline, until he wrapped it around her hips and thighs, much like he’d done with her breasts. 

She was dripping down her thighs by the time he looped the rope along the inside of her legs. He took in a deep breath when he saw it, sounding positively wrecked when he looked up at her. “Just from this? Oh, you are far too perfect, little love.”

The praise thrummed through her, taking her straight out of her head, making her feel floaty and tingly and amazing. She stayed in that headspace while he finished the tying, completely caught up with the attention he was lavishing on her body. 

He tied off the rope in a little bow. Just above her tailbone. 

“There you are. Now, check, nothing hurts or pinches? No numbness?”

She came back to reality and stretched a bit. Feeling how the ropes held her. She could move, but there was restriction, and some movements were entirely gone, others were simply limited. And with every movement, pressure from the rope, in various places, left her throbbing. 

But not in the way he was asking about. 

“I’m good.” She said, then giggled a little, still feeling that floaty place in her mind. “Very good.”

He kissed her once, gently. “Good. Now, I have a meeting to hold.”

She blinked. “You’re leaving?”

“I told you, my sweet, anticipation. For us both. Now, I have my computer set up right outside this door, and I will be right there for the next hour.”

“But I’m naked? And tied up with rope?”

“Mmmhmm. But as long as you lie still on the couch and don’t make a sound, no one but me will know you are there.” There was a devious look on his face. “Of course, that would be far too easy for you, wouldn’t it?”

She tried to ask him what that meant, but he got something out of the cupboard and returned before she could formulate the words. 

He held up a little silver tube with a gremlin’s grin on his face. It was maybe half the length of his index finger, and not much bigger around. Reminded her a little of a fancy lipstick tube.

When he slipped it under the rope that ran across her mons, just so it was a whisper away from touching her throbbing clit, her brain helpfully remembered about bullet vibrators. She’d never had one. Or seen one. But she’d heard of them. 

“Astarion…”

He grinned that feral, manic grin of his. The one that made her shiver and burn at the same time. 

“This one has a remote.”

Her brain tried to process that, then panicked. “But - they’ll be listening. ”

He swept his hands out, “Why, then, you’ll just have to be quiet, pet.” His eyes were excited, his lips twitching with satisfaction. “But I’ll be able to hear everything. Every little shift of your perfect body. The little hitch in your breath. The way your heartbeat will change. Every single time I do this.” He reached into his pocket a moment, and the toy came to life, quietly buzzing and making her gasp as it drove her to further heights of want.

It stopped a breath later. 

“So, just as you will be here, waiting in sweet agony, anticipating when I’ll return and give you what you’ve been craving, so will I be tormented by you.” He tapped on the fainting couch. ”Now, my dear, be very good for me. Stay still and be quiet.”  His voice was firm, authoritative, and commanding. 

She gave in gladly, slightly terrified she might not have the self-control for this little game. Terrified and unbelievably turned on. 

He kissed her once she had settled, then exited the room, leaving the door wide open. It was only moments later when she heard his voice authoritatively say, “ Bonsoir, messieurs. ”

She gritted her teeth, trying to force her body to calm down. But as if his voice wasn’t unfair enough, it was somehow sexier in French. And the rope… Every little flinch and twitch of her made her feel how she was bound. Reminded her of his hands wrapping it around her, the little touches that had left fire behind as he tied the knots. 

She was breathing heavily after only a few minutes of trying to stay still.

The way he moved while talking was as mesmerizing to her as the sound of his voice. From this angle, she could see his back, only to his shoulders. His body was like a conductor, every word had a gesture, a shift of his hips, a turn of a leg, the sweep of a deliciously veined forearm, always exposed by those rolled-up sleeves. 

She kept imagining he was right there by her. Between her thoughts and the pressure of the ropes, she couldn’t help herself. More than once, little breathy whines escaped her lips. With a certain amount of horror, she realized with the second one that if she lifted her hand to muffle herself, with the way she’d have to move with the rope, her arm would be easily visible on his camera. 

The anxiety made her feel strange, but somehow it also made every sensation sharper. 

Finally, with some effort, she got her breathing under control, and immediately, the toy whirred to life. 

So fucking close to her clit, but not quite touching it. The ache in her center felt like it was going supernova. Her hips were writhing, trying to shift things, pulling the ropes hard enough she could feel the restraint of it. Knowing that even not being here, he was doing this to her… it was exquisite torture. She wanted to come so bad she could have cried, but also, she wanted this to last all night. 

The pattern continued. He’d turn off the toy, she’d start to calm herself, get to the point that she could almost breathe without it being a desperate sort of sound, and he’d flick the button again. 

All the while, he was calmly asking questions in that maddeningly sexy French. Stopping to take notes. Totally, completely in control of himself. 

And her.

Notes:

Ahhhhh darlings. Hush now. The payoff is coming. I promise.

Anticipation is lovely, isn't it???

Thank you for reading. As always, feedback is most welcome.

Notes:

You can find me on discord, same username as here if you want to chat about this or any of my fics.

Also! I have a tumblr now. Find me @chaushaus

Series this work belongs to:

• Part 1 of What We Lost in the Shadows