Unravellings in the Dark

by mysticwritings

Summary:

"I don't want you to touch me," he began, and her eyes widened at his request. "But I want to touch you. I want you to show me exactly what feels good for you, and I don't want you to fake it. If I do anything that isn't going to bring you to your release, I want to know. And if I make you come tonight, it will be real. Any cry that falls from your lips will be genuine, and I will know if it's not."

"You... just want to please me?"

"Yes," he agreed. "I just want to please you.

-

When Talia left the Underdark, she had many expectations of what the surface would bring. Making her living in a brothel wasn't one of them—but the coin is steady, the clients are predictable, and she keeps her emotions out of her work.

And then a pale elf walks in, uninterested and intriguing.

The first night? They only talk.

The second? He asks her for something no client ever has: honesty.

As their meetings grow more frequent, keeping her emotions out of her work becomes harder than she ever imagined.

And when she stumbles upon a darker side of him, she's left with two questions:

Should she let him go?

Does she even want to?

-

Set after the events of the game

Chapter 1: Pleasure, Not Performance

Notes:

Excited to share this new story with all of you.

Talia is an original drow character, not related to the events of the BG3 campaign. This is set about 50 years after the fall of the Elder Brain.

This fic is very different from the other one I'm currently writing and updating. It honestly is completely self-indulgent, was initially just smutty, then an actual narrative came to me so here we are. There is plot, and will be more plot as the story goes on, but this is definitely a very smut-heavy fic.

I plan on updating weekly. Enjoy!

Talia didn’t remember all of her clients. She remembered some, to be sure, but that was mainly the regulars, who she saw often enough that she had no choice but to remember them.  Some were memorable, some were forgettable, but they all had one thing in common: they wanted her, and would pay good coin to have her, even if it was only for a night. 

The one man she did remember, and was presently thinking about as she walked into work, was the beautiful elven man she’d spent a few hours with a tenday ago. He had come in with what she could only assume were his friends—two wood elves, ones that seemed to be a couple, while he was on his own. The wood elves had seemed to be looking for something, or someone, in particular. 

This man, though?

He appeared disinterested, as if he’d come to a brothel just to drink. 

Even when his friends had wandered off with the two other drow that worked with her, he had stayed at that gods damned bar. She had watched several of her fellow workers approach him, their professional charm coming on naturally. It didn’t matter who approached him, though—a human man, an elven woman, any combination of genders and races—they were all politely rejected. They walked away looking exasperated, unused to a patron who didn't immediately turn out their coinpurse to spend a night with them. It was almost amusing to watch, and if she could see his face, she could imagine the irritated expression on it.

He clearly wasn’t seeking companionship, so she had stayed put, because she was never one who needed to beg for clients to come to her. Despite his ethereal beauty, and a strange elegance to him that was very rare to see in a customer, she knew that if anything were to happen, he would be the one approaching her. 

As she’d walked up to the bar, she'd ordered a drink from her closest friend. She hadn’t expected to speak to him, and really hadn’t intended to initiate a conversation. 

And they hadn’t spoken.

Not right away, at least. She had left him alone, free to drown his feelings in the expensive red wine he drank as she chatted idly with her friend. 

It wasn’t until Talia had heard a familiar voice from her least favourite customer—a drunken man that paid her well but lacked any kindness, that she heard the elf speak. His voice was soft and silky—a cadence she knew she wouldn't forget. 

He requested her for the night, and she had put the charm on immediately. 

He had followed her up the stairs, not saying a word. The silence made the anticipation all the better—for once, she was intrigued by what a new client could bring. 

And then, as they reached the room where she spent countless nights doing what she did best?

Nothing. 

They talked.

As she sauntered towards him readily he had made it explicitly clear that he wasn’t seeking sex, and hadn’t planned on hiring anyone in the first place.

He said she’d seemed uncomfortable with the man who’d been approaching her, so he stepped in to offer her a night off, so to speak.

She’d met that type before—the men who thought they could save her from working in a brothel, as if she didn’t choose to be there. The ones who expected more just because they did a decent thing. But he wasn’t expecting anything, and she couldn’t bring herself to be annoyed with him. 

So they didn’t touch, they didn’t fuck, and they sat down on the bed. Instead of any wild fantasies she was sure she could fulfill for him, they simply spoke. 

It was the most innocent, pure, and memorable night she’d worked in a long time. 

She had hoped, foolishly, that he would come back.

Maybe to talk again, or maybe for something more.

Very rarely, nervous clients spent their first night simply talking as they got comfortable with her. Astarion still managed to differ from them, because those nights usually entailed them sharing their fantasies with her. She would reassure them that yes, they were normal, and yes, she would be the perfect match for them to finally explore their desires. They would sometimes be ready to act on it immediately, or they would come back at a later date, eagerly anticipating exploring something they believed only she could give them. Some she’d never see again, but it was no concern, because they filled her coin purse either way. 

However, this elf, Astarion, didn’t even mention having sex with her. The closest the conversation had come to anything suggestive was when she saw his eyes darting around the room, as if he was wondering exactly what she did in here. She had offered an explanation then, with no pressure of his participation. 

“I suppose I am an expert in… receiving,” she’d began, a small smile playing at her lips. “The people who come to me often want someone obedient, someone they can boss around. Occasionally, they want me to speak back, or sometimes they don’t—it really depends on the client. Overall, though, most of my work involves submitting in some sense. It’s not about masochism or anything like that—one of my limits is no choking, hitting, or anything that could leave physical marks. It’s all about the power exchange.” 

His eyes had flashed for just a moment, and she had almost hoped it was enough to spark his interest.

Instead, he had changed the subject. It was confounding, frustrating, and exciting, all at once. 

He asked her questions about her life, and she’d been utterly delighted to listen to stories about his own. Stories of the past few years—ones that never delved too far into his past, but stories that were interesting enough to have them both giggle as if they were old friends. If they hadn’t been lying in bed at a literal brothel, she could almost pretend she was just a normal woman meeting a normal man on a normal date. 

But that night had passed, and she hadn’t seen the charming man since. He’d been visiting the city, he’d said. He was an adventurer, and the wood elves were his two closest friends, ones he’d travelled with for a time. He made elusive comments about their previous adventures, only giving enough away to have Talia curious for more. 

He was interesting, and beautiful, and unlike any of the patrons she’d met at Sharess’ Caress. 

And presently? Presently, it was another day of work, so she allowed thoughts of him to pass as she focused on her environment. 

“Talice!” She heard her friend say to her from behind the bar, and she whipped her head around, glaring at the tiefling for using her birth name. 

“Not so loud,” she hissed.

Talia had stripped away most of her ties to drow culture by now.  She didn’t have a great relationship with the woman who had birthed and named her, so changing her name was her first act of rebellion when she arrived in Baldur’s Gate.

Harmony, her tiefling best friend, was one of the first people she’d met in the city. After working at Caress’ for a while, Talia had been able to get Harmony a job behind the bar. Harmony wasn’t as… adventurous as Talia, and didn’t want to spend time with the customers the way Talia did. Instead, she made a ridiculous amount of gold from the brothel’s patrons, drunk on both lust and liquor alike. 

“Sorry,” Harmony said with a mirthful grin. “Talice has a lovely ring to it, though.” 

“Yes, my mother would certainly agree,” Talia said, rolling her eyes.

In truth, she often still thought of herself as Talice. She understood why Harmony slipped up and used the wrong name at times. Harmony was much like Talia, arriving in Baldur’s Gate because she needed to leave her own home, although under very different circumstances. They had met at the Blushing Mermaid one night. A man had been harassing Harmony, shouting vulgarities in his drunken state. Talia, after a particularly lonely day, had lost it on the man. She knew far more about fighting than she ever wanted to—her mother had been sure of that. At least one lesson from the Underdark had been helpful: punching the man in the face had been easy. 

Of course, the barkeep did not appreciate her assaulting a man, so naturally, Talia had been kicked out. Harmony had followed, thanking Talia profusely. And from there, a friendship had formed.

That was why Harmony still called her Talice sometimes. Because she remembered that version of her: the somewhat reserved drow who had a temper when necessary, freshly arrived from the Underdark, searching for herself more than anything else in a city she’d heard tales of.

Harmony had been supportive of the name change, and she recalled giggling with her friend as they chose Talia as her new persona. They had sat on the kitchen floor of the house they shared on the outskirts of the city, not far from the brothel itself, whispering the name seductively over and over until it sounded like gibberish. 

Harmony was the only person who could call her Talice, but not at work. No, at work, Talia was her name, and no one needed to know anything of depth about her. 

A rule she had broken with that mysterious pale elf, because for some reason, she had told him things about her life. So while she may not remember all of her clients, she certainly remembered him. 

She ordered a glass of wine from Harmony as they began to idly chat. Talia wasn’t expecting anyone in particular tonight. She had certain days where she knew some clients would come in, but today wasn’t one of them. Inevitably, someone would wander in soon, and would be intrigued by the seductive drow at the bar. Usually, her boss, an older elven woman named Lydia would point her out to those who expressed a certain… fantasy. She mainly ended up with men, because those were the ones who seemed to have the largest desire to dominate a drow woman.

It never got too wild. The ones she saw were typically new to this type of thing, revelling in the idea that they could have a beautiful woman in any way they deemed fit.

Within reason, of course, because her limits were always firmly laid out beforehand, and the men were made aware of why they shouldn’t test them. They just wanted her to follow basic orders, to call them whichever authoritative name they got off on, and have their egos stroked with whichever words came to her. She was very good at it, which is probably why she rarely spent nights alone, no matter how dead the brothel may be at some points. 

She was chatting with Harmony about chores, of all things, when she heard a voice, one she hadn’t forgotten despite her efforts. 

“Hello, darling.” His tone was different today: more charming, more alluring. She quickly turned around and felt a smile forming on her voice as she looked him up and down. 

“Astarion.”

A name that she remembered, despite her best efforts. It was eloquent and fell from her tongue so easily. Her voice came out as a breathy, surprised gasp, which she was not intending. She was supposed to be professional, doing the seducing rather than being seduced. 

He was as beautiful today as he had been the first day she’d met him. He was the definition of elegance, with pointed, angular features and a surprising fitness to his body despite an otherwise thin frame. His hair was almost as light as hers, and looked so soft and tousled. She would have a desire to run her fingers through it, if she desired such things. He was taller than her, although not by much. Her eyes trailed to his lips and she found herself wondering just how easy it would be to kiss him. 

Gods, what had gotten into her? He was a potential client, not some man from a romance novel. 

“I’m surprised you remember my name,” he responded, meeting her eyes. They were so arresting—crimson and deep, she found herself hypnotized by his gaze. 

“After the night we shared? You were impossible to forget.” She allowed her signature flirtatious lilt to fall back into her voice, the one that worked on anyone who was unsure if they wanted to hire her. 

To anyone else in Sharess’ right now, it would sound like she was referring to a night of crazed, primal sex. As one would expect in a brothel. 

The truth? He was impossible to forget, because their time together had been so simple, so chaste—it was unlike any other night she’d spent working. 

“I rather agree,” he said with a wide grin. “Hence, here I am, requesting more time with your beautiful self.” 

She felt a surge of excitement through her. He was flirting back, and it made her curious for what may come. 

“I talked to your… boss?” he said the word hesitantly, glancing toward the front counter. “She explained your rules and limits, and I’ve paid in full.” 

Lydia nodded in her direction as their eyes met, not needing to hear the conversation to know what the look from Talia meant. It was her assurance that she was good to go. 

It was as she took his hand and began to lead him up the stairs that she realized something. 

“She explained your rules and limits.” 

A night of conversation didn’t call for her rules and limits. 

A night of conservation didn’t need any explanation, because it was expected to be tame and safe. 

Astarion undoubtedly had other ideas in mind, and her heart rate was increasing as they approached the room she used for these encounters. 

She opened the door, locking it behind her, and he stayed close to her the whole time. 

When she turned around, their faces were inches apart and his eyes were so intense, so searching. 

They were silent for a moment as eyes roamed over her face, drifting to her lips before settling back on her eyes. 

“What do you want tonight?” she asked finally, her voice coming out as a breathy gasp again.

She really needed to work on this, because falling apart for someone who hadn’t yet touched her was embarrassing for someone of her vocation. 

“You,” he responded simply, and he was staring at her in a way he hadn’t stared at her the first time they met. He looked like a man who desired her , and it sent a thrill through her knowing that she was what he presently wanted. 

“Well, I am all yours,” she said back in her signature tone. 

“I want you in a very… specific way, darling.” 

The pet name coming out of his name sounded so good, so right. There were so many encounters that she faked, but with the intensity in his eyes, his ethereal beauty, and the velvet sound of his voice, she had a feeling she would not be faking anything.

“And what would that be?” she purred back, not making a move to close the distance between them.

She would wait for him to initiate. If he wanted her to submit that’s what she would do, and sometimes, that involved the man wanting to take the first step. She was prepared for him to tell her to lay back on the bed, or to get on her knees, or to do any number of things that would bring him pleasure. 

What she wasn’t expecting was what he actually said. 

“I don’t want you to touch me,” he began, and her eyes widened at his request. “But I want to touch you. I want you to show me exactly what feels good for you, and I don’t want you to fake it at all. If I do anything that isn’t going to bring you to your release, I want to know. And if I make you come tonight, it will be real. Any cry that falls from your lips will be genuine, and I will know if it’s not. ”

The self-assured tone his voice took on somehow told Talia that he actually would know somehow, despite her being an amazing actress when she was working. 

Her heart was racing at his words, and she saw his gaze fall to her neck, which was perfectly exposed in the skimpy dress she was wearing. There was no way he could hear her pulse though… at least she hoped not, because the effect he was having on her was not what a client should do to her. 

“You… just want to please me?” she asked, trying to keep the slight shock out of her voice. 

“Yes,” was all he said, a simple agreement with no explanation. “I just want to please you.” 

It was hardly the oddest request she’d received, but it certainly was strange that he wanted her to be honest about what worked for her. While she enjoyed her job, she didn’t necessarily find physical release with most of her clients. She was still performing a service, after all. A unique one, but one that was tailored to her client rather than herself, as any job would expect. 

For the first time in the few years she worked there, Talia was unsure of how to proceed.

As if he could sense this, he initiated by trailing his hand down her cheek, tracing her lips. His hands were cold, and she resisted the urge to open her mouth and take one of his fingers into her mouth. It was something she was used to, but she was realizing that this encounter was going to go beyond what was normal for her. 

And somehow? His touch, so gentle as it moved from her lips and trailed to her neck, feather light, was causing arousal to stir deep in her core. 

Her eyes had fallen shut, and his hands were on her shoulders now, just trailing along, getting to know her body. She realized what he was doing as his he reached the back of her dress, pausing as he found the clasp. 

“Is this alright?” he asked softly, and gods, the men she did this with never asked that. Her eyes fluttered open and she looked at him. His crimson eyes were so intense, so searching. 

“Yes,” she murmured back, and her eyes fell to his lips. Part of her thought about kissing him. It would certainly be typical, although kissing was one of her least favourite parts of her job. It felt too intimate, too personal, and he made no move to kiss her, instead still searching her face as her dress dropped to the floor. 

She was, of course, wearing lingerie. A black set, a tight corset that made her cleavage impossible to ignore. It emphasized every soft curve of her body, inviting her clients in and making them never want to leave. 

He had stepped back now as she stepped out of the dress, and his eyes roamed her body. 

“Finish undressing,” he said, and she nodded simply, making a show off allowing her corset to fall to the ground.

She stepped out of it slowly, bending at all the right angles to show off her figure. Not that her figure was hidden at all now, but she’d been doing this for long enough to know exactly how to stand, how to look, how to smile, how to bend, and how to seduce a man with a single glance at her body. 

When she looked back up at him, he was still watching her, that intense gaze never leaving. 

“Lie down, on your back,” he said, tone deep as he gestured at the bed.

This was more what she was used to. Obeying was an instinct, one she quite enjoyed. 

As she laid down flat, she felt him shift, and she propped herself up on her elbows to take him in. 

He was on his knees by her ankles, watching her intently. She recognized his expression then; an expression she saw constantly, one of hunger and desire. He wanted her, and it sent a thrill through her to know this beautiful man had come back to see her, despite not even wanting sex the last time he was here. 

“Do you touch yourself?” he murmured, his eyes roaming down her body. The way he focused on her breasts and the apex of her thighs didn’t make her feel like an object; no, he was truly appreciating her. 

She opened her mouth to respond, to let out a seductive purr and say all the time. 

Instead, she did what he asked for: she was honest. 

“Not very often,” she admitted. 

“We can’t have that,” he offered with a grin. “I’d wager you know your body better than anyone, and I’d like you to touch yourself so I know exactly how I should touch you.” 

Every word he was saying was sending a renewed jolt through her. Hells, she was going to be able to get herself off in record time simply because of that gorgeous voice of his and the attentive way he was watching her. 

She simply nodded and allowed her left hand to find one of her breasts, gently massaging it to start as her right hand began to trail down her rib cage, her stomach, before it landed on her hip. She began to play with her nipples with her other hand because that was one thing men often seemed to neglect with her, so she drew circles before lightly pinching each of them, a soft moan leaving her lips.  

Her breasts were aching as she took her time on herself, and her eyes fluttered closed as she let out a soft sigh. There was something incredibly erotic about knowing he was watching her pleasure herself, without having to put on any type of show. 

When she finally allowed her other hand to enter the space between her thighs, she let out a moan at how wet she was.

She took a moment to insert two fingers into her entrance, collecting her wetness and allowing her hand to trail back to her clit. This was what she liked. Her clit was always neglected, but when someone would rarely apply pressure to it, it was a sure fire way to bring her pleasure. She wondered if this was boring for him. He was simply watching her rub her clit, so she allowed her eyes to open to make sure he was enjoying himself.  

The sight of him, eyes transfixed on where she was playing with her cunt, only made her move her fingers faster. Her eyes drifted to his fingers. Dainty and long, she could only imagine the magic they were capable of, and that thought made her throb. 

Every part of him was beautiful, really; she felt like a bit of a voyeur, staring at him as she rubbed her clit, using the image of his body and the imagination of him touching her to bring herself closer and closer. 

And then his eyes flicked to her face, and it was enough to make her eyes widen and her hand quit moving. She felt a strange surge of shame—he hired her to watch her do this, and instead, she was watching him, allowing the sight of him to bring her to orgasm. 

“Oh, don’t stop on my account,” he said with a grin, and as her eyes fluttered down his body, she noticed how hard he was. It was to be expected of course, but she almost felt frustrated that he wasn’t allowing her to touch him. 

She didn’t respond for a moment, trying to to think of any number of seductive responses that usually came to her naturally. 

He, however, surprised her then. He gently placed his own hand, which was almost alarmingly cold, over her own, and began to resume the pace her fingers had been making. 

She didn’t have it in her to contemplate why he was freezing, because the eroticism of him helping her masturbate was awakening an arousal she so rarely felt with her clients. 

The moan that slipped out of her lips was not at all faked, and by the way his lips formed into a self-satisfied smirk, she knew he was aware. His pace was unrelenting, plummeting her towards her climax. 

Any thought about what she was doing was completely gone now; she allowed herself to be guided through his movements, his fingers gently applying pressure to hers to unwind the tension in her just right. 

But then, as her heart rate increased and her breathing grew heavy, he removed his hand. 

She was about to open her eyes and glare at him, until she felt one of those slender digits she’d been fantasizing about slip inside of her, crooking to find that perfect spot in her. She let out a broken sob as he added another one, and her fingers stilled for a moment as she adjusted to him filling her cunt with his own.

And then, he gently moved her hand away to continue fucking into her with his fingers, while a thumb found her clit. 

Any semblance of shame had left her as she rutted and cried out, practically riding his hand as he continued to work her, and the self assured smile on his face showed her that he truly was getting satisfaction out of this. 

What finally broke her fully was when he began to speak, that smooth, velvety voice of him sounding absolutely sinful as her hands clutched the silk bedsheets underneath them. 

“You’re taking my fingers so well, Talia,” he murmured, focusing more and more attention on her clit. He was clearly paying attention to her earlier ministrations, because he was matching the pace perfectly. 

“Maybe,” he continued, and her eyes were trained on the hungry expression on his face as he fucked into her faster. “I’ll come back sometime soon and you can show me the way you’d like to take my cock.”

She gasped at the words and pictured it then, those crimson eyes gazing into hers as he thrusted into her deep. If he was this good with his hands, she could only imagine how delightful it’d feel to be completely filled by him. “Or maybe,” he said, his eyes entirely focused on hers, “I could use my mouth on you.” 

“Or you could give me both,” she managed to moan in response, focusing on his mouth now. Gods, his tongue was so good at letting out quips and compliments that she could only imagine what it could do between her legs. 

“Greedy little thing, aren’t you? With the way you’re soaking my hand and struggling to keep those pretty little moans in, you’d think that you were paying me.” 

Those were the words that finally sent her plummeting over the edge, her body shaking and her lips parting as a white blinding heat flew through her body. She could feel her wetness seeping onto the sheets underneath her, coating her thighs and dripping onto his hand. It was obscene and lovely, and his fingers didn’t stop moving until she went completely still. 

She took a moment to just lay back on the bed and calm her breathing, her heart racing wildly within her chest. She needed to get a hold of herself, because he was still her client, but gods, she had missed the feeling of just taking a moment to come down from a high she didn’t feel often enough. 

But when she opened her eyes, one last moan escaped her lips, because she watched as he looked her directly in the eyes and took his fingers in his mouth tasting her. 

“Delicious,” he murmured, and gods, something so tame as this ethereal man fingering her had somehow been one of the most vulgar experiences she’d had at this job. 

“Enjoy yourself?” He asked, and what the fuck was going on, because she should be asking him that. 

“Obviously,” she snorted, a very unattractive sound that she probably shouldn’t have made, while gesturing to her body which was glistening with sweat. 

He grinned at her, and she took a minute to consider that he was still fully clothed. Yet even with his pants on, she could see how hard he was, and she was about to open her mouth to ask to do anything he wanted, but he beat her to it. 

“Don’t worry about me, my sweet,” he murmured. “This was all the pleasure I needed.” 

“Okay,” she said with a small smile, then began to stand so she could grab her dress from the floor. She winced at how wet she was. She would definitely need a bath, sooner than later. 

But then it occurred to her that he might not want her to be dressed, because the time it took her to reach her peak surely hadn’t been the whole time he’d paid her for. 

“You can get dressed,” he said, as if he was reading her mind. 

“Ah, right,” she said with a small smile. 

He didn’t watch her, instead looking away as she shimmied back into her lingerie and form fitting dress. She silently thanked the gods for her various outfits she kept on hand at work, because the skimpy panties of this set were about to be ruined. 

“Are your friends still in town?” she asked absentmindedly, thinking of the two wood elves he’d been with when they’d first met. 

“You have a good memory,” he responded, sounding mildly surprised. “But no, they’re back home now.” 

She didn’t answer right away, fumbling with the zipper on her dress. She sighed in frustration, and without her even realizing, he was behind her then, his hands finding the bottom. 

“Here,” he said, right in her ear, “allow me.” 

Somehow, the most alluring part of the night was right then, as his took his time, allowing his hands to linger just a little longer than necessary as t his fingers guided the zipper from the small of her back to her neck. His hand rested on her neck for a moment, thumb directly over her racing pulse point, as if he wanted to feel just how alive she was for him. 

“Thank you,” she said with a swallow as he dropped his hands to his side, turning around to face him. 

She had a peculiar desire then, to lean forward and press her lips to his. It was only made stronger when she watched his eyes trail down to her lips. And then he stepped away, looking down at the floor before meeting her gaze again, the hunger that had been apparent now faded. 

“I suppose I should take my leave,” he murmured. 

“You don’t have to,” she said quickly, internally cringing at the eagerness of her own voice. “You have me for longer anyways- if you just want to talk again, we can do that. Or you can leave. Up to you.” Gods, what had gotten into her? Asking a client to stay? 

“Well,” he said with a grin, clearly amused by her eagerness to get him to stay for longer. “I suppose I could stay for a bit longer. Only to save you from the inevitability that more unappealing men will walk in, and you’ll be left with the sad knowledge that none of them are me.” 

Oh. His arrogance should not have aroused her as much as it did. 

“Yes,” she agreed, putting on her best voice, hoping it might have even half the effect of what his tone did to her. “None of my clients are quite as tempting as you.” 

“Despite the very put on tone of your voice right now, I have a strong suspicion you’re telling me the truth.” 

Gods. How did he do that, seeing right through her? He was reading her in a way no client ever had, after only one night. Well, two, if she counted the night they simply talked, and perhaps he did know more about her than most of her clients, because she had been honest with him. It was dangerous territory to venture into, but she had been so certain she’d never see him again that it felt okay. She certainly hadn’t expected him to waltz back in and hire her. Not that she was complaining, of course, because this had been one of the most enjoyable shifts she’d had in… well, ever. 

“Can I ask you something?” She responded finally. 

“I-” he hesitated then, as if he didn’t want to share, and she was very close to apologizing before he spoke again. “You can. I can’t promise I’ll answer, though.” 

Deciding that was good enough, she took a moment to look at him before speaking. He really was so beautiful. 

“What made you come back? Last time you were here you made it very clear you didn’t want any of the services we typically provide here.” She asked the question carefully and slowly, not wanting to push him past his comfort level. 

“Well,” he murmured, looking her up and down in a way that made her shiver. “I suppose I was thinking about what you said you like. I had just had a… realization of sorts a few days prior to our meeting, and when you explained what you offered, it occurred to me that what I want complements that perfectly.” 

“Well,” she said with a coy smile forming on her lips. “Consider me grateful that you’re willing to explore your desires with me. ” It really was one of her favourite parts of this; the knowledge that she could give an experience many wouldn’t seek out otherwise. The fact that this gorgeous, elegant man was one of the people she got to do this for was very lucky indeed. 

“You’re good at this, you know,” he murmured, sitting down on the bed with a soft smile on his lips. 

“Thank the gods for that,” she said with a laugh, sitting next to him but not close enough that they were touching. She could sense that he had certain boundaries that she wouldn’t cross, and sitting here just chatting was so simple, so banal, yet enjoyable. 

“It’s what keeps me paid,” she added after a moment. 

“Did you always want to-“

“Work in a brothel?” She cut him off with a giggle, a bemused look on her face. 

“I suppose it’s a silly question when you put it that way,” he sighed, although that smile never left his face. She met it with one of her own, there was a strange source of comfort in the way he was grinning. 

“I don’t know what I wanted, honestly,” she said after a moment.

“My mother was raised by Lolth-sworn drow, and was one of the very few to get away from Lolth’s cruelty unsctathed. Most don’t get so lucky. Lolth doesn’t like letting people go.” She hesitated for a moment, unsure of why she was sharing this, because it was decidedly not what Astarion was paying for. He just kept looking at her though, focused on her words and appearing genuinely interested, so she continued. “And then I was born, to a mother who never learned how to love a child because she was so severely lacking that in her own childhood. Long story short, I didn’t think much of what I’d do at this age because I was too busy focusing on surviving being the daughter of a very… overbearing, controlling woman who only ever claimed she wanted what was best for me.” There was an undeniable bitterness in her tone, one she tried to bite back but seeped through anyways. 

“I’m sorry,” she said quickly, before he had the chance to respond. “I really should not be talking to you about this.” 

“It’s okay,” he said, and something about the way he looked at her made her believe it. “How did you make it out of the Underdark, though? It’s deadly down there, and you don’t exactly look like a fighter.” 

She laughed. “Oh, my dear,” she said, smiling at him again. “I am much more deadly with a dagger than you’d think.” 

“I’d be very interested in seeing that,” he responded, and she was glad she’d been able to change the topic away from her unexpected moment of vulnerability. 

“Pity I don’t do knife play,” she responded wryly. 

“That’s not the context I meant it in, although I wouldn’t say no.” He shot her a charming, roguish smile and she rolled her eyes playfully at him. 

“I should get going, though,” he said softly, and perhaps she’d gone delusional, but she could almost imagine he held an expression of tenderness in his vivid red eyes. She hadn’t taken much time to consider why his eyes might be red, and honestly, it didn’t matter. He was her client, and despite her random moment of honesty, she couldn’t afford to spend time considering anything about who he was. 

So she simply nodded and smiled. “Thank you for coming,” she said, forcing that suggestive lure back into her voice. 

“It was my pleasure,” he responded, and his voice matched her own in pitch. 

“I’ll see you later, I’m sure,” was the one last thing he said as he gently closed the door behind him. 

Once she was sure he was gone, she plopped down on the bed and let out a giggle of excitement, because she was certain in that moment that he would be back. And if he was going to be so generous and attentive, could she really complain? He had paid to please her, and she knew she would be thinking about the experience for days to come, anticipating if she’d get to see him again, and what he’d want to do next time. 

She allowed herself to grin widely. Today had been a good day at work. A good day at work, indeed.  

Chapter 2: Not What She's Used To

Summary:

Astarion and Talia's physical relationship deepens.

Talia deals with dangerous thoughts of wondering who he is outside of their encounters, as another night of his touch and rules refuses to leave her mind.

Notes:

thank you to everyone who interacted with chapter 1! Complete smut ahead.

enjoy!

She wasn’t sure how many days had gone by before she saw him again. 

It could’ve been a tenday or more, not that she was counting. Astarion was beautiful, desirable, and had provided her with an ecstasy that was decidedly difficult to forget. But despite his intense presence and the unforgettable night he’d provided, she had forced herself to to focus on other clients, and life outside of work. She had just arrived for her shift, nursing a headache from staying up late and giggling with Harmony as they drank loads of wine. 

Her eyes faced downwards as she walked into the brothel, not wanting to make eye contact with any eager clients just yet. She mumbled greetings to her boss and fellow workers, and she instinctively walked towards the bar to greet Harmony, as she did at the beginning of every shift. 

That was when she saw him, sitting at the bar: poised and relaxed, causing a shiver to run up Talia’s spine. 

Harmony was talking to him enthusiastically, and Talia bit back a groan. She could hear his laugh, her heart warming slightly at the high pitched, unabashed sound. She quickly chastised herself for that, yet as she approached him, the smile that she always made sure to have painted across her lips when working was completely genuine. 

He must’ve heard her approach, because he stood up then, meeting her smile with one of his own. 

“Hello, my dear,” he said, voice polite and respectful, as if she wasn’t a prostitute and he wasn’t a client.

“Hi handsome,” she purred in response, trying her best to sound unaffected yet seductive, as if he were just any other man who wandered into Sharess’ Caress.  

“How have you been?” he asked her, and once again, she was reminded of how bizarre this was. He asked her how she was, and appeared genuinely interested. He made her feel more like a person than just a vessel for a night of carnal pleasures, and it was… perplexing. 

“I’ve been well… but today is the best day I’ve had in quite some time now that you’re here.” She internally cringed at her own words, because she knew he would see through it, and she heard Harmony bite back a giggle. Harmony was usually professional and never interjected when Talia was working, but they both knew Astarion was quite the unusual client. Harmony had said as much after Astarion had left the previous time, when she’d seen how wrecked and satisfied Talia looked. Of course it had resulted in teasing from Harmony, teasing she pointedly tried to forget about as she spoke to Astarion. 

“Well,” he responded with a look that told her he knew how concocted her voice was, “perhaps you can tell me how you’ve actually been over the course of tonight.” 

She couldn’t help the way her smile widened as she took his hand wordlessly, leading him up the stairs with her for the third time. 

When they entered the room, he was slamming the door shut behind him, and a thrill went through her at the urgency of his actions. 

His eyes were a darkened crimson colour as he took her in, searching her face in a way that told her he did not want to hear about how she’d been right then. He wanted something more; something hungrier, something carnal; something she was an expert at providing. 

She recalled last time, and how he’d asked her to undress, so she decided to take some initiative. 

His eyes were hungry as she slowly released the clasp of her dress, taking her time to shake her hair out freely and let out a soft sigh. She wasn’t immune to the way he stared as she slid the dress off her shoulders. His eyes followed every inch of skin as it became exposed, finally making their way back up to her face as she stood before him in her lingerie. 

“What a good girl you are,” he said, an edge in his voice that made the thrumming in her heart pick up. “Already taking your dress off, and I didn’t even have to ask.” 

He stepped closer to her, his hands finding her shoulders, and she let out a shaky breath at his proximity. 

“Perhaps you’ll allow me to help you with the rest?” 

Words were failing her, which was something that never happened to her in this setting, but at the very least, she managed to nod her head yes. 

It was enough for him to instruct her to turn around, and the commanding tone that he so easily took on made her obey without question. 

She was only wearing a matching brassiere and panty set today, partially because she needed to wash all of her good lingerie sets, but this hardly seemed to bother Astarion. She knew she still looked sexy, and exactly like what you’d expect to find with a worker in a brothel. 

“You look amazing in red,” he murmured in her ear, his hands finding the clasp of the lacy bra that was one of her personal favourites. 

“It matches your eyes,” she said without really thinking, just glancing at the lace and considering the strange colour of his irises. 

He paused for a moment and his hands quit moving, and she spent half a moment worrying that she had hit a soft spot. After all, he probably received questions about his eyes often; not many high elves had red eyes. If he even was a high elf, although most of his features pointed to him being one. 

“Indeed it does,” he finally said, and any hesitancy was gone as he undid the clasp of her bra.

She turned around, standing before him completely bare save for her underwear, and he gently pushed her by the shoulders until her back was flush against the door. He kept a careful distance between their bodies, dropping his hands to her waist as he thumbed at the waistband of her panties. Her nipples grew hard, both from the coolness of the air and the chill of his touch. 

His touch, so surprisingly cold yet soft, was enough for her to squeeze her thighs together, desperate for him to do more. 

He let out a soft laugh as he glanced at her, his lips quirking into a close-mouthed smile. 

“Can I take these off?” he breathed, and she nodded. 

Her eyes widened as he dropped to his knees in front of her. 

His mouth opened as his smile grew, and she wondered if this was what he enjoyed, knowing he could make someone who spent their days doing this feel a pleasure that only he seemed able to provide. 

While she did get pleasure from her work, she so rarely felt the aching desire he was bringing out in her. 

And then his lips found her waist, and a breathless moan escaped her lips. This was the first time his mouth had been on her, and even though the kiss was so chaste with no teeth or tongue, it was enough to make her desire increase tenfold. 

One of his hands found the other side of her hips, fingers hooking through the lace, pulling her panties down sensually and slowly, his fingers a featherlight trace along her legs that caused her skin to erupt in goosebumps. 

He helped her step out of them and he tossed them behind him. 

Even as he was on her knees looking up at her, he still held the power. She was completely bare while he stayed clothed, on his knees but exuding dominance as his hands came to grip her thighs. 

She bit back a moan, silently cursing him for the way he could make her blood run hot with the slightest touch . 

The smirk on his lips as their eyes met showed her he knew exactly the effect he had on her.  

“I was thinking,” he murmured, his eyes trailing down her body, pausing on her full breasts and the apex of her thighs. “Last time I was here, you seemed very… enthused about… hm, what did I say?” He looked at her again, a devious grin forming on his lips, and took a minute to just gaze at her. To gaze at her body as if was the most rare and beautiful thing he had ever seen. It was enough to make her heart pound, the intensity of his gaze and feeling of his hands igniting something in her core. “Ah, yes. I asked if you wanted to come apart on my cock, or mouth. You seemed quite open to both suggestions, didn’t you?” 

“Mhmm,” she murmured, resisting the urge to tell him just how many times she’d thought about those words since she’d seen him last. 

“I had so much fun focusing on your pleasure last time, and I think it would be an awful lot of fun for us both if I tasted you tonight.” He spoke so evenly, maintaining a composure that she usually was an expert at. With Astarion, there was a strange role reversal. It felt as if he was here to unravel her, rather than the other way around. 

“How could I say no?” She managed to say back, her voice nowhere near as calm as his. 

“Well, you easily could, darling,” he replied, hands trailing to the inside of her thighs. “But we both know that’s not what you want.” 

The moan she let out that time was unbidden and honest. It was insane that he could do this to her; the slightest suggestive word, the smallest feather-light touch, and she was beginning to fall apart. 

As he parted her thighs further, one hand reached her core, teasing along her folds. She ignored her own arousal for just a moment, to take him in, so intent as he kneeled before her. He was satisfied, as aroused as she was just by feeling the wetness pooling within her. His satisfaction was intoxicating, furthering her own. 

His gaze was arresting as it met hers again, his voice a careful purr as he spoke. “Now, what’s my one rule?” 

Her body responded to the words before she did, a small shiver traveling up her spine and a breathless gasp leaving her lips. 

Her lips parted, and she knew what he wanted then. As if she’d said them a million times before, she recited the words breathlessly and longingly, words that had pounded in her skull since their first encounter. 

“If you make me come tonight, it will be real. Any cry that falls from my lips will be genuine. If it’s not, you will know.” 

“Sweet girl,” he sighed, his eyes mischievous and proud, “you’ve been thinking about me as much as I have about you.” 

The whimper that left her was instinctive, his words igniting an even stronger fire in her core. 

You’ve been thinking about me as much as I have been about you. 

The words were hardly a shock. He wouldn’t have come back if he hadn’t been thinking about her somewhat, but the idea that she could have this man as strongly as he had her, aching and fantasizing about their next encounter, was a satisfaction she hadn’t known she’d needed. Every client thought about her, desired her; but with Astarion? It was different. Different, because she felt that desire perhaps even stronger than he did. 

Without giving her a chance to fully respond, her moan of satisfaction enough, he placed one of her legs over his shoulder. 

“Shit,” she breathed, an undignified and pathetic sound. 

He didn’t waste any time, his fingers moving to spread her folds as his mouth dove in. 

He started simply, tongue trailing teasingly across her clit. His tongue was soft and slow, finding a pattern that mimicked what he’d done with his fingers the last time they’d met. Talia’s hands seeked out purchase on the door behind her, conscious of his other rule that he hadn’t made her repeat: I don’t want you to touch me. It would be easier if she could. If she could place her hands on him to steady herself, or if she could yank on his hair that looked so silky and soft. 

Her head hit the hard wood with a thunk, and she felt him laugh softly, his tongue beginning to work a bit faster. It was devastating and wonderful; her soft gasps filled the room, as he fucked her with his mouth like he’d done it thousands of time before. 

And then his tongue increased its pace, flicking her bud just right. It was as if her pelvis lost control as her hips jerked forward, causing his tongue to flatten against her sex. It was a new feeling, an exhilarating one, one that made her curse and cry out louder than she had since she’d seen him last. 

He pulled away for just a second, looking up at her as he held onto her hips. 

“Enjoying yourself, aren’t you dear?” He cooed, and she shivered at the confident demeanour he exuded. He was so devastatingly handsome, a smirk falling across his features. 

He didn’t need her to answer; didn’t need her to confirm what he already knew, but she did anyway. “I always do with you.” 

He let out a groan of satisfaction, and when he dove in again, his tongue swiped along her entrance. She felt him enter her, swirling around gently, hitting a soft ridge along her upper walls that made her keen. 

“Fuck, Astarion,” she gasped, and he moaned at the sound of his own name falling from her lips.

It was taking all her effort to hold herself upright as his tongue worked her smoothly, swirling around her entrance just once more before returning to her clit. He sucked it gently, almost too soft for her liking. Her whole body was coiling; a white, blinding heat forming in her core, only amplified by the careful ministrations of his mouth. 

It was as his fingers came to her entrance, sliding two in without any resistance, that she acknowledged how close she was. 

“That feels amazing,” she breathed, taking a moment to look down at him. All she could see was silver-white curls buried between her legs, and the possessive way his one hand clutched her hips. He was groaning softly too, as if her taste was all the pleasure he needed from her tonight. The way he sucked and licked her, never letting up as she began to shake and sweat, reminded her of worship. This powerful man, down on his knees for her, reminding her with every stroke of his tongue that he was in charge. 

Her hands clawed into her own sides as she searched for purchase, and she was thankful for the strength of his hand that wasn’t inside of her pinning her hips back. She was beginning to slouch, the effort of keeping herself upright as she moaned and writhed almost too much. 

As his fingers picked up their pace, thrusting to find that incredible spot that clients so rarely found, she keened again at how close she was; how close she was to falling over that inevitable wall, to receiving her second orgasm from his practiced fingers and mouth. 

As he sucked her clit into his mouth once more, she felt the sparks igniting in her core, so achingly unbearably close. 

Her voice came out as a soft hiss as she spoke his name. “Astarion,” she gasped, “you feel so good. Right there, please, don’t you dare stop.” 

She could almost feel his lips quirk at how needy and desperate she was, but she could not care less as she plummeted towards the white hot intensity in her core. 

Everything stopped for a moment as his fingers found the spongy spot inside her right as his tongue flicked in a particularly perfect way, and she dissolved, hips rutting helplessly into his face as her release washed over her. 

It felt like nothing else, even stronger than last time; his hands coming to grip her waist fully as his tongue flattened on her bud, maintaining the pace he had set so perfectly. 

She was helpless, desperate as she came; whimpers escaped her mouth, unintelligible words and curses to accompany the waves as she coated his tongue and fingers further with her slick. Every sensation was increasing tenfold as he didn’t let up, taking every ounce of her pleasure and making it his own. They were both moaning, both feeling the effects of it, and gods, she was glad he was so unexpectedly strong, as her head slumped downwards while he anchored her to the door. 

He kept up his pace, working her through it, until finally, her body went completely still, spent and content. The aftershocks of the orgasm were carrying on through her body as he gently placed her foot back on the ground, and the pulsing in her cunt was still intense as her breathing evened. 

“Are you steady, sweetheart? You won’t collapse if I stand up right now?” His voice was satisfied and cocky; she had no doubt he was so confident, so pleased by the shattering climax he’d given her. 

“I think I’m safe,” she murmured, a soft laugh escaping her as her eyes landed on him. 

His chin was completely coated in her slick, and her eyes widened at the sight. It’s not like getting wet was a problem for her, but to see it so prominent on his beautiful, elegant features was… breathtaking. If she weren’t a prostitute, maybe she would shy away or feel embarrassed by just how wet one man could get her with his mouth. Instead, she quietly reveled at the sight. 

His eyes warmed as they gazed at each other. “You are absolutely delicious, darling.” 

Her voice was a low purr as she responded. “I am so very glad you enjoyed yourself.” 

Her eyes trailed down his body once more, and there was no mistaking the way his trousers tightened around his cock. She audibly swallowed, and her reaction didn’t escape his notice. 

“Careful, darling,” he murmured teasingly, slightly sarcastic and admonishing. “If you want what we both know you’re thinking about, you’ll have to work harder for it.” 

She chastised herself silently before she looked up, his crimson eyes amused and observant. 

“I would love to work for it ,” she began, wanting so desperately to lean in and press her lips to his, to taste her arousal that still covered his mouth. “I will do anything you ask.” 

It was a bold suggestion - one that had the potential to flip the script, to allow her to get on her knees for him, or to crawl on top of him and take her inside of him and show him just how good she could be. Or maybe he would want her bent over the bed, slamming into her from behind while he told her what a good little whore she was. 

She didn’t realize how much she’d drifted away from their conversation until he spoke again, scolding herself for fantasizing about him. He was supposed to fantasize about her, not the other way around. 

“A delicious thought,” he purred, and her heart thrummed in excitement. “Perhaps one we can explore another night.” 

Disappointment flooded through her. A disappointment she didn’t understand, one left by the realization that he had to leave. She was the one providing a service for him, and she had no right to be desiring more. He could have any number of reasons for not wanting to be touched, and it wasn’t up to her to push him into something he wasn’t comfortable with. 

She hummed in response, snapping herself out of her reverie. “I look forward to it,” she admitted, attempting to sound aloof. 

“As do I. I do need to take my leave, however.” He stepped away from her, instantly leaving a sadness in her core at the absence of his body so close to hers. 

“Of course, my dear.” She brushed past him, finding her clothes which were scattered across the room, sighing as she dressed herself. 

“I would like to come back,” he began after a moment of comfortable silence. “To spend another enticing evening with you.” She was glad she’d faced away from him as she hooked her bra. The large smile that grew on her face was rather embarrassing, given the nature of their relationship. 

“I do have… business that will take me away from the city for some time,” he continued. 

This flashed a spark of interest in her. She knew little of his outside life, besides the small snippets he’d told her, so she couldn’t help but turn around and take him in, reading his features for any hints that could give away what this business was. It really was not her concern, yet he was interesting and intriguing in a way most people weren’t. 

“Oh?” It was a simple noise, a simple invitation for him to tell her more. Talia had learned one thing, through her years working at Sharess’ Caress. Many of her clients were lonely, and were eager to be heard. They wanted someone to listen to what they had to say. Perhaps Astarion wanted to tell her something, or perhaps he had realized she was safe to offer tidbits of information to. Either way, she was invested in what he might tell her.

He did not, in fact, offer any further information, mistaking her interest for a desire to know when she’d see him again. 

“Don’t you worry, darling. I won’t be away long… and when I return, who knows what our next visit will bring?” 

She smiled, smooth and seductive. “Well, I’m sure it will be excellent.” She was almost redressed now, pulling her dress over her breasts. His eyes followed her body, still seemingly hungry despite having just devoured her. “Nights with you always are.” 

He was silent for a moment, and she swore she saw something that resembled longing in his gaze. 

“Try not to think too much about me while you’re with your other clients,” he grinned, reaching for the handle of the door. “Or do. I know I’ll be thinking of you.” 

She didn’t have a chance to respond as he left, one last roguish grin striking his features. His absence left a small ache in her chest; he had said “ some time”, and a greedy part of her wanted to know how long that meant. 

Maybe it was for the best, though. He already had a hold on her no other client had, after just two encounters, and it couldn’t be healthy. 

As she clothed herself fully, taking a moment to brush through her snow-white hair that was in a complete state of disarray, her resolve was set. 

She would enjoy the moments they spent together, but would not long for more. He would only cross her mind when he walked in the door, and she would focus all of her desires on her other clients. 

She smoothed her hair out one last time before leaving the room, strolling with confidence and clarity. He was a client, she was a worker, and no matter how pretty he was, it would not go beyond that.

Notes:

I've been considering writing a chapter from Astarion's POV - if anyone would be interested in that, please let me know! I feel like it would be so interesting to explore his mind, and what he's been getting out of hiring Talia.

thank you so much to everyone reading this, comments and/or kudos are always appreciated <3

Chapter 3: More Than Touch

Summary:

Talia and Astarion spend another evening together.

For the first time, she touches him. It's not enough, but enough to realize she wants more from him than she should.

Life had fallen stagnant. That’s how Talia felt, at least, as she continued to go into work everyday. She flirted and seduced, giggled and played the cute little drow who was so eager to be hired. She was doing what she was best at to make her living. 

Her mind drifted back to Astarion much more frequently than she wanted to acknowledge. Begrudgingly, she’d admitted at least one thing to herself. It wasn’t just because he brought her pleasure. It wasn’t just because he was beautiful, elegant, and a complete anomaly compared to the clients that usually came to her. 

No, he was something else entirely: he was fascinating. His appearance, yes, but also the quiet confidence that he moved with, the knowing look in his eyes as he brought her to ecstasy. He wasn’t coming to see her simply to seek his own satisfaction. He wanted to be there, to do this for her, rather than to her. In it, it did just as much for him. She saw it in the revelry in his eyes in the aftermath of their visits, the way his smile lit up his eyes. 

She sensed something in him. There was something buried beneath the surface, some type of mystery or secret that was aching to be let out. She wanted to know, even though she had no right to. She didn’t have a right to know him, not with the nature of their relationship being what it was, but it didn’t stop the desire. 

She found herself contemplating why he wanted her in the way he did far too often. Why didn’t he want to be touched? Why was her pleasure so important? Why was she the focus of their meetings? 

Those contemplations were followed by more dangerous ones, thoughts born out of desire and longing. 

Did he go home and take his cock out? Did he stroke himself, thinking of how pretty she looked coming apart for him? Did that smooth and self-assured voice of his break as he increased his pace, thinking of the way she whimpered his name as he brought her to her own release? 

What did his face look like when he came undone? What did he taste like? Would he want her to swallow every last drop, or would he want to see his spend on her face, her breasts, her stomach? Would he want to finish inside of her? 

Those fantasies, those thoughts that made her core clench and her heart race, were what confirmed what she already knew: she was crossing an invisible line with him, desiring him the way he was supposed to desire her. 

It had been long enough between their meetings that she wasn’t sure if he was coming back. Yes, he had mentioned work outside the city. Yes, she’d had no idea how long that work would take. 

At the same time? Talia felt confused. He had mentioned he didn’t live in the city, not anymore, so why did he keep coming back? Why did he keep appearing in the city, appearing in front of her? It made her wonder what his life was like. Was he still an adventurer, seeking treasure and thrills? Did he take contracts as a sword for hire? What did he do, in the moments between their nights together? 

There was more to him than she knew, more than he would ever tell her, and it was enough to drive her to the brink of insanity. 

And so the days kept passing. Harmony teased her about the way she supposedly sulked around, which she swore she did not. Talia spent her days with people who didn’t care about her desires, as long as she fulfilled theirs, so was it really so wrong that she was hoping the one client who focused on her would come back? 

It was undoubtedly selfish. It was also undoubtedly what she wanted, a fact she still wrestled with. 

Eventually, though? He did come back. 

She hadn’t been expecting it the day it happened. He appeared not long after she entered the building. Almost as if he knew when her workday started, as if he wanted to get his hands on her before anyone else could. She heard his voice behind her in the drawing room, where she stood chatting away with the others who hadn’t yet found a client for the night. 

“Hello my dear,” he murmured as he approached, causing her to whirl around in a rather undignified manner. His eyes glinted in amusement as he took her in, all enthusiasm and flushed cheeks at seeing him again. 

Her voice came out as a genuine, breathy sound. “Astarion. How lovely to see you again.” She tried to finish the sentence with her signature seductive purr, and the smile he sent her way showed her just how much he could see through the act. 

She heard Caelynn, a wood elf who was probably her closest friend in this place (aside from Harmony, of course), let out a barely audible snort. Hopefully one Astarion would not hear. She was no doubt entertained by Talia’s lack of composure. The others in the brothel often made jokes about how she was so icy and unfeeling, so of course this would be amusing. 

Caelynn and her were decidedly different. Caelynn had favourite clients. Caelynn had ones she was happy to see, who she enjoyed her time with. The ones she looked forward to between meetings. 

The difference though? Caelynn didn’t pass that emotional boundary, the one Talia was plummeting towards. In the past, Talia had scoffed at the idea that she could even have a favourite client. She enjoyed her clients for what they could give her: a safe space to do her work, a sense of satisfaction at a job well done. If anything, she had clients she didn’t like, ones that she’d prefer didn’t come in again. In those situations, she could assert her boundaries; her boss was understanding, she was safe here, and if she really didn't want someone to hire her, she wasn’t obligated to be with them. It was rare that happened, though, because even her least favourites were seeking out something she was happy to provide them. 

Having a favourite? Well, that was a new experience, one Talia hadn’t been expecting to have. 

But this favourite, this enigmatic man who hadn’t left her mind despite her best efforts, now stood in front of her. Again. 

“I couldn’t stay away, darling.” He smiled at her knowingly, a recognition that he was craving her. A fun little flirtation, perhaps as put on as hers was, but one they shared nonetheless. 

It was fun, she’d realized, to have a client like him. Who was just as skilled at seduction and providing pleasure as she was. Who knew how to speak, how to touch, how to bring someone to the edge over and over again. She had no idea why he was so good at this, but she counted her blessings all the same. Another mystery: why could he put her own tactics to shame? 

She could hardly care, though, as he spoke again. “Shall we go upstairs?” 

“I was hoping you would ask,” she drawled, and this time, he reached for her hand. Cold and strong, he led her out of the drawing room and they didn’t speak. 

Their desire remained unspoken until they were in Talia’s room. One she took all her clients to, but one she had begun to associate with him. Even as she was spreading her legs for some other client, her eyes would drift to the door. The door he’d held her against, as he dropped to his knees and made her come with his mouth. Or, she would imagine the first night he touched her. Lying on her back for him, masturbating until he took over, eager to be the source of her pleasure. 

It was insanity. It was ridiculous. It was an inappropriate level of longing that she felt for him, but one she felt all the same. 

As the door closed behind them he spoke, simple and commanding, dominance and control evident in his tone. 

“Take your clothes off, and lay on the bed.”

Any elegant turn of phrase he sometimes used was gone, replaced by the hungry primal desire for what tonight would bring. 

The beauty of it? Talia didn’t know what he wanted tonight. She didn’t know if it was going to be another night of his worship of her body, or if he’d ask for more. If she’d finally see him the way she’d been craving, the way she’d been denying. 

She didn’t need to know. Not right now. All she needed was to undress herself. 

She wasn’t slow this time. Wasn’t performing, wasn’t doing a seductive little dance to entice him into wanting more. 

He knew what he wanted tonight. It was clear in the way his eyes watched every movement on her body, not just observing, but planning. Seeing. Sculpting all the ways he could touch her, observing the parts of her body that he knew would make her come undone. 

“On my back?” she breathed, as the last of her clothes fell to the floor. 

“Yes, sweetheart.” His voice was thick, barely maintaining control as his eyes drifted to the bed. Neither of them were thinking, not anymore. They were acting on the yearning that lived between them, the tension they’d grown accustomed to. 

Her movements were instinctive as she moved to the bed, doing exactly what he asked. His eyes tracked her every movement, wild and intent. 

“Good girl,” he praised, his voice reverent. 

She propped herself up on her elbows, meeting his hungry look with her own desirous gaze. He stayed clothed as usual, but he did something new this time. 

The bed shifted slightly under his weight as he joined her, not beside her, but above her. 

He was crawling on top of her, strong, taut body over hers. He held his weight up with his elbows, not yet relaxing enough that she felt him flush against her, but the proximity was enough to have her heart pick up and her cheeks flush. 

He was so beautiful. So achingly gorgeous, all elegance and charm, exuding the confidence of someone who was going to make her fall apart again and again. 

He stopped when his face was above hers, and gods, if he closed the distance and kissed her, she would’ve melted. 

He looked at her, just looked as if he was seeing all of her, before his lips made their way to her neck. 

Her body felt as if every nerve was lighting up, burning for any touch he would provide her. 

Featherlight, cool and delicate, his lips grazed her neck. She wanted to cant her hips upwards, or to lock her legs around the small of his back and pull him downwards. He had her carefully caged in, knees on either side of her hips, his torso and groin somehow not even touching hers. If she moved just slightly, his sculpted body would be flush against hers. 

Instead, the words he spoke before he touched her for the first time rang in her mind. 

“I don’t want you to touch me.” 

She had to respect his wishes, so she let out a soft sigh, focusing on the light touches he was giving her, taking his time as his lips kissed the expanse of her neck. 

As she let out another needy groan, she felt him pause, smiling into her neck. 

“I know, sweetheart,” he sighed, his breath tickling her. “It’s so hard, isn’t it? Having me so close but not being able to touch me?” 

“Yes,” she whimpered, no pretenses and no games.

His lips began to move, lower and lower, leaving open-mouthed  wet kisses across her collarbone and neck as he descended towards her chest. The moan that left her was as real as it always was with him, as real as he’d requested that first night. He hummed in satisfaction as his lips hovered over her nipple, his breath cool as he spoke. 

“Is this alright, darling?” 

She made the mistake of looking at him then, and she could feel the slick collecting between her thighs as his eyes met hers, scarlet and intense. 

“Please,” she breathed instead, because it wasn’t just alright, it was everything she needed. 

He smirked at her for just a moment, before descending his lips to her breast. A strangled noise left her at the feeling of his mouth. Wet and cool, a combination she didn’t have time to contemplate, he sucked the peak into his mouth gently at first. His tongue flicked as her hands found the sheets of the bed. She wished she could grab his shoulders, tangle her fingers through his hair, or touch him in any way. Instead, she risked tearing through the silk as his mouth  continued to work on her breast, unusually sharp teeth gently nipping at her. 

His weight shifted slightly then as he leaned more of his weight on one arm so he could bring a hand to her other breast, massaging gently as his thumb flicked across her nipple. She’d always enjoyed nipple play and having her breasts touched, but the way he did, so practiced and knowing, was igniting a flame in her that she expressed with increasingly loud moans. 

It was maddening as he shifted again, switching so his mouth and hand alternated, shifting the attention so each breast received equal treatment. 

He pulled away for a moment, and looked up at her, smirking as he took in her wrecked state. 

“I wonder,” he murmured, gently squeezing one of her nipples with practiced fingers, “if I could make you come, just like this.” 

He didn’t wait for her to answer as his mouth descended again, and all she could do was moan in response. Honestly, she probably could if he kept working the way he was right now. It would take time, yes, but the way her cunt began to throb with every practised movement indicated that it was possible. 

The main issue? She may lose her mind first. It was so good, the way his eyes would flick up occasionally, staring at her as he sucked on her. She tried to stay still, careful not to return his touches, but her hips were moving of their own accord. She squeezed her thighs, desperate for any friction, and all the while, Astarion lazily licked and sucked her breasts, alternating between them while his free hand would play with the one his mouth wasn’t focusing on. 

When her hips ground upwards the next time, she unintentionally made contact with his groin, and the cry that fell from her lips was undignified, unexpected, and completely feral. He was hard , completely erect and wanting as she was. She had been trying so hard not to touch him, not to break that rule that she’d taken as sacred. But she’d lost the run of herself, and as her core met his cock for the first time, she was writhing underneath him. 

He stilled above her and she forced her hips firm against the bed, reminding herself of her role as anxiety bubbled in her chest. His lips released her nipple with a pop, pushing himself slightly up as his hands both firmly pressed into the bed next to her head. 

She met his eyes. His expression was unreadable. 

“I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to-” she began, feeling many things. For one? Embarrassment. She wasn’t supposed to lose control like that, even if it had been very minor. For two? He had made his boundary clear. And although she didn’t overtly, intentionally grab onto him, it was enough that shame peaked in her stomach. 

He was silent for a moment, inscrutable as she trailed off. But then his gaze softened, no malice or discomfort present. “It’s alright. I do know how needy you get, darling. I can hardly blame you.” 

“Yes, well, you outlined your boundaries. This experience is supposed to be about you. ”

He smiled then, almost looking as if her words were funny. 

“It is, isn’t it?”  As he spoke, he rolled off of her and sat up, back leaning against the head board. She missed the feeling of his body so close to her immediately, reluctantly pushing herself up to join him.  “What happened… I suppose I can forgive you,” he murmured, looking at her. “And I do want to make you fall apart…” he hummed thoughtfully, as if he was considering all the ways he could do so. Hells, he probably was, and it was maddening. Despite her worry about crossing a boundary, she was still uncomfortably aroused, her wetness coating her thighs and that dull ache still there. 

She let him sit in silence for a moment, not wanting to make anything worse by forcing a conversation. “Let’s try something… different,” he said finally. “You’re clearly desperate for something to be touching that cunt of yours. So take a seat.” 

The way she gawked as he patted his thigh was rather embarrassing for someone of her vocation. 

“You… want me to sit in your lap?” 

“Not quite. I would like you to ride my thigh, if you’d so desire.” 

His tone was confident and amused. Definitely amused, at the way her eyes darkened and the flush that was covering her whole body intensified. It was pathetic how eager she was as she climbed on top of him, positioning her core over his clothed upper leg. She sat awkwardly for a moment, unsure of what to do with her hands. He gave her a knowing smile, taking her arms and placing them on his shoulders. 

She took a deep breath as she looked at him. He continued to surprise her with every meeting, with every request. What he asked for was always relatively tame, and maybe that’s why it was weird. He wanted her to do things she’d done thousands of times before, yet he made it so good whenever he showed up. She actually didn’t know if she’d ever rode someone’s thigh before, because usually they wanted her on their cocks, loud and dramatic as they would hold her still and thrust up into her. Astarion? He didn’t want that. He wanted her to work for it, to make her put in the effort this time. 

It was a change. A change in the dynamic, one that she didn’t mind. And she was touching him now, finally touching him, even though he was clothed and still ensuring she was the focus of the event. 

She couldn’t believe how arousing it was. She had never come from this before, but with the way he looked at her and how she still throbbed from his mouth on her breasts, she suspected she’d be able to. 

“Go on, darling.” he said, voice reassuring as he sensed her hesitation. “We both want it.” 

As she focused on him once more she saw the need in his eyes. He wanted this as much as she did. 

She bit her lip and nodded, sinking herself down. She hissed at the contact, feeling the cloth of his trousers make contact with her clit. It wasn’t the motion, necessarily, that made this so arousing. It was the whole experience of being on top of him, of looking down and seeing his face, of feeling his body underneath hers. He kept his breath even as she began to move, grinding her core against him, letting out a soft breath as she did. 

His hands came to her hips and with a mischievous glint in his eyes, he helped her shift her weight to a spot where he could flex just right, and the movement  made her cry out. Oh. She would have no problem getting off from this at all. 

She felt desperate as she began to grind herself onto him, for once thinking less about what her client was seeing and more about herself. His hands on her waist guided her along, a silent encouragement to keep chasing her release. 

She almost felt bad for the fabric underneath her as her movements intensified, and she couldn’t help but giggle at this situation. She was practiced at being on top of men and giving them what they wanted, but this was new. Having this gorgeous man, so eager to help her along while his eyes followed every movement of her body, was intoxicating. 

As she increased her pace, she took a moment to revel in the experience. She was finally touching him, albeit just his shoulders. They were in a strange kind of embrace as he held her upright, and it was more than she’d ever gotten from him, but still not enough. It wasn’t just the contact of her cunt on him that caused white hot heat to build in her core; no, it was the proximity of his body, the knowledge that in this moment, he was hers. 

It was a surprising thought; the want to possess someone, much less a client. But she could think about it later, because presently, he was leaning forward to kiss her neck. 

His lips, so soft and cold, caused her to whimper loudly. He felt so good with his face buried in her neck, so right. 

Her fingernails dug into his shoulder as his tongue trailed over her collarbone, and she felt the vibration of his groan reverberate through her. 

She wasn’t blind to what an aroused man looked like, or felt like. She adjusted herself just slightly, cursing as she felt his erection poke at her outer thigh. It was so maddening, knowing that in some sense, he wanted to be inside of her right now. She sighed in frustration as she pictured it. The way she could take him in deep, not needing to grind on him but able to bounce on him instead. It would be so good, so amazing for both of them. 

Instead, the barrier of his pants stood between them, and her frustration grew. She was aching, so wanton and needy, wanting all of him so bad as she cried out his name. A slight tremor went through her legs and he kissed her neck again.

“Good girl,” he cooed, drawing circles into the top of her thighs as she rode him. “I know it’s hard, darling.” He pulled his face out of her neck and gently grabbed her by the chin, forcing her to look in his eyes. 

“You will come for me, though, won’t you?” His gaze was arresting, words deep. It wasn’t so much a question as it was a demand, and she nodded helplessly. 

“You’ve been so patient, darling,” he murmured, eyes wicked and gleaming. “It must be so frustrating. Knowing how hard I am for you, that you could be taking me inside of you instead of riding my thigh?” 

“Yes,” she said through gritted teeth, thighs aching. “Very fucking hard, Astarion.” 

“Oh, my dear,” he smirked, “the feeling is quite mutual.” 

Before she could think through her response, the words fell from her mouth. “What a shame you won’t let me do anything, then.” 

His pupils dilated, almost threatening to over take any of the crimson. She  moved her hips once more, moaning loudly at the friction, but was quickly stopped as his hands on her waist stilled her completely. 

“Give me your hand.” The commanding tone had her obeying without questioning as she removed one from his shoulder, resting it uncertainly over one of his. 

His movements were methodical as he laced his fingers through hers. The anticipation was thick as she looked at him, pupils blown wide and teeth sunk into her lower lip. He finally moved her hand, slowly and carefully, until it rested over his clothed erection. 

“Do you see how difficult it is,” he hissed, a groan falling from his lips as she gently squeezed him, “for me too?” 

His gaze was unreadable as she paused, unsure of what to do next. She had seen how hard he got after their encounters, but to be feeling it, feeling him? It was a new type of intimacy, a new feeling of longing to make him feel even a fraction of the bliss he so readily showed her. 

“Do you know how torturous it is, not being able to give you what you want, what you really want?” he thrusted his hips upwards as he spoke, acknowledging that she desired more than barriers and a man to focus only on her: she wanted to return it, and as she ran her hand over his length, he groaned softly. 

“Then why don’t you?” she breathed, carefully trailing her fingers up and down, feeling his cock twitch underneath her touch. 

He looked at her, eyebrows furrowed as if he was deeply contemplating his next words. 

“Because,” he murmured, any frustration replaced with confidence. “I would much rather leave you wanting, desperate for me to come back.” 

Before she had a chance to respond, he was lifting her hips, moving with an almost supernatural speed as he switched their positions. She felt weightless as he readjusted them, lying on her back as he crawled between her legs. 

No distance was left between them now as he pressed his body flush against hers, his erection meeting her bare core and his fingers lacing into her hands  to hold her arms above her head. 

He buried his face into her neck, and without speaking, began to move. 

Talia had known that he’d know what he was doing when it came to this. He was skilled with his fingers, his mouth, so it only made sense he’d be skilled with his cock too. 

What she didn’t expect was that he could be so skilled with it as he was fully clothed. 

As he rolled his hips into hers, she spread her legs to accommodate the deliberate stroke of his clothed cock against her clit. She quickly entered the state of bliss she’d become accustomed to during their meetings. 

Every movement was practiced and careful, dragging his cock along her core, as she felt his breath on her neck. 

She wasn’t immune to any of it as she began to whimper, her legs wrapping around the small of his back. His chest pressed into hers, his torso completely flush with hers; the only barrier between them was his clothing, yet even that barrier wasn’t enough to keep her from rolling her eyes back and grinding upwards as his cock met her clit just right. 

“Do you see what you do to me?” he hissed into her neck, increasing his pace. “Wanting to see you fall apart so badly that I’ll break my own rules.” His grip tightened on her hands and her nails dug into the flesh of his fingers, desperate for any type of purchase. 

She could only whimper in response, her legs trapping him in as he continued to grind into her. It wasn’t enough and could be so much more, but it was pleasure all the same as he cursed into her neck. 

“You love this, don’t you?” he snarled, directly in her ear. Another deliberate stroke made her whimper, so needy underneath him. “You love that I keep coming back? That no matter how many days I spend away from this wretched city, a city I’d prefer to never see again,” his words were harsh and accompanied a sharp jut of his hips. The moan that left her was completely feral. Something about his voice, so wanting and close to losing control… it was a devastating sound, and despite all the barriers between them, she was unbearably close. “I still find my way back, turning my coin purse out just to touch you?” 

“Yes,” she gasped, voice raw and wrecked as his hips continued to move, breath cool in her ear. 

He groaned as if her words were salvation, her body a prayer. “That’s not enough, darling. Say it all.” 

They were moving in tandem now - bodies pressed together, his groin area soaked with her slick. Neither of them cared as familiar electricity moved between them, her cunt throbbing with need. 

“I… I love it. Every time you leave, I wonder when you’ll be back. If you’ll be back. It’s torture not knowing.” Her words were a sacred confession, a secret she hadn’t wanted to say out loud. But the intimacy of the moment, of being underneath him, of being his, was enough for the admission to fall out all the same. 

He let out a strangled groan with one particularly hard drag of his cock. Satisfied with her response, he released her hands and propped himself up so his eyes met hers. His pupils were blown, his expression of lust undeniable. 

“I’m going to put my mouth on your cunt, and I want you to come on my tongue. Can you do that, sweet girl?” Every word was intoxicating as he looked at her, and she nodded wordlessly. 

As she unlocked her legs from around him, he didn’t tease. He didn’t kiss down her body and take his time. No; he placed his hands between her thighs, spreading her wide so he could take in her core. 

“Look at you,” he breathed, an awestruck edge in his voice. She could feel his breath on her, and her hips bucked helplessly. 

“So wet and wanting,” he murmured, the anticipation killing her as he moved closer. “This won’t take long at all, will it?” 

It was more of a statement than a question as two digits spread her folds. They both knew how close she was. They could both feel the tension in her body, the need to come after a night of having touched  and been touched, but just not enough. Even the feeling of his fingers on her folds was enough for the white hot pleasure to begin its ascent, despite the lack of attention on her clit and her walls, the areas she needed him most. 

He didn’t waste time, his tongue diving into her entrance as he tasted everything he’d done to her. He groaned, as intoxicated on the taste of her as she was on the feeling of his mouth. 

He replaced his tongue with two fingers, hooking them just right as he stroked along her walls, as he found her clit with his mouth. 

The pent up tension of the entire night finally reached its peak, and she came suddenly and hard. She almost had a sense of being embarrassed at how quickly this was happening considering he had just started truly touching her. Yet all of the anticipation, of careful clothed strokes and a barrier that was too much gave way as he sucked her clit into his mouth. Her entire body was a taut rope that snapped, trembling and releasing the build up of every word he spoke, every caress, and almost a month of his absence. 

He didn’t relent as she came, flicking his tongue and fucking into her with his fingers as she jerked and moaned, loud needy sounds. 

It was as her body stilled completely that he stopped, and she whimpered at the loss of her fingers and mouth. 

Completely overstimulated, she exhaled deep as he left the space between her legs, laying on his back next to her. 

“Well,” he sighed, voice smooth yet careful, “that was… enlightening.” He was no doubt referring to the words they’d shared. They’d hit Talia right in the gut. 

How much did he mean? How much did she mean? He’d stayed clothed, and she’d stayed honest. But an invisible barrier had been broken, as he’d let her touch him for the first time. 

“Yeah,” she agreed finally, “enlightening.” 

There was a pause; a loud silence, many words unspoken. 

She felt his weight shift next to her and she looked over, watching as he fixed his collar after sitting up. 

Before she could react he was moving, approaching the door. 

“Wait!” 

He turned to look at her, no doubt caught off guard by the urgency in her voice. 

She left the bed and stood next to him, looking at him for just a moment before beginning to murmur an incantation. 

His brow burrowed in confusion and as the magic washed away any evidence of the past hour, she couldn’t help but smile. 

“Prestidigiation,” she explained, grinning at him. 

“You… know magic?” He looked bemused and mildly surprised. 

“Just that. It’s mainly for myself, honestly, but I can’t help but feel slightly responsible for the mess you’re in.” She glanced downwards with a smirk playing on her features. 

“Aren’t you just full of surprises?” he said, a soft smile playing on his lips. He looked her in the eye for just a moment before speaking again. “I’ll try to come back sooner next time.” It was a promise that made Talia’s gut twist. 

She exhaled the breath she didn’t realize she’d been holding in as he left without another word. 

I’ll try to come back sooner next time. 

That phrase reverberated through her skull even as the room fell silent, and she was certain of one intoxicating fact: 

Astarion was as addicted to her as she was to him. A dangerous dilemma, one that threatened to consume her. 

But gods, she was starting to crave that danger, staring at the door and fantasizing about what he would do the next time she led him through it.

Notes:

Next chapter we dive into Astarion's mind for the first time.

thanks again to anyone who is reading, the comments and kudos are greatly appreciated :)

Chapter 4: In His Mind

Summary:

Another visit with Talia pushes Astarion to pursue his own pleasure.

He realizes the emotions that come along with their relationship are more than he bargained for.

Notes:

surprise quick update! I had some free time yesterday and this morning and just wanted to write, so here we are :) I'm excited to share Astarion's perspective with all of you <3

Of all the things Astarion could’ve imagined he would be doing with his freedom, frequenting a brothel wasn’t one of them. 

Half a century of freedom, of true freedom, had brought many surprises, but willingly going to a brothel at least twice a month was not a twist he was expecting. 

It had started out innocently enough.

Tav, his closest friend (a lovely woman who he frankly did not see often enough) had been eager to go into Sharess’ Caress as they visited the city.

Tav had her own life and her own obligations, but every once in a while, they would visit each other and it would be like no time had passed at all.

Tav was the reason he was back in the city; she had wanted to visit, to relive the old days , and she was the one person he had trouble saying no to. He could, of course—he just never wanted to.

So in they had gone, accompanied by her partner Halsin, someone Astarion had to admit had become a close friend of his. 

Of course Halsin and Tav had disappeared with the drow twins when they’d realized they still worked there. Of course.

He wasn’t angry about it, really. It gave him some time to decompress at the bar. Not much had changed about the place—nothing ever really did in Baldur’s Gate, even if they were technically on the outskirts. They were close enough that he could taste home, and he hadn’t loved it. 

He’d almost done a double take when Talia sat down next to him. Apparently, Sharess Caress’ attracted drow, because they’d managed to hire another one. 

He’d waited for her to speak to him, to proposition him in an attempt to get his coin. Except… she hadn’t. 

Even worse? She was attractive. Devastatingly so. And she didn’t beg, didn’t flirt unnecessarily: no, she had the air of a woman who knew what she could offer, and wasn’t going to go out of her way to get what she knew she would anyways. 

So when a man approached her who very clearly made her uncomfortable, he’d acted before thinking. And of course she’d turned on the charm after he’d hired her, but had just as easily turned it off when he told her he wasn’t interested. 

That first night, the one where they’d simply talked, had ignited a curiosity in him that his coin purse had begged him to ignore. 

If it weren’t for Tav, he may have ignored it fully. But he’d spoken to her after they’d left, sharing the details of the mundane night he’d spent with Talia. His mind flashed back to the conversation they’d had. 

“Shes gorgeous though, right? And you could explore intimacy on your own terms. I know you’ve been wanting to.” 

And Tav had been right, as she often was. What Talia had shared… the things she did, what she liked, well… it lined up rather perfectly with what he’d been craving. 

So when he’d wandered back into the brothel, his own limits had been clear. It was a risk, but a calculated one. If he didn’t enjoy himself, he would just leave and never come back. 

Part of him wished he hadn’t enjoyed himself as much as he did. 

Because now? Now he thought about her in between visits. He wondered what her work days were like when he wasn’t there. He wondered if she meant what she’d said, that she often wondered when he’d come back. 

From years of seduction, he could easily recognize what true pleasure looked like. Every time he touched Talia, he saw it. He could hear the way her heart rate picked up, smell the way her blood ran hot. The way she came was quite frankly impossible to fake—even as a professional, she couldn’t possibly be forcing herself to be so wet, so shaky, so eager. Her attraction to him was genuine, and it made everything so much harder. 

So even though some part of him loathed spending more time near the city than necessary, he still found himself wandering back to the brothel each time a contract brought him near her. 

It was easy with her, so easy to pretend.

She knew his name, and little else. She didn’t push him. She only touched him if he made it clear she was allowed to. She didn’t know he was a vampire—didn’t know he was one of the heroes of Baldur’s Gate, a title he still despised. He didn’t have to explain why he didn’t want her to touch him, or why he wanted to make her come, again and again.

She simply did what he asked, and even though it was transactional, it was a transaction they both thoroughly enjoyed. 

That’s what he continued to tell himself, at least, as he approached the brothel once again. It had been only a tenday since his last visit. He was lucky he got paid handsomely for the contracts he completed, because hells, Talia was expensive. The last visit had been… complicated. He’d been so close to letting her in. To letting her undress him, and touch him the way he’d grown accustomed to touching her. He knew she wanted it—not only had she said so, but the way her eyes darkened when she’d touched his cock told him everything he needed to know. 

And maybe that was why he didn’t feel gross and immoral about seeing her. She enjoyed this work. She wanted to be with him those nights as badly as he did. It was confusing, conflicting, and made his head hurt if he thought about it for too long. 

So he decided not to, as he pushed the door open.

He knew she must've had other clients—plenty of men who helplessly wandered through these doors, seeking the mysterious Drow who was so eager to please.

But every time he wandered in, she was unoccupied. He seemed to go in near the beginning of her shifts, and maybe it wasn’t completely an accident. Perhaps he had made note of the best time to go see her to ensure he’d get what he came for. Not that he would admit it, of course.

And really, it was a stupid thing to not admit. She knew why he kept coming back. So did he. It was just simpler to pretend they didn’t. 

He’d been trying not to reflect on it too much. In all honesty, it was slightly ridiculous that he was on the paying end of a brothel. He knew he could find someone in a second if he wanted.

But they wouldn’t be her. 

And that very fact was why he was now approaching her, biting back a smile as she came into view. 

She sat at the bar like she often did. She seemed to be friends with the tiefling who served the drinks. He wondered idly if the two of them ever took time off, or if he was just getting lucky. It’s not like he’d memorized what days she worked.

Thankfully, he wasn’t that far gone… yet. 

Her hair fell down just below her shoulders in soft waves, hair that he knew felt like silk and was the colour of freshly fallen snow. He had always been fascinated by the colour of her skin— lighter than most of her kind, a pale blue colour that reminded him of the sky. Her features were rounder and softer than most drow he’d encountered, with gentle curves that invited him in over and over again. She was full, lush, and he could almost imagine digging his nails into the flesh of her waist as he sheathed himself inside of her, over and over again. 

As she glanced over her shoulder, eyes unfocused until they met his, a smile played on her lips. Gods, what would it be like to kiss her?

He was obsessed with her mouth—always painted red, full lips that parted so beautifully with every cry he coaxed out of her. And then there were her eyes—a light lilac colour, a shade of purple he’d never seen before. They were always so full of light, and it made him ache for her. 

Moving towards her was instinctive, her magnetic pull guiding him as he tried to look somewhat composed. In reality, he was already beginning to fall apart as he pictured all the ways he could take her. 

He didn’t know what tonight would bring.

He’d considered going further, a thought that played over and over again across this last tenday. He wasn’t ready for the questions that the scars on his back may bring, so he certainly wouldn’t be baring himself fully.

Talia still looked at him as normal—as unbroken—and he liked that. He wasn’t ready for her to see the scars. She probably wouldn’t even ask questions, being too professional and polite, but she would still know.

That wasn’t something he wanted, not right yet. 

Still, leaving his shirt on wouldn’t stop him from unlacing his trousers and letting her take what she wanted.

A delicious thought, and as he approached her, he could almost taste it. It may not happen tonight, but if they kept moving forward the way they had been, he was sure it would happen. Eventually. It was delicious the way their encounters moved forward.

The anticipation ruined them both.

Every meeting brought something new.

The first night? Talking. The second? Bringing her to release with his fingers. The third? His mouth. The fourth? Well, that had possibly been the best of all, because she had touched him. Through his clothes, but he’d felt her touch no less. 

It was maddening, and was the reason he was certain that before long, he’d be ready to take it further. But making her wait, leaving her wondering if he’d ever let her touch him fully… it was torture for them both, but it had become his favourite kind. 

And that’s what he loved, wasn’t it? The hold he had on this woman, so appealing and hard to crack, who he could break beautifully anyway? A woman who saw man after man, yet waited for him to come back? 

It was a strange kind of power: an intoxicating one, and the very look of her seated at the bar as he stalked towards her was enough to stir something primal in him. 

Her eyes were focused on him, trained on his every move. That same desire was radiating off of her. 

He didn’t need to speak as he finally closed the distance, instead just offering his hand. She took it and stood, no words spoken as he led her away. 

That silence persisted. They didn’t need to talk; not right now. The electricity flowing between them was all the communication necessary as she opened the door to his favourite room. 

She shut the door gently behind them and before she could turn back around he was on her, lips pressing into her neck as his arms circled her waist. 

She let out a gasp as he pressed her groin into her ass, giving a teasing grind as he sucked her flesh into his mouth. 

“Someone’s eager,” she giggled, and he could feel her heart pick up under his mouth.

Gods, it was agony. He wanted to bite her so badly—to taste her blood, to let it flow into his mouth as she laid underneath him. To feel her writhing from being taken by him in the most animalistic way he could take her.

For now, he settled for kissing and sucking over her pulse point, dragging his tongue along as his fangs threatened to graze her. 

He pulled back and licked along the shell of her ear. “Can you blame me?” he purred, and she groaned, her hips jutting backwards into him. 

He released her momentarily, grabbing her hand and leading her to the bed. He didn’t instruct her to undress, didn’t take his time building up anticipation. He felt starved, and he was moving with a need that he didn’t want to contemplate, not when she was in front of him, eyes widened and lips parted. 

“Lie down.” His voice was strained, an edge in it that he almost didn’t recognize. She obeyed wordlessly, propping herself on her elbows to watch as he sauntered towards her. 

When he reached her, he used a knee to spread her legs, pushing her gently by the shoulders so she was lying flat. His hands bunched up the skirt of her dress, lifting it until he could see her core, covered by thin black lace panties. 

He sat on his knees above her, eyes trained on her centre as he brought one finger to her clothed clit, barely applying pressure. 

She inhaled sharply and her hips bucked, chasing more. 

He spoke tauntingly, an almost condescending edge in his voice. “Who’s eager now?” 

She lifted her head again, eyes trailing to where he was already half hard. 

“Ironic, coming from someone who can’t even pretend they’re unaffected.” Her smile was wicked, purple eyes mischievous. 

It was enough that he felt himself grow harder, his cock twitching in his too-tight trousers. 

“You, my dear, are feeling quite bratty today, aren’t you?” He tried to keep his tone even and dominant, an attempt to remind her who was in charge. Hells, maybe he was just trying to remind himself , because the way she was looking at him made him want to abandon any arbitrary rule he’d made for these nights. 

He expected her to give some sensual response, to entice him further. To continue the game they’d begun, one he would surely win. 

Instead, her expression softened. “Is that okay? I do enjoy this dynamic, but I’ll only do it if it's what you want, too. I don’t want to push anything that you’re not comfortable with.” 

Gods. How did he end up hiring a prostitute who was so concerned with boundaries? Who treated his body with respect, when she probably spent nights being disrespected by others? Any time she did something new, she checked in on him. She asked, and she listened. It was an intimacy he hadn’t been expecting with her, and one he didn’t quite know what to do with. 

Her eyes were wide and searching as they bored into his, and he exhaled before answering. 

“Yes. It’s okay.”

Relief flooded on her features the second he spoke. “How about this?” he continued, and she didn’t look away from him, as if every word that fell from his lips was fascinating and sacred. “ If you ever do anything I’m uncomfortable with, I’ll tell you. I appreciate you asking, but you don’t need to every time. I quite like the things you do, darling.” She grinned at him, and if he had a beating heart, it would probably flutter. “The same goes for you though, alright? If I ever do anything you’re not comfortable with, I want you to tell me.” 

“Okay,” she responded readily, looking adorably eager. “I’ll tell you. I promise.” 

“Excellent,” he responded, his eyes trailing back down to her cunt. Despite having a rather in depth conversation, they were still positioned the same. 

And if she wanted to make light of how aroused she made him? Well, she would pay for that, as he showed her exactly what she wasn’t getting. Not yet, anyway. 

He was moving again, any desire for conversation fading as he stared at her barely covered core. They’d done so little, yet he could see her slick threatening to seep through the sheer fabric. It made him hungrier, more primal, and as he positioned himself on top of her, his erection slotted against her panties, right over her folds. He hissed at how warm she was, how pliant and ready she felt underneath him. 

Her hands, whether on instinct or desire, moved to his shoulders then, likely seeking purchase. 

“Ah ah,” he tutted, using one of his hands to gather her wrists, “remember my rule.” 

She sighed in frustration as he pinned her hands above her head but nodded anyway. "No touching," she agreed. 

“Although…” he gave a soft roll of his hips, and her eyes flew open, meeting his. “Perhaps we could revise it, just a bit…” 

"Please,” she groaned, deliciously needy as her wide gaze pleaded with his. 

He dragged his bulge gently against her once more, and she whimpered. “How about this, my sweet? You can touch me, but only if I ask.” 

“That sounds…” she trailed off as he continued to tease her with practiced rolls of her hips, smirking as he felt her arousal growing. 

He said his next words as innocently as possible, as if he didn’t know why she’d quit speaking. “Lost your train of thought? It’s a shame, really. I was so looking forward to your answer.” 

“You already know I’ll say yes.” 

“Yes, Talia, but I want to hear you say it. ” 

He forced himself off of her. He didn’t really want to leave the warmth of her curves, but his desire to see her face as she murmured her assent was stronger than anything else. 

Lilac eyes meeting his, she bit her lip. It was a dangerous move. His eyes followed her teeth, and gods, he had never wanted to kiss someone the way he desired kissing her. She would welcome it, and would undoubtedly whimper into his mouth, as responsive to a kiss as she was to every other way he had touched her.

But despite the intimacy of his mouth mapping her breasts and cunt, kissing was still a step too far. It was an intimacy he wanted, but one he wasn’t sure that he was ready for. 

“I can touch you, but only when you ask.” Her voice snapped him out of his reverie as her teeth released her lower lip, and his eyes flew back to hers. 

“Good girl.” Back on his knees above her, his fingers met her clothed centre once more. The soft sigh she released encouraged him, and he slid the fabric to the side, a finger stroking her bare clit. 

The effect was immediate as she cried out, her hips rolling upwards. A smirk formed on his features as he watched her, brow furrowed and eyes closed with a beautiful flush forming on her cheeks. 

He drew practiced circles—the exact pattern he’d learned that she loved. She was wet—gods, he could feel how wet she was without even putting a finger inside of her entrance, the slick having collected just from him grinding his clothed clock into her. 

He knew she needed more, and all he could think was so did he. Even if she wasn’t touching him, this is why he came here, night after night. The way her body writhed, her heart thumped, and her hands clutched the sheets as she tried desperately to stay still. She always failed, inevitably arching her back and gyrating her hips, seeking out more.

More of him, of this. 

He was glad her underwear covered barely anything and were so easy to move, because it made sliding a digit into her so much easier. 

“Astarion,” she whimpered, and gods, he couldn’t be harder as he heard the reverent way she cried out his name. 

His finger moved slowly, teasingly, tracing her walls until he made contact with the spot she loved so much. 

“Can you take another one?” he murmured, knowing what the answer would be. 

“Please. ” She sounded so pretty when she said that word, as if her mouth was meant to beg him for any pleasure he could give her.  

He grinned, eyes focused on the glorious sight of where he was now pumping two fingers in and out of her, in a rhythmic motion that always brought her ecstasy. He was ignoring his own growing arousal, his cock throbbing in his trousers in time with the throb of her core around his fingers. 

He could see how wet she was, juices glistening as he continued his strokes. She was unraveling slowly, and he glanced at her face again to see her silken hair a complete mess against the covers, her hands twisted in the red sheets. 

“One more, darling?” he whispered, eager to see just how far he could push her. 

The moan she let out was beautiful and unbidden. “Okay,” she agreed shakily, and he could see how hard she was working to not fall apart completely.

It was adorable, really; this experienced woman, spending her nights having sex for money, still breaking so easily with just his fingers. 

And gods, she was so fucking tight as a third finger slid in. The stretch in his pants was almost unbearable as she cried out again, because all he could think about was how gratifying it would be to feel her wet heat pulsing around his cock. 

He continued like that for a bit, eyes hazy as he looked at her face. Her features were so smooth and light, inviting him in over and over again. She looked like the angel he hadn’t known he needed as he repeated the motions that were beginning to make her thighs shake and her breathing increase, and every moan that left her lips sounded like the gods themselves had sent her here to find him. 

Because he loved to tease her, to rile her up with every taunting word, he spoke again. “It would be so lovely, wouldn’t it?” His thumb found her clit and he felt her clench. 

“What would be?” she breathed, her eyes unfocused as they fluttered open to meet his. 

“If I was inside of you,” he flicked his thumb again, settling into a pace that matched the digits inside of her, “if I gave you all of me, instead of just fucking you with my fingers?” 

She was so easy to goad, and he revelled in the way that every word was another push towards her quickly approaching climax. Because as he spoke, he saw that familiar tension, and recognized every jut of her hips and shallow breath. Her heart was thrumming deliciously. She was close, so ridiculously close, and he mindlessly brought his other hand to palm at his too-hard cock still contained by his pants. 

“You’re evil,” she moaned, acknowledging that she very much wanted it, and very much knew she wouldn’t get it. 

“Oh, you wound me. Would someone who's evil be making you feel what I do?” 

She didn’t answer, couldn’t answer, because she was throbbing around his fingers, so close to that edge. 

“Be a good girl, Talia. I want to feel you come for me.”

His voice was low and slightly ragged, because as much as he’d been focusing on her, his own arousal was becoming increasingly difficult to ignore.

His hips rutted slightly as he watched her, and it was too much as she began to fall apart.

She was shaking and sweating as he worked her through it, her brow furrowed in concentration then relief, her lips parted perfectly as a mixture of curses and his name escaped her. He didn’t relent, still maintaining the rhythm that got her there, revelling in the way her arousal was coating his fingers. As he watched her, he thoughtlessly continued palming himself, wishing he was braver and could just let her touch him fully. 

As her body went from shakes to slight jerks before stilling entirely, he removed his hand, listening to her soft whimper at the loss of him. She was immobile for a moment, before she hazily opened her eyes, peering not at him, but between his legs where he had still unconsciously been rubbing. 

He stilled his hand, ignoring the mild embarrassment he felt at being caught. He wasn’t doing anything wrong, but he liked to at least pretend to be in control. 

“You know,” she began after a moment, her breath evening as she pushed herself up so she was sitting. “You have your rule about me not touching you… but you never clarified if you’re allowed to touch yourself.” She feigned innocence as she looked at him. They both knew what she was suggesting, and he was silent for a moment. 

Naturally, his dick throbbed at her words, reminding him of how much he was denying himself by always touching and never letting himself be touched. And sure, he had brought himself to completion more than once thinking about these moments with Talia.

But he certainly hadn’t done it in front of her, and she’d never seen his cock at all. 

Yet the way she looked at him—eyes wide and smile mischievous—made him forget himself completely. 

“And what would you do while I touched myself, my dear?” His voice was strained and he could see the way her eyes lit up. 

“Whatever you want. I could close my eyes and turn the other way,” she offered, shrugging her shoulders and grinning at him. 

He rolled his eyes at her, his voice jokingly flat as he replied. “Yes. I am paying you to pretend I’m not here while I masturbate.” 

“Hmm.. I could watch you?” she bit at her lip as she suggested it. “Or… I could touch myself too? We could do it together?” 

We could do it together.

He groaned in spite of himself as she spoke. He was growing desperate, and he didn’t know if he could even make it out of this room without tearing his cock out of his pants and making himself come (something he did after each visit with her, anyways). Really, what could it hurt? She wanted this. So did he. It wasn’t a level of intimacy he couldn’t come back from. 

He didn’t respond right away, but his mind was made up as he sat next to her, then shifted his weight so he was leaning back on his elbows, in a half-laying position. 

Her eyes followed his every movement, and he bit back a smile as he noticed how surprised she looked. Surprised, with an edge of something more, her eyes darkening with need. 

He lazily undid his laces, prolonging the moment slightly longer than necessary. He didn’t always like being looked at this way, but with Talia? It made so little sense given how they’d met, but it felt different. 

As he finished undoing the laces, he paused for just a moment, watching the longing overtake Talia’s features. She had shifted to be sitting crossed-legged, just waiting. So desperate to see him for the first time. It was delicious. 

Not wanting to wait any longer, he lifted his hips to pull his trousers down slightly; just enough that he could release his cock from its confines. As he shifted his underwear down, not removing anything entirely but giving him enough to space work, he hissed at the cool air of the room meeting his heated flesh. 

“Fuck, Astarion.” Talia’s voice was soft and hypnotic as she spoke, her eyes fixed on where he was leaking precum. 

A predatory smirk formed on his lips. Gods, it sounded like she was feeling as much pleasure from looking at his cock as she did just moments ago when he was fucking her with his fingers.  

“Everything you hoped for?” he teased, collecting precum as he tried to hold on to some semblance of control.

It was taking everything in him to not start stroking himself. He needed to take his time. If she kept looking at him like that, he was going to come embarrassingly fast. 

She huffed out something that was half a giggle, half a breath. 

“Don’t make me do this alone, darling.” His words were a gentle reminder that she was supposed to be touching herself too.

His smirk widened at the stricken scowl that fell across her face. He was learning about her as he slowly began to pump his length. She liked to watch, a fact he would surely use to his advantage later. 

He couldn’t help but tease her as she repositioned herself, her hand making its way between her thighs as her eyes stayed fixed on him. “You’re a bit of a voyeur, aren’t you?” 

She let out a thoughtful hum, her hand resting over her core but not yet moving.

“You say that, but I seem to remember you paying to watch me touch myself that first night.” Her voice was a low, seductive lilt: completely unlike the first times he’d met her, when she was still putting on a show to get him to hire her. Now? Now her voice was real, and all it had taken was a few nights. 

He didn’t answer—couldn’t answer, because she spread her legs then to give herself better access. As he heard the sound of her fingers drawing circles through her slick, he started stroking himself in earnest. 

It was a reversal of positions as his hand clutched the bedsheet, grateful he was strong enough to keep himself propped up with one elbow while his other hand was occupied with the efforts of stroking his cock. He didn’t want to miss a second of Talia playing with herself as she watched him so readily, desire clear on her face. 

They didn’t say anything for a moment as they both picked up their paces. The only sounds in the room were hands on flesh and their desperate moans, Talia’s needy while he tried to keep his in.

Her eyes trailed away from where he was pumping rapidly, looking him in the eyes with a desperation that made his muscles tighten. “Don’t hold back,” she pleaded with him. “I want to hear everything. I want to see everything. Please.” 

“Fuck, Talia-" his own words were cut off with a groan as white heat spread through his abdomen, a sharp sudden surge. He whimpered, a pathetic sound that he would deny making later, his hips moving of their accord as he fucked up into his hand. 

It was as she continued talking that he knew he wouldn’t last, no matter how hard he tried.

“I’ve thought about this before, you know. I’ve wondered if you touch yourself after seeing me.” A loud moan followed her words, and he watched as her back arch under her own touch. Her breasts bounced softly with the movement, and the visual did nothing to stave off his approaching climax. 

Because he was deciding to torture himself, he replied with gritted teeth as his strokes only increased. From tip to base, he was practiced at this. He knew his own body better than anyone, yet being here with Talia and feeling her eyes on him while she played with her cunt brought a pleasure he hadn’t felt in years. “What else do you think about?” 

“I think about what you look like when you’re falling apart,” she gasped, her own fingers moving at a furious pace. Her other hand was palming one of her full breasts now, gently pinching her nipple.

Gods, he wished he could be doing that but he didn't dare take his hand off himself now that he'd found a perfect motion. She was so undeniably beautiful as she played with herself, the picture of elegance and lust. She was sin and luxury wrapped in a body he would never tire of.

“I’ve pictured what I’m seeing now, but hells, Astarion…” the way she paused after saying his name, more cries and curses leaving her lips, made him completely feral. 

For the first time, he was begging. “Fuck Talia. I’m so close. Keep talking to me darling. Please. ” 

She shot him a wicked, knowing smile. She looked gorgeous when she took control, and he was so close to unravelling as he stroked himself rhythmically.

“Nothing can compare to how gorgeous you look, fucking your fist for me. I’ve spent days fantasizing about the ways you could take me, and the things I could do to you.”

His breath was ragged. “How do you want me to take you?” It was a dangerous question; one that would lead to more fantasizing, to more desires he couldn’t yet act on. But just the knowledge that she thought of it, that she wanted this the way he did, was more than enough. 

“Hmm… I can think of so many ways.”

She was close too; he could see it in the way her pupils were blown wide and her chest rose and fell quickly with each laboured breath.

“Maybe I’d have you bend me over the bed. You could wrap your hand around my throat, and pound into me while telling me how well I take you.” Her voice was sin wrapped in sweetness, and he was about one second away from snapping as she spoke again. “I think I’d like it even better, though, with you on top of me. Looking at me. Claiming me and making me come like no one ever has before.” 

“Talia, you-" he didn’t get to finish his phrase as she continued speaking. “And right as you got close, I’d beg you to kiss me. I’d want to feel all of you, your body pressed into me, lips on mine as you spilled yourself inside my cunt.” 

It was the image of his lips on hers while he fucked her that finally snapped the rope that had been building since he’d first touched her. Since he’d first seen her, really, doe eyes and seduction inviting him in ceaselessly. It was explosive, overwhelming, and exhilarating as he gave his cock one last stroke, before thick spurts of come left his cock, covering his still-clothed stomach. It felt uncontrollable as his muscles clenched, his toes curling and fingernails threatening to tear through the sheets. Through the haze of pleasure, all he could hear was her moaning and moving. All he could think was her name, and it fell from his lips countless times as his climax tore through him, until his hips stilled and he he laid down fully, completely spent. She was breathing hard, too, and as caught up as he’d been in his own climax, he’d missed hers. 

He heard her shift, and opened his eyes to see her moving towards him. She looked as messy as his felt: hair completely ruined, eyes glazed over. It hadn’t even registered that she’d pulled her dress down at some point. Her breasts were still free, and he hadn’t even realized he was staring. 

“If you didn’t look so tired, I’d almost think you wanted to go again.” Her tone was teasing as she laid down beside him. 

“Oh darling, I am insatiable . Especially when it comes to you.” The words were true, but even he could admit it would be best to leave it for the night. 

“You most definitely ruined your shirt,” she said with a grin. 

He groaned as he looked down. She was unfortunately correct. 

“You don’t think your cantrip can fix this? It is your fault, after all.” 

“Excuse me?” she gasped, faux shock in her eyes. “ You’re the one who touched yourself. I could only dream of making such a mess of you.” 

He laughed, a soft low sound that rumbled in his chest. It made her smile, a wide bright curve on her lips that lit up her entire face. He loved the way her smile made him feel, as if he was more than just a customer, and that what they had was real. 

Now that the high of the night was done, he was facing the internal anxieties that always intruded on the afterglow of his nights with her. Tonight, they were setting in quicker than usual. 

Because even as they joked and flirted, these moments were still defined by a transaction. By him opening his coin purse, throwing some gold her way, and touching her how he pleased. She liked it, he knew she did, but he couldn’t help but wonder what it would be like if they’d met any other way. Would she still want him? Would she do this with no money involved? Was he a fool for even considering she could like him outside of this? 

As if she could read his mind, she reached out and rested her hand gently over his. 

“Are you alright?” She asked the question like she cared, like she truly wanted to know what was on his mind. “I can cast the cantrip if you’d like. It may not fix your shirt completely, but you’ll at least look acceptable enough to walk out of here.” 

“I’m more than alright,” he responded with a smile. It was much easier to pretend he didn’t think of her than to admit the sadness he was already feeling about leaving. “But please cast the cantrip. The judgemental stares I receive are enough as I walk onto the street: I don’t need the same treatment from the people in the brothel.” 

She giggled as she moved her hands, then began to murmur the incantation. She looked peaceful and serene as she casted the spell, and if he didn’t know better, he would’ve easily believed she was a sorcerer or wizard. 

“Well, there’s a bit of a stain, but I think it’s somewhat salvaged. The only one who will be staring at you now is me.” She spoke playfully but honestly. Her eyes were wide and eager—she enjoyed his presence, enjoyed looking at him, and being looked at in return. 

“Thank the gods I hired the most beautiful woman here, and the most resourceful.” 

“And thank the gods I managed to attract the most wonderful client I’ve ever spent the night with.” She sounded wistful and vulnerable, and his eyes widened as he took her in. There was no deceit in her expression. She meant it. 

“What a… fortunate coincidence.” His voice was strained. As caught up in their conversation as he was, he didn’t even realize he hadn’t put his cock away. He felt like a mild idiot, sharing romantic confessions with a prostitute while he quite literally had his dick out. Reaching down, he tucked it back in, grateful that Talia’s presdigitation spell had taken care of both his shirt and the leftover spend on him. 

“Do you have to go?” she asked quietly, and gods, it killed him how disappointed she looked. 

“I do,” he responded. It was only a slight lie. He couldn’t stay all night, of course, but he could afford another hour. But this night had already been dangerous, and he’d gone further than he meant it to. Talking to her, hearing her laugh and tell stories would only make him feel more, and he was already feeling too much. More than he ever intended. 

He didn’t regret what they’d done. He didn’t regret letting her see him come undone, because her reaction had been more than worth it. He supposed it had also been worth it to feel that intimacy. To feel safe enough with someone that he enjoyed being watched, enjoyed being seen in a sexual light. 

Talia watched him for a moment, looking almost forlorn as he swung his feet to the side of the bed, preparing to stand up. 

“I’ll see you next time?” 

As he stood, smoothing out his clothes, he shot her a smile over his shoulder. “Of course my dear. Next time.” 

Her own grin was one of relief, and he forced himself to look away before he did something foolish, like kissing her, or offering a false promise he couldn’t really keep. 

She didn’t say anything else as he walked to the door, so he shot her one last smile as he took in the expression on her face. She looked… blissful. Happy, as if she got just as much from being around him as he did from her. As if they weren’t in a brothel, and there was no transaction involved at all. 

“Goodbye, Talia,” he said softly, wistfully. Before she could answer, he was opening the door and shutting it behind him. 

It was as he walked down the stairs that he realized he hadn’t shared he couldn’t come back for some time. He’d be away from the city, doing work that felt irrelevant compared to the time he spent with Talia. There was a small part of him that wanted to go back, to knock on her door and let her know it’d be a while. 

But as he made his way into the lobby area, he paused. A man was sitting at the bar, looking like a drunken mess, speaking with the barkeep. 

The Tiefling looked like she’d rather be anywhere else as she entertained him, and he looked irritated. It was as the man turned his head, a scowl on his face, that Astarion realized. 

It was the same man. The man he’d seen the first night he came in here, the one who was the catalyst to him hiring Talia at all. 

As he moved slowly, carefully, he tuned into their conversation. “It’s just a little ridiculous, is all. Whenever I come in here, she’s busy.” 

Astarion didn't need to guess who she was. He decidedly did not like the man’s tone, possessive and cruel, as if he owned Talia. 

“Perhaps you should approach one of the other lovely women who are just waiting to fulfil your desires,” the Tiefling responded smoothly, but Astarion recognized the barely contained malice in her voice. 

The man sighed, dramatic and grumpy. “It’s fine. I’ll wait. I’m not spending this much coin to see just anyone. ” 

“I’ll get you another drink,” the Tiefling responded, redirecting the conversation with a hint of exasperation in her voice. 

It was enough that Astarion had paused. That he was watching the exchange carefully, thoughts and emotions hitting him. 

On one hand? He felt… bad. He didn’t relish the thought of Talia having to spend her time with men like this, who didn’t even pretend she wasn’t an object for them to do what they pleased with. He was certain they’d never once considered what she enjoyed; not the way he had. 

But on the other hand? Seeing this man again was bringing out an insecurity Astarion had been trying desperately to ignore. 

He was only one of many. As much as he thought of Talia between his visits, she spent every night wrapped in the embrace of someone else. She may say all the right things to him, adapting herself to be exactly what he needed, but it was still nothing more than a night spent at work. There were others. He wasn’t the only one who went in to see her, time after time, only entering the brothel for her. 

It was a ridiculous feeling. He wasn’t jealous so much as… humbled. This conversation he hadn’t meant to witness was a reminder. A reminder of what he was to her, and what she should be to him. No matter how adorable her laugh was or how devastating she looked when she came apart for him, this was transactional. He was nothing more than a client, and she was nothing more than the woman he hired to fulfil his fantasies. It was easy to fool himself into believing it was more, but with a jarring glance around the room, he couldn’t ignore the realities of the setting. 

He was certain Talia didn’t even like the man who grumbled at the bar. He was certain she faked it for him, but even if it was fake, she was doing it all the same. 

It wasn’t her fault. It wasn’t anyone’s fault. In fact the only one who could take any blame was Astarion, for deluding himself into placing more meaning on this relationship than there actually could be. 

So as he began walking again, hurriedly headed to the front door, he made up his mind. 

He didn’t need to tell her he wouldn’t be back for quite some time. He didn’t even need to come back, if he changed his mind. 

Some time away would do him good. To clear his head, to remind him what exactly he and Talia really were to each other. 

That final interaction, the one he wasn’t meant to witness? It made one thing clear. She wasn’t his, and no matter how many times he went to see her, she never would be. 

So why did it feel like he was losing someone he’d never actually had? 

A question he couldn’t answer—didn’t want to answer.

But his resolve was clear: he would take some time away, focus on the things could control.

When he finally went back? He would have these feelings of aching insecurity and bitter realizations pushed down somewhere he couldn’t reach. He wanted this, he wanted her, but as he stepped outside into the cool night air, he focused on one truth: he needed to remember what they were to each other, or he couldn’t go back at all. 

Notes:

Thank you so much for reading, and double thank you to everyone who left kudos and comments since the last update. I'm relatively new to posting my fics (especially long fics), so seeing that people are not only reading but enjoying this brings me so much joy. I can't wait to continue sharing this, especially as the plot picks up and emotions get more involved <3 I’ll be on a trip for the next few days starting tomorrow, but hopefully I can have another update out by late next week or next weekend. Until next time!

Chapter 5: The Distance in a Glance

Summary:

Talia sees Astarion outside of work for the first time.

The encounter leaves her with more questions than answers, and makes her wonder who he really is underneath what he shows her during their nights together.

Notes:

this is the first chapter with no smut, I hope you guys can forgive me lol. But seriously, we get to see more into Talia's backstory and also a look into what Astarion has been doing with his time!

Hope you enjoy :)

He hadn’t been back yet. 

After their most intimate night yet, Astarion hadn’t come back. 

Astarion’s unexplained absence—the one that now spanned over a month—threatened to consume Talia’s thoughts entirely. 

Their last encounter had felt like a step forward—an exhilarating night that she replayed in her mind constantly. But he hadn’t returned, and she couldn’t be certain that he ever would.

It made her hate the nature of their relationship. 

The lack of visits hit her at random times. It wasn’t that she was hurt, really. Well, of course she was a little hurt, but mainly? 

She was worried. 

Had she pushed him too far and made him feel that he needed to bare himself? 

Had she scared him off with her confessions? 

She had admitted how often she thought of him, the ways she thought of him, because she’d been so eager to bring him to his release. She knew the effect the words had by the guttural moans he let out each time she spoke, and hells, he’d asked for more. 

But she had once again lost control, pushing for things she had no right to ask for. 

She was stewing in her thoughts as she sat at the table in her dining room, glad she was off for the night. She thought back to her last client of the day, a man who was completely unremarkable. 

The man had been boring. Supposedly, he’d seen her once before, a few months back, likely around the same time she’d met Astarion. He clearly wasn’t memorable. 

Not like Astarion. 

She had hoped he would take her mind off the elf, but he had only made matters worse.

Because why in the hells could she forget some of the men she’d slept with, while her mind raced and obsessed over a man who she hadn’t even touched properly? 

It was ridiculous, frankly. 

She didn’t do this. Didn’t get obsessed. 

She needed to be thinking of something else, of anything else, and she was relieved when Harmony finally walked through the door to their shared house. 

Harmony was barely inside when she turned to Talia.  “The way you’re sulking is unbecoming.” 

“Ugh. Are you trying to sound like my mother?” She glared at her friend. 

“No, I just think you need to let loose a little. Why are you brooding over some man who you don’t even know?” 

Harmony’s tone wasn’t unkind—and she was right.

Even if Talia didn’t want her to be. 

It was embarrassing that her friend even knew who she was thinking about. 

Talia hadn’t brought Astarion up in conversation, but Harmony had noticed. 

She had noticed the pale elf who kept coming back, only ever requesting her.

She’d noticed the way Talia smiled after he left, her whole body flushed and her hair messier than it should’ve been. 

“I’m not brooding,” Talia muttered. 

It was easier to deny it.

Harmony shot her an unimpressed look. She had also noticed Talia’s shift in mood, and the way her eyes would drift towards the door when it opened at work. 

She noticed her disappointment at the end of shifts. 

She noticed all of it, and Talia felt so desperately bare in front of her friend. 

Letting out a sigh, Harmony dropped the issue. “Alright, whatever. You have the day off tomorrow, and we are going out. No protests, let’s have fun.” 

“Your idea of fun is having one too many drinks at The Blushing Mermaid. The same place where you got berated and I had to step in to save you, I might add,”  Talia replied with a roll of her eyes. 

Harmony grinned. “Exactly! It’s like reliving the old days! Now I don’t need to worry about harassment, because I have you to protect me.  And we can stare at beautiful people and remember there’s more to the city than an elf who you know nothing about.” 

Talia sighed. “Well, your first issue is thinking we’re going to run into beautiful people while drinking in the Lower City. But if you really want to go, I suppose I could make an exception for my dearest friend.” 

Harmony beamed at her, and the happiness in her eyes made it difficult for Talia to dread tomorrow night completely. Why Harmony wanted to go to a bar after spending every workday tending one herself was beyond Talia, but if she really wanted to, Talia would humour her. 

As they said their good nights and went their separate ways, she collapsed in her bed with a sigh. Just another day of work, and another day of pretending she wasn’t hoping he’d walk in. 

---

An hour at The Blushing Mermaid was enough for Talia to remember exactly why she didn’t enjoy taverns. 

The drunken patrons, the men offering to buy her drinks, the rowdy noise and laughter—it was a surefire way to give her a headache. 

For someone who made a career entertaining others, she was rather antisocial. 

When she’d come to the surface, she’d been wary. Wary of who to trust, and wary of the people who lived on the surface. The Underdark was all she’d known, and it had been lethal. 

Growing up in Lolth’s culture, her mother had learned one lesson from the day of her birth: don’t trust anybody. And even though she’d raised Talia away from that culture entirely, that message had ingrained itself in her mind since she could first comprehend language. 

She had lived among more good-aligned drow—mainly ones who were like her mother, rejecting the Spider Queen in hopes of more. Something freer, though that freedom often turned into its own kind of violence aimed at Lolth’s drow. 

The Underdark was never safe for Talia, although it wasn’t the monstrosities she feared— it was her fellow drow. They were a people at war with themselves, and that war was exhausting. 

It would be easy to walk into Sharess' Caress and see Talia and assume she was a pretty little thing whose biggest issue was what dress she’d wear to work each day. 

The only person who knew what she’d walked away from was Harmony. Talia had recreated herself entirely: a new name, a new persona, a new life. 

A life where her mother wasn’t focused on fighting back against a system that had already defined her. 

In doing so? That was the expectation for Talia, too—to live a life where she was constantly looking over her shoulder, unsure of who was friend or foe. A life where she kept a dagger strapped to her hip, and was trained to move in shadows as if it was second nature. 

None of that mattered, though.

Not anymore. 

She had left her childhood behind, had left Talice behind, and now existed as someone whose life was filled with normalcy instead of chaos. 

Talia was snapped out of her reverie at the sound of Harmony’s voice. “Don’t look so serious!” She pouted, handing Talia another drink. “You look like you’re having an existential crisis. No one’s gonna approach you if you look like that .”

Harmony pulled a sullen face, mimicking the expression she was supposedly making. 

Talia rolled her eyes. “Harmony, I don’t want anyone to approach me. Besides, I look much prettier than that when I sulk.” 

She took a moment to look around the bar, searching for a way to change the subject. 

Two humans sat at a table—one man and one woman. Talia was an expert at reading body language, and from a glance she could tell there was no romantic connection. Not with the way they sat apart, and the lack of any affection in any touch or look. 

She could be wrong, of course, but the way the woman’s eyes repeatedly darted to Harmony told Talia what she needed to know. 

“That human over there hasn’t taken her eyes off you.” 

Harmony’s eyes shot over to where the human sat. A modest looking woman who was sipping the tavern ale, her eyes fixed on Harmony every time the tiefling looked away. 

“Go talk to her,” Talia encouraged her. “I’ll be fine on my own.” 

“No, you’re coming with me! Look, she has a friend. Just… support me with this. You’re better at this than I am. Please.” 

Talia shot Harmony a look, but her eyes were so wide and pleading that Talia couldn’t help but agree. “Okay, but you’re initiating this.” 

Harmony beamed and stood up, reaching for Talia’s hand. Reluctantly, she followed, and they walked the short distance to the other table. 

Harmony’s courage faltered just slightly, as the two humans took them in as they approached. 

“Hi!” Harmony greeted them, and Talia bit back a smile at her high pitched, enthusiastic tone. “Is anyone sitting here?” She gestured awkwardly at the table. 

The humans glanced at each other, clearly confused. Judging by their faces, Harmony’s wording hadn’t exactly screamed “we’d like to join you.” 

Talia quickly interjected, hopeful to clear up the painfully awkward energy. 

“What my dear friend is meaning to say,” Talia began, a purr taking over her voice that was second nature, “is how beautiful you both are. It’s a shame to see two gorgeous creatures enjoying a drink on your own. Mind if we join?"  She batted her eyelashes innocently.

The human man was instantly hooked as he looked at Talia. 

With a subtle smile, Talia realized the woman’s gaze had never left Harmony’s. 

“By all means,” the man said, offering her a smirk. 

As they sat, she tried to focus her attention on him. He was handsome enough, she decided, and if conversation with him meant Harmony was comfortable enough to pursue her own interest, Talia would readily speak with him. 

Even if he was looking at her with that familiar glint in his eye of a man who was imagining what he could do to her, rather than with her. 

“So, what brings you two out tonight?” The woman asked curiously, and Talia smiled fondly at the way the question was directed towards Harmony. 

“Uh, just needed a night out, I guess,” Harmony responded, a faint blush spreading across her cheeks. “Work has been… stressful.” She shot Talia a glance. 

“Isn’t it always?” the woman replied with a smile. “I’m Jessa, and this is Finn. We’re new to the city,” she explained, eyes sparkling. 

“I’m Harmony,” she paused to smile at Jessa before gesturing to her. “This Talia.” 

There was a pause as Harmony cleared her throat, and Talia sent her what she hoped was an encouraging smile. 

“So! What do you two do when you’re not here? Not that there’s like, anything wrong with being here—we’re here too, obviously.” Harmony’s words came out fast paced and nervous. 

Lucky for her, Jessa seemed to find it adorable and responded with ease. 

Although Talia was looking away from Finn, she could feel his eyes on her. 

Harmony listened raptly as Jessa spoke, and Talia focused on not zoning out. 

The woman was a fighter, and supposedly Finn was a rogue. They were siblings, working as mercenaries. 

Talia was rather proud of the way Harmony kept the conversation flowing after the rocky beginning, and also relieved that she could drink without worrying about conversation. 

Finn spoke up then, as a lull settled over the conversation. 

“Tell us about you. I’m sure what you spend your days doing is far more interesting than mercenary work.” 

Harmony and Talia exchanged a glance. “I tend a bar,” Harmony said finally, her eyes darting around.

It’s not that either of them were ashamed of where they worked—but strangers often held opinions about working at a brothel. 

Not so much for what Harmony did, but certainly for Talia. 

Although Baldur’s Gate was essentially a city of sin and the brothel was never unoccupied, there wasn’t a shortage of citizens who would gasp at the idea of a pretty woman working in a place like that. 

“You tend a bar but you come to one for fun?” Jessa asked, eyes glinting in amusement. 

“I’m glad I’m not alone with that thought,” Talia said, laughing softly.

Maybe socializing wasn’t that bad. These humans were nice enough, and Talia could definitely use more friends 

“What about you though, Talia?” Finn asked her, and meeting his eyes, she contemplated how to respond. 

“I work with her,” she said slowly, carefully, hoping it would be enough to stave off their curiosity. 

“What bar is it? We’ll have to stop in for a drink sometime,” Jessa shot Harmony a smile as she spoke. 

“Uh—" Harmony hesitated, glancing over at Talia. “Sharess’ Caress?” She said the words like a question. 

The siblings glanced at each other, and the curious raise of Finn’s eyebrow paired with the flush in Jessa’s cheeks told her that they did, in fact, know what type of establishment Sharess’ Caress was. 

“Oh! That’s cool! You must work opposite shifts then, right? Or are there two bars there? I’ve never actually been inside.” The way Jessa spoke, slightly nervous yet going above and beyond to show her acceptance of their place of work made Talia grin. 

“ Unless you aren’t a barkeep.” Finn was smirking as he looked at her, as if he’d uncovered some well kept secret. It took all her self control to not roll her eyes. 

“Indeed,” she murmured, not breaking eye contact as she sipped her drink. “I do, in fact, entertain the patrons.” 

“Oh?” Finn took a sip of his drink, maintaining her stare. “And how much is your going rate?” 

Jessa looked as if she was about to protest the question, appearing slightly mortified, but Talia spoke before she had the chance. “More than you can afford.” 

Finn’s face broke into a wide grin as he let out a deep laugh. 

Whatever he said next was lost to Talia as her eyes drifted to the opening door of the tavern. 

It wasn’t that someone was bursting in, boisterous and drunk. No—the sound was far too soft, far too careful. It was the sound of someone who didn’t want to be noticed. 

Years of training from her mother taught her to notice noises exactly like that. To keep track of those who wanted to remain unseen. And even though she was no longer in the Underdark, that instinct kicked in all the same. 

Her breath hitched when she saw him. His white curls slightly messy, clothing all black and rumpled. 

Astarion had walked into the tavern. 

He didn’t look in her direction, despite her gaze being trained on him. He had a purpose, his eyes fixed on a man sitting by the bar. A rather unremarkable man—but clearly a man who meant something to Astarion. 

He didn’t approach him, instead sitting down at a table where he could watch the man carefully. 

Something clenched in her gut—anxiety, fear, longing , accompanied by a sad twinge that he was very clearly in the city but hadn’t come to see her. 

Still, the fascination of what he was doing presently outweighed all else. It was almost unnerving, the way he watched the man. His gaze was sharp and narrow, focused as if the man was his prey. He looked calculated. Controlled. 

Not at all what he looked like when he saw Talia. 

Harmony’s voice snapped her out of her daze. “Tal, you okay? We were talking to you.” She sounded wary and concerned. 

“Maybe she’s had one too many,” Jessa offered with a shrug, clearly eager for Harmony to focus her attention back on her. 

“I’m fine. I just… saw someone I thought I knew.” Her voice came out faint, distracted. 

She tried to focus her attention back on the conversation. The siblings really did seem kind, but it was impossible to focus on anything when the man she’d been missing so much sat across the room from her, completely unaware of her presence. 

It was maddening. 

It was ridiculously frustrating, because they didn’t have a normal relationship. She couldn’t go up to him and ask him how he was, or why he looked like he was hunting the nondescript man. Seeing him in this setting just led to more questions and even fewer answers. 

Why was she so obsessed with someone that she didn’t even know? 

Drifting away from the conversation again despite the sounds of laughter, her eyes flew back to Astarion. Still poised, just watching. Ready, although she wasn’t sure what for. 

Talia bit her lip in anticipation and confusion. 

Harmony, apparently not content with her completely spacing out, nudged her with her elbow. When she didn’t immediately react, the tiefling sighed and began to speak. 

“Gods Talia, what are you—” 

She knew Harmony saw him too as she groaned. “Of all the bloody places.” 

Maybe he heard Harmony’s use of her name, or maybe the way he looked up then was a coincidence. 

Either way, there was a tense moment as their eyes met. 

A single glance that communicated a thousand things— yet somehow nothing at all. 

His eyes, red and sharp, softened for just a moment as he took her in.

 It was strange and unfamiliar territory. She had yet to interact with him in any setting besides the brothel, and she didn’t know how to handle it. 

Maybe if she’d seen him recently, she would’ve gotten up and greeted him. But she hadn’t, and he made no move to either. 

So they just stared at each other, eyes wide and unblinking. 

His mouth opened for a moment, as if he was about to shout across the room to say hello. A naive idea, considering the distance between them.

Instead, his eyes snapped away, and she felt a surge of disappointment fill her at the loss of his attention. 

The man he had been tracking so silently was moving towards the door, almost staggering. Astarion’s eyes were fixed on him again, any focus towards Talia completely lost. 

What was he doing that was so important that he couldn’t even wave? 

She supposed he could be ashamed of knowing her. Not every man enjoyed being known to consort with prostitutes, and somehow that thought hurt her most of all.

The thought that he would pretend she was a stranger, because of the nature of their relationship. She could hardly blame him, but every time she saw him, she wanted more. 

The moment the man exited the front door, Astarion was moving again. Any thoughts of her were clearly gone, as he stalked towards the entrance. He didn’t spare as much as another glance her way, disappearing into the night as if he belonged there. 

With a shaky breath, Talia turned her attention back to Harmony. 

“You need to get ahold of yourself, Talia.” Her tone was gentle yet firm. “It’s unlike you to be so concerned with a cl—“ 

“A man?” Talia cut her off sharply, aware that the siblings they’d met were still watching their exchange. 

“Yeah. A man.” There was a tense silence around the table. 

“We were just about to take off, actually,” Finn began, clearing his throat awkwardly. 

Harmony barely concealed the disappointment in her voice. “Oh, of course!”

“Sharess' Caress though, right?” Jessa smiled at Harmony. “I’ll come by sometime.” As if she realized the implication of saying she’d come by a brothel, her cheeks quickly broke out into a flush. “For a drink, of course.” 

Harmony practically beamed at her. “Great. I’m there most nights. All I do is work, really.” 

As the two smiled at each other and they all said their goodnight, Talia also smiled. In relief.

 She may not have succeeded in distracting herself, but at least Harmony did. 

When they made it home, Talia collapsed in her bed, exhausted. 

A million questions swirled through her mind. 

What was Astarion doing at the Blushing Mermaid? 

Why did he look like he was hunting someone down? 

Why did he act as if she wasn’t even there, not even shooting her a smile or acknowledging her beyond an impenetrable gaze? 

But one question echoed louder than rest: if he was back in the city, why hadn’t he come to see her? 

That was the question she couldn’t answer. And as her trance eluded her, all she could do was wonder what she’d done wrong to inspire his absence.

Notes:

Next chapter will be smutty and will address some angst and tension <3 can't wait to share it soon.

thank you so much for the kudos. I know 40 doesn't seem like a lot when you look at fics that get like, thousands, but considering I never intended on sharing this fic it means the WORLD to me. and to the few lovely people who comment on almost every chapter: This one is for you, your comments make my whole week :)

Chapter 6: What Lies Underneath

Summary:

When Astarion comes to see Talia again, she finally vocalizes some of her conflicting emotions.

She doesn't expect what he says back, and is left with one realization that she can no longer ignore: he is so much more than a regular client.

Notes:

small warning: there are mentions of blood in this chapter but like, way less than most Astarion fanfics lol. It's not in a gore type of way at all but just wanted to say it! also, plenty of feelings. enjoy!

It was a few days later when she saw him again. 

When she really saw him. 

Not a fleeting glance across a bar that left her with more questions than answers, or a stoic look on his face that she didn’t recognize. 

Not an observation of a predator’s poise, hunting a target she knew nothing about. 

No—she actually saw him four days later  (not that she was counting, of course). 

He was polished and devastatingly beautiful, entering her work with the same elegance that she’d become accustomed to when he was near. 

He sent her a quick glance, one she couldn’t read, before approaching the counter where her boss sat. 

She watched with a twinge in her gut as he forked over some gold. 

Another transaction.

That was all their relationship was, wasn’t it? Transaction after transaction, no matter how much she thought of him in the moments in between. 

He gave her boss a quick easy smile before he left the counter, his eyes trained on Talia as he approached her. 

She didn’t know how to do this. 

How to express the emotions that made her throat tight. 

How to say aloud the words that pounded in her skull; how to ignore the questions that seeing him at the Blushing Mermaid had left her with. 

So she did what she did best. 

She pretended. 

She spoke before he could, his proximity washing over her the second he was near. The scent of his cologne hit her, a familiar scent she’d grown to crave. He wasn’t across a bar or the front room of Caress, but in front of her. And that was intoxicating. 

An intoxication she had to ignore as she began to speak. 

“Hello handsome,” she drawled, her voice a seductive purr that sounded even faker than it was with the clients who had no qualms with her pretending.  “Shall we?” 

She offered him a hand and despite the quizzical glance he sent her way, he took it.

He felt tense beside her and didn’t attempt any small talk as she led him upstairs, the way she had so many times before.

But this time felt different—more layered, more charged. 

She didn’t think when they entered the room, faintly registering the click of the door behind him. 

Instinct took over as she released his hand and made her way to the bed, sitting on it and crossing her legs as she glanced up at him. 

“Should I undress?” She batted her eyelashes at him and waited, watching as he uncertainly moved towards her. 

His reply was quick and firm. “No.” 

Her brow furrowed and she bit her lip. “I’ve missed you so much, Astarion.” She purred out his name like a lyric to a song she never wanted to stop singing. “I’m dying to feel your hands on me.” 

She cringed at her own tone and vaguely wondered how this even worked on so many clients. Maybe because they simply didn’t care if she meant what she was saying. 

Unlike Astarion. 

It was maddening. 

She wanted to scream and ask why. 

Why did he care? Why wouldn’t he touch her, when that was what he was paying to do? 

Hells, why couldn’t she touch him? 

Wasn’t that what her work was really about? 

Not what others could give her, but what she could give them?

He sighed and gave her a wary look, before sitting on the bed beside her. He made no move to touch her—he just sat, inches away from her. 

She huffed out a sigh of her own, pointedly turning her head away from him. 

“You don’t want me to touch you.” His words were soft, careful, as if they could break her. 

She turned to look at him, no doubt with a deadpan stare. “That’s the exact opposite of what I just said.” 

“Perhaps, but you’re lying.” 

As he stared at her, he almost looked like he was pleading—asking her for something she couldn’t give him.

 He asked for honesty, asked her not to lie —but at what point did the truth become too painful? At what point did they acknowledge what they’d both been denying?

“You’re not paying me to listen to me talk about my feelings.” Her voice was short and flat. “This would be much easier if you would just touch me already.” 

“Heavens forbid I don’t want to fuck someone who will barely look at me.” His voice came out sharp and she flinched at the severity of his tone. 

It was unlike anything she’d heard from him before.

She was struck again  with the realization that she had no idea who he was. He was kind and gentle with her, yet had looked murderous just a few nights ago. 

And not in a way that someone might be when they lose control; no, it was with a cold, uncanny precision. Who was he, to embrace a hunter’s pose with such ease and finesse? 

“Well,” she murmured, deciding conversation was better than contemplation. “If I recall, you don’t usually fuck me anyways.” 

He sent her a withering stare before letting out a sigh, running his fingers through his stupidly gorgeous hair. 

It was a low blow—she knew that. He had his reasons for not taking that step yet, even if she didn’t know what those reasons were. And despite all her questions about who he was outside of the nights spent in this room, she respected that. 

She was about to apologize when he spoke up. 

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to snap.” His voice was sincere and he was looking at her with a vulnerability that made her stare downwards. 

“It’s okay,” she muttered. “Me too.” 

There was a pause before he spoke. “What did I do wrong?” 

She bit her lower lip and wrung her hands together before glancing back at him. 

“Nothing.” 

She was quick to turn away again, until he reached out, his hand gently caressing her cheek and turning her until she had no choice but to stare at him. He moved his body closer to her, his thigh touching hers. 

It felt so good to have him back with her in this room—so right. Even if there was tension between them that she had trouble naming, he was touching her again, and gods, she had missed it. 

He looked at her unflinchingly, his voice deep as he spoke. “Tell me. Please.” 

Any resolve to stay silent was fading at the feeling of his cold touch contrasting with the heat he inspired in her cheeks. 

In spite of herself, her eyelids fluttered closed. 

“You didn’t do anything wrong. Not really. I just…” she hesitated and opened her eyes. 

He was so intent as he looked at her—as if he was actually listening and her every word was sacred. 

She wasn’t used to it. It was unnerving and lovely, all at once. 

“You didn’t come to see me for a while. I was worried. I thought that maybe after last time… maybe it was too much for you, and maybe I scared you off. And the thought of that…” she hesitated, bringing her hand to rest over his. 

“It scares me. I have no right to want you to come back. I have no right to crave you the way I do.” She dropped her hand and closed her eyes before speaking again, too scared to look him in the eye. 

Not when she was being vulnerable. 

Not when she was confessing the words she’d sworn to never speak out loud. 

“I have no right—you’re paying me to be here. You didn’t pay me for this.” 

He let go of her and it felt like a rejection. She was grateful she could look away, at least, because whatever he said wouldn’t match what she did. 

She knew that. She knew she couldn’t hope for more. 

“I’m sorry I didn’t come back sooner.” His words were gentler than she was expecting, and her eyes snapped back to his. “I had… business.” 

“Was your business hunting down a man in a tavern?” she shot back. 

He grinned at her. “You’re more perceptive than I thought.” 

“I’m not sure if you’re implying that you thought I was incapable of detecting an obvious fact, or if you’re complimenting me.” She spoke wryly, although it barely concealed the relief in her voice. 

Relief that the tension was easing, and they were joking again despite the unspoken emotions that charged the room. 

“Both?” he offered playfully, and she rolled her eyes before he spoke again. 

“I didn’t mean for this to happen. For any of it to happen.” He gestured between the two of them. 

The words stung, their implication twisting in her gut. 

Was that why he was here? To end things completely? 

The thought made panic rise up in her chest: an uncomfortable feeling that no one ever made her feel when it came to matters of the heart. Especially not a client. 

But then he was talking again, and she was hooked on every words as his lips moved hypnotically. 

“That first night I met you—when we just talked — I don’t fully know why I did it. Why I hired you, I mean. I suppose you looked uncomfortable with the man walking towards you, and I suppose I had some strange hero’s complex and wanted you to feel safe for a night. To feel… free. And trust me, darling, I am far from a hero.” He let out a bitter laugh, as if he was trying to escape from a title he didn’t want to bear. 

“And then… then you had to go and tell me exactly what you did. Not just that you had sex—but the ways you liked to do it.” He paused. 

She was looking at him again, her eyes wide and confused. 

“I meant what I said that second night… when I said that I thought our desires would match. And that is the reason I came back, I suppose. But it’s much more complicated than that.” Another sharp pause and inhale of breath. These words didn’t come easy to him—she could tell by the small grimace on his face and by the way his eyebrows knitted together. 

“I want… I want to keep seeing you, Talia. Despite our rather strange dynamic, I feel safe with you. I felt that from the start. It’s why I came back the first time, and why I’ve come back every time since.” He exhaled before continuing. “Intimacy doesn’t come easy to me. Letting someone touch me, letting them see me the way you have—gods, it’s terrifying.” 

She watched his face the whole time he spoke. Her heart was hammering and the way she felt was indescribable. She was finally seeing under the mask he wore so well, and it was everything . 

They sat in silence for a moment before he spoke again. “It’s scary for me too, Talia. I want to believe you mean all the pretty words you say to me. They sound so beautiful falling from your lips. But I know you spend your nights with others who are just as addicted to you as I am.” 

She bit her lip. She was used to being desired physically, but this? 

This was new.

He felt safe with her. 

She knew what it was like to feel unsafe. She knew how uncomfortable it was to trust. And maybe it was ridiculous for him to be putting something as scary as intimacy in her hands, but he was. 

She would do everything not to break that. 

And he’d said he was addicted. Like others, sure, but the way he was hooked on her was different. He wasn’t just hooked on touching her, or using her as a means to an end—no, he was hooked on her pleasure, on who she was. 

“I’ve meant every word I’ve said to you,” she admitted, after a moment of tense silence. She turned her body to face his. “I’m great at pretending with most people. But I’ve never pretended with you. No one has ever spoken to me this way before. No one has ever made me feel the things you do.” 

His eyes flashed—in relief, and maybe something more. 

“I don’t know what we’re doing,” he admitted. “But I don’t want to stop doing it.” 

“Neither do I.” 

“I…” he was staring at her with a fondness that made her chest tight. “Can I kiss you?” 

Out of all the things he’d asked of her, and out of all the ways he’d touched her and made her fall apart, those were the words that left her speechless. 

She couldn’t remember the last time someone had asked to kiss her. Maybe they never had. 

And his question, coupled with the aching vulnerability of both of their words? 

All she could do was nod, temporarily forgetting how to even speak. 

He didn’t rush it. 

He didn’t slam his lips to hers and force his tongue in her mouth and let out possessive groans as he claimed her, like she was used to from so many before him. 

Instead, a hand stayed on her cheek, his eyes flickering down to her lips before he leaned in. 

When their lips finally met, it was soft. Tender. 

It was gentle at first. Lips hesitantly meeting and almost chaste as they explored each other’s mouths for the first time. 

He didn’t demand anything as he kissed her, instead settling in the rhythm of getting to know her. And his lips were so soft, so perfectly slotted against hers. 

There wasn’t any tongue—not yet. Just two mouths moving in tandem, expressing all the words they were scared to speak. 

Instinctively she pulled him closer, his hand dropping to her waist as hers found his hair. 

His hair, that she’d imagined tangling her fingers in so many times. It was silky and soft, even softer than she’d expected. And he didn’t pull away, didn’t ask her to stop—instead, he groaned into her mouth, as if he’d been craving it as much as she had. 

When she opened her mouth and their tongues finally met, it was everything. She usually hated this. Hated kissing with tongue, the feeling of someone invading her mouth. 

But with him? With him it was different. It was nice. Passionate. 

It made her feel so much closer to him, as he explored her mouth fully. 

It wasn’t just his lips and tongue on hers that made this moment so sacred: it was him. 

But before she could deepen it further—before she could turn this from something sacred to sexual—he was pulling away. 

They were both breathing heavily as their foreheads touched, and her eyes stayed closed. 

She was scared of what her eyes would give away if she opened them, and she just wanted to make this moment last. 

The moment where she gave herself a part of him she gave no one else. 

The moment where she enjoyed kissing again, and hoped for more. 

He moved then, gently kissing her forehead before pulling away. 

As her eyes opened she took him in. His lips were stained red with the lipstick she always wore, but he made no move to wipe it off. His hair was a tangled mess, and she couldn’t help but giggle softly at the sight of it. 

“Well,” he drawled, squinting at her. “ Laughing after I kiss you isn’t exactly the reaction I was hoping for.” 

“No! It’s not that—it’s your hair.” She grinned at the mess she’d made of it. The physical proof of what they’d just done; of her touching him that way for the first time. 

He returned her smile and brought his own hand up to rake through his hair, attempting to smooth it out but somehow making it worse. 

“Gods, this is more embarrassing than last time when I walked out with my own spend on my shirt,” he scoffed. “My hair. Do you know how long it takes to look this perfect?” 

“And here I thought you were effortlessly beautiful,” she responded with a roll of her eyes. 

“Oh, I certainly am. But even I have to brush my hair.” 

She giggled again, soft and reverent. He was beautiful. And in this moment, he was hers. 

“I kind of hate kissing,” she said after a moment of silence. 

His eyes widened and flashed in something she couldn’t immediately name. Regret? Disappointment? 

She spoke up quickly to reassure him. “No! Not like, with you. Let me finish.” 

He simply raised an eyebrow at her, waiting for her to continue. 

“I… most people only kiss me because they want more. Or it feels like they’re… eating me. Trying to consume me. Half the time I can’t even kiss back. And somehow?” She hesitated. “Somehow it feels more intimate than half the things I do.” She took a deep breath and she looked him in the eyes. 

His expression gave nothing away, instead just looking at her intently. Hanging off every word. 

“With you… it felt different. Feels different. I liked it. More than I probably should’ve.” 

He let out a slow exhale before replying. “I couldn’t stop thinking about it,” he admitted, and his words hit her in the gut in a way she couldn’t fully explain. “Kissing you, I mean. The last time I saw you—when you said you wanted that—it haunted me.” He hesitated, his eyes intense and searching. 

“I don’t know what I should want from you. I know I can take things, like the other people who hire you might.” He grimaced at the words—at the idea of her being treated as an object. “But I still meant what I said. I only want to do things that you want to do.” 

Her heart threatened to burst out her chest as she bit her lip. 

“ If you wanted it so badly, and still want it, I would very much want you to do it again.” 

His eyes flashed in amusement at her lack of subtlety. 

“How could I say no?” he murmured. 

And then he leaned in again, and this time was different. 

It was hungrier, but not in a way that made her feel any less safe. 

They didn’t waste any time as they pulled each other in, the softness of their first kiss turning into something more primal. Their tongues met and their teeth scraped; any rhythm was gone as they found each other again, this time leading to more. 

When she tangled her hands in hair this time, it wasn’t a gentle exploration. She was pulling and gripping, her nails finding his scalp. He broke away for just a moment to groan, his eyes rolling into the back of his head. 

Oh. He liked when she was rough with him apparently, because the way she was pulling his hair had to have hurt. She filed that away for later, a fact she would surely use to her advantage. 

The feral expression in his eyes as he moved back in, lips claiming hers yet again, was enough for her core to throb. 

Weeks of his absence rushed through her body as he pushed her backwards, one of his knees spreading her legs as he climbed on top of her.  

Instinctively, her hips moved upwards, desperate to soothe the ache in between her thighs. He pulled away with a smirk, his face hovering over hers as he went still. 

“Keep moving,” she gasped, a desperate plea as her hips canted, needing friction. 

“Hmm. I could, but I think you should work for it.” His crimson eyes were amused as she glared at him. 

“Maybe you should work for it,” she hissed, any sense of shame gone as she writhed against him. “ You’re the one who deprived me of your touch for over a month.” 

He chuckled softly, but she had no time to make another biting remark as he kissed her again. 

He moved as his mouth claimed hers, slotting himself in between her legs. She could feel his erection as he gave a gentle roll of his hips, and she cried out. He swallowed the moan, groaning softly as her hands found his shoulders. 

She wasn’t thinking anymore; all she could do was feel. The strength of his body on hers, the precision with which he moved his hips. Driving her insane even though they were both fully clothed. 

As her tongue grazed his upper teeth, she winced at the unexpected sharpness. She had nicked her tongue, and before she had a chance to react, he was pushing himself off her. 

He looked… startled. Panic. 

He landed on the bed next to her, looking away as he muttered a curse under his breath. 

Maybe a normal person would consider why his teeth were so abnormally sharp, but all she could think about was that his body was no longer on hers. 

“Astarion,” she said breathlessly, reaching for his hand. “Are you okay? Did I do something?” 

He still wouldn’t look at her. His nostrils flared and he dropped her hand, putting a considerable distance between them. 

When he didn’t answer, she spoke again. Her voice was hoarse and uncertain. 

“Was it too much?” she asked softly, and he glanced at her for just a moment. 

The way he looked… gods, it made her clench around nothing. 

He looked completely feral, a hunger in him that was no longer contained. His eyes were darker than she’d ever seen them. She was almost reminded of his stance at the bar—ready to hunt, to dominate. 

But this time? It wasn’t controlled—was barely held back. She loved being the source of it. 

He looked away again before speaking. 

“You’re bleeding.” There was an edge in the words that she didn’t quite understand. 

“I’m not hurt,” she reassured him quickly. “It was an accident—don’t worry about it.” 

“That’s not—” he let out a loud sigh as he raked a hand through his disheveled curls. 

There was something on his face that she recognized then, something that clients who were new to exploring their desires sometimes expressed as they did something they weren’t used to: shame. 

Her eyes widened at the realization. 

Maybe he liked it. 

Maybe the issue was that he liked making her bleed. 

“Do you have a blood kink?” She blurted out the words in a rather undignified manner, eager to reassure him—or maybe to understand. 

He let out a laugh. Then he paused. And laughed again. A loud bellowing sound that she could make no sense of. 

But any contemplations of why he was acting that way were gone when he spoke again, the hunger in his eyes undeniable. 

“Oh, my dear, you have no idea.” He snarled the words, a deep, almost frenzied tone taking over him.  Maybe it shouldn’t have aroused her the way it did, but she was throbbing and dripping as he moved towards her again. 

She felt like his prey as he stalked towards her, pushing her by the shoulders until she was flat on her back. 

His mouth was back on hers faster than should’ve been possible, and she knew he was searching for the metallic tang that her blood had left. 

Her tongue trailed hesitantly up to where she’d cut herself before, and this time, she dragged it hard. She whimpered softly into his mouth at the pain, but the small sting was more than worth it to hear the deep guttural sound he made that echoed in her throat. 

He pulled away for just a moment, his lips finding her ear. “You have no idea,” he rasped, deep and needy, “what you’re asking for.” 

She didn’t have time to contemplate his words as they kissed again. His exploration was focused as his tongue found hers again, licking all the blood that had gathered. 

As he groaned, she wrapped her legs around the small of his back to lock him in. 

His hips began to roll again, and she was completely lost as he greedily began to suck her tongue. It was as if he was trying to drink her blood completely, and she felt as if she was uncovering a new kink of her own. 

Because she loved the way he was moaning, as lost as she was in the taste of her blood and the feeling of her mouth. 

Of giving her a part of him no one had ever asked to take: her blood. 

Why he wanted it was a question for later. 

The way he pressed into her wasn’t as practiced as it usually was. With a start, she realized that for the first time? He was chasing his pleasure instead of hers. 

And gods, was it beautiful. 

Devastating. Captivating. 

It was everything. 

Every movement was intuitive as their bodies came together, loud groans escaping both of them. His lips never left hers; his tongue never left her mouth. 

Chasing the taste of her blood, while she chased the pressure of his cock. 

Her cunt was throbbing as she gripped his shoulders, wanting more. But she couldn’t bring herself to ask for it—not when he was desperately thrusting his hips, taking something he’d always been too scared to ask for. 

He shifted his body for just a moment to lift her dress higher, somehow not breaking their kiss, his clothed cock finding her clit. She was grateful that her panties were sheer and thin—he was as close to touching her as he could possibly be without them being removed. 

She was soaking as he moved against her, and she knew his trousers would be as ruined as her underwear were. 

He seemed to care as little as she did, never breaking the kiss. She was completely breathless and overwhelmed, while he somehow seemed to not be breathing at all. 

And then she felt it—his cock throbbing, his body tensing. His strong core was taut as he tried to hold himself together, which was the exact opposite of what she wanted. 

So with a yank of his hair their lips finally unlocked and she trailed her mouth to his ear. 

“Come for me,” she pleaded, her voice a needy whisper. “ Please.” 

She trailed her tongue along the shell of his ear experimentally; some elves loved that, and he let out an elvish curse which told her he was one of them. 

With a final thrust of his hips he came, his face buried in her neck as the tension finally snapped. 

And gods, it was wonderful. 

It was wonderful feeling his shakes and throbs, as he spent himself completely. 

It was wonderful to know the sensation of the warmth of his release, even if it was through clothing. 

She hadn’t come with him, yet as he pulled away and looked at her—eyes glazed over and peaceful—she knew she didn’t need to. 

He had done so much for her, focusing on her every single time before. 

But tonight? 

Tonight she’d done something for him, and it filled her with a light that she should not feel towards a client. 

Because he wasn’t just a client. 

No matter how many times she called him that—how many times she lied to herself that she couldn’t feel this way—it was happening anyways. 

And she would watch helplessly as it did. 

The sigh of relief he let out as he rolled off her— acknowledgment of built up tension finally being released—encompassed everything from him that she didn't know she needed. 

“Why are you smiling like that?” he murmured, turning to face her. “I quite literally just came in my pants like I was touching a woman for the first time.” 

“You wouldn’t be the first man who did that because of me,” she teased, and he rolled his eyes at her. 

She bit her lip and sighed, a warm feeling spreading through her. 

“It just… makes me happy,” she started, and he looked at her quizzically, a question in his eyes. “That you trust me,” she continued, voice soft and gentle. “Enough to do… that.” 

Her eyes fell to the wet spot and he groaned. 

“You’re going to owe me a whole new wardrobe, darling.” 

She laughed, and they went silent for a moment, just looking at each other. Searching for something they knew they couldn’t have. 

Not with each other, at least. 

But she wanted to play pretend for a little longer, so she spoke up again. 

“When will I see you next?” she asked carefully, trying her best to act like his answer couldn’t break her. 

He looked surprised for a moment, before his features turned into a smile. “I should be in the city a while longer. I’ll try to come back within the next tenday.” 

Her heart threatened to leap out of her throat at his words. “Good.” 

It was all she could think to say when he was staring at her like that. 

Like this was more than a transaction, and meant as much to him as it did to her. 

“Do you—” he began, hesitating as his eyes darted around the room. He didn’t look at her as he asked his question. “What days do you work? Do you have any set days off?” 

She grinned widely at the question. A strange giddiness spread through her. 

She knew he only came here for her, but the fact that he cared enough to make sure he’d show up at the right time caused her to exhale in relief. 

And joy. 

And other emotions she wouldn’t name. 

So instead, she shared her usual days off, making sure to add times too. He made an offhand comment about being glad she worked at night, and they were silent for a moment as she helped him clean up. 

It was as he was preparing to leave that he looked at her—like he was forgetting something important. 

“You didn’t finish.” His expression was almost one of incredulity, but also something more—something he left unnamed, but that she tried to read anyways. 

Obligation? 

Guilt? 

“No, but you did, and I enjoyed that much more.” She didn’t speak with a seductive lilt. She spoke genuinely: happily.  Relieved that she’d given him what he needed, instead of just taking. 

He let out a laugh of disbelief, a fondness in his gaze.  “You’re sweet, you know that?” 

They were standing now, depressingly close to the door he’d leave her through, and he reached out to cup her cheek. 

“I do know,” she replied, biting her lower lip, “but it’s nice of you to remind me.” 

He exhaled but didn’t respond, instead leaning in. 

He kissed her softly and chastely. Tenderly. 

A kiss goodbye. A kiss that she couldn’t say would be repeated, no matter what promises he made. 

Her heart ached as he pulled away, but she hid the pain with a smile. 

“I’ll see you soon,” he murmured. 

Before she could respond, the door was open and he was gone. 

She walked back to the bed and collapsed on it with an exhale. 

Their relationship had progressed—that much was certain. 

He felt something for her, too. 

She should’ve been giddy about that, and in many ways, she was. 

But she was conflicted as a realization dawned in her. 

They hadn’t spoken about their run-in at the tavern. 

They hadn’t spoken about why he was hunting someone down. 

They hadn’t spoken about the sharpness of his teeth or the way he tasted her blood. 

All she knew was that she had feelings for him, despite knowing so little about who he was underneath brothel visits and pretty words. 

And hells , that was the scariest feeling of all. 

Notes:

Talia rolled multiple nat 1's for the perception checks to figure out Astarion's a vampire lmao.

The next chapter will be from Astarion's POV and it moves the plot forward in a way I'm excited for <3

thank you for all the love on the last chapter, it genuinely keeps my writer heart going!

Chapter 7: I want you to touch me.

Summary:

Astarion lets Talia see him in a way that he'd never intended.

He thinks about just how sacred their relationship is.

Notes:

thank you all for 50 kudos!!!! I absolutely LOVE that so many of you are liking this. It keeps me so motivated and inspired.

Chapter title note: I usually stylize my chapter titles with capitals, but I wanted to show the distinction of how much of a turning point this chapter is for Talia and Astarion. Hence, it is written like that lol.

Enjoy the chapter!

Astarion couldn’t stop thinking about two things. 

First? The way Talia had kissed him. The feeling of her lips—of pent-up desire finally released—after nights of picturing it and craving it so badly. 

Gods, she did this professionally, but not even that prepared him for how good it would be. How real and natural it felt, as if their lips were made for each other. 

The other thing? Well, it was hardly a surprise for him to be obsessing over this. 

Her blood. 

It had been an accident. He hadn’t even bitten her or told her he was a vampire, and he hadn’t gotten near enough of her delicious crimson flowing into his mouth. But she had noticed the way he reacted when she cut her tongue on his fang, and she had liked it. 

Encouraged it, even. 

And somehow? 

Somehow she hadn’t made the connection. 

He believed she was smart. She was observant and witty, yet by some miracle, she hadn’t put two and two together. 

He’d thought it was quite obvious, truly—that she was avoiding mentioning it to be polite, but her words still rang through his mind. 

“Do you have a blood kink?”  s he'd asked, a ll wide eyed and innocent. 

It had awakened his hunger and made a heat spread through him—she didn’t even know , and was somehow still into it. 

But part of him felt… guilty. 

Sickened for consuming part of her in a way she wasn’t privy to. 

She seemed to like him—to genuinely like him—yet he hadn’t shared such a pivotal part of himself. 

And it left him with a panic. A panic of if she’d no longer look at him the same if she knew. A panic that she’d be afraid of him—consider him dangerous. 

He was still holding onto the image he projected to her—the client who focused on her, who could be who she wanted him to be, rather than who he truly was. 

And that was rather fucked up, wasn’t it? 

Because he’d asked her to be genuine, and he wasn’t giving her any of that in return. 

But it was a contemplation for another day, because presently, he was back. Pushing open the doors of Sharess' Caress, only a few days after he’d seen her last. 

He was grateful he’d taken on multiple contracts lately, because hells, this really was getting expensive. 

Especially when he couldn’t stay away, and knew he’d probably start visiting more frequently. 

It was worth every coin, though. He couldn’t deny that. 

The first thing he heard as he walked through the door was Talia’s giggle, high pitched and airy. 

A laugh that haunted him in the days they spent apart—one more aspect of her he found intoxicating. 

His eyes narrowed quickly when he realized what, or who, the source of her laughter was. 

She was leaning on the bar, talking to the tiefling she’d been out with, when he’d seen her at the Blushing Mermaid and pretended she didn’t exist. It was a moment he regretted. 

He didn’t want her to think he was embarrassed of their relationship—he wasn’t, but he’d had no idea how to navigate seeing her. Or if she’d even want him to acknowledge her in that setting. It was something he agonized over. They were one thing in the brothel, and nothing outside of it. 

But he couldn’t focus on that right now. Not when she was within reach. 

Accompanying them—just sitting at the bar as if they were at a brothel for a drink—were the two humans they’d also been out with. 

The man looked as if he was thrilled to have Talia all to himself. 

While the tiefling and human woman couldn’t take their eyes off each other, he was fixated on Talia— practically leering at her. 

Astarion didn’t like it. Perhaps it was ironic and unfair, but a strange surge of protectiveness flooded him. Something he had no business feeling. 

As he inched closer to them, he could hear them speak. 

“I knew you wouldn’t be able to afford me,” Talia said wryly. There wasn’t any seduction in her voice—she was just joking, as if they were old friends. 

“Oh, please,” the man chuckled in response. “With the things I’d make you feel? You wouldn’t want me to pay at all.” 

Talia only snorted, and at least Astarion didn’t have to listen to her flirt with this painfully average human. 

By their dialogue, it seemed she barely knew him. For a reason he couldn’t afford to contemplate, it made Astarion feel relieved. Which was admittedly not how he should feel. 

Talia could have any number of men in her life outside of work—or people of any gender, actually. 

He really didn’t know her preferences, outside of liking him. She could have a partner at home, for all he knew. 

And somehow? That hurt more than knowing she spent her nights being hired by others. 

He couldn’t believe he was jealous of Talia’s partner who likely didn’t exist. 

But what would it be like—to know her outside of this setting? To fall into his trance beside her, and kiss her in the morning? 

To walk down the street at night, holding her hand? 

To be more than what he currently was—the one who held the power, who decided when and how often they’d see each other? 

They were ridiculous thoughts. Dangerous thoughts. 

Ones that made him certain he was losing his mind. 

But any insecurity (not that he was actually insecure of course), was gone when she saw him. 

Because the second their eyes met?

She left the human without even saying goodbye, practically gliding to where he stood. 

Even if she had someone at home, she was undeniably excited every time she saw him. 

And in a setting like this? That was a gift. One he didn’t take lightly. 

“You’re back,” she said breathlessly, eyes wide and bright. “I didn’t expect you so soon.” 

“I couldn’t stay away,” he replied easily, giving her a silly smile. 

They smiled at each other for just a moment longer before she grabbed his hand. 

He began to follow her when it occurred to him that something about this interaction was missing. 

Why he pointed it out —when he easily could have saved himself some money—was confusing, even to him. 

“Wait. I haven’t paid.” 

Maybe he just didn’t want the guilt of ripping her off, or maybe he cared enough that he didn’t want to see her get in trouble. 

Whatever the reason, she had ideas of her own. 

Talia hesitated, glancing towards the counter where her boss stood. 

“Do it after. I don’t want to wait.” 

“Is that… allowed?” He wasn’t exactly sure what the rules of the brothel were, or if there were any, but he’d never paid after before. 

Talia rolled her eyes at him. “Do you really care what’s allowed? I want to be alone with you. Now.” 

“Eager, are we?” he murmured, deciding not to protest any further. 

Of course he’d pay later, but he highly doubted anyone else got this treatment from her— this was a job, after all. 

But as she led him up the stairs, a bounce in her every step, he couldn’t help but smile all the same. She didn’t treat this like a job—didn’t treat him like another day at work. 

And when they were alone, she was quick to turn to him, pulling him in for a kiss. 

It was heated and needy, her lips speaking the words that she hadn’t expressed out loud. She may not have said she missed him, but gods, her body told him all he needed to know. 

He pulled away, sooner than he would’ve liked. 

“I’m sorry,” she blurted out, always so adorably enthusiastic and never wanting to push him too far. “Was that too much?” 

He liked her better like this—when she was almost impish, genuinely concerned, instead of forcing a seduction that she’d succeed at anyway. 

“No,” he smiled, taking her hand and leading her to the bed. “I wanted to… talk. For a moment.” 

They sat down next to each other, feet touching the floor as they rested on the edge. 

Her wide lilac eyes met his, searching and expectant. 

He began to speak, his voice low and gravelly. “I was thinking.” 

He was silent for a moment as he worked up the courage to say what he’d been thinking aloud. She continued to watch him—no pressure, no urgency—wanting to ensure he was as comfortable as possible. 

And that was what allowed him to start speaking—the quiet knowledge that he was safe, that he could say anything and she wouldn’t judge him. 

“About… this. What we’ve been doing. I told you that intimacy doesn’t come easily to me. And I didn’t intend on letting you touch me; not really.” 

He hesitated, but she nodded her head slightly, encouraging him to continue. 

“After last time, though, I keep thinking.” 

Gods, he was doing a terrible job at this. Any smooth lines he used to purr so easily were gone, because all he could think about was her. Her proximity, her lips, the way her cunt felt as she opened her legs for him… 

He cleared his throat, trying to pull himself together. “Right! Well, I was thinking…” 

“You said that,” she murmured, and she grinned at him. “A few times.” 

He sent her a playful glare. 

He wasn’t used to this. 

He wasn’t used to outlining his desires—to having a conversation beforehand. 

“I…” he swallowed, forcing himself to look her directly in the eye. 

“I want you to touch me.” 

The words sounded foreign to his own ears, slipping off his tongue in a way that should’ve been uncomfortable. 

But… it wasn’t. 

He had never intended on it going this far. 

He had never intended on coming back so often—not just for sex, but for something far more dangerous: connection. 

Talia exhaled sharply as her eyes widened. “Oh.” 

And then after a beat, she pulled him closer. “Tell me how.” 

Her gaze was hypnotic as she took him in, her cheeks flushing and eyes darkening to a gorgeous shade of violet. He had seen desire on her face before, but he hadn’t been expecting it to be this intense over his own pleasure. 

“Start by kissing me,” he breathed, his voice not nearly as commanding or seductive as he would’ve liked. 

And so she did. Leaning in, her lips met his, no hesitancy like there had been the first time they’d kissed. 

It was like they’d done this thousands of times before, their mouths finding a perfect rhythm. 

Almost instinctively, his hands reached for either side of her waist, pulling her on top so she could straddle him. She pulled away from his mouth as she adjusted, smiling at him tenderly. 

He wanted to see her: all of her. The last few times, they’d been so eager that she hadn’t undressed. He didn’t want that tonight; no, he wanted to take his time with her. 

He wanted to commit this moment to memory—the first time he let someone touch him in a way that he wanted, with no promise of blood or the threat of a master looming over him. 

It’s not that he hadn’t had sex since his freedom—he had, but it had never been satisfying. 

Usually? They’d been intrigued by his vampirism, begging for a bite. 

It seemed like a fair exchange; they shared sexual pleasure, and he got to feed. Usually, the people were attractive, and no one was telling him he had to. 

But when he’d told Tav about the feelings of emptiness it left him with? The feeling that it was still transactional, nothing more than his body being used? 

Well, he’d had to reevaluate, as his dearest friend stared at him with mournful eyes. 

And it wasn’t lost on him that this beautiful woman, the one smiling at him right now, was perhaps the most transactional relationship he’d ever had. 

But somehow? She was the safest. 

And tonight? She was his. 

“Are you alright?” she whispered, undoubtedly noticing his silence. 

“I’ve never been better.” He meant the words. 

He meant it as he reached for the hem of her dress, listening to her giggle as it came off. 

He meant it as she leaned in to kiss him, softer than he expected. 

He meant it. 

He had never been better, because of her—so beautiful as she pulled away, in nothing but a pair of lace panties—almost completely bare for him, causing his eyes to darken and arousal to stir. 

She was breathing heavily as her mouth opened to let him in, her hands lacing through his hair. 

He groaned at the feeling of it. He had never liked his hair touched in the past. Not when it took so long to perfect, not when he put so much effort into looking polished—but Talia made him forget all of that. 

Talia made him feel okay about ruining expensive clothes and looking ragged. 

Talia made him feel okay with being seen— with being someone to desire. 

It was ridiculous, and not at all what he expected, but gods, it was perfect. 

She rolled her hips slightly, and he groaned again, this time louder and needier. 

She pulled away to look at him again. 

“Should I take this off?” she whispered, pulling at his collar. 

He had prepared for that question. He knew she’d want to see all of him, in the way he’d seen her many times before. In the way he was seeing her at that very moment. 

But he wasn’t ready for that. Not yet. Not when his scars would potentially inspire questions—and even if she was too polite to ask , she would still know they were there. 

She would know he’d endured torture, and he wasn’t quite ready for her to know the extent of how miserable two hundred years of his existence had been. 

Somehow, he managed to compose himself just a little bit and spoke with a more commanding tone. “Unbutton it, but leave it on.” 

Wearing a buttoned up shirt had been intentional, after all. 

Her eyes flashed—he knew she got a thrill out of doing what she was told, and as she moved back slightly so she could bring her hands to the top button, he grinned at her anticipation. 

She was shaky as she reached for him, her movements slow and careful, yet not at all practiced like he’d expected them to be. She looked almost reverent as she tried to undress him—eyes violet and wide, blue skin flushed purple. 

She began to fumble with the first button, cursing slightly. He knew that she was aching with need; he could hear her racing pulse and feel her wetness through the thin panties she wore. Apparently, it was impairing her ability to do something as simple as undo his shirt. 

“Need some help?” he teased her, and she glared at him for a moment. 

“I do this everyday. I don’t need help,” she scoffed. 

She finally undid the first button and the look on her face was almost triumphant. 

He tried to bite back a laugh, failing spectacularly. 

“Are you sure you don’t need help? You seem to be  struggling.” 

She was about to answer when he moved her hands, replacing them with his own. 

As much as he wanted to continue teasing her, he was acutely aware of the erection growing between his legs. 

He didn’t struggle nearly as much as Talia, undoing the buttons with confident ease. 

She let out a strangled noise as she took in his bare chest for the first time, her eyes trailing down and lingering on his abdomen. 

As turned on as he may have been, he was also feeling a warm bubble in his chest at how fucking cute she was. 

She was so confusing—she barely seemed like a prostitute, when she couldn’t even undo his shirt buttons because of shaky hands, and looked at him like he was something holy.  

But maybe that’s what was special; when they were together, she wasn’t just a prostitute, no matter what the nature of their relationship might dictate. 

And he wasn’t just the man hiring her for the night. She was Talia, and he was Astarion. They were themselves, exploring intimacy in a way they both thoroughly enjoyed. 

In a way that felt sacred: real. 

When she leaned in again, her lips didn’t meet his. Instead, they found his neck—featherlight and careful, delicate and reverent. Luckily, she didn’t go for the side with the reminder of the night he’d been turned. 

He let out a sigh, slow and happy. He felt her smile into his neck before her lips trailed downwards, kissing lower until her lips found his pecs. 

When she slid off the bed to continue the descent of her lips—down his chest, his abdomen, right above where he was painfully hard—he throbbed at the sight of her. She sat back for a moment, gesturing for him to move forward. 

The image of her—on her knees and looking up at him through her thick lashes—was surely going to haunt him every time he tried to fall into his trance, and every time he even thought about looking at someone else. 

But presently, she was all he needed, as her hands found the ties of his trousers. 

“May I?” she murmured, her eyes completely enthralling him. 

Not trusting himself to speak, he nodded, and she bit her lip as her hands began to work the laces. 

She paused before making any move to pull them down, not breaking eye contact as she spoke. 

“Do you want them all the way off, or…?” 

Well, he’d made it this far. She wouldn’t see any… unusual scarring if she saw him bare from the waist down, so he nodded again, throat tight at the enticing look in her eyes. 

He shifted his hips so she could pull them all the way down, his underwear coming with them. 

The cold air of the room hit him, and he glanced down at his own cock, leaking precum and so ready for what she wanted to give him. 

Gods, she looked mesmerized, as if her mind wanted to encode this memory as much as his did. 

She was the one on her knees yet she held all the power—not in an unhealthy way, but simply because he would give her anything she wanted, whether it was his body or more. 

“Show me what you want,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. “Tell me how you want me to touch you.” 

“Give me your hand.” His voice came out low and deep. 

She complied readily, and he hesitated for just a moment. 

There was no going back from this. 

There was no going back from the arbitrary line he had set a few months ago—but when she was looking at him like that? So needy and wanting? 

He certainly didn’t want to maintain that rule that had quickly become pointless. 

So he took her hand, placing it on the tip. 

He guided her for just a few strokes, helping her find a rhythm before he let her take over completely. 

She sucked in a deep breath as she touched him for the first time, her eyes transfixed on the pearl that had formed on the tip of his length. 

Collecting it, she stroked him gently just once on her own, watching for his reaction. 

And just once was enough for him to moan, guttural and deep. 

It was everything he’d imagined, yet somehow more—this remarkable woman, on her knees for him—biting her lip in anticipation as she drank in every expression in his face, and every reaction as she stroked him for a second time. 

Her hand, wrapped around him with no guidance of his own, was exquisite. 

“Feel good?” she breathed. 

He let out another raspy groan, nodding slowly. 

It made her smile softly, as if she was enjoying touching him as much as she enjoyed it when he touched her. 

She was stroking him gently and carefully, as if he was something delicate that she didn’t want to break. 

It was tender, intimate, and beautiful. 

And hells, he had no idea how a handjob could be so romantic, but with her? 

With her, it certainly was. 

“Get on the bed,” he groaned. He was desperate to have her closer—to be able to lean in and kiss her, and touch her curves as her hand worked him. 

She readily complied, clumsily standing up to position herself next to him. He leaned back into a laying position, and she followed without instruction. 

He wrapped his arm around her shoulders and her head came to rest on his chest. 

He couldn’t see her face that way, which was both a blessing and a curse. As much as he wanted to see the darkening of her eyes as she brought him closer, he also knew he wouldn’t last and get to enjoy this for long if she was looking at him. 

Not when her eyes told him everything else she was picturing, and made him fantasize about how they’d look if she looked up at him while her mouth enveloped his cock. 

As she wrapped her hand around him again, laying on her side and pressing her body into his, she attuned to his body. 

She attuned to how his hips bucked up when she increased her pace just slightly, and how he cursed her name when she lingered on the tip of him, wetting her hand with all the precum that had gathered. 

The way every stroke felt—intentional and warm — was overwhelming. 

Unconsciously, his hand had moved to the fleshy side of her hip, nails digging in. 

She let out a surprised moan at the contact. He was about to apologize—to ask if he’d gone too far the way she’d asked him so many times before—but instead she increased her pace, urged on by his own desire. 

They didn’t speak. The room was far from silent, though, as the sounds of the movement of her hand on his wet length filled the air, while the breathy moans that escaped both of them charged every movement. 

It was all too much. 

He could smell her arousal, hear her heart beating, and feel the way her palm began to move, desperate and fast, as she pulled him closer and closer to his release. 

Knowing he was approaching the edge he couldn’t come back from, he groaned out her name. 

“Talia,” he gasped, eyes rolling back into his head at the sensation of her practiced hand stroking him, “kiss me. Please.” 

Her breath hitched at his words and she turned her face to his, their lips colliding before he even had a chance to think. 

It was as she opened her mouth and allowed him in fully that he knew he was done for. 

How could he not be, when she was moaning into his mouth, as hungry for his release as he was? How could he not be, when her hand was caressing him like this was more than a transaction? 

How could he not be, when she pulled away for a moment to look him in the eyes and whisper, “come for me. Please." 

The sensation was almost overwhelming; he felt his balls tighten and his hips began to move of their own accord, fucking her hand with all sense abandoned. 

All he could see was her. All he could feel was her, hand stroking so expertly and her mouth moving to his neck to suck and lick over where his pulse point should’ve been. 

When he finally came, spilling himself into her hand and along his lower abdomen, it was with a guttural noise that started deep in his chest, reverberating through his whole body. 

It represented all the weeks he’d spent wanting this. 

Wanting her. 

Her touch, and the safety of this beautiful woman making him come undone. 

It was a moment he’d remember; he knew that, as she didn’t relent until his hips stilled completely, wringing as many drops out of him as possible. 

They were both silent for a moment in the aftermath, her hand releasing him and resting on his stomach. He could feel the warmth of his spend on her hand and he was left with the thought that they really should clean themselves, but she didn’t seem to care as she sighed happily into his neck. 

“How was that?” she whispered finally, kissing his neck one last time before pulling away to look at him. 

The arousal in her own eyes was clear, but she seemed unbothered, instead solely focused on making sure he enjoyed himself. 

“Do you really need to ask?” he retorted, the evidence of just how much he enjoyed it quite literally on her hand. 

“I guess not,” she mused. “But I’d like to hear you say it.” 

He rolled his eyes at her. “Fine. It was… excellent. Exceeded all of my expectations. No notes. You’re wonderful at that.” 

His voice took on a teasing tone—his words weren’t a lie, but he found himself craving the way they could joke around with each other and not take the emotional moments too seriously. 

“I thought so,” she purred, self-assured but still managing to have an airy, joking tone in her voice. 

She sighed happily again. “We should clean up.” 

Before he had a chance to tell her not to leave his arms, she was rolling away from him, her feet hitting the floor. 

He missed her warmth, but the visual of her backside was admittedly far from a bad thing. 

A thin sheen of sweat covered her lower back, and he bit back a grin that she’d gotten so worked up over pleasuring him. 

He more than understood the feeling; that had been his experience every time he’d touched her, and it was an enticing role reversal that he was deeply appreciating. 

“Enjoying the view?” she teased, still looking away from him. 

“Naturally,” he responded, and hells, it was ridiculous to be smiling this much because of a prostitute. 

But… the word felt wrong to him now. 

Because yes, maybe that’s how she’d describe her work—but wasn’t she more than that? 

More to him? 

He’d trusted her with an intimacy that he didn’t trust anyone with. The word prostitute, so often spat out degradingly, didn’t even begin to encompass what she’d done for him—the things she made him feel. 

It defined her as someone whose life was just pleasing greedy people who didn’t give her anything in exchange, except a bag of gold. 

People who didn’t wonder who she was outside of this. 

Maybe she didn’t view it that way, but the thought of referring to their relationship using that word was beginning to feel strange. 

As she walked over to a basin, wetting a cloth, then returning to him with an easy smile on her face, he had a gnawing feeling in his gut. 

“Can I clean you?” she asked softly, glancing at the mess he’d made on himself. 

Throat tight, he nodded. 

This felt like the most vulnerable, tender part of the night. 

He exhaled as she brought the cloth to his body, moving carefully and slowly. Her eyes were trained on him, and gods, why did it make him feel so much to watch her clean him off? 

There was something profoundly intimate about the gentle nature of it. 

He wasn’t sure he’d ever been touched like this. So caring, so soft, being taken care of after the act as well as he had been during. 

She took her time, and he sighed softly at how gentle she was. He almost regretted it when it was over. Yet he couldn’t help but laugh as she finished cleaning him, throwing the cloth rather ungracefully on the floor. 

“What?” she asked, batting her eyelashes innocently as she laid down next to him. “I’ll pick it up later.” 

She settled into a laying position beside him, both of them silent for a moment as they stared at the ceiling. 

“I didn’t touch you. Again.” He said finally, biting his lip. If she asked him to, he readily would. 

He was preparing to, in fact. He wanted this to be as equal as possible. 

“Astarion,” she sighed, and the bed shifted as she propped herself up on her elbow to look at him. 

He looked back, resisting the urge to flinch at the intensity in her eyes. 

How was he supposed to keep his feelings out of it, when she looked at him like that? 

“I didn’t do that with the expectation of anything in return. Even if you weren’t a client, I wouldn’t just touch you so you would touch me back. I’m more than happy to leave this here for the night, okay?” 

After a moment of silence, he spoke again. “Okay. This time, it’s about me. But next time…” he trailed off, raising his eyebrows salaciously. 

“What a delicious thought,” she purred. 

She looked away after a moment, teeth sinking into her bottom lip. 

“Do you have to go now?” 

Her previously confident voice had fallen into something vulnerable, and almost… sad. 

He should say yes. He should dress himself, maybe kiss her quickly, then get the fuck out of there—before the warm feeling spreading through him increased, and before he crossed more lines that he thought he’d be uncomfortable with. 

But he wasn’t uncomfortable. Not with her. Never with her. 

And he didn't want to leave her—not yet, anyway. 

“I can stay for a bit?” His voice came out hesitant, as if he had to ask to stay, despite Talia making it clear that’s what she wanted. 

And when she turned to face him, beaming at him? 

As if that simple suggestion was enough to make her whole month? 

He knew he’d made the right decision.  

She swallowed audibly, the surprise and relief evident on her features. “Please do,” she whispered. 

It was the sound of her voice that made him speak again—hesitant yet eager, her wide eyes looking at him like she never wanted to let this moment go. 

“I could… hold you? If you want?” 

Her eyes shone as she gazed at him—like he was something precious, worth cherishing. 

She nodded, almost as if she didn’t trust her voice enough to say yes. 

So he reached for her, pulling her head onto his chest. 

She was tense for a moment. It occurred to him that maybe she wasn’t used to this—to wanting to be touched in a way that wasn’t sexual—that was simply about intimacy and nothing more. 

“You can relax,” he murmured into her hair. “I won’t bite.” A rather ironic statement given his… condition, but she didn’t know that yet. 

Slowly, she did. She wrapped her arm just above his waist, and despite them being almost nude, they managed to hold each other in a way that was completely chaste. 

He wasn’t sure how long passed. It was long enough that he felt completely tranquil, any worries about what he was doing in this setting completely fading. 

Because the peace he felt? 

The warmth of Talia’s skin—the pleasant sound of her thrumming heart—the way she smelled like sunshine? 

It was priceless. 

She was priceless. 

So he would stay. For just a little longer, because outside of this room, they didn’t have to face who they really were to each other. 

For now? He was just Astarion, and she was just Talia. 

A thing that he would cherish, even if it was only for the night.

Notes:

I kept referring to this chapter as "the emotional handjob" to my friend lmao. So, there's the emotional handjob!

I swear this fic has more of a plot, and next chapter brings an important conversation between Talia and Astarion that I'm excited to share.

I describe this fic as an "emotional/romantic slow burn", because yeah, they're horny for each other, but it takes a while for them to open up fully.

Thanks again for the 50 kudos and every single comment that's been left! <3

Chapter 8: Falling in Pieces

Summary:

Talia and Astarion learn more about who they were before they met.

After another night of intimacy, she acknowledges the most important truth of all: she'll take what she can get from him, even if it doesn't feel like enough.

Notes:

so... this chapter kinda got away from me, and ended up being the longest one I've written yet.

If you like long chapters then you're welcome, if you don't, then I'm sorry!

enjoy :)

After their last visit, Talia was slowly leaving her state of denial.

She liked Astarion, and he wasn’t a normal client—no matter what lies she’d been telling herself. 

So she’d begun to quit denying it, and to take the parts of him she could get without expecting more. 

She thought of him daily. She thought of the moment she’d touched him recently, the conversations they’d had, and most of all? 

She thought of the way he held her. 

The way he’d asked to hold her. 

It was unfair of him to do things like that—to be so soft and gentle with her, making her feel things that she couldn’t afford to in her line of business. 

But she felt them all the same, and she wouldn’t trade it for anything. 

The shift she was working now was boring. Harmony was off, and she was finally going on a date with Jessa, the human woman they’d met at the Blushing Mermaid. 

She thought back to the adorable moment they’d come into Sharess’ Caress. 

Jessa looked shy—nervous and out of place, likely entering a brothel for her first time. She’d brought Finn with her, probably too anxious to visit on her own. 

It was exactly something Harmony would’ve done. 

Talia had chatted with Finn while Harmony and Jessa managed to work out the details of their date. 

Of course, that was cut short when Astarion had entered. But at least Harmony could be happy, meeting someone in a way that was decidedly more normal than catching feelings for a client. 

Presently, Talia glanced around the room, snapping out of her musings as she searched for a way to occupy her time. 

She saw Nym, who looked equally as bored as she stifled a yawn. Talia knew her fellow drow had been here for years —she didn’t know exactly how long, but it was long enough that she wondered if she would still be in Nym’s position when she was her age. Minus a brother who she had a slightly revolting relationship with, of course. 

Nym looked up as she approached, greeting her quietly.  “Talia, darling.” Always polite and welcoming. 

“Slow day?” she murmured, rolling her neck to release some of the built up tension. 

“Indeed. Expecting anyone in particular today? A charming hero, perhaps?” Nym was shooting her a smile that Talia didn’t quite understand. 

“Are any of the men who come in here heroic?” she scoffed, although she was uncertain why the question was being directed at her in particular. 

“Well, your favourite client certainly is.” 

“I don’t have favourites,” she muttered back, staring pointedly at the floor. 

She may have admitted it to herself, but remaining in a state of denial with the others felt necessary. 

Nym hummed, before grazing Talia’s elbow so she’d look up. “I forget that you’re new to this. We all have favourites, from time to time.” 

Talia sighed, looking at Nym. “And who do you think my favourite is?” 

“If I had to guess?” Her voice was wry as she began to respond. “Pale, elven, and far more beautiful than what we’re used to seeing from our patrons.”

Talia didn’t answer. She didn’t need to. 

It was embarrassing that the others recognized her want for Astarion. She had always been so good at keeping her heart separate from her work, to the point that they’d often joke about how unfeeling she was. It was a badge she wore proudly— feeling made things complicated. Messy. And she did not need that mess while she was working. 

Nym continued speaking after a moment of silence. “It’s funny. He was rather… untouchable when Sorn and I met him.” 

Her eyes went to Nym as she spoke. Nym, the picture of grace, so perfect at appearing unaffected. 

“When did you meet him?” 

“Years ago, darling. Do you not know the whole story? Or why he visited here back then?” 

“No? He’s not paying me to talk, Nym.” The impatience in her voice wasn’t even disguised. 

“A pity. He does have such an arresting voice,” Nym sighed, and Talia rolled her eyes. 

She shouldn’t ask more—but hearing about him, about who he was outside of late night brothel visits— stirred a curiosity that she should’ve ignored. Should’ve, but wasn’t going to. 

Nym wasn’t stupid. She knew exactly what she was doing by telling her tidbits, waiting until Talia engaged. 

“Fine. Why was he here, since you seem to know so much about him?” 

Nym’s eyes flashed in amusement before she spoke again. “Do you remember the wood elves he came in with, that first night he hired you? The ones that hired my brother and I?” 

The sound of my brother and I in a brothel setting never failed to make Talia cringe. Nevertheless, she nodded, trying her best to appear uninterested as Nym told her story. 

“Did you ever hear about The Absolute?” Nym asked instead. “That cult that threatened to overtake the city? There were mindflayers and a giant brain controlling them. Apparently it was a front for the chosen of the Dead Three, or some insanity.” 

Talia sighed. She had, in fact, heard of that time. She was still in the Underdark when it happened—at a time when she hadn’t even considered making a life elsewhere. A major crisis like that, though, didn’t disappear from history overnight. 

“Is this going somewhere?” Talia said shortly, glaring at Nym. “What does any of this have to do with Astarion?” 

“So impatient,” Nym grinned. “Well, obviously some heroes had to step up to stop it. A tale as old as time. It was just before the fall of the brain, and a group of adventurers came in. Astarion and his lovely friends were part of that group. I didn’t realize who they were until after it ended, of course.” 

The pieces were beginning to come together in Talia’s mind, but it didn’t make sense. “So who were they?” 

“The heroes of our tale. The wood elves—Tav and Halsin—were a couple who hired us. The woman, Tav, was credited with saving Baldur’s Gate, but it was surely a group effort.” Nym was speaking so casually, as if she wasn’t telling an incredulous tale. 

Talia’s mind was racing at her implications, and she had so many questions that Nym likely couldn’t answer. 

“How long ago was this?” 

“Half a century, give or take?” 

Talia snorted in disbelief. “You expect me to believe that you remembered them after all of this time?” 

“How often is it that we sleep with heroes?” Nym shot back. “And besides, Tav was quite eager to relive the old days when she hired us recently. Trust me, if you’d been there, you wouldn’t forget either.” Nym sighed dreamily, causing Talia to roll her eyes again. Nym really did enjoy her work, in a way even she could admire. 

“None of this sounds true. You do realize that, right?” Talia kept her voice as even as possible, trying to quiet her mind. 

“Ask him if you don’t believe me,” Nym countered easily. 

“But…” Talia let out a groan of frustration. 

She knew she shouldn’t ask him. She was eager to know more about his life, but did she really want to push for answers he didn’t want to give? Maybe he liked that she didn’t know, and didn’t praise him for saving the city. 

She gnawed on her lower lip for just a moment before asking one more question. Given how grandiose Nym’s story had been, perhaps it wasn’t the most relevant thing she could be asking. 

But she needed to know all the same.

 “Did he… hire anyone? That first time you met him?” 

Nym giggled, her expression one of genuine amusement. “After everything I just told you, that’s what you think to ask?” she sighed, and smiled fondly as if Talia was the most adorable thing she’d ever seen. “Oh, my dear Talia, you are in far deeper than you think.” 

A voice she barely registered called for Nym and she sauntered away with a wink. 

Talia resumed chewing on her lip, not caring about the mark she’d leave behind. Nym could be wrong. She probably was. 

But… she’d been so certain. Nym was always honest with her, and always kind. There would be absolutely no reason for her to lie, and it’s not like Astarion had ever said “just so you know, I’ve never saved the city.” 

The limited details she knew about how life did include adventures, and they didn’t delve too far in the past. Certainly not far enough back as half a century. How old was he? He seemed youthful enough, but it was hard to tell with elves at times. 

Nym had left her with more questions than answers, and she likely couldn’t give more. Talia supposed she could question Sorn later, but she wasn’t ready to be perceived as that desperate. 

Why in the hells did she care so much, anyway? 

A question for later, as a client approached her with a sly grin and a bag full of coin. 

Nowhere near as beautiful as Astarion, but really, who was?

---

She did care, though. 

That much was evident when she saw him again. 

Because she was thinking of what she’d learned, even as he had her pressed against the wall—his lips on hers and her arms wrapped tight around his shoulders.  That was a situation she was never distracted from, yet Nym’s words haunted her all the same. 

She was trying her best to be present—to make every moan real, to do the one thing he’d asked for—but it was so difficult when all she wanted was to know him. 

To question him about a part of his life that was intriguing. 

As his tongue slipped into her mouth, she let out an exaggerated cry. 

He stepped backwards immediately, pulling away to look at her. 

“Darling, you’re not nearly as good of an actress as you think you are.” 

“Sorry,” she said sheepishly, biting her lip. “Kiss me again.” 

He sighed, rolling his eyes as he stepped away. “No.” 

She arched an eyebrow. She wasn’t used to being told no—especially not by clients. 

“Something’s on your mind,” he murmured, and as he moved to sit on the bed, what was on her mind almost disappeared entirely. 

His hair was already a tangled mess, lipstick staining his mouth red. Physical proof of what they’d been doing—the evidence of what she did to him. 

It was enough to make her thighs ache and her heart pound. 

Unfortunately, her mind didn’t quiet. Not even her attraction could stop what she’d learned from rushing through her brain. 

“I’ve been thinking about you,” she began carefully, trying to frame it delicately. 

She didn’t know how he’d react to her prying. 

“Oh?” he murmured, leaning back on his elbows as she joined him on the bed. “By the look on your face, it seems to be about more than just how talented and beautiful I am.” 

“I’m always thinking about that,” she purred, but hesitated for a moment after. “But…” she sighed. “I heard something. From someone. About you. It was… interesting. And I guess I’m wondering if it’s true.” 

Astarion sat upright at her words, body tensing and visibly appearing uncomfortable. 

“What exactly did you hear?” He tried his best to keep his voice unaffected, but there was an edge to it—like he was worried she’d uncovered something she shouldn’t know. 

“I’m sorry,” she blurted out. “It’s not my business.” 

He rolled his eyes at her. “Well, you can’t just say you heard something and then not tell me exactly what it is.” 

She was quick to reassure him. “It’s nothing bad. I actually find it incredibly… intriguing.” 

He relaxed slightly and sighed. “Well, if it intrigues you, then I suppose I can’t complain.” He turned to look at her.

“Alright, my dear. What is it?” 

How did she even ask this? I heard you’re a hero who saved the city from mindflayers and evil gods? 

What if she was wrong? It would be a wild question if he had no idea what she was talking about. 

“Your silence is making me antsy,” he said, his brow furrowing. 

She took a deep breath before asking. She had spent her whole career avoiding prying into her clients' lives, only finding out details when they chose to share. 

This was different: this was new. 

It was another barrier she was crossing because of Astarion, and she stayed silent for another moment as that realization struck her. 

How did one night of conversation turn into this? 

He huffed impatiently again, and she cleared her throat.

 “Well!” she began finally, her tone a bit more cheerful than the situation called for. “I heard this wild story. Supposedly, you saved the city from a mindflayer brain? And stopped a cult? And killed the Chosen of the Dead Three?” 

Saying it aloud made it all sound more outlandish. 

He let out a laugh at her words—lower in pitch than she was used to from him, but entertained all the same. 

“My my,” he murmured, his eyes glinting in amusement. “That’s quite the tale, when you put it like that.” 

“So it’s true?” Her voice pitched in excitement, eager that he didn’t deny it. 

He hesitated. “Mostly? I didn’t do it of my own free will, and I certainly didn’t do it alone.” 

“… meaning?” 

“I didn’t choose to be a hero. Circumstance put me at the centre of it—and luckily, I ended up with a group of misfits who were far more inclined to heroism than I was.” 

There was a certain bitterness in his voice—one Talia couldn’t read, and didn’t want to pry into further. 

She was already learning more about him than she thought she ever would, and gods, she loved every word that came out of his mouth—every glimpse into who he was before they met. 

“What circumstances were those?” she asked carefully. She wouldn’t question him about his bitterness, but she couldn’t resist trying to learn more. 

He raised his eyebrows at her with a sigh. “Do you really want to spend this time talking? About me? I can think of a myriad of ways I could put my mouth to use that you’d find more pleasurable.” 

She bit her bottom lip, recognizing his words for what they were—a deflection. 

“If you don’t want to talk about it, just tell me that. This is your time after all.” She hesitated, looking downwards. “I was just curious, but I know that’s not what you’re here for. I’m sorry.” 

He was still for a moment beside her. 

“I hate how you do that,” he said finally, and she glanced at him. He was gazing upwards, not meeting her eyes. 

“Do what?” 

“ Apologize. Constantly. Like you’re afraid that if you ask the wrong thing I’ll walk out of here and never come back.” 

“Wouldn’t you be?” she shot back. “You could do that. You could leave one of our….” She hesitated at what to call what they’d been doing. It was so much more than what happened with other clients—but it was so much less than a real relationship. “Nights together,” she finally settled on. “You could leave one of our nights together and never come back. And that decision would be entirely in your hands. I’d have no way of contacting you, or finding out what happened to you.” 

“You’d hardly be forced to spend your nights alone, though,” he bit back. “I’m not the only one who comes back for you.” 

The words stung—he wasn’t wrong, but it was a sobering reminder of her own hypocrisy. 

They had both signed up for this—they had both known what they were getting into. 

She wanted to tell him that he was different—that it would actually hurt if he disappeared. 

And she had said as much in the past, but each time she did, it grew scarier. 

More real. 

She huffed out a breath. “You can tell me about your life if you want. Or don’t. It’s up to you.” 

When he stayed silent, she spoke again—trying to ease the tension in the only way she knew how. “I could also give you what you’re really here for, and put my mouth to use in ways you’d enjoy.” 

“I’m sure you could,” he agreed, and he finally turned to face her. “But… if you really are so curious about that time, I can tell you about it. On one condition.” 

She knew what he’d see as he looked at her—insatiable curiosity and lit up eyes. She wanted to know him : to really know him, outside of the things he could do to her. And he must have recognized that, by the silly smile he shot her at the expression on her face. 

“What’s your condition?” she asked, despite already knowing she’d readily agree to it. 

“You have to tell me something about you in return. Something honest, that you wouldn’t tell anyone else in this… setting." 

She nodded quickly, not really considering what he was asking for. She didn’t like talking about herself either, but if it meant getting to know him more she could make an exception. 

He gave her a soft smile that made her heart leap. 

She hadn’t desired anyone in this way in… years. 

It was the desire to know someone. To really, truly know them. Not their body, not the pretty words they could moan in a moment of passion—but what they thought about, the things that made them them. 

“Fine. Ask me a question, and I’ll answer. Maybe. And then you have to answer one of mine.” He said the words like it was a game. Realizing he wanted to know her too—wanted to hear about her the way she wanted to hear about him—very much made her want to play. 

“What circumstance put you at the centre of it?”

It seemed like a logical first question. 

“I was abducted by mindflayers,” he said evenly. “They put a lovely little tadpole in my brain. Most of their… abductees were enthralled into the cult of the Absolute—my friends and I were lucky enough to be protected from that.” 

Her eyebrows shot up at the implication. “Wait. You were abducted? That sounds terrifying. I’m so sorry.” 

“It’s hardly the worst thing I’ve gone through,” he responded flatly, and his eyes drifted far away. 

Talia had a hard time imagining what could be worse than mindflayer abduction.  “What does that mean?” 

“Ah— that’s a story for another time. I can’t give away all my secrets at once, darling. And it’s your turn.” 

His humour masked something. The pain of someone who had been through something he had no interest in talking about. It already felt miraculous that he was even telling her this, so she dropped it. 

“All right. What do you want to know?” Her voice was slightly apprehensive—learning about him was one thing, but talking about herself was another.

“You mentioned you lived in the Underdark,” he said softly. “You never told me why you left. You did mention your mother, though. Is she the reason why?”

Out of all the questions he could’ve asked, of course it was that one.

She supposed it was natural—she’d been asked many times before why she left, especially to work in a brothel of all places. But no one cared to hear the truth.

Looking at Astarion now—his expression open, his eyes searching—she found it hard to want to lie.

“I’m surprised you remember me telling you that,” she said, chewing on her bottom lip as she debated how to answer.

“I tend to remember most things you say to me.”

The comment was so unguarded, so genuine, that it made her pause. She took a deep breath, deciding to tell him. Not everything. Just one part. Then she could shift the focus back to him.

“She’s a big part of why I left, yes.”

Maybe that would be enough.

It wasn’t.

“Why, though?” he asked, leaning in slightly.

He was sitting so close, looking at her with such patient attention that she couldn’t help but continue—no matter how reluctant she felt.

“She had a lot of… expectations for me,” she said carefully. “She was the first of her family—our family—to leave Lolth’s culture.”

She winced at the words. Winced at the weight of it all. Her mother had always told her she was special, some sort of sign . 

Everything about her, from her eyes to her name, became weaponized the moment she was born. 

Weaponized in a way she didn’t ask for—in a way no child should have to endure, whether it was typical for drow or not. 

But she didn’t want to tell Astarion that.

She didn’t want to tell him she’d learned to fight right after she learned to walk. That sometimes, even now, she felt more at home with a dagger in her hand than in a bed like this.

She didn’t want to tell him any of it.

Because the violence—the blood, the cruelty—that wasn’t what people wanted to hear.

That wasn’t what he was here for. No matter what he claimed.

“You don’t like talking about this,” he said gently.

“No,” she murmured, “I do not.”

They were quiet for a moment.

Then, without really thinking, she leaned into him, resting her head on his shoulder.

Maybe she wanted comfort.

Maybe she wanted the comfort of a lover. Of someone who would hold her while she talked about her trauma.

And gods, it felt pathetic.

Not because needing someone was pathetic, but because she was seeking that comfort in him—someone she shouldn’t.

Someone who kept giving when he was supposed to be the one taking.

But any lingering resolve she had to keep her distance vanished the moment he wrapped an arm around her and pulled her in.

“I don’t like the person I was back then,” she said finally, her cheek now resting against his chest. “I don’t want to be the person I was around her.”

“And who were you?” he asked.

His voice was soft. No pressure. Just curiosity and care.

She hated that he was asking so gently, because it made her want to answer.

She hated it, because she didn’t want to trust someone with this part of herself—not when she couldn’t truly know if he’d come back again. No matter what he said. 

As if reading her mind, he said, “Nothing you say is going to scare me away. Hells, if you knew half the things I’ve done, you’d beg me to leave, and never come back.”

She snorted. “Doubt it. But fine. It’s really not that exciting anyway. I just…” She sighed, then glanced down at her hands. “My mother was so concerned with escaping Lolth’s culture—the violence, the murder, the hatred—but she just perpetuated it. She joined a resistance, of sorts. They’d feud with Lolth-sworn—go on these stupid missions, kill people, and…”

She trailed off, flushing. She was saying far more than she meant to.

But if he was disturbed, he didn’t show it. Instead, he pressed a kiss into her hair.

It gave her the courage to go on.

“Anyway, I was raised in that. And I hated every second of it. We all have shitty childhoods, and every drow in the Underdark probably has stories of being raised in violence, but is it really so wrong that I wanted something different?”

Her voice had gone higher as she spoke—shrill with emotion, the memories of her early years threatening to overwhelm her. 

He was silent for a moment, undoubtedly trying to process what she’d said.

She almost turned to him—almost begged him to say something, anything —when his voice finally broke the silence.

“I don’t think it’s wrong,” he said gently. “I don’t know everything you went through, but I know what it’s like to have a life you’re desperate to escape.”

“What did you want to escape?” she asked, the question slipping out almost longingly—not just to shift the conversation, but because she wanted to know him. 

She wanted to understand what haunted him—what he had run from. How he’d ended up abducted on a mindflayer ship, and what pieces of himself he still kept locked away.

There was so much he wasn’t telling her.

And how was she supposed to keep sharing the pieces of herself—the ones she’d hidden for so long—when he still held so many walls in place?

“It’s hard for me to talk about. I’m sorry.” There was a trace of regret in his voice, like he wanted to tell her but just… couldn’t. 

“Of course,” she mumbled, knowing she hadn’t quite hidden the disappointment in her voice. “That was hard for me to share, too.”

She pulled away to look at him. As much as she wanted to press, to know more about his past, she reminded herself why he was here.

He wasn’t her emotional healer—no, that burden was hers to carry alone. 

So she shut Talice away—the frustrated little girl who just wanted to run away, the child who had never fully healed—and brought back Talia, forcing a smile onto her face. Not a seductive one—he’d see through that. But one that would convince him she was okay, and that sharing hadn’t hurt. 

The smile that formed was kind, showing him the Talia he’d begun to enjoy. Not just the moaning prostitute, but the soft woman who spoke about her feelings, and cared about his. 

It wasn’t all of her, but it was all she could afford to give him. 

And it seemed to be enough, because he looked at her with a fondness that made her knees weak. 

“Can I kiss you again?” she asked. She wasn’t expressing her vulnerability in words anymore, but maybe she could show him how she felt. 

“I need to ask you something else first,” he responded, despite the hunger in his eyes as his gaze drifted to her lips. 

She groaned. “Really?” 

“It’s not bad,” he reassured her. “And it’s not even about your past. But how did you find out about my… history?” 

“Oh.” Her cheeks flushed darker. Telling him she’d been talking about him was somehow… embarrassing. “I, uh—well, you see. Hm.” 

He tried to bite back a laugh. Naturally, he failed. 

“Am I in the history books now?” he pressed, and she glared at him. 

“Not quite. Nym—the other drow woman here—I guess she remembered you? Or, remembered Tav? Anyways, she noticed that you were my regular, I guess. And she told me.” 

The words came out as an embarrassed ramble, but if he thought it was strange, he didn’t show it. 

“I suppose I should be flattered that I’ve made such an impression in a brothel,” he murmured. “Although, I think I’m even more flattered that you spend your free time talking about me.” 

She rolled her eyes at him. “ Maybe if you weren’t so wonderful, we wouldn’t remember you.” After a beat, she opened her mouth again, desperate to stop talking and start touching. “Now, can I kiss you?” 

He nodded just slightly, and it was all she needed. 

She was growing addicted to how it felt to kiss him. He was a good kisser, which was hardly a surprise, but it was the way he kissed her. 

It was the way he was kissing her now—starting soft and slow as she leaned in, like she was worth taking his time with. 

He was tender—passionate. It wasn’t about domination or power, like so many of her kisses were. It was about care. Connection. 

And it undoubtedly got heated, but the heat was so kind. It was almost loving, but she knew love had nothing to do with their relationship. 

It was getting heated now , as he pulled away to reposition them. 

He reached for the hem of her dress, and she readily raised her arms so he could remove it. 

It wasn’t enough, apparently—they were kneeling facing each other, and his arms snaked around her back to unclasp her bra. 

The way he looked at her as her breasts were exposed to the coolness of the air made her throb, suddenly aware of her growing need for him. 

He didn’t just look hungry—he looked reverent. No one looked at her that way, and she was once again reminded of how unfair it was that he made her feel so much. 

As if he wanted to break her entirely, he looked her directly in the eyes. “You’re so beautiful,” he murmured, and then he was pushing her backward. 

Her head hit the pillows and she smiled at his eagerness as he climbed on top of her. 

He wasted no time kissing her. She could feel the weight of his chest against hers, and the way his groin came to rest between her legs. 

There was no distance between them— not that she wanted any, of course. 

His lips didn’t stay on hers for long, instead beginning a descent down her body. 

Every open mouthed kiss was electrifying, and he paused at one of her nipples, his eyes not leaving hers as he sucked it into his mouth. 

A moan fell from her lips, loud and unbidden. 

Every flick of his tongue over the hard bud made her acutely aware of the growing ache between her thighs. 

“I’ve missed this,” she gasped, as one of his hands came to play with the breast he wasn’t already focused on. 

“I love pleasing you—making you come for me—but I have so missed how good you are with my body. No one makes me feel the way you do.” 

Her confession held two parts to it. One, she wanted the reaction he would surely give her, one she noticed immediately as he groaned and rubbed his clothed erection into her core. 

Two? She’d been honest. She had spent nights fantasizing about this—whether she was with another client or at home touching herself, she was always picturing him. 

She was picturing this . The way he looked up at her, crimson eyes hazy as he gently nipped at her, his hand beginning to massage her other breast. 

“Fuck,” she whimpered, her hips beginning to move of their own accord. 

He pulled away then, trailing back up her body to place another heated kiss on her lips. He lifted his weight to snake a hand between them, rubbing her clit through the thin material of her panties. 

“I’ve missed it too,” he gasped, voice raspy as he shifted his lips to her neck. “Gods, Talia. I’ve thought about this so many times—the way your heart races, how wet you get for me, and how pretty you sound saying my name.” 

She cursed, his low, husky voice making her throb again. Coupled with the way his fingers applied just the right amount of pressure, she knew that if he just removed the barrier—just touched her bare heat—she would reach her peak in no time. 

Just a few nights, and no one knew her body like he did. No one paid attention, carefully studying every moan and jut of her hips. 

No one until him. She was hooked on every touch that trailed over her skin—every groan that left his lips. She was his, whether he wanted it or not. 

“Give me more, Astarion,” she begged, her neediness growing to the point it was almost unbearable. “Gods, I want your fingers in me—or your mouth on my cunt—just anything. Please.” 

He let out a strangled noise, and her words seemed to affect him just the way she wanted—an observation she made as he pulled away and moved down the bed. 

His hands found the side of the lace of her panties, and she lifted her hips so he could fully pull them off. 

He didn’t make her wait—thank the gods, he didn’t make her wait—as he settled in between her legs. 

She felt his breath on her cunt, always strangely cool and more than a little overwhelming. 

“So,” he said slowly, teasingly. He pulled back just slightly, and she pushed herself up on her elbows to look at him. 

The sight of him—eyes glinting, a smirk on his features—made her clench around nothing. 

“My fingers in you, or my mouth on your cunt. Which would you prefer, darling?” 

His voice was hypnotic; his eyes enthralling. 

He was like a predator playing with his food, and she was more than happy to be his prey. 

“Both. Either. Anything.” Her tone was desperate, the need in her voice barely disguised. 

He grinned up at her, and she writhed as two fingers spread her labia. 

“Ah, ah,” he tutted, his free hand coming to anchor her hips to the bed. 

“Stay still.” It was a command—one that was harder to follow than it should’ve been. 

How was she supposed to stay still, as his tongue met her clit? 

He pressed it flat against the bud, taking a long, languid lick. She was just getting used to the stimulating feeling of his tongue on her when he pulled away. 

She groaned in exasperation—she was far too needy to be teased right now, and she was about to tell him as much, when he spoke up. 

“Sorry darling,” he murmured. “I just had to tell you how good you taste. How dearly I’ve missed burying my head between these pretty thighs of yours, and feeling you come undone on my tongue.” 

He didn’t waste any more time with conversation. 

Her back arched as he dove back in, this time flicking his tongue. She couldn’t keep track of what he was doing as the pleasure overwhelmed her—his tongue worked expertly, alternating between strokes and flicks, occasionally pulling her clit into his mouth to suck on it. 

The lewd, wet noises of his mouth on her cunt filled the air, and both of his hands were on her hips, anchoring her in place as she tried to resist the urge to rut into his face.

Her moans increased in intensity, any words completely lost on her. She didn’t know how to speak, how to think—all she could do was feel, as his tongue moved downwards and began to explore her entrance. 

His nose nudged against her clit as he curved his tongue to find the spot that made her see stars, and she was lost. 

He fucked her with his mouth and tongue in a way that was so sinful—so right. 

And just as the build up started, the electricity that threatened to overwhelm her core and make her say things she’d surely regret when he was finished—he stopped. 

The frustration that surged through her was so intense that it made her cry out. 

“What the hells, Astarion!” She certainly spoke with more venom than she intended, but honestly? He deserved it.  She couldn’t believe she was practically yelling at him for stopping, but the throb of her clit reminded her it was actually completely reasonable. 

“Oh, I know,” he hummed, leaving the space between her thighs to hover over her. 

His entire chin was soaking, and she could see her own arousal coating his mouth. 

It did nothing to stave off the heat in her stomach. 

“That was so mean of me, wasn’t it?” He was grinning wildly, and she let out a low hiss. 

He looked shocked as he laughed, raising his eyebrows at the noise she made. 

“My, my,” he grinned. “You’re cute when you’re angry.” 

“You’re cruel.” She muttered, closing her eyes and attempting to squeeze her thighs together—something that was decidedly difficult when he was resting in the space between them. 

“Don’t worry, darling,” he murmured, finally relenting. 

He shifted his weight to lay on the bed beside her. She felt his hand coaxing her legs apart again, and she readily spread them. Any anger disappeared as his fingers found her clit. 

“I just wanted to see your face as you come for me.”

His words were a low growl, and she almost felt guilty for her outburst. 

Almost—it was actually hard to feel anything now, because two of his fingers had found her entrance and pushed inside of her. All she could really feel was him. 

She keened around him, body writhing as he set a steady pace. 

His thumb found her clit, rubbing it in circles in a manner that somehow matched the way he massaged that perfect spot inside her walls. 

Gods, he was everything. He shifted just slightly and she felt his mouth on her breast. 

She opened her eyes, and the sight of his white curls paired with the pressure of his mouth on her nipple was ridiculously overwhelming. 

“Gods, Astarion, I—”

He moved his tongue in time with his thumb. It made her throb so hard that he groaned. 

She was floating, weightless, gone— he was her entire universe.  Any thoughts, worries, mentions of feelings or complicated pasts were far away, because all she knew was him. 

He unlatched from her nipple for just a moment to look up at her. 

“Talia,” he breathed, his voice reverent. “You’re doing so good, darling. So wet for me. Taking my fingers so well.” 

The way he praised her—the gentle words, the seductive lilt with which he spoke them—ignited a flame that she was sure no one else would ever make her feel. 

And as his mouth latched on to her other nipple, making sure to give both of her breasts equal attention, she knew she was on the precipice of losing herself entirely. 

How could she not be, as his tongue flicked and teeth grazed her nipple? 

How could she not be, when his fingers fucked her like they were made to be inside of her? 

He knew it. He knew she was close, and he didn’t relent. 

Increasing his pace, he removed his fingers to focus solely on her clit. She liked the feelings of his fingers anywhere, of course, but he knew her well enough by now to know that this is what would do it. 

The pressure, which had been building steadily since he first laid his hands on her, began in her spine and spread through her limbs. 

Every sensation, every rub of his fingers, the flicks of his tongue on her nipple—it was everything, and it sent her over the edge. 

The waves of pleasure worked their way through her, and he didn’t relent. He didn’t relent as she shook and sobbed, her hands fisting in his hair. He didn’t relent as she cried out his name, desperate and pathetic for the attention he gave her. 

He didn’t relent until she was entirely still, gasping and sweating as she laid down, a helpless heap underneath him. 

He let out a soft laugh as he disengaged from her, lying on his back. 

She turned to look at him, and watched in fascination as he brought his fingers to her mouth, tasting her arousal. 

“Gods,” she gasped, another throb wracking her body. 

She took a moment to catch her breath before speaking up again.

“How do I taste?” 

She asked the question almost innocently—as if she genuinely was just curious, and not dying for more of his praise. 

Instead, he smiled wickedly at her as he removed his fingers from his mouth with a pop. 

“Would you like to find out?” 

Not even thinking—moving completely on instinct, to please and be pleased—she shifted so she was on her knees beside him. 

She took his hand, coated in her slick, and slowly sucked a finger into her mouth. 

Her eyelids fluttered shut as she let out a soft moan. 

She knew exactly what she was doing. 

She knew where his mind would go as her tongue twirled around the digit, showing him just what she could do with her mouth. 

 “Talia…” 

Her eyes flickered open and she somehow throbbed again as she gazed in his eyes. 

Dark and hungry, his pupils were blown wide. 

She released his fingers and grinned at him, and she was certain she looked as feral as he did. 

“Let me touch you,” she murmured, searching his face for any signs of apprehension or discomfort. “Please.” 

“And how would you do that?” he said, a barely-contained edge filling his voice. 

Even as he spoke, though, his hands moved to the laces of his trousers, beginning to untie them with shaky hands. 

“I want to use my mouth on you.” She said the words slowly—seductively. “But only if you want me to.” 

Even as she heard him shift his weight to remove his pants, she didn’t look away from him. 

She needed to see that it was okay—that he wasn’t torn, and wasn’t simply agreeing because she asked. 

All she saw was desire as he sat up, resting against the headboard. 

She forced herself to keep her gaze away from where he’d just undressed, because gods, if she saw his erection she wasn’t sure she’d be able to wait. 

He began to undo the buttons of his shirt next, slowly and teasingly. 

She bit back a moan at the sight of him—sculpted and an almost translucent quality to his skin, he was everything. 

So achingly beautiful, and right now, he was hers. 

Like last time, he didn’t take it all the way off.  She didn’t care, though—he probably had his reasons, and she was busy marvelling at the fact that she even got to see him like this. 

“Go on then, darling. I’ll allow it.”  The way he spoke made her ache— almost arrogant about her desire for him. He always saw right through her, knowing every time she touched him it caused her more and more ecstasy. 

She was quick to move between his legs, eyes completely focused on his erection as she laid between them. 

How was every part of him so perfect? Even his cock, tip glistening with precum, somehow managed to be elegant. 

It was ridiculous. Every fucking part of him was sculpted by the gods, even his cock. 

His voice was a drawl above her and her cheeks flushed as she realized she’d stilled, just looking at him. “Well, you’re going to do more than just stare, aren’t you?” 

“I was getting there,” she muttered. 

His mouth opened, about to bite back, but she effectively silenced him as her tongue swirled around the head of his cock—tasting him for the first time. 

They moaned in unison—him at the sensation of her tongue, and her at the heady taste that she already knew she’d never get enough of. 

She took her time as her tongue worked its way down his shaft—not yet taking him fully in her mouth, but teasingly trailing it along so he’d be desperate for more. 

She was lavishing him, every lick coaxing a groan out of his perfect lips. 

She glanced up at him, eyelashes fluttering, and one look was enough to make her want to give him everything. 

His teeth were gnawing at his bottom lip, pointy ears flushed and eyes a dark shade of scarlet. 

“More,” he hissed, his hands fisting the sheets next to him. “ Now.” 

She clenched around nothing at the insistence of his words. She knew she could tease him, draw this out, maybe even make him beg a little. 

But she wanted to obey. He knew that, and his eyes flashed as she dutifully wrapped her lips around his cockhead. 

As she sucked on the tip, his hands came to rest in her hair. Not forcing her down, not making her do anything—no, simply guiding her, petting her hair almost reassuringly. 

If her mouth wasn’t otherwise occupied, she knew she’d be smiling. 

She sucked him like that for a moment—just the tip, still teasing him with a peak into just how much she could do. 

His hips were grinding impatiently into the bed, and a soft sound escaped her—one that would’ve been a laugh, causing a vibration to move through his body. 

He groaned again, and Talia finally gave him what he really wanted, widening her jaw to take him deeper. 

His reaction was exactly what she wanted. Eyes widening and mouth falling slack, his grip in her hair tightening. She knew she was good at this, but she had never valued anyone’s reaction the way she valued his. 

Her tongue swirled along the thick vein in his shaft, and it was almost cute how hard he was trying to resist the urge to thrust up into her mouth. 

Part of her wanted to pull away and tell him it was okay—that he could take control of the encounter and fuck her mouth however he pleased. 

A bigger part of her was enjoying holding his pleasure in her hands. Knowing that she was the one who had him needy and whimpering, all with her mouth. 

She found an easy, steady rhythm, hollowing her cheeks as she moved up and down. The whole time, she kept her eyes trained on him, studying every reaction. 

She made note of the way his brows furrowed when she moved up to his tip, her tongue flicking over it and tasting the precum that was leaking out of it. 

She made note of the way he could barely stop himself from thrusting when she took him as deep as she possibly could, gagging slightly as he fully sheathed himself in her mouth. 

All the while, he was moaning above her, his eyes closed and his pleasure evident. He tried to speak, moaning her name.“Hells, Talia, you’re so—”

Whatever he was about to say was lost as she moved her mouth back to his tip, resuming the sucking and flicking motion of her tongue. 

Using one hand to gently massage his balls, she felt his thighs tense and his abdomen grow tight. 

Oh . He was close. So fucking close, and she grew as needy as he was as she abandoned all rhythm to suck him messy and raw. 

It was as his eyelids fluttered open, meeting hers and seeing her staring intently at him, that he lost himself completely. 

“Oh, fuck—” 

Anything he may have said evidently left his brain as he spilled into her mouth. 

Her senses were overwhelmed with the taste of him, with the feeling of the pent up release coating her tongue and her throat. 

And gods, she loved it. 

How many men had done this, or tried to do it? 

How many times had she gotten on her knees, and put on a show to get a man off as fast as possible? 

How many times did she pull away as they came, not wanting any more of them in her than necessary?

That was so far from what she felt as she tasted him, every ounce of him feeling like a gift. 

He was looking down at her, eyes full of desire, and she barely thought about what she was doing as she pulled away and swallowed every last drop. 

His cock twitched one last time at the sight of her swallowing, and she grinned wickedly at him. 

“You’re full of surprises, aren’t you?” he said, head falling back. 

She loved seeing him like this—completely spent, a mess because of her. 

She didn’t answer right away, instead leaving the space between his thighs to move upwards, and rest her head on his chest. 

She searched for the reassuring sound of his heartbeat, and frowned when she couldn’t find it. 

A small seed of doubt went through her mind. Maybe it wasn’t as good as she thought it was, if his heart wasn’t racing in response. Hers certainly was any time he touched her. 

But then he pressed a kiss to her hair, and any worry was erased. 

This was a moment she would cherish. Not just knowing she got him off, but knowing they had a sacred space together. 

A space where he held her, and treated her tenderly. 

A feeling she’d never thought to associate this room with. 

He had fundamentally changed her—there was no denying that. 

He had changed her views about her work—hells, her views about sex. 

And because of it? 

A vain wish had been forming inside of her. 

A wish that she could do this with him outside of work. 

That there would be no exchange of gold—just two people exploring each other, and laying in a lovers’ embrace after—one that wasn’t left with the inevitable knowledge he would leave soon. 

“I can practically feel you worrying,” he murmured into her hair. 

“I’m going to miss you,” she said finally, glad she wasn’t looking at him as she spoke. “And I’m always going to worry that you won’t come back.” 

“Look at me,” he responded, fast and insistent. 

She turned her head upwards, taking in the intensity of his gaze. 

“I’ll always come back, okay? And if that changes, I’ll tell you—I’m not going to leave without saying goodbye.” His voice was so certain, so resolute, that she had no room to doubt him. 

Still, she said one last thing. 

One last question that she knew she shouldn’t ask, but needed to for her own sanity. 

“Promise?” she whispered, voice raw. 

“I promise.” 

He was still firm, still certain, still as reassuring as he could possibly be. 

Yet as she laid in his arms, the worry didn’t disappear completely. 

Maybe he would come back—maybe he’d always come back.

But at what point would they admit that this wasn’t sustainable?

That him paying for their connection would strain whatever it was they were building?

He knew more about her than most, and she was beginning to peel back his layers, too.

She loved every bit of what she saw.

And as she rested in his arms, she bit her lip.

If this was all they could give each other, she would keep taking it.

Because laying in his arms, feeling him stroking her hair—it was a peace she didn’t think she deserved. 

She could play pretend for a while longer—even if the only place she got to see him was in a dimly lit brothel room. 

When he eventually detangled himself from her, he pressed one last kiss to her lips. He began to dress but she stayed curled up on the bed. She wanted to stay in this moment—to lay in the spot he touched her, and to revel in the memory of touching him. 

She watched him retreat out the door, and was left with one bittersweet thought—even if she could only have pieces of him? 

It was so much better than having none of him at all. 

And she would take comfort in those pieces, wishing away her longing for more.

Notes:

thank you so much for all the kudos, and for the comments—it's so lovely to know there are people keeping up with this and enjoying Talia and Astarion's journey. Every comment puts the biggest smile on my face and I'm so appreciative.

I'm so excited for the next chapter. It leaves the brothel setting for a bit, and I can't wait to show everyone how the plot is gonna form :)

until next time!

Chapter 9: Visions That Haunt

Summary:

When Talia sees Astarion out in public, she uncovers his true nature.

She's left conflicted as she's forced to see beyond the illusion of who she thought he was.

Notes:

IMPORTANT NOTE: the tags were updated to reflect the content of this chapter.

As a more explicit warning: There is blood and violence in this chapter (NOT DIRECTED TOWARDS TALIA OR ASTARION.) I tried to keep the descriptions as vague as possible while still conveying what's happening.

Harmony was falling in love. 

It was an observation Talia happily made as they sat in a tavern— not the Blushing Mermaid, thankfully. 

Just some nondescript tavern on the outskirts of town, one that wasn’t quite as busy. It was more intimate—more focused on getting to know each other. 

Harmony wanted Talia to get to know Jessa more, since Harmony was smitten after one date. They’d planned a night out—Talia, Jessa, Harmony, and Finn. A lovely little group. Talia was fairly certain Finn was only there so Talia could feel less like a third wheel, something she was appreciative of.

Finn wasn’t that bad, despite his flirtatious jokes and his clear attraction to her. 

He was funny and didn’t flinch away from her work, even asking questions about her job. 

He was curious, and nonjudgemental. Perhaps he was the type she should go for, in a perfect world where a client wasn’t all that went through her mind. 

But Astarion had come back a few times since their last meeting, and with a man like that occupying so much of her time? 

Well, it was hard to think of anyone else. 

He had kept his promise: he would always come back. 

In between undressing and exploring each other time and time again, they’d begun to talk. 

He was still reluctant to share much of his own past, but he’d started telling her minor details. 

Like his friendship with Tav, and how she was the first person he’d trusted after years of having no one. 

Or the fear he’d felt about losing his body—about turning into a mindflayer. 

In turn, she shared more about herself. 

About the pressure her mother put on her, to be just like her. 

About how she was revered for the colour of her eyes, because surely being the first of her line with purple irises instead of red meant something. 

She shared how suffocating those expectations had been. 

And those moments? 

They were becoming what she looked forward to most. 

Not just the orgasms he gave her, or the way he now let her take him in her mouth or hand every night. 

She still craved those moments, of course; but what she really craved, when she was alone at night or with another client? 

Were the conversations. 

And that was how she knew she was too far gone for this man—the one who hadn’t left her mind since the moment he’d hired her. 

She heard Finn’s voice behind her, snapping her out of her reverie. 

“Another drink?” he offered, and she nodded slightly, her eyes now focusing on the sight in front of her as he stood up. 

Harmony was happy. Blissfully so, as she leaned in close to Jessa and giggled. Jessa brushed a lock of hair out of her eyes, and gods, they were disgustingly adorable. 

She felt a small pang of envy, somewhere between the joy she felt for her friend.  What must it be like—to fall in love with no worries of a transaction, to have sex out of desire and nothing more? 

A thought she didn’t like to dwell on, but one that surfaced more and more every time she saw Astarion. 

“What’s on your mind, Talia?” 

She jumped at the sound of Finn’s voice behind her, evidently so lost in her daydream that she hadn’t heard him come back. 

“Don’t scare me like that!” 

He shot her a wary glance but was smiling slightly. “Busy being a voyeur, I see.” 

Harmony and Jessa were too enraptured with each other to even hear Finn’s comment—something she was thankful for. 

“Ugh. Whatever. I hope you bought me the most expensive wine on the list. I hate the ale in these places.” 

“Fancy,” Finn murmured, raising a brow at her. 

He handed her a glass of red all the same, and she took a sip then nodded in approval. 

He really was good looking—his hair was a light shade of brown, cut short and clean, eyes a deep brown, and an undeniable leanness and fitness to his physique. He was objectively attractive, and she wished she desired him. 

“Does it not bother you?” she said, as he sat down next to her.

He shot her a quizzical glance, so she continued. 

“Like… doesn’t it bother you, that I’m a prostitute?” 

He let out a soft laugh. “No. I’ve known that about you since the night we met. And we’re not together. I think you’re interesting. And funny. And I want to get to know you more, but not just to sleep with you—to be your friend. ” 

“But… you act like you’re attracted to me,” she responded, raising an eyebrow. 

“Well, I am, but who isn’t? I’m sorry if I’ve made you uncomfortable, with the flirting and whatnot—I’m like that with everyone, prostitute or not. Jessa is mortified every time I open my mouth, it feels like.” 

For once, Talia was speechless. She'd been certain she'd known his intentions—that she knew everyone's intentions really, and it was nice to be proven wrong. 

She didn’t have friends. She had Harmony, but Harmony was more like a sister.  People, especially men, viewed her in a specific way. And it was hard to comprehend that Finn could want her in a way that didn’t involve her spreading her legs and moaning for him. 

“I’m not uncomfortable,” she said finally, sipping her wine again as she contemplated what else to say. “I’m just… not used to someone making those comments without expecting more.” 

His eyes softened, and she really did wish she was capable of feeling something for him. “Well. Since my sister seems to be hopelessly in love with your best friend, I think we'll be seeing more of each other.” 

“Friends it is, then,” she murmured with a smile, and he gave her a boyish grin in response.  They clinked their glasses together, and Talia sighed contentedly as she drank more wine. 

She wasn’t sure how much time had passed when she went up to the bar with Finn to get another round for the group.  She was having fun—something that rarely seemed to happen on their nights out. It was a pleasant, uplifting feeling—to not be thinking about her past, and to be around people who weren’t simply hiring her. 

And the fact that she’d barely thought of Astarion was admittedly nice, too. Not that she minded thinking of him—it just got tiring  obsessing over someone she could never fully have. 

It was like the gods themselves were laughing at her, though, as she sat back down at their table. 

“I swear that elf is stalking you,” Harmony scoffed, and it was enough for Talia to completely focus back in on the thoughts of him that she’d been trying to escape. 

Her voice pitched as she spoke. “What elf?” 

Harmony looked in her direction, and rolled her eyes. “There is only one elf that would make you react like that. You know exactly who I mean.” 

Ignoring her pointed manner of speaking, Talia took a deep breath. “Okay, but what do you mean? Was he here?” 

“Yep. Did the same thing as last time—walked in, rested for a moment, then left.” 

“Did he see me?” 

Harmony shrugged. “Not sure. He’s probably not actually stalking you—don’t get your hopes up.” 

“I don’t want a stalker,” Talia said with a glare. “But… wouldn’t you be curious in my position?” 

Finn cleared his throat next to them. “Not to interject, but may I ask what—or who—we’re talking about?” 

“Talia’s obsessed with her client,” Harmony explained, causing her to glare at her friend. 

“Most of our clients value some level of anonymity, Harmony,” she muttered, but truly, Talia didn’t care. 

Because all she could think about? 

Astarion had been here. In her space. 

And she had missed it. 

Talia interrupted whatever Harmony was saying back, too caught up in her own musings to care about social conventions. “How long ago did he leave?”

Harmony scoffed. “Like, he just left. If you’d turned around a moment sooner you would’ve seen him.” 

Talia made a small humming noise. “Right.” 

The questions were flowing through her mind again. 

She had no doubt Astarion hid parts of himself. 

There was so much he didn’t tell her, and so much he eluded to but never said outright. 

She’d thought he was an adventurer given what he’d shared about his times with Tav, but it had dawned on her recently that she had no idea what he currently did. 

He had also implied he didn’t live in the city, yet why was he always here? 

Something didn’t add up.  And when she was giving this man parts of her she gave no one else, was it really so wrong to want to know more? 

To desire to see him in a different environment, where he wasn’t projecting whichever image he thought Talia would like? 

She stood abruptly, her mind made up. She would just step outside the tavern—if she saw him, she could say hello. A total coincidence. 

If she didn’t? Then she’d go back inside. No harm done. 

“I need some air,” she muttered over her shoulder, as she turned to walk away. 

She heard Harmony begin to protest but she was walking swiftly, aware that Astarion was likely already moving—if she wanted to see him, she’d have to be fast. 

As she exited the front door to the tavern, a thrum of anxiety spread in her chest as the cool evening air hit her.  It was surprisingly quiet—a rare moment of peace in Baldur’s Gate. Yet she felt far from peaceful as her heart raced at the knowledge of what she was doing—hunting down a client. 

Not just a client—Astarion. The man who occupied her thoughts in every waking hour, and whose face haunted her every dream. 

How could she resist the urge to see what he did when she wasn’t around? 

Talia took a moment to get her bearings—she had no idea where Astarion would’ve gone. She was beginning to think this was quite silly as she glanced around her surroundings, realizing that the only people around her were a drunken couple giggling and whispering to each other. 

She bit her lip. The tavern was at the end of an alleyway, so she could walk just to the end of it… Astarion would’ve had to have left through there, and if she could retrace his steps just a little… 

Before she had time to even finish her line of reasoning, her feet were moving. She moved slowly—carefully. She took to the shadows like she had many times before. 

Maybe it was instinct that made her move so silently, or maybe she knew she didn’t want to be caught. Many would view what she was doing as reckless—a pretty woman wandering the streets of Baldur’s Gate after dark. But they didn’t know about the dagger she kept strapped to her hip, and her extensive experience in dark situations—both literally and figuratively. 

As she reached the end of the alleyway, she glanced around the intersection she’d come to. 

In the daytime, this was a busy place—always full of people, wandering around to shop or socialize. She was struck with how dead and quiet it was now. 

She bit her lip as she considered where to go. She was beginning to feel like she’d reached a dead end—there was no sign of Astarion and multiple directions she could take. 

It was enough to make her wonder if she was completely foolish for even leaving the tavern. 

But then she heard it—a deep voice, practically a growl—and another man, letting out a whimper. 

Her throat went dry. 

She cursed under her breath and began to move, despite the anxiety that now bloomed through her entire body. 

She thanked the gods that she was dressed in black, and not wearing heels—she’d accidentally dressed for stealth, even though she’d had no idea she’d need it. 

The noises were coming from the alley over, and as she peeked around it, nausea pooled in her stomach. 

She’d found him. 

And not at all in the situation she’d expected. 

The man—the one who whimpered, appearing scared and desperate, was pinned against the far wall—if he flicked his eyes just slightly, he’d possibly see Talia. His eyes were wide with terror of the position he found himself in. 

But Talia could barely focus on him. 

Because he wasn’t being attacked by a bandit, or some random monster. 

Astarion was there with him. The position he had the man in, back against the wall with a dagger to his throat, made it so Talia could see enough to identify him. If she didn’t have darkvision, she likely wouldn’t see them at all. 

For the first time, she regretted being able to see so well in the dark. 

She should walk away. 

She should leave, and pretend she’d never witnessed any of this. 

She’d seen her fair share of violence, but it had been years . Long enough that this was a jarring sight that ignited a panic in her she’d once had to get over. 

Yet as the man spoke slightly louder, her feet stayed rooted in place. 

“Do you want money? I-I can give you however much you want. Just please stop this!” 

When Talia heard the reply, any false delusion or doubt she could’ve tried to inflict on herself was gone. It was definitely Astarion. 

“I’m afraid we are far past the point where money could fix anything. In fact, I’m already getting paid quite handsomely for this.” 

He sounded almost… amused. As if he was enjoying this. 

She bit her own hand hard to keep from making any noise. 

“It’s funny,” Astarion continued, the focused predation never leaving his voice, his stance, or anything about his current behaviour. “ Everyone seems to think my kind are monsters. That my fangs define who I am, and what I do. Yet I’ve lived far longer than you have, and you know what I think?” 

“You don’t have to do this,” the man begged. 

Talia knew she should interject. To stop the man she thought she knew from committing something he couldn’t undo. 

But with the practiced ease he held the dagger—the confident posture and a speech that almost seemed prepared? 

The comments he made, about his kind being monsters and having fangs?

Gods, she was so fucking stupid. 

He’d done this before, and she had been foolishly offering her body to him. Trusting him with her secrets, treating him like more than her other regulars. 

Call it self-preservation, fear, or something else entirely—all she could do was watch in horror as Astarion kept speaking. 

“And you didn’t have to do what you did. My point was that so many think my kind are monsters—yet the real monsters are the mortals like you. Who do the things you did. And as much as I’d like to listen to you pathetically beg all night, I do have places I need to be.” 

His voice was menacing, deep, and full of venom—not at all the charming rogue she’d spent nights with, tangled up in sheets as she giggled and cried out his name. 

Eyes wide, Talia prepared for it. She prepared to see the dagger slice through his throat, and to watch helplessly as the man bled out. 

What she didn’t expect was Astarion to lower his blade completely. 

Instead, he leaned in, and before the man had time to react, Astarion sunk his teeth directly into his neck. 

She let out a soft gasp, muffling it with her fist as she watched Astarion feed. The man struggled at first, terrified as he fell victim to a monster’s predation. 

Astarion didn’t care—he didn’t even flinch, as if he’d done this thousands of time before. 

And she stayed. Glued to the ground, body hidden around the corner while her head peeked around the alleyway. 

The man she thought she knew so well? He was killing someone. Literally consuming their blood. 

And it made sense. Red eyes, cool skin, literal fangs she’d cut her tongue on—she had known him so intimately, yet somehow didn’t know this. 

The man’s struggle ceased rather quickly as Astarion continued his pulls. 

All she could do was watch. 

She was preparing herself to leave—to turn and run back to the tavern. 

But then she heard a voice—not Astarion’s, but a familiar one all the same. 

“Talia!” 

Her reaction was nearly instant, but Astarion’s was quicker. 

He moved away from the man, and with a sickening thud, his body fell to the floor. 

As his eyes met hers, barely visible in the dark alleyway, she knew what he’d see. 

Wide violet eyes, full of tears that threatened to overfill. A frozen body—one that wanted to run but was so scared it couldn’t. 

And she knew that what she saw would engrave itself into her mind, no matter how much she didn’t want it to. 

Astarion’s face, smeared in blood. His mouth was slightly agape, and his fangs were obvious. His eyes were almost glowing, she realized, much more perceptible than a few seconds ago. Perhaps the blood was reaching him, or perhaps he always looked that way when he was on the hunt. 

She didn’t know. 

All she knew was that this man who she had spent countless nights with, told about her fears and traumas, was the exact thing she’d spent her adulthood running from: a killer. 

So caught up in Astarion’s appearance, she didn’t realize just how close Finn had gotten. 

“Gods, there you are! Harmony was ready to kill me for letting you run off alone, or contact the guard, or—”

She quickly whirled around. Despite the dim lighting and Finn’s practical blindness in the dark, he noticed her terror immediately. 

“Talia? What’s wrong?” His voice was concerned and wary. His eyes darted around, and she was so fucking thankful he couldn’t see what she did. 

“Let’s go, Finn,” she replied, her voice somehow firm and even despite the horror coursing through her. 

“Okay, but—”

“Now!” 

She flinched at the sound of her own voice. She rarely yelled, let alone right in someone’s face. Finn’s mouth fell into a firm line, and he nodded. 

She didn’t know if she was in danger. 

She didn’t know if Finn was. 

All she knew was that she needed to get away before Astarion reached them. 

He’d made no move to come after her—instead, he just stared , completely stationary. It was unnerving. 

Exactly what she’d expect from a vampire, she supposed. 

Grabbing Finn’s hand and dragging him back towards the tavern, she tried to steady her breath which had grown ragged. 

Astarion was a vampire. 

Worse, he was a murderous vampire. 

He had killed someone. 

In front of her. 

The illusion of the man he’d shown her—the beautiful one, who listened to her stories and kissed her like he meant it—was completely fading. 

She was vaguely aware of Finn speaking beside her, asking what happened and are you alright and where are we going? 

But she wasn’t present. Not when her mind was playing back the image of Astarion, sinking fangs into a man’s neck after a thought-out speech. 

Perhaps that was most unnerving of all—Astarion was a killer, who had planned his kill. 

Who had alluded to being paid for it. 

As they finally reached the tavern, Talia stood outside and took a deep breath, looking Finn in the eye. 

“I need to go home. Can you send Harmony out? Tell her it’s urgent .” 

Finn sensed the importance in her tone, the desperation with which she spoke, and entered the tavern in an instant. 

As she stood alone, she took a deep breath. . 

She didn’t know if she’d ever see Astarion again, now that she knew who he was— what he was. 

What she did know was that what was supposed to be a fun night out had removed her from the fragile fantasy of falling in love completely. 

But the worst part of all? 

Even knowing the truth, she wasn’t sure she could let him go. 

A stinging realization—one that made her taste bile, and made her hyper aware of the cold sweat she’d broken into. 

Tears welled up again, and she bit her lip to keep them from falling. 

She wanted to hate him. 

Needed to hate him. 

But she couldn’t.

 And as Harmony stumbled out of the tavern, half drunk yet worried enough to pull Talia into a hug, her mind continued to race. 

She wouldn’t tell Harmony what she’d seen. She wouldn’t tell anyone. 

He had to have a reason, didn’t he? 

He had to. 

And she would protect him, until she knew what that reason was. 

Notes:

I have no idea if anyone expected this direction, but I SWEAR this is still a love story and Astarion has his reasons.

If you wanna let me know what you think, I'm always open to hearing opinions in the comments <3 if you just wanna read and vibe, I appreciate that too! Thank you for being here with me :)

Chapter 10: The Tension in a Crowded Room

Summary:

Talia and Astarion agonize over what Talia witnessed a couple nights prior, both terrified of what their next meeting will bring.

Notes:

a bit of a shorter chapter, but an incredibly important one. Enjoy!

Talia was sick. 

Not from a disease or curse—not from any ailment that could be cured by a visit to a healer. 

No, she was sick from dread. From grief. 

From heartbreak. 

Ugly emotions she had spent her adult life avoiding. 

She’d vomited twice when she and Harmony had stumbled home that first night—the one where her entire view of who Astarion was had been fundamentally shattered. 

Seeing what she’d seen had been such a shock to the system. She’d never been sick from emotion before, and she could hardly believe so much had changed in such a short time.

Harmony had been insistent with her questions—she knew Talia, and knew something was wrong beyond a stomachache. Hells, Finn and Jessa barely knew Talia, and they knew something was wrong. 

She’d gotten over the initial visceral physical reaction, but as she spent another full day in bed, she didn’t tell Harmony that. 

She’d managed to deceive her way out of telling Harmony even a modicum of the truth. Even though Harmony didn’t fully believe her, pretending it was illness was so much easier. 

She’d had no contact with Astarion, and no way of figuring out why he’d done what he’d done. Hells, she still wasn’t sure she wanted to know why. 

She’d skipped work two days in a row, something she never did. She wasn’t sure if she’d ever willingly missed a shift before. 

But she knew work was the one place Astarion could find her, and she needed time to process before she even dreamed of speaking to him. 

She was also dealing with the very real fear that he wouldn’t come back at all. 

After everything she’d learned—his vampirism, the fact that he was some type of assassin—why was losing him her biggest worry? 

It made her even more nauseous, and although she hadn’t puked since the night she saw him, her contemplations had her retching. 

She jumped as her bedroom door was pushed open, the distraction enough for her to take a deep breath and calm the sickness brewing within. Harmony barged in, glass of water in hand and concern clear in her eyes. 

As she walked over to the side of her bed, she set the glass down on the bedside table and peered at Talia. “Should we see a healer? This isn’t like you, Tal.” 

“I’m fine,” she said weakly, trying her best—and failing—to reassure her friend. 

“No, you’re not. You’ve barely eaten. You haven’t slept. You’ve just been laying here looking like you saw…” Harmony hesitated, eyes searching and sad. 

“My mother?” Talia offered, and it was enough to get a small giggle out of Harmony. “I’m fine, Harmony. I promise.” 

“Okay.” The sigh Harmony let out as she spoke told Talia she didn’t believe her.  

But she continued on, delicately speaking her next words. “Caelynn asked about you today. Lydia made a comment about how you’re losing her money. And…” Harmony trailed off, eyes darting away from Talia. It was a famous tell—she knew something, and wanted to tell her, but wasn’t sure if it was a good idea. 

Talia fixed Harmony with her most piercing gaze—one that always got answers out of whoever withheld information from her, a technique she’d learned from a young age. 

“And…?” 

Harmony bit her lip before focusing back on Talia. “Your elf came in.” 

The words hit her like a punch to the gut. 

She didn’t really think he’d come back so soon. She’d been preparing herself for him to not come back at all. And… he had. Only a couple days after she’d witnessed him kill someone. 

She wanted to believe she was safe with him. He’d always been kind and gentle–respecting her boundaries, showing her how much more she was to him than a woman he paid to fuck. 

But it was hard to believe she was safe when she’d seen him kill like it was second nature. 

Maybe if he’d told her before it would be different. 

Maybe if she’d known his true nature, she could reconcile how the thoughtful, gentle man she’d grown to adore could also be a killer. 

But he hadn’t. She’d had to witness it instead. 

He’d had ample opportunity— she had literally asked if he had a blood kink —and instead, he’d pretended he was just a normal elf who didn’t spend his nights draining people dry. 

Part of her was angry . She had told him so much—had spoken aloud the thoughts to him she’d once sworn she’d forever keep quiet—and he had said nothing about himself. 

No vulnerability, none of the honesty she gave him—she had given him pieces that he’d had no intention of returning. 

And now? She had no idea who she was angrier at—him for lying, or herself for being stupid enough to believe a client was worth trusting. 

As Harmony stared at her, she groaned in frustration. This was the endless loop her mind had been stuck on, and was the reason she should probably leave her bed. Maybe if she found something else to do— anything else—she could do more than just brood the days away. 

“You’re not… happy?” Harmony’s voice was careful, but the confusion in it was obvious. 

Despite her conflicting emotions, she kept to the promise she’d made to herself—she’d lie to protect him, until she had a reason not to. 

Which really, she kind of did have a reason—witnessing him murder someone seemed valid, after all. 

But all logic went out the window with Astarion. Somehow, his careless relationship with murder wasn’t enough for Talia to be careless about him. 

So she took a deep breath before responding, forcing herself to appear cheerful. “No, of course I am. I’m just… surprised. I hadn’t expected him back so soon. And it’s hard to act excited when you feel like you’re dying.” 

Her last sentence was true, even if it wasn’t a physical death. 

“Okay, good! I thought it might cheer you up. And give you a reason to come back sooner! Work isn’t the same without you there,” Harmony sighed.

Talia smiled softly, trying her best to show she was fine. 

After a moment of silence, she cleared her throat. “Did Astarion—the elf—say anything?” 

“ Astarion,” Harmony waggled her eyebrows suggestively as she spoke, and Talia laughed in spite of herself. “He just asked where you are. And then looked like a sad puppy when I said you were sick.” 

Talia inhaled deeply, grounding herself, and attempted to appear unbothered and innocent as she spoke again.

As if the question she was about to ask wasn’t loaded with all of her fears from the last couple days. 

“Did he look… angry? Or worried?” 

Harmony raised a brow. “I don’t think so? But maybe? He did seem…” she hesitated, as if trying to find the perfect word. Talia held her breath, waiting for her to speak. “I don’t know, a little anxious? And then very disappointed when I said you were sick. I just thought he was horny and frustrated that he didn’t have his outlet, but…” she shrugged her shoulders, and Talia rolled her eyes. 

“That’s definitely it,” she agreed, a hollow laugh leaving her lips. 

She knew it wasn’t the case, but it was much easier than explaining that he probably looked anxious because Talia had seen him kill someone and drink their blood. 

Harmony would lose the little approval she did have towards their relationship if she knew that. 

“He asked when you’d be back,” Harmony continued. “I said I wasn’t sure—depends on when you feel better. And…” Harmony hesitated again, and Talia resisted the urge to groan impatiently. “He said he’d come back tomorrow.” 

The knowledge that he would come back so soon—that he wasn’t going to let her go—made her both nervous and excited. And almost stronger than those two emotions? She felt a confusing flood of relief. 

“I should get some sleep then,” Talia muttered. She wasn’t ready for bed—it was just easier to be alone as she overthought everything. “ If I want to make it in tomorrow, I need to rest up, right?” 

She forced a smile on her face. It felt wrong lying to Harmony—she never lied to her about anything. 

But Harmony accepted her smile without question, giving her a quick hug before leaving the room. 

And as she sipped the water that Harmony had left in her room, a panic rose in her again. 

She would see Astarion again. Soon. 

And this meeting? 

It could break them apart entirely, forcing her to end something that had irreversibly impacted her life in a way she had no desire to let go of. 

She wasn't ready to lose him, no matter what his nature may be. 

And that was the most haunting thought of them all. 

 

---

 

Astarion didn’t know how he’d missed her that night. 

Every other time he’d been in a room with her, her presence had felt like raw magic—impossible to ignore, and even harder to resist. 

Through years of hunting down targets, he’d razored his senses and became even more perceptive than he’d once been. He was always scanning rooms, searching for exits and choke points. Observing if anyone was out of place, doing anything they shouldn’t be. 

And the one time he should have noticed someone? The one time he needed to? 

He hadn’t. 

One slip up, one thoughtless error, that had the potential to fuck everything up. 

His careless mistake was now the reason the woman he adored —the woman who knew too much about him, and all too little—likely thought he was a monster. 

Every time Talia spoke about her upbringing, she had made it clear that she abhorred violence. She’d hated being raised in it, and hated that it had been expected of her. 

He’d bit his tongue on more than one occasion during their conversations—during those dangerous moments where he’d almost opened up fully.

He wanted her to know him the way he was beginning to know her, but how could he tell her what he did—what he was— when she detested brutality so deeply? 

And it’s not like she’d seen him punch someone in the face. That would be much easier to explain. 

No, she’d seen him murder someone by tearing out their throat. 

With his teeth. 

Although he’d planned on leaving the city for a tenday to do some work out of town, he hadn’t been able to. Not when he didn’t know where they stood. 

The first day after? He had brooded. He had wondered if he should even go back to her. 

His thoughts were full of defiance, as he seethed about how some of her other clients were probably far worse than he was. 

At least he had a reason for killing. At least the people he killed deserved death. Her other clientele were likely corrupt city officials or abusive pigs; he was practically an angel compared to them.

And who was she to judge him? They still had a transactional relationship. They weren’t genuine lovers, who were only together because they wanted to be. He was always seeking her out, throwing away coin just to touch her. So why should he be so worried about what she thought? 

What right did she have to judge him, when she kept taking his gold for their intimacy? 

But he knew those were all perfectly curated excuses. Things he told himself to protect his feelings from being hurt. 

Because the way she’d looked at him—wide-eyed, tears staining her cheeks, utterly horrified?

It was an image that had burned into his mind, haunting him every time he closed his eyes. Hells, it haunted him every second his eyes were opened—he had hurt her, fucked her up, and was now left to deal with the consequences. 

No matter if their relationship was transactional or not, or if her other clients were worse, they undoubtedly meant something to each other. No matter how much he had to pay to see her, she enjoyed his presence as much as he enjoyed hers. She had trusted him. Trusted him enough to tell him all the ways she hated her upbringing, and detested casual violence. And he had carefully hidden everything he did—the way his kills were second-nature, and how disgustingly enjoyable they were. 

All because he wanted to project something to Talia that he could never be. 

So how could he return after that? After what she saw—after her realization that he’d lied— and that he was the very thing she hated? Justifying killing, much like her own mother had done. 

But gods, there was an idiotic part of him that kept him rooted in the city, desperate to explain and regain her approval. 

And so he had walked to Sharess’ Caress—pointedly looking away from the flophouse across the street that he hated seeing every time he came to see Talia. 

It was further proof of how stupidly far gone he was. Terrible memories lived in these streets—ones of luring victims, bringing them back to a man who would hurt them for reasons far more malicious than anything Astarion had done. Sometimes they were good people, innocent even; Talia would detest him if she knew about that. And the memories popped up everywhere. He was just so smitten—so pathetic for her—that he ignored them all. 

With a knot in his stomach, he had pushed open the brothel doors, still mentally practicing his perfectly curated speech that he’d deliver when he spoke to her. If he spoke to her . Because if she was as smart as he knew she was, she’d likely have him thrown out. 

He was rarely anxious nowadays, but gods, walking through that door? 

It brought back feelings of insecurity and self-hatred—of resenting his nature but feeling helpless to change it. 

And of course, it had been very anticlimactic when the tiefling at the bar had told him she was sick. 

That had only increased his dread tenfold. From what he knew, she never missed work, and it left him panicked. 

Was she missing work because of him? 

Was she terrified of the monster who knew where she worked, thinking he’d hunt her down? 

He would never hurt her, but how could she know that? 

So he had told the tiefling he’d come back. Because he would— he always would. 

No matter if he should or not. Until he heard her say it—saw her look him in the eyes and tell him to leave, and never come back—he would return. 

If he was smart, he would let her go. He would selflessly take away her fear by leaving her alone—by never forcing her to confront the monstrosity she thought he was. 

But he wasn’t smart—couldn’t be smart. Not when it came to her. 

And here he was again, pushing open the doors to the brothel for the second day in a row. 

He didn’t know if she’d be there. 

He didn’t know if she’d scream or cry or have him removed. 

But he paused as he entered the foyer, hovering near the front counter, because there she was. 

For the first time, he understood a saying that had always made no sense to him; his heart was in his throat. 

All he could see was her backside. Wearing a silver, shimmery dress that hugged her curves perfectly, leaving just enough to the imagination. 

He didn’t have to imagine–he had seen her bare many times now, and gods, it was hard to decide if she was more perfect bare or clothed. She was undeniably beautiful, undeniably radiant —and with a lump in his throat, he forced himself to acknowledge that after today, she could be undeniably done. Done with him, and done with the already fragile foundation they’d barely built. 

So he took a moment, just to stare at her. To commit this to memory—seeing her here, looking like she was made to grace every room she entered. He drank in every inch of her as if it was the last time he ever would. He had to—he was all too aware it really could be. 

The moment was gone all too soon. As if his presence was as magnetic to her as hers was to him, she turned then. 

The light smile on her face instantly fell as she took him in. She stared at him, expression blank and unfeeling. The pit in his stomach only grew at how unreadable she was—her usually inviting eyes giving nothing away. 

For a moment, they just looked at each other. He tried to convey his sorrow and regret in a single glance. He was half prepared for her to turn the other way, or to scream at him to leave. 

Instead, she made her way towards him, never breaking eye contact. 

When she stood in front of him, leaving inches in between them rather than the inviting closeness he was used to, he could hear her heart racing.

Still, she maintained a poised expression. “We need to talk.” Her voice was curt and formal, giving nothing away. 

“Yes,” he agreed, his own voice raw. “We do.” 

She hesitated, continuing to just look at him. Her gaze was so piercing, so intense, that it did nothing to stave off the panic he felt. 

He made no move to touch her, instead gesturing towards the stairs. “Shall we?” 

“That depends. Am I safe with you?” 

Her words hit him like a blow. 

He tried to restrain his tone as he spoke. “Yes. I would never hurt you.” 

Noticing the intensity, her gaze softened for just a moment. There was relief, yes, but also pain. Like she was waiting to hear those words, but didn’t know what to do now that she had. 

“Fine,” she muttered, turning on her heel and walking towards the stairs. 

He trailed helplessly after her. 

This could be the last conversation they had—the moment where he lost her entirely —and his mind had gone blank, only capable of absorbing her discomfort. 

He would say anything—he would tell her everything —if only to have one more night with her. 

And as they made their way through the bedroom door, Talia keeping a careful distance between them, she went to sit on the bed. 

He stayed by the door, not wanting to push her. Not wanting to get too close, and have her more nervous than she likely was. 

She began to speak as he clicked the door closed behind them. 

“So,” she said evenly, an impenetrable gaze never leaving his. “ Explain.” 

He took a deep breath before opening his mouth, all too aware that this was his last chance. 

He wasn’t perfect with words. Usually he wasn’t even good with them, not when it came to conversations like this. 

But the way she stared at him? The way she had touched him, cared for him, made him feel real? 

He would beg if he had to. 

And as he prepared to speak, he could only hope it was enough. 

Notes:

As much as I wanted to dive directly into them arguing and making up, I felt like a tension chapter was necessary lol. They are both down bad.

Thank you so much to everyone who continues to read, and to any new readers. I very much appreciate the comments people have left, I absolutely LOVE hearing what people think and what parts of each chapter resonate.

and thank you for 70 kudos, it truly means everything to me.

I love these two so much and I'm so incredibly happy to know other people do too <3

Chapter 11: Scars That Speak

Summary:

In the aftermath of Talia learning Astarion's true nature, both she and Astarion expect the worst.
When he reveals the parts of himself he'd been too scared to show, they're both surprised by how she reacts.

Notes:

Soft warning for this chapter: Astarion's scars and past abuse are discussed. Tags have been updated to reflect this. I tried to approach it delicately and without too much unnecessary detail. Take care reading <3

Talia was sitting on the bed. 

In her usual room.

With Astarion. 

Again. 

He had come back. 

But there were no kisses hello, and no demands to undress.

Instead there was an insidious, suffocating silence that grew where affection once lived. 

“You were never supposed to see me like that.” 

Astarion’s words broke the eerie quiet. 

Words that were earnest and meaningful, yet words that said all too little. 

Talia was… overwhelmed. 

She’d half expected him to come in angry, voice raised and eyes full of fury. 

She expected to see what she was afraid of—someone who killed, reeking of cruelty and callousness. 

Instead? He sounded genuine. Emotional, like the man she’d thought he was. 

The way he gazed at her was heartbreaking. He looked remorseful, distraught. He kept a respectable distance, standing rigidly in front of the door. 

His discomfort was clear—his regret palpable. 

She wanted to cherish it.

She wanted to cherish that he still looked like he cared, and like she deserved tenderness.

She wanted to cherish the idea that he was sorry—that he would protect her from the darker parts of himself. 

But she couldn’t be caught up in how he looked— not when his words barely scratched the surface of what she needed. 

Finding her voice, she began to speak. “Yes. I’m sure I wasn’t. I’d imagine no one was supposed to see it. Apart from the person you killed, of course.” Her eyes were narrow as she looked at him. 

His eyes flickered down to her neck for just a moment, where her pulse pounded violently. 

A sudden rush went through her. 

She was flooded with memories of all the times his eyes had trailed to her neck. 

He had always done that—always had a fixation on where her heartbeat sang for him. Another thing she assumed was just a quirk. 

It scared her that he likely had a read on her body she’d had no idea about. It scared her—not because he was frightening, but because she had no way of hiding anything from him. 

He had a hold on her body—her heartbeat, her breathing, the shake of her limbs—and he could sense it, in a way no mortal ever could. 

“You can hear it, can’t you?” 

His eyes snapped back to hers. He didn’t play dumb.

“Yes. I can hear your heartbeat.” He paused, fixing her with an intense gaze. 

“You don’t need to be afraid of me.” He spoke with such a conviction that she almost believed him. 

“I’m not afraid,” she muttered. She wasn’t even sure if she was lying. 

“Really? Your hammering pulse would say differently.” 

“What my pulse is doing is none of your concern.” 

She huffed in frustration. 

This asinine banter was not what she was hoping to get out of this conversation. It brought them no closer to resolution— if a resolution was even possible. 

Astarion let out a sigh, bringing a hand up to his head to run his fingers through his hair. 

“Look, I should have told you about my… nature.” He hesitated, and as he opened his mouth to speak again, she truly felt like an idiot. 

How had she not made the connection? No one’s teeth were naturally that pointed. No one’s skin was naturally that cold. 

She had been so scared to push him, thinking that if she demanded honesty he would run away. In turn, she had ignored such a pivotal part of him. 

And somehow? His vampirism wasn’t the biggest issue. 

It was the fact that he’d hidden it. That she had laid in his arms night after night, telling him secrets she’d never told anyone else. 

And, of course, there was the murder. 

Him being a vampire—she could reconcile that. She didn’t know if there was such a thing as good vampires, but surely they couldn’t all be evil. 

Him being a cold blooded killer, though? A murderer for hire? 

That was something else entirely. 

And maybe his nature was the reason he did it. Maybe he had no choice but to embrace the urge to kill—maybe his nature dictated his every action. 

If that were the case, she didn’t know if she could keep seeing him. 

Astarion’s voice cut her out of her reverie. “Tell me what you’re thinking, darling. Please.” 

“ Do not call me darling. Not right now.” Her voice was harsh, thick with emotion. 

He flinched and nodded mutely. 

“I’m thinking about a lot of things. You could have told me—should have told me. You didn’t need to the first night, or the second, or even the third. But somewhere along the way, like when you quite literally consumed my blood because I cut my tongue on your fucking fang, you could have told me!” 

She hadn’t meant to yell. She hated yelling. 

She hated the overwhelming emotions that came with it. She preferred to be calm and collected—poised and perfect. 

If she thought Astarion would take her anger laying down, however, she was wrong.

“Do you think it’s so easy?” he began, his voice sharp. “Do you think it’s safe to tell every pretty person I meet that I’m a vampire? I have been hunted, Talia. People make assumptions about me because of my nature. Not telling you was an act of self-preservation, not an intentional deception.” He scoffed, and it did nothing to calm her anger. 

“I’m a prostitute, not a fucking cleric! I’m not going to stake you. Clients tell me tons of things they probably shouldn’t—half the time they pay me to talk about their issues more than they’re paying for sex.” As she spoke, her voice continued to raise, unable to hide her exasperation. 

She rarely expected honesty from her clients. She had never demanded it, and never wanted to. 

But Astarion was different. Astarion knew her. 

Why couldn’t she know him? 

Before she could voice that question aloud, he was speaking again. 

“And that’s the issue, isn’t it? You’re a prostitute. You have tons of clients. You’re taking my gold. No matter if you want to or not, you hold all the power here. So, forgive me if I want to avoid talking about something that others hate me for, when I only see you thanks to the coin I fork over.” 

He wasn’t yelling. He said the words with an eerie calmness. 

It would be easier if he yelled the way she did. If he showed volatile emotion. 

She knew what to do with that. She could handle that. 

What she didn’t know what to handle was how bitter and stinging the truth was. 

She was a prostitute. She loved spending time with him—gods, she loved it more than anything, but still, she took his money for it. 

But he took his fill of her. On his own terms. Never on hers. She didn’t regret that—she liked it, even.  She lived for every moment with him. 

And she might not have a right to ask for more, but she did have a right to point out the glaring hypocrisy in his words. 

  “I do not hold all the power. Considering you pay me, many would say you do! You get to decide when you want me— how you want me.” She paused, trying to calm her breathing. 

He was looking away. Maybe he hadn’t expected her to speak back, or maybe he just had nothing to say. 

But that wasn't the point. It was a distraction. One that let them avoid talking about what was actually wrong. 

“Is this what you want from tonight—to deflect from what I saw you do and blame me ?”

Their eyes met. She knew he’d see the angry glare she sent his way, and to her surprise, his own anger dissipated into something sad. 

“No. I’m sorry. I…” he sighed. “I’m a vampire.” 

Her own voice was dripping with sarcasm as she replied. 

“Yes. I gathered that. Is that why you killed him?” 

There was no need to explain who she meant by him. 

The nameless man who she’d watched die. 

“No. It’s complicated.” He sighed and began pacing, his own anxiety clear. 

“Yes, murder usually is!” 

He had the nerve to look at her again, rolling his eyes. 

“It wasn’t just murder for the sake of murder! You’re making it sound much worse than it actually is. If you knew the things he’d done…” he trailed off, looking away from her again as he resumed his pacing. 

“Oh? So you’re the moral authority on who deserves to die? And you take it into your own hands? For money?” 

It was a justification she’d heard before—that certain people deserved death, and that others had the right to make that decision. 

It had been her normal until she left the Underdark—a normal she'd been happy to escape from. 

Astarion’s implications made her nauseous. She was used to people doing terrible things; she wasn’t used to it from him. 

He started when she said that, eyes alert and wary as he looked at her again. 

“I—would you rather predators roam the streets, hurting people because they can?”  He asked the question in an exasperated manner, as if he truly couldn’t understand why assassinations were morally questionable. “If I didn’t kill them, they would do far worse! Or someone else would beat me to it. Believe me, Talia. Not everyone deserves to walk these streets.” 

She let out a huff at his justifications. 

A headache was setting in, followed by sadness—a dull ache that was spreading through her chest. They clearly had very different ideas about life and death, and she hated it. She hated that she was finally seeing a part of him she didn’t like, since everything so far had been scarily perfect. 

And it wasn’t like it was a small part. She could deal with an odd quirk—she would even have accepted his vampirism, if he’d only told her. 

But no, he quite literally killed people for money, and seemingly had no qualms about it. 

“How do you know they’re predators?” she shot back. “Who tells you who to kill? Someone must be paying you.” 

He let out a groan and stopped his pacing to look at her. “Believe me, I have my ways of knowing. I track them. Hunt them. Wait until they slip up so I can know for sure.  I don’t just get a name and dive in. I think about it. Trust me.” 

The way he said trust me, intense and yearning, almost made her nod. 

But it wasn’t enough. 

He was telling her too little. 

“Talia.” He was moving towards her as she didn’t answer. He looked flustered, which was admittedly how she felt. 

She froze as he approached her, eyes locked on to his every movement. 

She felt a pang in her chest. He was still so achingly beautiful—so graceful and lithe—even when she was livid. 

She hated it. She hated the hold he had on her. 

She wasn’t sure what he intended on as he came closer. She didn’t know if he wanted to sit down on the bed next to her, or tower over her to remind her how strong he was. She didn't know if he’d try to hug her—to offer physical comfort she didn’t want. 

To her surprise, he sank down on his knees before her. Making no move to touch her, he just stared up at her. 

Looking sad. Desperate. 

And gods, she wanted to comfort him. To tell him it was okay, that she had no right to demand so much of him. 

She was silent and still, holding her breath. If he moved closer, he could rest his chin on her knee. 

But he didn’t. It was like he was making himself as non-threatening as possible. 

It made everything more confusing. 

“Why do you care so much?” 

He asked the question gently and curiously. No anger or malice in his tone—as if he simply wanted to understand why he of all people inspired such emotion. 

“I—” she hesitated. 

She knew why she cared. She was surprised he didn’t. 

“Our relationship isn’t normal,” he continued, speaking softly. “We both know that. No matter how much we like to pretend, I’m still a client.” 

She swallowed, a lump in her throat forming. “Yeah. It’s not your typical… dynamic. But you know so much about me—is it really a surprise that I want to know more about you?” 

His eyes flashed. “I can’t be what you want to see in me, Talia.” 

“That’s dismissive. You don’t even know what I want! You’ve never asked.” 

Her voice had raised in pitch again, but he didn’t flinch.  Instead, he breathed deeply, calming himself. Still just sitting on his knees, staring up at her. 

She looked away, focusing on the far wall. 

Part of her was relieved. He was here. In this room with her again, talking things through—even if they hadn’t gotten anywhere. He was still her Astarion, kind of. He still spoke to her with care, even if he was pointing out the discrepancy in the perceptions she had of their relationship. He hadn’t tried to hurt her, or showed he was a villain who killed solely for pleasure. He had reasons for doing what he did, even if she disagreed with them. 

But were those reasons enough to overlook what he did? 

He was calm when he responded, voice even and understanding. “Alright. What do you want to know?” 

She looked back at him. He still sat on his knees, just gazing up at her. Expectant, yet patient. Like he’d stay there for hours, as long as she talked to him. 

She fixed him with her most intense stare. “Everything.” 

His eyes glinted in amusement for just a moment. “I’m over two centuries old—closer to three if I’m being honest, but I don’t love admitting that. You’re going to need to be a bit more specific.” 

Her eyes narrowed again, and she simply raised an eyebrow. 

“Alright! Gods. Tough crowd.” He sighed, running a hand through his hair yet again. His eyes trailed to the bed.  “Can I at least sit down?” 

She hesitated. As much as she enjoyed him being on his knees for her, she didn’t want him to feel like he had to make himself small. 

The issue was if he sat right next to her, she wouldn’t know what to do in his proximity. It would take everything to not reach for him, and with every dumb joke and soft explanation that left his lips, her resolve was crumbling more and more. 

“Fine. But… over there.” She pointed at the far corner of the bed. 

He didn’t protest, instead mumbling about sore knees as he sat opposite to her. 

There was a tense silence. Neither of them knew where to start. She didn’t know what questions to ask, despite the million thoughts that rushed through her mind. He was equally dumbfounded, fidgeting slightly as they both looked down. 

“I’m upset,” she said finally, irritated that he’d made no move to speak. 

He chuckled softly. “Yes. That much is evident.” 

“Look… I know what we’re doing isn’t normal. And that you might not owe me anything, given the nature of our relationship.” She spit the phrase out like venom. She wanted it to be more—she was so sick of using words like nature and dynamic. “I don’t do this.” 

“Do what?” 

She looked at him, almost flinching away from the intensity in his eyes as he stared back. 

She forced herself to return the stare, trying to convey every emotion she felt. “I don’t… care.” There was a pause as she spoke. 

It felt strange to say it aloud—to acknowledge that she didn’t care for people easily. Not because she didn’t want to—no, she did want to. 

But caring made things messy. Complicated. 

And caring about a client?

That was probably the worst predicament she could find herself in. 

“You don’t care?” Astarion repeated her words with a furrowed brow. “About…” 

Knowing where his mind was going, she cut him off immediately. “No! I do care—about you. But I don’t care for clients. Not until I met you. I can’t afford to, not when most are temporary and only see me as an outlet.” She hesitated, looking downwards to avoid him. 

“And I don’t tell them the things I tell you. It was foolish of me, really—to believe it could mean more than it did. So I’m sorry, but it was jarring to see someone I care for kill so easily.” 

The silence between them could only be described as loud. 

“I don’t know what you want from me,” he said finally. “This is who I am—it’s what I do. And I’m sorry that it doesn’t match up to the image you conjured in your mind, but I can’t change my nature.” 

His words felt like a slap to the face. 

Her eyes snapped back to him. He was just staring at her, almost patiently. He looked sad, yes, but she didn’t see any of the anger she felt—the agony. It was infuriating. 

“The image I conjured?” Her voice raised in incredulity. “No, I trusted and believed the image you projected. Do not put this on me.” 

He frowned, his brow furrowed. “Fine. You’re right. I showed you the parts of me that were appealing. What else was I supposed to do—with a worker in a brothel?” 

She didn’t know if he realized how much every word stung. 

She had thought about their dynamic so many times. It haunted her endlessly. 

But when they were together, it seemed to disappear. He never made her feel like she was just a worker— just an experience he paid for. 

It cut deep to know he thought similarly—that he was unhappy with their dynamic. 

That he couldn’t be his full self with her, because of what she did. 

As he continued speaking though, the worries dissipated scarily fast. 

“But you…. You are incredible. And I didn’t want to lose that. I didn’t want to show a violent nature and be thrown out on the street. And maybe that was wrong of me.” He hesitated giving her a moment to think. 

Her heart was thudding strongly. To hear him say she was incredible, with affection in his eyes and reverence in his voice, was… everything. She opened her mouth to reply, but he continued before she had the chance. 

“If you want honesty, then here it is. Yes, I kill people. Yes, I get paid for it. Yes, I am an undead vampire spawn who sometimes drinks their blood. And no, I don’t regret what I do—no matter what you think, some people are better off dead.” His voice dripped with venom—with malice. 

As he finished his speech in a low growl,Talia bit her lip. She knew she should feel alarmed— scared , even. He had confessed what she’d been afraid of; he killed without regret, and took coin for it. 

But he wasn’t just saying he enjoyed it for the sake of it—he had some type of emotional stake in his work. 

And he said he was a spawn. She had no idea what that meant—and gods, she wanted to. As much as she should fear him, she was still overwhelmed by her desire to know him. To understand. 

So she spoke again, her voice soft and accepting. “Tell me more.” 

He started, looking at her in clear alarm. “I—what?” 

“I want to understand,” she murmured, and now that their eyes were locked, she didn’t dare break contact. 

“Understand what?” It was his turn to sound incredulous. 

“The reason you do this. Why you’ve decided that some people are better off dead. And what it means when you say you’re a spawn.” She inhaled and exhaled deeply, her gut twisting. “I admittedly don’t know much about vampires. I thought you were… all the same. I have no idea what spawn means.” 

He let out a soft laugh. “Oh. Well. This will be quite the conversation.” 

“I have time,” she murmured back, and in spite of herself, she smiled gently at him. 

Any resolve to stay angry was fading. All it took was the words you’re incredible for her to be pathetically falling back into him—wanting to listen and be heard, to love and be loved. 

It’s not that she’d reconciled any of it yet. She couldn’t ignore that she’d seen him kill someone—that his entire life was centred on killing. 

But he had made her feel seen— safe— for what felt like months, and foolish or not, she would listen to what he told her. 

“A vampire spawn is not a true vampire in the way people think of my kind. Vampires are power hungry creatures by nature. A vampire lord , like my former master, will often turn mortals into spawn.” 

As Astarion spoke, his expression turned to one of pain. Talia’s gut clenched at the word master. 

“Anyway—one night, I was lucky enough to get attacked and beat within an inch of my life. 

A lovely vampire stumbled upon me while I lay dying and offered me a gift. A gift of eternity— immortality. Considering my options were vampirism or death, you can imagine which was more appealing.” He let out a bitter laugh. 

Talia’s teeth threatened to cut into her lower lip as she chewed it anxiously. She wanted to reach for him and comfort him. Every word he spoke was laced with pain, and she almost felt guilty for making him speak about it. 

But he continued, so she stayed silent—hanging off every word, hanging off every glimpse into his past. 

“I spent the next two hundred years as his spawn . Why would he want to make me a full vampire—to share his power—when he could have a slave instead?” 

The words hung heavy in the air. 

Slave. The word was brutal and loaded. She had seen countless slaves in the Underdark—deep gnomes and hobgoblins, subjected to cruelty and a disregard of personhood. It was something no one deserved, vampire or not.

And if true vampires were power hungry and cruel? 

She could barely imagine the depths of the sadism Astarion had endured. 

She stared at him intently, trying to convey her emotions with her eyes. Giving him space to speak, but letting him know that she was here.  

“But I was less than that, really. He could compel me—control me with a single command. I couldn’t fight back, and the rare times I did, I was punished terribly.” 

He didn’t speak for a moment. He stayed quiet, and she let him. 

She wanted to hold him. She wanted to look at him and tell him he was safe— that no one would ever hurt him again. 

Everything was a whirlwind—she had spent the last few days contemplating if was a monster, convinced that he had to be. And now? 

Now she was realizing he wasn’t. He’d been a victim of one, and she knew all too well how that could change a person. 

“Astarion…” 

“Don’t look at me like that,” he said sharply, and she winced at the harsh tone his voice took on. 

“Like what?” 

“Like you pity me. I don’t want that from you. You always treated me like I was whole—I don’t want that to change now that you know.” His voice turned raw, almost desperate. 

She took a deep breath. “I don’t pity you. I don’t think less of you.” She spoke strongly, trying to convey with every word just how much she meant it. 

He looked almost pained as he gazed at her, so she spoke again. 

“But can’t I have empathy?” 

His expression softened, his mouth hanging open slightly. “Empathy?” 

“For what you’ve been through. I can’t imagine.” She didn’t go overboard in her comfort, trying to express how much she felt for him with only a few words. 

He exhaled loudly. “Yes, well. It is what it is.” 

They were both silent for a moment as the weight of his story set in. 

“What happened next? To your former master, I mean.” She asked the question as cautiously as possible. 

He looked her directly in the eye. “I killed him.” 

She didn’t flinch away that time. She may not have believed in murder, but she certainly couldn’t blame him for killing someone who had controlled him. 

She still had so many questions—he had dropped such a huge piece of who he was, and she wanted to know more. 

But she also knew how overwhelming this had to be—she knew he’d never wanted her to know. 

Instead of pressing more into his slavery—something she felt sick knowing he’d experienced—she focused back on the other pressing issue. 

“Is that why you do what you do now?” she began. “Is it… some type of outlet? For everything you went through? To kill people… like him?” 

He smiled, almost amused. “Not entirely, darling.” 

Darling. The pet name hit her hard, her heart race increasing. He was still showing her affection, slipping back into the Astarion he’d always been for her. The relief that flooded her was borderline embarrassing, yet all she could do was bask in it. 

He let out another sigh. It was clear he rarely spoke of this, and that the weight of his words were heavy on him. Secrets he likely held locked away. 

“After I killed him—once I was free , I didn’t know what to do with myself. The only reason I was even able to kill him was because of the mindflayer tadpole. You said it sounded terrifying, to be abducted like that—for my friends, it certainly was. But for me? It was everything.” 

“That’s…” she hesitated, unsure of what to say. 

“Sad?” he offered, and she simply nodded. 

Sad didn’t encompass it. She would’ve chosen heart-wrenching or devastating, but she was cognizant of his earlier defensiveness when he thought she pitied him. 

He continued on. “Well. Yes. Such is life. Anyway, long story short, Tav helped me kill him, the Netherbrain fell, and I was… free. I didn’t know what to do with that freedom. And I stumbled upon this job by mistake.

I remember being told when I was young that we should do jobs we are good at— this is what I’m good at. Hunting, stalking, killing—as disturbing as it may sound, I’m good at it.” 

Questions continued to flood Talia’s mind. 

How did he stumble upon it “by mistake?” 

How did he defeat an elder brain, when he couldn’t walk in the sun and drank blood to survive? 

What did he endure over two hundred years, and how had it changed him? 

She was scared to ask any questions, though. She wanted to know— needed to know—but the way his eyes fluttered closed and he breathed deeply made her pause. 

“You don’t talk about this often,” she said gently. 

He let out a hollow laugh, eyes still closed. “No. I don’t.” 

When his eyes opened again, they were fierce—intense. 

“I… I don’t want to explain everything. I don’t want to speak about what he put me through. Not right now.” 

She was about to nod—to tell him that was fine, that she didn’t need more than he was willing to give. She wanted to say that she understood. To share that this is what she wanted—to know every piece of him, even the ones he thought were too ugly to show others. 

Before she could, he spoke again. “I can… show you. Part of what he did. Scars of what I had to endure, that will never go away.” 

She nodded, incapable of verbalizing anything to match the gravity of the moment. 

He stood up, moving to stand in front of her. 

His presence, just inches away, did nothing to dull the hammering in her chest. The tension between them was thick—she wanted so badly to close the distance. 

But he wasn’t focused on her, or touching her. 

With shaky hands, he reached for the top button of his shirt. 

She watched silently as he began to unbutton it fully, not looking at her. His movements were methodical. There was no seduction in it, and her gut twisted as she realized that he was likely going to show her his literal scars. 

Her eyes drank him in as his fingers moved. Not in a leering manner that she was used to—she simply watched him bare himself, revealing himself in a way that was new. 

She had seen his chest and abdomen, b ut as he shrugged his shirt off, it occurred to her he’d never let her see him fully shirtless. 

Slowly, almost reluctantly, he turned around. 

She was silent and still, her breath catching as she took in the expanse of his back. 

The scar tissue was jagged and full of intent. They weren’t just lashes or inflicted as a simple punishment—they had meaning. The cuts were curved into shapes she didn’t recognize, yet ones she intrinsically knew had a purpose, even if she had no idea what the purpose was. 

And it wasn’t just a small splotch of cuts—no, it covered everything. Almost all of his back was covered in the jagged script. Whoever did this—his former master that Talia had developed a quick hatred for—left his mark everywhere, claiming a body that wasn’t his own. 

Although the scars had long since turned white, she could still see the raised skin clear as day. 

How long had he lived like that? With a reminder of his worst days etched into his skin? 

It was enough to flood her with understanding. So many questions were answered with a single glance at his back. 

Of course he kept his shirt on for their encounters. Of course he had trouble with being touched—with accepting the intimacy she’d been dying to give him. 

She had always prided herself on being attuned to her clients needs, but gods, she had missed so much. 

He didn’t want to control their encounters just out of a desire to dominate. He didn’t want to be touched because he’d spent a lifetime being touched in ways he couldn’t control. 

And if he’d been enslaved for two hundred years?  

His back was likely only one abysmally small piece of what he’d endured. 

The room was silent as she finished taking him in. 

“Astarion…” she said his name like it was delicate—a word that had to be spoken with care. 

He exhaled loudly. “Yes.” 

She stood up, resting in the small distance between them. She knew he could feel her proximity. Every movement was careful and deliberate as her fingers reached his shoulder. 

She wasn’t sure why she did it, or if she even meant to. She wasn’t sure if it was meant as a gesture of comfort, or a desire to touch him—to give a caress so tender that he knew he was beautiful, scars included. 

It was as her fingers met the top of the scar tissue that he shuddered. She dropped her hand immediately. 

“I’m sorry,” she started, "I shouldn't have—” 

He looked over his shoulder then. His gaze was ardent and deep, and her breath caught in her throat. 

“Don’t be.” He let out a deep breath, eyes fluttering closed. “When you touch me—when you touch them— I feel less shameful.” 

“No part of you is shameful, Astarion.” She said the words fiercely, with a deep conviction that she hoped he believed. 

“When those words come from you, I almost believe them.” He paused for a moment, then exhaled deeply. 

When he spoke, he sounded shy. Quiet. Nervous. “You can touch my back again, if you want to.” 

The pure intimacy of the words—of not only showing her his scars, but letting her touch them—hit her in her core, sucking the air out of her lungs. 

She had no doubt that he could hear the way her heart was pounding. 

Slowly and carefully, she brought her fingers to the top of his back. She didn’t wince at the feeling of the raised flesh—instead, she traced her fingertips along, as if she could rewrite every cut with something kind and loving. 

He sighed at her touch, his body visibly relaxing. 

As she caressed every pattern, she bit her lip. They were too complex to be meaningless—there was intent in every mark on his skin. 

“These scars… Do they mean something?” 

He stiffened again. “You’re very observant, aren’t you?” 

Her hands paused, fingers resting on his back.  “We don’t have to—“ 

“No,” he responded with a breath, “I’ll tell you. Just.. keep touching me. Please.” 

She let out a small hum, nodding even though he couldn’t see her. 

She felt warm and dizzy. How had their relationship gone from “ I don’t want you to touch me”  to “ keep touching me. Please”? 

It was a beautiful transition—one she’d never been expecting, and one she never wanted to let go of. 

So she continued to trace his back, touch feather-light and intimate.

He let out a shuddering sigh, as if her touch was healing and rewriting the wicked intent behind the scars. 

“They’re part of a ritual—an infernal contract. My former master would have… consumed me. There were seven spawn—my siblings and I, and…” he trailed off, before  his throat. “Well. And others, that he had us hunt down.” He hesitated again, his voice slightly panicked when he spoke up again. “I never wanted to lure people back to him, it wasn’t my choice and—”

The rising panic in his voice made her heart clench. No doubt he thought she’d be appalled. 

She couldn’t blame him for that assumption, given recent events. 

“Astarion.” She said his name firmly. Assertively. She dropped her hand, almost able to feel his panic. “Look at me.” 

He swallowed deeply before turning his entire body, facing her. 

The distance between them was minuscule. She focused on looking him in the eyes. 

“I believe you, okay?”

His relief was palpable. As if he couldn’t find words, he nodded, eyes fluttering closed to hide the emotion in them. 

“What was the ritual?” 

He opened his eyes. He almost looked pained as he spoke again. “I… he would’ve consumed all of us in a contract for a devil; it would’ve turned him into a vampire ascendant ,” he sneered the words, malice clear. “That’s when we killed him. His date for this ritual coincided with when I was abducted.” 

“Oh, Astarion…” Talia shot him her most empathetic gaze, her own eyes going glossy. 

“Since I’m telling you everything, you may as well know that I was close to taking his place.” He laughed hollowly, regret clear as his brow creased. “If I hadn’t had Tav with me, convincing me not to, maybe I would be the vampire ascendant now. I would walk in the sun, and have endless power. If you knew me back then—if you knew the things I wanted…” 

He looked like he was mourning. Not for what he didn’t do: for what he might have done, if he’d been alone. 

“But you didn’t do it. You aren’t the person who chose power over what’s right.” Her words came out with a deep conviction—a conviction he deserved. 

There were still so many questions—still small doubts that threatened to creep in. She was learning about his past, but still had thoughts of his present. 

But the worries faded into background noise. She was far too focused on now—on seeing the parts he'd kept hidden away. 

Her admiration for him—for the ways he did what was right, over the lure of power—was overwhelming. 

He repeated his earlier words. “When you say it, I almost believe it.” 

Her voice was raw as she responded. “I’ll keep saying it until you do.” 

He smiled at her then—his first genuine smile of the night. She returned it with one of her own. 

The air between them was charged as the room fell silent. So many words spoken, yet still so much left unsaid. 

Their eye contact didn’t break, both of them searching the other.

There was no way to describe how she felt, and under his intent gaze, she knew he felt the same. 

She couldn’t have said who moved first to close the distance between them. 

It was natural and chaotic, all at once. Mouths meeting and expressing everything they’d said aloud, and everything they’d yet to say. 

As he deepened the kiss, she knew one thing and one thing only: she would give herself to him tonight, in a way she had to no one else.

Notes:

I had free time yesterday and today to get some writing done, and this chapter practically wrote itself. I wanted to get it out fast because of the cliffhanger I left y'all with. Sorry for another one, but at least this is like, a happy one?

as always, thanks so much for comments/kudos. Knowing this story resonates with others is a great feeling.
This story definitely went from "I wanna write a smutty fic" to "I wanna write an initially smutty fic but then the characters start to fall for each other and find love in a place they were never expecting." lol. So, thank you so much for being on this journey with me! <3 very excited to share what's next within the next week.

Chapter 12: Beyond the Lust

Summary:

Talia gives herself to Astarion in every way she can imagine.
The night is sacred, bringing up revelations she didn't know she could have.

Notes:

I started writing this chapter and could not stop, so here's an update (sooner than I expected to post it lol.)
I absolutely loved writing this, and I hope everyone loves reading it <3

Since Talia had first met Astarion, every touch had felt intentional. 

Every brush of his lips, every stroke of his fingers—they all served a purpose: to make her feel more than just pleasure. He wanted to make her feel worshipped. 

But nothing compared to how he was kissing her now. 

The weight of their conversation was present in every movement of their lips. It was present in the way they had no time for rhythm, a muffled giggle leaving her as their teeth clanged. Any worry of who he was— what he was—was gone. 

She had expected the worst of him, to protect her own heart. 

Yet as he gently explored her mouth, tongues meeting in a way that was messy and eager, she was hit with the knowledge of just how wrong she’d been. 

Her arms wrapped around his shoulders, fingers fisting in his hair to anchor him in place. Now that he was here— fully opening up to her, kissing her like she was the only person he wanted to touch—she wouldn’t let him go. 

He met her fervor as he wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her flush against him. 

She was hyper aware of his chest against hers. For the first time ever, he was fully topless, pressing into her. 

Bare for her, scars exposed in a way that few had ever seen—he trusted her, wanted her, and was telling her things he’d rather keep locked away. 

She had no idea how she'd gotten so lucky. 

He pulled away all too soon, resting his forehead against hers. They both breathed deeply. She wasn’t even sure he needed to breathe, but it was comforting to share her uncontrolled breaths with him. 

Her eyes fluttered open, and she took a moment to just stare. His stayed closed, the worry in his brow having faded away. 

She wanted to cherish this moment—to transcribe it into memory. Gods, he was beautiful. And right now? 

He was hers. 

As his own eyes opened, she felt relieved. 

Relieved that the pain was gone, replaced by something tender. 

When he spoke again, she knew his words would be etched into her memory—playing in her mind whenever she closed her eyes, and every time she felt the touch of another. 

“I want all of you,” he began, eyes intent and needy. “And I want to give you all of me.” 

She gulped. Words were failing her, so she simply nodded. 

He stepped backwards, hands reaching for the hem of her dress. 

He took his time, hands trailing sensually where the fabric met flesh. She whimpered at the feeling of his touch, grateful for the chill of his skin to contrast the heat of hers. 

When she stood before him in nothing but her lingerie, he pulled away to take her in. 

“Gods, you’re beautiful.” He said the words like he revered her. 

Like she was the only person he had ever said those words to. Even though she knew she wasn’t, the look in his eyes made her believe that this was the first time he meant it. 

He closed the distance between them again, lips meeting hers. She’d been silent since he’d touched her, so she tried to show her affection with every movement of her lips. He groaned as her mouth opened, causing her to whimper. 

They were in sync, moving like they were made to touch, to kiss, to love. 

He pulled away again, voice thick as he looked her in the eye. 

“Lay on the bed,” he rasped. “ Please.” There was no authority in his tone, like there sometimes was—just yearning and need.

She didn’t answer, instead smiling softly. No seduction, just affection. 

As she laid back, head resting on the pillow, he came to stand next to her. 

He began to undo his belt, never looking away from her.  Her own eyes drifted downward, a throb wracking her core as he undressed. 

He wasn’t taking his time to tease her—to make a show of undressing to build up anticipation. No, he moved quickly and urgently, as if he couldn’t exist another moment without her touch. 

When he bared himself completely, a gasp left her lips. She would never tire of seeing him like this, and this time, she saw more. 

All of him. Not just his dick, or just his chest: he was completely naked, and it was overwhelming. Not overwhelming out of simple carnality—it was overwhelming because he finally felt safe enough to show her all of him. 

His length was already erect, and her eyes lingered. 

How many times had she thought about what he’d feel like—buried inside of her, chasing his release in tandem with hers? 

It was maddening to know she would finally feel it—the way he would drive into her, cursing her name as she cried out his. She wouldn’t need time for foreplay—she needed him now, and as he climbed on top of her, she knew he felt the same. 

He kissed her again, this time cupping her face. His bare cock pressed into her clothed core, his hips rolling needily as she moaned softly. 

This barrier of her panties was far too much, a sentiment he seemed to share as he reluctantly detached to rest on his knees. 

She followed him, sitting up to reach for the tie of her bra, her nipples growing hard as they were exposed to the cool air. His fingers hooked around her underwear, and she laid back, squirming her hips to help him remove them. 

He laughed softly at the silly motion, and despite the need filling the room, they took a moment to just smile at each other. 

“I want to remember this,” he breathed, crimson eyes boring into her own. “I want to make this last.” 

He was still on his knees above her, her legs now spread to accommodate his body. He moved back just slightly, bringing a finger to her folds. 

As a finger found her bundle of nerves, she was quick to moan out. She couldn’t have contained her cries even if she wanted to, and the soft smile he gave her was everything. 

He rubbed her gently for a few more moments, eyes never leaving her face as she gasped. She was so sensitive, so needy, and pleasure was already flooding through her. 

“Astarion…” she whimpered, trying to beg for more with just her eyes. 

“I know, darling,” he cooed, almost soothingly. 

Even the sound of his voice was enough to make her throb, and she sent a silent thanks to the gods as a finger found her entrance. 

He slid into her with no resistance, causing him to curse. She could feel his cock on her thigh, rigid and strangely cool, as he thrusted into nothing. 

“You know,” she breathed, eyes fluttering closed as he began to pump a single digit. “You could just fuck me already. Then you wouldn’t need to grind against my thigh.” 

He stilled his finger in her. “Oh, my dear. If you’re not enjoying yourself, I could stop entirely.” 

She let out a noise that was half a groan, half a hiss. 

Before she could let out a scathing retort, he removed his finger. 

And replaced it. 

With his cock. 

Not inside of her, just brushing her entrance. 

“Oh, fuck,” she gasped. 

How was he maintaining control right now? 

After the way he’d kissed her and removed his clothing, so desperately and wanting, she had expected him to sheath himself inside her in seconds. 

Instead? He was teasing. 

But the glint in his eyes said one thing. This was pleasure for him all the same—seeing her needy and writhing, from a single drag of his length along her folds. 

He loved this— loved how he could bring her close to the edge without even entering her needy hole. 

He brought his cock to her clit, rubbing it along. 

It was like every nerve was on fire as she cried out for him, the feeling of his length doing something even his fingers couldn’t. 

“You have no idea,” he began, voice low and husky. She could hear the barely-contained need in his voice, even as he pretended he was in control. “Just how beautiful you look when you’re desperate for me.” 

“You’re just as desperate,” she groaned, knowing he wouldn’t admit it. 

“Oh, sweetheart,” he murmured. He shifted, gripping his length as he placed it at her entrance. “You have no idea.”  

She tensed up slightly, out of anticipation and need. She felt silly—like a virgin, who was finally about to be touched by the man she loved. 

She was far from a virgin, but the idea of this being the first time sex had real meaning… well, that wasn’t far off. 

As his length continued to tease at her entrance, her legs struggled to stay still. She was trying to let him take the lead, but it was so difficult when she was so close to getting what she needed. 

But then he shifted, resting his body on top of hers. 

With one hand, he gripped her jaw, forcing her to look him in the eyes. His pupils were blown wide, and gods, she knew he was as far gone as she was. 

He was just better at pretending. 

“Tell me you want this,” he hissed, his own body shaking with the effort to resist burying himself inside of her. 

“I want this, Astarion,” she breathed. “I want you .” 

It was those words that did it. 

She’d thought she’d known what pleasure was in the moments she’d come undone around his fingers, or lost herself to the heat of his mouth. But it was no comparison to what she felt as he pushed himself inside, for the very first time. 

He wasn’t rough. He didn’t fuck into her like he was making her his—no, it was mutual. With the careful movement of his hips and the way her walls pulled him in, never wanting him to leave, they claimed each other , the most intimate parts of their bodies joining like this was what they were meant to do. 

He rested his forehead on hers when he was sheathed completely, eyes intent as they gazed into hers. 

“Are you ready, darling?” he asked, voice gruff. 

“Yes,” she gasped. “Yes. Give me everything, I am yours.” 

He kept his eyes on her as he began to move. With slow, careful motions, he dragged himself along her walls, hitting every nerve in a way that made her shake. She was so glad he was on top for their first time. With how amazing he felt, how perfect, she wouldn’t have been able to hold herself upright. 

With the way he groaned as he hit that deep spot inside of her that made her scream, it was clear even he was struggling. Struggling to fuck her slow, and tenderly, the way he seemed to think she deserved. 

He had said he wanted to make this last, and he was. 

She kept her eyes wide open, revelling in the intimacy of his face so close to hers. She could feel his breath, see every emotion that flooded his eyes. It was beautiful, intimate, and everything she never knew she’d needed. 

He seemed to feel the same, refusing to look away from her—eyes boring into hers, his expression speaking every word he was afraid to say aloud. 

As he began to move a little faster, a groan leaving his lips every time he sheathed himself fully inside her silken heat, she wondered how they hadn’t done this before. Their bodies instinctively knew just how to move to bring each other more and more pleasure. It was like the gods had designed him for her, and her for him. 

This is what sex should always be like. 

“I agree,” he grinned, kissing her softly on the lips. 

“Gods, I didn’t mean to say that out loud,” she mumbled when he pulled away, her hands finding his hair. He chuckled softly, another thrust making her cry out. 

Oh, he was good at this. He was good at finding the spot that he’d found with his fingers, hitting it just right. He was good at observing every little reaction she had—studying what movements made her hips jerk the hardest, memorizing the way she throbbed around his length. 

He was so practiced and careful, and she could see just how much she was holding back. 

That wouldn’t do. She didn’t want this to be just about her—it was about them both. 

“Don’t hold back,” she breathed, imploring him with her eyes. “I want anything you’ll give me.” 

He exhaled at her words, his hips snapping faster as he gave in. 

“Fuck,” he hissed, his voice breaking. “Gods, I don’t know why we waited.” 

She moaned out her agreement, too lost in her pleasure to form coherent words. 

He was so tense above her, so rigid and warm in her cunt; he was trying so hard to stay in control, but beginning to fail as she clawed at his shoulders, staying mindful of the scar tissue on his back. 

His body stayed flush against hers, not daring to pull away. They were wrapped in an embrace that she wasn’t used to, and she was so grateful he let her cling onto his shoulders. 

His next words threatened to break her entirely, the intimacy and vulnerability causing her heart to thrum loud in her chest.  “You can touch my back, darling,” he murmured, voice low and raspy.  “I trust you.” 

Tentatively, her hands trailed lower. She didn’t dig her nails in, instead tracing the scars like she had before. Like they were something beautiful, because they were. 

Every part of him was. 

And gods, he twitched inside of her, soothed and aroused by her gentle touch. 

“You are—” his own words were cut off with a groan as she pulsed around him.

“I know,” she breathed. “So are you.” 

He grinned at her again, a tenderness in his gaze that she never wanted to forget. 

She had always scoffed at the thought that sex could be romantic—that it could be more than a means to an end, a primal urge to be filled. She had rolled her eyes at the idea of making love. When she worked, love had nothing to do with it. 

Yet as he moved inside of her, gazing at her like they weren’t in a dimly lit brothel room, she began to understand. With every whimper of his name and every curse she let out, she understood what it was like. To not just have sex, but to embrace sex as an expression of love. 

Between needy moans and desperate cries, he let a few words slip out. “You take me so well,” he groaned, followed by “such a good girl for me” 

She couldn’t even reply, whimpering with every thrust and every movement of his body above hers. 

Gods, she could tell how close he was. Both of their bodies shook with the effort to make this last. 

But as his mouth trailed down her chest and he sucked a nipple into her mouth, she knew there was no point in trying to hold it off.  

The feeling of his mouth—the suction and flicks of his tongue—were an exquisite reminder of just how close she was,and just how much pleasure he made her feel. 

He thrusted through every lick, every gentle suck, his tongue finding a rhythm that somehow matched the rolls of his hips. 

He pulled away briefly to look her in the eye, his blown pupils threatening to overtake the red she loved oh so much entirely. 

“Have I ever told you,” he groaned, his chin resting on her chest. “Just how much I love your breasts?” 

He brought a hand to massage the breast he hadn’t yet touched, making a point of giving both of them equal attention. 

“You’re so fucking good at that,” she whispered, her own hips beginning to roll. 

She couldn’t simply take him anymore; she had to give back. Her body wouldn’t allow for anything less. 

“Oh, I know,” he murmured, rolling her nipple between two of his fingers.

 She hissed, the feeling of his cock thrusting deep combined with his ministrations on her nipples an overwhelming sensation. 

As if to prove his point, his mouth found the nipple he wasn’t already focused on. 

His eyes stayed on her face, an almost amused glint in his eyes as she cried out his name. 

No one had ever touched her like this before. 

No one had ever worshipped every part of her, or made sex feel like home. 

Gods she was close, unbearably, achingly close. 

She was throbbing around him, her needy cunt desperate to milk him for every drop of seed she could get. 

And he was losing himself too, his cock pulsing within her. 

Her orgasm, which had built up from the moment he kissed her, hit her suddenly and hard. 

There was absolutely no grace in the way she came—just pure, uncontrollable pleasure, starting in the pit of her stomach and spreading through her entire body. 

He kept fucking her through it, drawing out sounds she was sure she’d never made. 

And he was close too. She could feel it in the way he lost all sense of rhythm, no longer worried about performance. 

“Darling, you feel—fuck,” he groaned, her pussy clenching tight. 

His jaw had fallen slack, his body shaking as he resisted the urge to give in fully. 

But as she whispered his name, in the breathy gasp she knew made him weak,  she saw him surrender. 

““Where do you want me—” he began, eyes rolling back as he struggled to hold on. 

Without thinking, her reply fell from her lips. “Inside. Please.” 

She was surprised at her own words, but had no time to contemplate as she felt him flood her. 

Gods, he was throbbing, pulsing, spilling his spend deep in her core. It was the first part of him that felt warm, and it was so, so delicious. She never let men come in her, another rule she had thrown away for him. 

What they had went beyond rules—it went beyond a prostitute and client. 

As he shook and tensed, his orgasm lasting as long as hers had, she knew one thing: she had just made love. 

It was a ridiculous notion, yet as he went still, she knew it was true. By the look in his eyes, so ardent and soft, it seemed he did, too. 

He didn’t move at first, instead kissing her and wrapping his arms around her tight. 

“Gods, you’re perfect,” he breathed as he pulled away, forehead back on hers. 

“The feeling is mutual,” she grinned. “And right now, I love how cold you are.” 

It was true. The ice of his body contrasted the overwhelming heat of her skin beautifully. 

He arched an eyebrow. “You didn’t love it before? I’m hurt.” 

“I love everything about you.” The words fell out of her lips before she could think them through,  and she froze at the unexpected vulnerability in her voice. 

His eyes flashed with an indecipherable emotion, and he cleared his throat. 

“Oh? Even my vampirism? My assassinations?" His joke eased the tension of her confession, and she breathed a sigh of relief. 

“Your vampirism is hardly a concern. And… I can look past the assassinations.”  

He finally rolled off of her, letting out a breathless laugh. She missed his body on top of hers immediately, but he was quick to pull her into an embrace. 

“Sometimes I wonder how you’re real,” he murmured. 

Her heartbeat, which had barely calmed since her orgasm, picked up again. 

He let out a noise that could only be described as tortured . “You have no idea how distracting that is.” 

She furrowed her brow. “My… heartbeat?” 

“Yes. And the way you smell, especially after you come. It’s… maddening.” She hadn’t expected to hear so much need in his voice so soon after his orgasm, but it awakened an idea—one that might be terrible, or the best thing she’d ever thought of. 

She swallowed audibly, then spoke slowly and hesitantly. “Do you… want to drink my blood?” 

He went completely still beside her, not breathing. Not even daring to make a sound. 

When he spoke, his voice was strained. Strangled. “Do you know how dangerous those words are?” 

She chewed on her bottom lip. 

She had given sex to many; it was typical, expected. 

But she had never given anyone her blood. 

“I… I mean, can you? Without killing me?” 

He exhaled sharply. “Yes, but…” 

She shifted to look him directly in the eye. “But what?” 

“One of the first things you told me was you never let clients leave marks. This would definitely leave a mark.” He sounded almost pained as he spoke—as if he wanted to say yes, but was scared of what it would mean. 

It was true. She hated physical evidence of what she did—it made things awkward with new clients, and was a reminder of particular men that she didn’t want to think about. 

But they weren’t him. 

“I also never let men come inside of me, Astarion.”

He sounded caught off guard when he replied. “You don’t?” 

She let out a soft laugh. “No. Never. You’re different. You have to know that by now.”

“Would it be strange to say I’m honoured?” he murmured, a sly grin forming on his lips. 

“Oh, I’d be offended if you weren’t honoured.” 

“Believe me, I am.” 

The room fell silent for a moment. Her pulse was racing embarrassingly loud, and knowing he could hear it only amplified the rapid beats. 

“You’re really trying to ruin me, aren’t you?” He sounded bemused. 

The expression in his eyes said something else. He was hungry, fighting the urge to bite her. 

“Astarion….” She sighed, gazing up at him. “You don’t have to bite me. You never have to do anything you’re not comfortable with.” She hesitated, resisting the urge to shrink away from the intensity in his eyes. “But I wanted to offer. This is something I can give you, that I’ve given no one else. This can be for us— an act that has nothing to do with the services I provide.” He inhaled sharply at her words, and she gazed at him fiercely before speaking again. 

“I want you to take me in a way that no one has.” 

His swallowed audibly. “This is going to hurt.” 

Even as he spoke, she could see it in his eyes—he wanted this, they both wanted this. 

Her own voice was a breathy moan as she spoke. “I don’t mind a little pain.” 

He moved impossibly fast, shifting their bodies so he was back on top of her. She gasped at the suddenness of the motion, but she had no time to think. Not when he was flush against her, the movement causing his spend to leak down her thighs. 

“You are absolutely certain you want me to bite you?” 

His eyes bored into hers. He was giving her a chance—one last opportunity to say no, that this was a silly idea. But she was craving it now—so fucking badly. She recalled the way he’d reacted when he got just a taste of her blood from the cut on her tongue. She needed to see how he lost himself when he had full access to her neck, fangs sunk deep in the way only a vampire could claim a mortal. 

“Yes, Astarion. I am absolutely certain.” Her own tone was almost exasperated, desperate now to feel his fangs—to feel him inside her in a way no one ever had been. 

Finally, his lips found their way to her neck. She gasped as he licked where her pulse beat rapidly. 

Still, he didn’t bite. “Last chance…” he murmured against her neck, and she could feel his smirk. 

“Oh for gods sake—bite me already, or—” 

Her words were cut off with a cry as his fangs sank in deep. 

It was like a shard of ice had entered her neck—cold and sharp, a dizzying sensation that stung. 

She hissed through the pain. Every ounce of it was worth it, as she heard him groan. Completely primal and lost, he was consuming her. 

Fuck, she loved it. 

The initial pain faded quickly, turning into a dull, chilled ache. 

She had expected the reaction she was getting from him—needy groans and deep pulls—but she hadn’t expected just how intensely it would affect her. 

Beneath the sting and the dizziness of blood loss, she felt an indescribable pleasure. She was floating— lost. As her eyes fluttered close, she was seeing stars. Yes, it hurt, but fuck, it hurt good. 

“Astarion…” 

A sudden white heat was flooding her core, and with an unbidden moan, she realized something. 

Simply because of his bite, she was needy for him again. 

What would it feel like, to have his cock in her as he fed? To be taken by him, in two ways at once?

The thought only increased her arousal, small gasps leaving her lips. 

He took a particularly deep pull then, bringing her out of her mind. She let out a strangled noise in response. She could feel his cock growing hard again against her core, and she whimpered loudly. She made him hard like this, from a simple taste of her blood. 

From feeding off of her. The whole moment was intoxicating. 

She had never experienced this level intimacy—of nourishing someone with her very life force. 

She wrapped her legs around the small of his back, hips beginning to move. Chasing a release she hadn’t known she’d needed, until the moment his fangs had entered her skin. 

“Astarion…” his name came out as a slur. Even as she writhed helplessly beneath him, her head was growing heavy. She knew he needed to stop; she also knew she didn’t want him to. 

Luckily, one of them had enough sense to make him pull away. 

“Fuck, darling,” he breathed. “Are you alright?” 

“Never better,” she mumbled, her eyes half closed. 

As his mouth left her neck, she forced herself to look at him fully. And gods, the sight of him… 

Her blood dripped down his face. It started at the corner of his lips, flooding down his chin. 

She had never been turned on by blood, but the feral expression in his eyes—all from tasting her—made her reconsider. 

“Sorry,” he grinned sheepishly. “I may have gotten a tad… carried away.” 

“You look hot,” she blurted out. She always forgot herself when talking to him. All the seductive turns of phrases she’d spent years mastering were gone, and saying you look hot was all she could think of when she could feel his erection pressing into her thigh. 

“Oh? So do you,” he murmured, tongue darting out to lick the corner of his mouth. 

“How do I taste?” she breathed. 

“Amazing,” he said, sighing happily. “I.. I haven’t fed on someone like this in a long time. I have before, but lately it’s been animals, and random victims, and…” he hesitated. “Sorry, this is a very not hot thing to tell you right now.” 

“It’s okay,” she replied, a soft smile forming on her lips. “I want to hear everything.” 

Despite their conversation, it wasn’t enough to stop her from throbbing around nothing. 

Sensing her arousal, his grin turned from sheepish to wicked. “Oh darling, you loved this, didn’t you?” 

She nodded. “ Yes.” She hesitated, searching his eyes. “Will you touch me again?” 

He swallowed audibly, looking at her intently. “I was hoping you would ask me that.” He paused for another moment, eyes searching hers. “Can I kiss you? I understand if you don’t want to, given the blood and all—” 

He let out a muffled noise of surprise as she wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him down. Their lips crashed together, and she groaned at the taste of her own blood. The metallic tang wasn’t particularly appealing, but knowing the pleasure it had brought him made it taste like the most delicious substance in all of Faerun. 

He pulled away after a moment. 

“Turn around.” His voice took on the authoritative tone she was used to from him, and her heart surged in excitement. 

A new position. One she was very excited for. She wanted to try it all with him—to rewrite every moment she’d done this out of obligation rather than pleasure. 

He moved off of her, resting on his knees beside her as he gave her time to situate herself. 

When she was on all fours, head turned so she could look at him, he shot her a mischievous grin. 

Moving behind her, she could feel his erection brushing her folds. 

She hissed at the contact, needing more. 

“Look at you,” he breathed, a dangerous lilt in his voice. “So ready to take me, to give yourself over after giving me your blood.” 

Words were failing her as he fisted a hand in her hair, pulling her head backwards. “Are you sure you’re ready?” 

“Yes, fuck—” she quit speaking, replacing her words with a strangled cry as he pushed himself into her for the second time tonight. 

This time was nothing like the first. The first had been gentle and loving, an expression of tenderness and affection. 

This time? It was carnal, primal. 

And somehow, it still managed to be romantic. 

Intimate. Because even though it was rough, it was rough with him. 

He let out a growl as he released her hair, gripping her hips as she placed her cheek against the pillow. 

As he bottomed out, no longer worried about being gentle, she screamed, clenching around him needily. 

“Fuck, Talia.” His voice was a deep, guttural sound—one that showed her the animalistic nature you’d expect from a vampire. 

And fuck, she loved it. She loved every brutal thrust as he pounded into her, this time truly claiming her in a way she would only give to him. 

His nails dug into the flesh of her ass, and she was vaguely aware of her own screams filling the air. 

“Gods, don’t stop,” she gasped. “You feel—fuck.” She whimpered as he found that exquisite spot deep within her. 

This position allowed for him to go deeper and deeper each time, his cock dragging along her walls and claiming every inch of her channel. 

“So do you,” he groaned. “Gods, so do you. So perfect.” 

She could hear the lewd sounds of skin on skin, and every noise made him move faster. Her hips were moving backwards, meeting every single thrust. She thought she might be bruised in the morning, with the way his nails dug deep into her skin and his hips hit hers, unrelenting. 

But she wanted him to mark her. She wanted to look at her hips and her neck, and see the evidence of how he’d fully, completely ruined her. 

She wanted the physical proof of the night he made her his. 

She was clenching around him tight at the thought of his possession, the heat in her core impossible to ignore. She was close, so desperately close, cunt threatening to pull him in and keep him there forever. 

His own breathing was heavy—loud gasps escaping his perfect lips with every deep pump. 

“Tell me you’re mine,” he growled above her, possessive and deep. “Tell me that no one else makes you feel this way. That no matter how many touch you, I’m the one you think about.” 

“I am yours,” she breathed, absolutely no hesitation in her voice. Her words seemed to drive him into a frenzy—gods, how could someone move so fast? 

Knowing the effect she had on him, she couldn’t stop. Not when it made him so needy, so very desperate to fuck her hard. The tender intimacy from earlier had been wonderful, but this— the way he was losing control, showing her just how depraved he could be—this was everything. 

“When I touch myself, when I’m with anyone else—all I think about is you. The way you feel, the way you touch me. I have never belonged to anyone the way I belong to you.” 

“Oh, fuck—” her words of surrender were what made him spill inside of her, his cock throbbing as his seed filled her. 

She pushed herself back up on her hands, twisting her head around so she could watch him fall apart. 

His teeth dug into his lip, her blood still covering the lower half of his face. He was beautiful— devastating. He was so fucking lost with his furrowed brow and blissful expression, his fangs gleaming as his mouth fell slack. 

It was the sight of him and the feel of his spend that made her follow, moans of his name filling the room as her body shook beneath him. She kept her eyes on him the entire time, imprinting this moment to memory. 

The pleasure filled her entire body, her second orgasm of the night even more intense than the first. She felt weightless, boneless—all that existed was the heat that spread through her, and the weight of his body on top of hers. 

His eyes flickered open and the way his eyes bored into hers, blissed out and intent, made her body wrack one last time, before she collapsed. 

She was breathing heavy, head pressed into the pillow. Her body was covered in sweat, his spend leaking down her thighs. She was so used to sex that she rarely felt tired from it, but right now, she was exhausted. She’d given up her blood, and had two of the most intense orgasms of her life. 

Yet despite the exhaustion, she was happy. Calm. Tonight was everything. 

Astarion pulled out of her, and she whimpered one last time at the loss. 

She felt him shift and lay down next to her. 

“Did I break you?” he asked, his tone cautious and concerned. 

She snorted, another undignified sound. “Yes. But I’m okay. Alive. Never better.” 

He let out a sigh as he relaxed, chuckling softly. 

They didn’t speak for a moment, allowing her time to catch her breath. 

When she rolled over to face him, he was looking at her fondly, with an affection she wanted to see forever. 

Her words broke the silence. Ones she had never said in this setting, and knew she shouldn’t. 

“You don’t have to pay tonight.” 

He swallowed audibly, and his eyes widened. He looked alert—guarded. 

“What?” 

She had expected him to sound relieved, but instead he sounded… scared. 

“I did this for me,” she continued. “For us. Not for your gold.   I don’t want this to be a transaction…” she trailed off, trying to read his expression.  

He paused, his brow furrowing in concern. “I don’t want you to get in trouble,” he replied, his voice gruff. 

“I can deal with it,” she responded evenly, assertively. “ Please don’t pay. This meant far too much to me to be about gold.” 

He let out a breath she hadn’t known he was holding, and nodded just slightly. 

“Alright. I won’t pay.” He was silent for a moment, eyes searching her face. “Thank you,” he murmured softly. 

“Don’t thank me,” she whispered. “I’m doing this for me, too.” 

He pulled her into a tight embrace, her head resting on his chest. “You’re full of surprises, aren’t you?” 

“As are you.” 

They both fell silent, holding each other tight.

When he spoke up again, there was no mistaking the aching vulnerability in his voice. 

“Everything I told you earlier… about being a vampire spawn, and killing people…” he trailed off. 

Ah, yes. The conversation that had inspired this visit—the one that felt like it was a lifetime ago, even though it had only been an hour.

“What about it?” she murmured into his chest. It was almost scary how quick she’d put it out of her mind. 

How she went into this thinking he was a cold blooded murderer, only to let him bite and make love to her. 

“Can you really look past it?” His words were raw, and she pulled away to look at him. 

“I don’t love your lifestyle,” she began, and she hated how quickly disappointment flooded his face. “I’m going to worry about you.” 

Disappointment was replaced by confusion. “Worry about me?”  

“Well, what if you encounter someone who doesn’t die easily? You haven’t told me how you’re getting these contracts, and…” she hesitated, inhaling and exhaling deeply. “What if you get hurt? It sounds like a dangerous way to live, Astarion.” 

His expression softened quickly. “You don’t need to worry. I’m good at this—I’m careful. I don’t want to ruin the night talking about how I find my marks, but I promise you, I’ll be safe.” 

She let out a sigh. His gaze was convincing, and his tone held no anxiety. He didn’t seem to be lying, but he could easily be wrong. 

“I just… I’ve cared for people before, who have put themselves in danger…” she trailed off again. “It doesn’t always end well.” 

There was a weight in her words—an acknowledgment of what her life had been like, one she didn’t want to go into. 

When he spoke again, he was reassuring and gentle. “Darling, I’ll be okay. Besides, nothing can keep me from you. I’ll find a way to haunt you if I get killed.” 

His joke eased the tension, and she rolled her eyes at him. 

“You better,” she muttered, looking away as she rested her head back on his chest. 

He left out a soft chuckle and they fell silent once again, happy to just be. 

The night had started with worry about what kind of person he was. If he killed for food—for enjoyment. 

And one honest conversation had led her to reconsider everything. 

She wasn’t used to worrying about others. She had closed that part of herself off a long time ago—when she started her new life. 

And she was being dragged back into it, because of this beautiful man. 

Back into the worry—the anxiety that one kill would go wrong, and she’d lose him forever. 

Gods, it was stupid. She knew it was ridiculous just how quickly she had thrown aside her concerns. Harmony would think she was absolutely insane, and she half wondered if she’d be right. 

But this night? Laying in his arms, after making love? 

Well, this night certainly had been full of surprises. 

Full of surprises, as she tried to reconcile what it could mean to accept a dark part of someone—and to love them anyways. The word love caused a panic to go through her, yet she couldn’t help but think it. Nothing else could describe the way he made her feel . 

And as he kissed her head and whispered that she was beautiful, there was only one certainty in her mind: 

She was fucked , in more ways than one. 

But in this moment, they were just them. No assassinations or sex work: just Talia and Astarion, moving beyond the transactions that had defined their relationship. Being together because they wanted to be, not because of money. 

She didn’t know what came next. 

She didn’t know if she would start seeing him outside of this setting or if she would cheat the work days away with this torrid affair—risking her job, all for him. 

All she knew was that she didn’t want to stop, no matter how confusing this relationship was. 

She had seen him tonight—really, truly seen him. 

Not just his body, but his very soul. She had fed him, let him consume her. She had heard about his past, and with every word he spoke, her admiration for him had only grown. 

She had meant what she said—she was undeniably his. 

And as they finished the night off with conversation and laughter,  she thought something dangerous, something forbidden: 

Maybe, just maybe, he could be hers, too.

Notes:

so... that happened! I felt slightly filthy writing their second... encounter... but have absolutely no regrets.

thank you so much for the comments/kudos, every single one brings a huge smile to my face.

Chapter 13: Shifting Tides

Summary:

Talia encounters Astarion in an unexpected place. When they spend the night together, their relationship shifts—propelling them in a new direction.

Notes:

so... this chapter got away from me a little, and is the longest yet. I swear every word is necessary lol.

small warning: Talia deals with some shitty, uncomfortable behaviour from two men in this chapter. nothing graphic or noncon, they're just very disrespectful.

Aside from that, enjoy some plot with smut mixed in!

In all her years working, Talia had never once been chastised. She was always a model worker—seductive, mysterious, and amazing at making her clients feel special. The establishment got plenty of gold because of her, and she was always paid well. 

But her current predicament—having feelings for a client—hadn’t gone unnoticed. 

It was one thing when Harmony had caught on. Harmony always had her back; despite her teasing and disapproval, Talia could rely on her to keep it quiet.  

Even her fellow workers were understanding. They were mostly amused by Talia’s longings for Astarion, making asinine jokes about how her icy heart had finally melted. 

But Lydia? 

Her boss, the one who took the money and had interacted with Astarion almost every time he came in? Facilitating the transactions that had turned into more? 

Well, she was the last person Talia had wanted to find out. 

Naturally, she had. 

The night that she’d spent with Astarion—the one where he’d bitten her, fucked her, made love to her — was the first time Lydia commented, displeasure clear in her eyes. 

It was as he left that her boss had called her over. 

“You’re forgetting something,” she’d said, glowering. 

“Am I?” Talia’s voice pitched, the way it always did when she was hiding something. 

“Don’t play dumb. When he comes back, he will pay for last time, too, or he won’t be coming back at all.” Lydia was usually kind—usually understanding and graceful—but her glare that day told Talia she meant business. 

And that business was why she now stood somewhere she didn’t particularly want to be. 

Every so often, the women and men from Sharess’ Caress had an opportunity—to work in a setting she dreaded. 

Rich men, whether they were nobility, dukes, or a combination of both, would throw parties. 

And what better way to celebrate, than with a group of the most attractive people in town? 

Workers they could fuck for one night, and forget about in the morning. 

Not that she blamed them—that was the service she provided, after all. 

But they acted so entitled. As if their high status—one they likely didn’t deserve—meant they could treat them as playthings, what they wanted be damned. 

But Lydia had looked at her, with wide, pleading eyes. A drow would be a novelty at this party—one that would get them extra coin. She knew Talia didn't enjoy the parties, and she never pushed her to go. Except for this time, it seemed. 

“I can ignore the marks on your neck,” she’d said, staring pointedly at the indent of Astarion’s fangs, “ if you work tomorrow night.” 

So here she was, on her day off , sitting on the lap of some ridiculous noble whose arms wrapped possessively around her waist. 

Thankfully, he was focused on chatting with another man—some type of business conversation that she had long since tuned out. 

Talia felt like a decoration—she wasn’t doing any work. She just sat there, smiling and looking pretty. 

It was boring. 

She knew he’d likely whisk her away later, and she was hoping it would be fast. A quick fuck, and then maybe she could leave. 

Her eyes locked with Isolde, one of the girls who had come to the party tonight. She was one of the few humans who worked with her, and she was younger than most of them—early twenties, escaping her noble family to work at Sharess’. 

Talia didn’t know if it was an act of rebellion, or something else—she hadn’t spoken much to the human. But Isolde was now sitting across from her with a man of her own, giggling and flirting. 

As Isolde sent her a soft smile then looked away to talk to the man, Talia couldn’t help but overhear words that made her blood run cold. 

“You know,” the man drawled. An older man—one who looked all too happy to have Isolde’s attention, conveniently forgetting she was only there for gold. 

Talia’s stomach twisted as he turned his head in their direction. “We could always take this somewhere more private.” 

He wasn’t addressing Talia or Isolde: he was addressing his friend. 

Talia sent Isolde a wary glance. Isolde was focused on the man, no apprehension in her pretty blue eyes. 

Talia did not do groups. She simply didn’t like it, and didn’t particularly want to sleep with any of her fellow workers. Or two men at once.

The idea held no appeal to her, and made her borderline uncomfortable. She enjoyed working somewhere where she was allowed to have rules, yet when they were in a setting like this, those rules were often disregarded. 

The man she was sitting with tightened his hand on Talia’s waist, causing her to grimace. “Two beautiful women, two beautiful men—I don’t see why not.” 

“As delightful as this sounds,” Talia purred, trying her best to sound like she wasn’t repulsed by the idea, “I’m not sure I could handle all of you at once.” 

“Oh, don’t be silly,” the man across from her scoffed. “Lord Hastings is paying you well. You will join us.” He petted Isolde’s hair, and she had the audacity to giggle. “Besides, this one’s all for it. Right, Isabelle?” 

Gods, he couldn’t even be bothered to learn her name. 

If it bothered her—which it really should have—Isolde’s didn’t show it, instead beaming at the man. She turned to Talia, a smirk falling across her delicate features. “Yes. We should give them what they want. I know I want it, too.” 

Talia couldn’t glare at the men they sat with, but she could glare at Isolde. 

Something she shrank away from. 

“I really don’t think I’m the one you want for this delicious experience.” She spoke through gritted teeth, trying her best to be firm yet polite. 

The man’s hand, whose lap she was still perched on, trailed downwards—concerningly low. It rested mere inches away from the apex of her thighs. 

“I’ve heard about you, you know,” the man growled, deep in her ear. “I never would’ve guessed the infamous drow would be such a prude.” 

She was preparing herself for a scathing retort. There were some levels of disrespect she refused to deal with— this was one of them. She didn’t care how much this Lord Hastings was paying—she didn’t deserve this. 

This blatant disregard for any boundary she put up. And she didn’t deserve Isolde, someone who was supposed to be on her side, shooting Talia a wide eyed pleading glance. As if she wanted to do this as much as these two repulsive men did. 

Before she could speak, she heard a voice that she certainly hadn’t been expecting tonight. 

“You know, it’s rather pathetic to be begging for someone who would clearly rather be anywhere else— with anyone else, I’d imagine.”

Her heart threatened to leap out of her throat as she looked up. 

Astarion. 

He was here. 

At this party. 

Her mind went from discomfort to curiosity. 

Why was he here? Was Astarion nobility? Was he a lord? Was he hiding yet another facet of his increasingly mysterious life? 

And the most annoying thought of all: 

How did he look so beautiful in a decadent black and gold suit, that she was certain must have been personally tailored for the body she had come to love so much? 

He stood out among the men here—that much was certain. And there was an undeniable thrill spreading through her that he was stepping in for her. 

But there was also an annoyance— she could handle these men herself, and did not need another client jumping in to her rescue. She wasn’t a damsel in distress, even if Astarion treating her that way was more than a little attractive. Hells, as long as Astarion wasn’t a complete asshole, everything he did was arousing. 

Whether she wanted it to be or not. 

And Astarion—he wasn’t even looking at her, instead glowering at the man who had yet to let go of her thigh. 

Before she could jump in, he began to speak, evidently unimpressed with being interrupted. 

“How dare you! We all know what these girls are here for.” His tone was dismissive yet haughty, his displeasure with Astarion’s words clear. 

“Oh? How embarrassing, then, that she doesn’t want to touch you despite being paid.” 

The tension in the air was thick. Talia swallowed, preparing to diffuse the situation as she felt the noble’s hand tighten on her leg and his body stiffen. 

“This is—” 

It was as he finally looked up that he fell silent. Astarion was shooting him a wicked smile— just enough to show his fangs, and just enough to show there was no humour in the grin. 

She silently scolded herself for just how hot his anger made her. How his protectiveness ignited a primal urge within her—one that made her squeeze her thighs together, and her heart race so loud that he could undoubtedly hear it. 

“Well! Perhaps you’re right. There are other beautiful women around who could give us what we need.” 

Talia bit back a smile at how fast the noble changed his mind—at how frightened he was, from a mere glance in Astarion’s direction.

" Exactly right,” she purred. “As delightful as this has been, please excuse me.” 

Astarion offered her his arm. She took it begrudgingly—glad to see him, but perturbed he’d inserted himself into something he had no place in. 

She wasn’t sure where they were going as he began to guide them out of the main parlour, but she followed all the same. 

When then entered a dimly lit hallway—away from any prying eyes—she yanked on his hand. 

He turned at her pull, sending a soft smile. 

He was unbearably close. Part of her wanted to shove him against the wall and kiss him—to show him how angry she was with rough and bruising movements. 

She was acutely aware of the ache between her thighs that he had put there by foolishly stepping in. 

A much larger part of her knew that wouldn’t convey how she felt— the strong madness that threatened to encompass her whole as she replayed his actions in her mind. 

“What in the hells was that?” she hissed—trying her best to display how livid she felt, while speaking in a hushed whisper. 

“Oh?” he murmured, raising his stupidly sculpted eyebrows. “I’m sorry, did you want to fuck those two men?” 

“Obviously not! But I am working. And I don’t need you to intervene like I’m some helpless maiden,”  she scoffed, staring at the wall behind him as she refused to meet his eyes. 

Astarion let out an exasperated sigh. “Well forgive me for feeling irate when I see the woman I—” he abruptly cut himself off, and when her eyes snapped back to him, he looked surprised. 

Surprised, as if he’d almost said something he wasn’t ready for. 

Her own eyes widened as she took him in, frozen as she waited for his next words. 

He cleared his throat, and she felt a wave of disappointment flood her as he spoke. “The woman I care for being treated like an object.” 

She let out a sigh. “You don’t need to defend my honour. I could’ve dealt with it.” 

He sent her a withering stare. “Maybe, but were you going to?” 

“I—” she paused. He appeared stoic, despite the loaded question he’d just thrown her way. “What exactly is that supposed to mean?”

“Well,” he murmured, stepping closer and bringing up a hand to cup her face. In spite of herself—her annoyance, her defiance—she leaned into his cool touch, eyelids fluttering closed. His lips ghosted against her ear as he moved closer. 

"Maybe my motivations were a tad… selfish. Maybe I was worried you’d say yes and I’d have to live with the knowledge that you were only rooms away, being touched by someone who wasn’t me.”

The way he spoke—dark and jealous, expressing that he wanted her all to himself —sent another surge of arousal through her. 

But she wouldn’t give in that easily. “You know this is what I do.” 

“Yes,” he murmured, “but I don’t have to like it. And it’s rather distracting to hear your voice— to smell your blood— when I’m close enough to see you, but too far to have you.” 

“Astarion…” his name came out as a breathy gasp, as it often did when he was close. It would be so easy to lose herself in him—to revel in the feelings of his cool touch—to be lost in the possessive manner in which he spoke. 

But she wasn’t quite ready to let go of her anger. 

Trying to regain control of the situation, she asked a simple question. “Why are you here?” 

He paused, swallowing audibly. He spoke carefully and slowly. “You’re not the only one working tonight.” 

Her blood ran cold—his words alarming enough that she stepped backwards, ignoring the way the loss of his touch made her ache. 

“ What?” She was incredulous— afraid. Was he here to kill someone? 

Gods, there were guards here. And this wasn’t some small scale murder—no, these men were powerful. He had told her not to worry. And now, only a few days later, he was showing her just why she should. 

“I have it under control,” he murmured. He looked her in the eyes, willing her to agree. He seemed to genuinely believe it, but it didn’t mean that she did. 

“So… you’re going to kill someone. Tonight.” Her voice came out flat as she tried to calm her breathing. 

“Not tonight, darling. I’m just here to gather some… evidence.” 

How was he speaking—so calm and unbothered, as if gathering evidence to assassinate powerful people was normal? Without risk? 

“Evidence. Right.” 

He sounded almost offended as he responded. “Do you not believe me?” 

“No, I do,” she began, eyes searching his. He looked conflicted—confused. Like he wanted her to understand, but wasn’t sure how to make that happen. “It just scares me. These aren’t predators in a tavern—they have power. Influence. And the place is crawling with guards!” 

“Do you think I don’t know that?” he snapped back, his voice raising just slightly. “I’m not a complete idiot. And, if it weren’t for you, no one would have seen me tonight. Or at least, they wouldn’t have paid notice— I would’ve just been some attractive guest, blending in with the crowd.” 

She let out a snort. “Oh, yes. You blend in with the crowd so well. You look just like the rest of these frumpy old men.” 

He glared at her, almost menacingly. Not in a way that made her afraid, but in a way that showed just how little he appreciated her sarcasm. 

“And why the hells are you blaming me? You chose to step in! You decided I was powerless, giving me no chance to deal with it myself.” Her voice was far above a whisper—she wasn’t quite yelling, yet if anyone entered the narrow corridor, they would certainly hear every word of what was turning into an argument. 

He let out a sharp breath, one that was more an angry huff than a sigh. “Yes, you’re far from powerless. But I forget myself when it comes to you, and you weren’t supposed to be here tonight.” 

“Well, I’m sorry that I don’t have your covert schedule memorized,” she snapped back. “I don’t even want to be here tonight, but I have to because—” 

She cut herself off before she could finish her sentence. Her anger didn’t matter—she wouldn’t guilt him or blame him for her presence, even if he did the same to her. 

His expression softened, annoyance replaced by concern. “Why do you have to?” 

“It doesn’t matter,” she mumbled, refusing to meet his eyes. “It’s just work. ” 

He hesitated. He seemed to want to press her—to find out just what she meant—but he also read her dismissal well and let it drop. 

“Alright. I’m sorry.” As she looked back at him, there was none of his previous snark—just gentle kindness.

She was flooded with relief that they could bicker and fall out of it so fast. 

She wasn’t used to pointed comments being followed by quick apologies—she wasn’t used to the level of respect he treated her with. 

No matter how many times she’d seen him now, she still didn’t know what to do with it. 

“Me too.” 

They looked at each other for just a moment—a long moment, a gaze exchanged that spoke a million words. Somewhere between I’m sorry and I’ve missed you, they said it all in a look. 

She cleared her throat, awareness of her surrounding flooding her as a particularly loud guest let out a rambunctious laugh from a nearby room. 

“So,” she whispered, speaking as softly as possible. “What evidence are you searching for?” 

His eyes widened at her question. “I—you do not want to be involved in this.” 

“Well,” she drawled, trying to shoot him her most defiant expression, “you took me away from clients for the night, so I have no choice but to stay by your side. I’m coming with you, whether you like it or not.” 

 It may not have been her best idea. In fact, it was likely one of the worst. 

But knowing Astarion was in her vicinity? 

That he would be in the very same manor as her, not by her side? 

It would drive her mad. She would jump at any opportunity to be in his presence—whether it was dangerous or not. 

An alarming realization, but one she didn’t have time to contemplate. 

“Talia…” he was regarding her warily—evidently not thrilled with the idea of her tagging along. 

“Please,” she murmured, sending him her most pleading glance, “I’m good at this sort of thing—I can use a dagger, I can sneak, I can even pick locks—” 

He cut her off with an exasperated sigh. “ Fine. And I highly doubt you’re as good as I am at any of those things, but we’ll see how you fare.” 

She beamed at him. She wasn’t thrilled about following him along on his questionable endeavours—she was, however, ecstatic to spend time with him in any manner. 

Every one of their meetings had occurred in a brothel. She wanted more , and she was finally getting it—albeit not in the way she’d spent days imagining. 

“Gods, why are you smiling like that?” In spite of his words, he gave her his own silly grin. 

Her heart soared. “Well, I’m with you. I thought I would be working tonight, and instead I find myself aiding you in your… mysterious operation.” He rolled his eyes at the emphasis she placed on the word mysterious. “I’m just happy, I guess. To be here. With you.” 

He hummed thoughtfully. “I suppose you’ll be useful. If we get caught anywhere we shouldn’t be, we have the perfect excuse.” 

He stepped closer to her, closing the distance she’d put between them as they bickered. 

She gulped. His sudden movement—the way he entered her space like he was meant to be there —was distracting her from any thought of what she’d just said—and his lack of meaningful response. 

His head tilted just slightly—looking down at her as he wrapped his arms around her waist. 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” she breathed, not daring to look away. 

“Well,” he murmured, eyes focusing on her lips. “I can think of many plausible excuses for why we’d be alone together, in one of the many rooms in this manor.” 

Before she had a chance to respond, he closed the distance fully—kissing her hard. Intently, focused. She let out a muffled moan against his lips, arms immediately wrapping around his shoulders. His hands trailed lower, gripping her ass. She had not been expecting this, but she wasn’t complaining. 

And then she heard noises— voices , coming down the hallway. She was about to do the respectful thing—to pull away, and lower her eyes to the floor as the people passed. 

Instead? Astarion continued, somehow kissing her harder. Leaving her no chance to breathe— not that she felt the need to. 

The ache—the one that had built between her thighs when he had infuriatingly interjected her earlier exchange—was impossible to deny. The moan that left her was lewd and borderline inappropriate for the strange setting they found themselves in. Not that she really cared. The manor crawled with decadence and sin, but she hadn’t expected this. She hadn’t expected to be one of the women pressing into a man, wanton and needy for anyone to see. 

It was as the voices faded—ones she’d tuned out entirely, so focused on her desire—that Astarion stepped away. 

He was… detached. She was panting, and he was still. No signs of arousal—just perfect and controlled, like he wasn’t making a mess of her. 

“See? Perfect!” 

“I—what?” Need still clouded all of her thoughts, making logical thinking difficult—but she knew enough to be annoyed. 

“Well, whoever those men were—they paid no mind to us once they saw what we were doing. Like I said, perfect excuse for if we get caught in one of the many studies in this wretched place.” 

Maybe it was petty of her, but the rejection stung. “Ah, so that’s why you kissed me. Not because you wanted to—no, I was merely a convenience.” 

He let out a frustrated sigh. “Gods, that’s not what I meant! Of course I want to kiss you—but I’m trying to work. This was supposed to be quick—sneak in, try to appear as if I’m supposed to be here, steal some documents—then leave.” 

She frowned, but as she stared at him, she saw an emotion she wasn’t used to on his gorgeous face: stress. 

“Alright, I’m sorry." She took a deep breath, her voice lowering to a conspiratorial whisper. "Okay, what document do you need to steal, and how can I help?”  

A quiet thought in the back of her mind reminded her this could be a very bad idea—not only was she doing something illegal, she was putting her job at risk. 

But that thought was incredibly easy to ignore—especially as Astarion shot her a relieved smile. 

“Follow me. Try your best to stay quiet. I’m looking for a list—one that should implicate multiple men in…” he trailed off—as if he was worried she was too delicate to know what they'd be implicated  in. “Something awful.” 

Sensing the urgency in his tone, she simply nodded. There would be time for questions later—and she would certainly be asking them. 

“Okay. Just give me one minute…” 

She reached down as she spoke, finding the clasp of her heels. She kicked them off quickly, breathing a sigh of relief as her feet hit the cool floor. 

Astarion had a brow raised as he observed her actions. “Getting comfortable?” 

“Oh please, I wear these things daily. You’d be surprised by what I can do in them.” 

His eyes darkened for just a moment as she stood up straight, smoothing out her dress.

Undoubtedly, he picked up on her implication—hopefully, he was imagining all the nights she’d spent working in just those heels. 

And imagining what they could do together. 

Before she fell back into her previous state of arousal, she forced herself to speak.  “But no. They click when I walk. These shoes aren’t exactly conducive to sneaking.” 

“Well, well,” he murmured, sounding equal parts surprised and impressed, “look at you. You’re a natural.” 

“Growing up in the Underdark did have its uses. Although this is just common sense. ” 

He grinned at her sarcasm. “Yes, common sense. Something I’m severely lacking.” 

His eyes darted around the corridor one last time. “Okay, we’re clear. Follow me.” 

He began to move, quickly and efficiently. He stuck to the shadows like he was made to be there. Even as they ducked past nobles and weaved in and out of rooms, he managed to stay hidden. 

In plain sight. 

With the speed and grace he moved with, she was very glad she’d removed her shoes. 

As they made their way to the second floor, he relaxed just slightly. 

He turned to face her after ensuring they were fully alone, no prying ears around. 

“Alright. Multiple offices up here, if my information is correct. One of them should have the document I need. They’ll undoubtedly be locked—but not to worry, I have these.” 

He pulled a stack of lockpicks out of his breast pocket. She forced herself to bite back a smile at just how proud he looked. 

“Can I do anything to help?” she asked softly. Maybe this was why he didn’t want her to come along—he clearly had things under control. She felt rather useless, trailing behind him like a puppy following its owner. 

She was okay with being that pet—as long as Astarion was the one she was following. 

“Actually, yes. Keep watch while I’m picking the locks, would you?” 

She nodded, slightly disappointed she was being regaled to guard duty. 

As he approached the first door—one of many in this strange corridor—she leaned back against the wall next to him. Just enough to look casual, even as her eyes were scanning the room for any movement, ears perked up for any out of place sounds. 

The lock clicked after only a moment. 

He paused to glance at Talia, concern washing over his features. “Stay here, alright? I’ll be quick. 

Before she could respond he was entering the office, closing the door gently behind him. 

She breathed deeply, an awareness for what she was doing setting in. 

Helping Astarion break and enter. Not just break and enter—no, she was aiding him in finding a list. Of people he’d kill. Powerful men who likely had unlimited resources to hunt them down. 

Yet before she had too much time to ruminate, he was back. 

“Any luck?” she asked softly. 

He shook his head. “Not yet. Any sign of well… anyone?” 

“Nope. All clear on this front.” She sent him a wide grin. 

Despite the clear danger in what they were doing, it was undeniably fun to be here with him. To see him in his natural element—sneaking into places he shouldn’t be, all while looking devastatingly beautiful. 

He returned her smile, an unmistakable fondness in his gaze. He was having fun, too—no matter his reservations about bringing Talia along, he looked just as grateful to have her here. 

A small thrill went through her. What must it be like to be with him day to day? Not just following him around on illicit tasks, but to wake up with him? To go for walks at night, staying out late and sneaking home early to avoid the sun?  

She had a feeling—a dangerous, sinking feeling—that being by his side might make her happy in a way she’d never imagined. 

Happy in a way she didn’t think a man was capable of giving her. 

“Let’s move on,” he murmured, snapping her out of her dangerous musings. 

She nodded, following behind him. They fell into a quick routine; he would break into an office, she would keep guard, and each time he left, he would sound increasingly exasperated. He mumbled phrases like “no, it wasn’t there,” or “should be in the next room.” 

It was as they rounded a corner that he stopped in his tracks. He was quick to move backwards—turning to place a hand over her mouth to prevent any noise from escaping her lips. 

“Do you see that guard?” he whispered. 

If her mouth hadn’t been covered, she would’ve made a biting remark about how her eyes did in fact work. 

A young human man, who couldn’t have been older than twenty five, was guarding one of the office doors. His eyes darted around anxiously, his posture stiff. 

" That’s the room,” Astarion hissed, body going rigid. “I need to get in there.” 

As he removed his hand from her mouth, she inhaled quietly. “Let me help. I can distract him.” 

He paused for a moment. She could tell he was still hesitant to allow her to be part of this at all. He likely thought she would just trail behind helplessly, with no attempt to participate. 

But if she could help, she would. It did make the night more interesting, she supposed—and making sure Astarion was safe was growing increasingly important to her as the night went on. 

“How?” he asked the question with careful curiosity. 

She looked at him, unflinching. “ Trust me. I’m confident I can make him leave his post, and you can sneak in. Get the document, I’ll make an excuse to leave, and then…” and then. She didn’t know what came after. He’d probably leave, forcing her to wait out this sad excuse for a party alone. 

“Fine. Be careful, okay?” The worry in his brow was rather adorable— not that she would voice that aloud. 

Maybe she’d tell him later—for now, his anxiety practically seeped out of him. Her teasing could wait. 

She nodded reassuringly,  and he released his grip on her. 

Stepping out into the hallway, the guard’s eyes immediately snapped her way. 

“Excuse me, miss!” he began, guarded and surprised. “This wing is off limits. You can’t be here.” 

She forced herself to stumble—to appear drunk,  confused. A pretty, simple girl, who happened to wander down the wrong hall. 

“Sorry,” she slurred, giggling softly. “I seem to have lost my way.” 

The guard hesitated, his eyes softening. Oh, he’d be easy. He’d be easy, if the way he straightened and tried to appear important was any indication. A helpless, beautiful woman always worked on these men—a stereotype she was gladly playing into. 

One she was surprisingly having fun with. Enjoying it, because it would help Astarion. And she lived   to please him, his praise lighting her up in a way nothing else could. 

“The party is back that way,” he said stiffly, yet his eyes trailed down her body—scantily clad in a nearly sheer dress. 

“But the party is boring.” She continued to approach him—slow and careful, sauntering like she’d found her mark. 

His cheeks flushed, and she almost laughed as his eyes darted back to her face— forcing himself to look her in the eyes. 

“Yes, well—” as she stood in front of him, he fell silent. 

“Maybe you could show me around?” she offered. “I am so tired of these nobles—I just want a break. And you…” she took a moment to look down his entire body, eyes darkening like he was the best thing she’d ever seen. 

“You look like the perfect distraction.” Her voice came out as a breathy gasp. She bit back a smile as his cheeks flushed. Her plan was certainly working. 

Still, he seemed nervous. “I… I’m sorry, miss. This job is… important.” 

She rolled her eyes playfully in response. “Oh? Come on, no one’s up here. They’re all downstairs—drinking and behaving in a manner I can’t bear to repeat. Don’t you deserve a break?” 

She reached out to touch him as she spoke—just his arm, a gentle caress. 

The poor man gulped, and finally, he nodded. 

“Alright. Just a… short break.” 

She flashed him a charming smile. “Excellent. Is there anywhere more intimate we could go?” 

His eyes widened at her implication. “I—sure. Follow me.” 

He turned, body relaxing as he began to move in the opposite direction of the way she’d come from with Astarion. 

She breathed a sigh of relief as they moved. Glancing over her shoulder, she saw Astarion. He blended with the shadows so well—she wouldn’t have noticed him, had she not been looking. 

And thankfully, he had time now. Time to break in, get what he needed, and disappear before they returned. She turned her head, facing forward as she sped up to walk in time with the guard. 

“I don’t usually do things like this,” the man muttered as they rounded a corner. 

Her own voice pitched in curiosity. “Oh? Like what?” 

He turned quickly, stepping forward until her back hit the wall behind her. 

Apparently he was much more… eager than he pretended, if the hungry look on his eyes told her anything. 

“Shirking off duties when a beautiful woman comes along.”  Any boyish hesitation was gone—she supposed it was a front, how he was expected to act. 

It did absolutely nothing for her—not when Astarion was rooms away. Hells, it wouldn’t have done anything even if he was on the other side of Faerun. Her distraction was becoming more than she’d bargained for. 

Still, she was good at this. She could do this without breaking a sweat. 

Batting her eyes in an almost innocent fashion, she looked up at him. “I’d imagine you don’t often encounter women quite like me.” 

The phrase was loaded—the human knew what she meant. Women like her— beautiful prostitutes, who he could fuck without worry. 

He gave her a small grin, beginning to lean down. 

Great. She’d have to kiss him. 

The sensation that went through her was strange. It wasn’t her usual annoyance at kissing clients. No, it was an entirely different feeling altogether: she felt guilt. 

Guilt—because Astarion was nearby, and she was about to kiss someone else. 

Gods, it was confusing. This was her job—this was what she did. And she’d been doing it since their first meeting. In between her nights with him, she’d continued to kiss and fuck and do just about anything clients asked her for. Hells, she had even been with others since her last night with him. 

The night that somehow changed everything. 

And now, in this setting? Knowing he could stumble upon them, seeing her kissing someone else? 

It left her with a pit in her stomach. One that only increased as the man moved closer, lips hovering above hers. 

“Thomas!” A loud booming voice sliced through the silence. “What in the hells are you doing?” 

The guard— Thomas— was quick to step away, apprehension replacing any lust. 

“I, uh—sorry, sir, this woman was lost, and…” 

Talia took a moment to observe their intruder. An older man—a noble, if his luxurious attire was any indication. 

He ignored Talia’s presence entirely. 

“You had one duty! Am I to believe any pretty thing could distract you so very easily? I’m not paying you to fuck whores!” 

Talia hit her lip, the word whore a stinging reminder of how she was viewed in a place like this. 

A single syllable, defining her very existence—spoken with vitriol and a complete disregard for her personhood. 

Thomas pathetically tried to defend himself, giving Talia a perfect excuse to slip away. 

She put the insult out of her mind—her anxiety was peaking knowing Astarion could get caught. 

Her pace increased as she turned the corner, her heart thrumming. 

Any anxiety she felt was soothed instantly as she saw him. Astarion looked relaxed—leaning against the wall, the door he’d entered shut as it had been when Talia had looked away. 

He gave her a slight nod—one that told her he’d gotten what he came for. 

He turned on his heel, gesturing for her to follow. 

He was walking ahead of her—a fast, determined pace that she couldn’t keep up to. 

Following him down the stairs, he whirled around at the bottom suddenly—abruptly. She came face to face to him, breath catching as he looked at her. 

“Enjoy yourself?” he murmured, eyes boring into hers. He didn’t look amused or relieved at achieving his goal—no, he looked frustrated. 

Annoyed. 

“Much better now that I’m with you,” she whispered—speaking softly and certainly, showing she meant it. 

Her tone didn’t soothe him. “Of course.” 

He turned then, beginning to walk away. She followed, once again feeling like a puppy as she trailed behind him. 

“Astarion, what’s—” as she reached for his hand, he gripped it hard—pulling her flush against him. 

“Do you think it was easy,” he hissed, low and dangerous, “trying to work when all I could hear was you flirting? Distracting that bumbling guard with your body?” 

Her eyes widened and her heart began to pound. She was fully aware that this emotion he showed—the jealousy, the possessiveness—wasn’t exactly healthy. Not when she still worked in a brothel, and not when they’d made no commitments. Yet the ache in her core—the pounding need between her thighs—drowned out any thread of logic. 

Her own voice came out as a growl as she replied. “I did it for you.” 

“Oh? Yes, how helpful! Sneaking and thieving is so much easier when the woman I—” 

He cut himself off for the second time that night. 

“The woman you…?” she tried to keep hope out of her voice—tried to ignore the radiating joy at the thought of him saying what she wanted him to say. What they were both feeling, and both scared to verbalize. 

But he didn’t answer—maybe he couldn’t. Not with words, at least. 

Instead, he said it with a kiss . A crushing kiss—one that said you’re mine, and I won’t let you forget it. 

They still stood in that stupid hallway—the one where tonight had begun—yet any knowledge of her surroundings was quickly escaping her. 

All she could feel was his lips on hers. All she could hear was the sound of possessive growls, and the moans that left her lips. 

Much like they had earlier, his hands found her ass, nails digging into the thin fabric. Her hands found his hair, tugging hard—as if she could pull him closer, despite the lack of distance between their bodies. 

The difference from their earlier kiss? This time was for them. No show, no distraction—no, they were the only two in the manor. 

She wasn’t sure how it happened, but they were stumbling backwards until her back hit the wall. She let out a muffled groan at the force of it.

Astarion pulled away, his eyes searching hers. “You know, darling,” he began, voice gruff and low, “I have half a mind to take you right here. To show everyone who you belong to—to fuck you in a way only I can. ” 

Her face flooded as she pictured it—eyes darting around at their surroundings. They weren’t exactly in public, yet they were far from alone. Anyone could enter the hallway— anyone could catch them. Her fellow workers, Lydia, guards, the noble lords who thought they owned her… 

With anyone else, she would’ve said no. She would’ve laughed the idea off, and insisted on privacy. 

But this wasn’t anyone else— this was Astarion. 

And as much as he wanted to claim her? 

She wanted to give herself to him—to let him fuck her wherever he wanted, however he wanted, the publicity of the setting be damned. 

Finding her voice, she spoke slowly. “If you had the nerve,” she murmured, eyes meeting his and never faltering, “you’d have done it already.” 

He barked out a laugh—a low, sardonic noise. 

“You’re going to regret saying that,” he growled. 

Before she had time to bite back, he was stepping backwards, only to grab her by the hips. 

He turned her body, pressing her front flush against the wall. 

“Is this what you want, darling?” he hissed, hips grinding into her ass. 

She could feel his length—already growing, moving against her and making her keen. 

He stepped away just slightly, and she whimpered at the loss of his firm body. Before she could even react, he yanked her hips backwards. 

She let out a soft, startled yelp. 

But any worries about what he was doing faded as he reached down her legs, finding the hem of her dress. His fingers trailed tantalizingly along her legs, his touch cool and teasing. 

Pulling the fabric up just enough for the skirt to rest bunched up around her hips, he snaked a hand in front of her. 

She couldn’t speak, could barely move—all she could do was feel as his fingers found the fabric of her panties, teasing over her clit. Barely applying any pressure. 

“I could give you more,” he breathed, directly in her ear. “I could give you my cock, even. But I don’t have the nerve, do I?” 

“ What—” 

Before she could finish speaking, he removed his hand from her clit—stepping away from her entirely. 

“What the hells,” she hissed, turning around on her heel to glare at him. 

He looked amused as he stood in front of her. Gloating. 

He glanced down her body, appearing thoughtful as his eyes met hers again. “Usually, I’m quite selfless with you. Generous, even. But after your display tonight, I fail to see why I should reward you.” 

Shock flooded her features, followed by a throb in her core. 

Before she could respond, he spoke up again. 

“Is this okay?” he asked the question softly and concerned, a glaring change from how he’d just spoken. 

“I— what?” she was having trouble thinking—processing what he was saying, what he was doing. 

She enjoyed the manner with which he spoke—condescending and superior, an edge to his voice she was growing addicted to. 

“Are you okay with me doing this— speaking to you like this? You don’t need to prove anything to me.” His voice was tender—ardent. 

With a start, she realized he was checking in. Respecting her boundaries. Not putting her in a position she felt she couldn’t step away from. 

She was silent for a moment. No one ever did that. Not with her.

Sure, she had boundaries. She usually laid them out at the beginning of appointments. And they were never about enjoyment—they were just a typical outline so clients didn’t go too far. 

They certainly never checked in midway through. 

But this was different, wasn’t it? 

She wasn’t in the brothel—she wasn’t going to be paid by Astarion. Sure, she was technically working tonight, but this moment—him staring at her intently, making sure she was okay— this had nothing to do with a transaction. 

And for her? Sex was always a transaction. 

“Talia, are you alright?” Astarion’s voice was wary, pulling her out of her daze. 

“Yes,” she breathed, “never better. I am more than okay with it. I like it.” 

Relief flooded his eyes. A pang went through her chest—he was so concerned with her comfort, so concerned with treating her right. 

Even as she could feel her slick dripping down her thighs, she had butterflies. It was ridiculous—to be so aroused, and so smitten. To ache for him: not just physically, but emotionally. 

“You’re right,” she murmured, looking up at him. “I was bad tonight.” She paused, voice dropping low. “It was awfully fun, though. You would’ve hated the way he looked at me.” 

Any affection quickly disappeared from Astarion’s eyes—replaced by something dark and primal. 

“And how did he look at you?” he asked, his hand reaching for her waist. 

“Hmm…” she drew the sound out far longer than necessary. “Hungrily,” she finally settled on. “It was quite the show, really—risking his job just to touch me.” 

She could not care less about the human guard. She was embellishing, even. But the way Astarion’s hand on her tightened—his desire to make her his evident in the way he clutched her possessively — made the words fall from her mouth all the same. 

“I’m sure it was,” he replied through gritted teeth. “But if you think this is going to inspire me to touch you, you are sorely mistaken.” 

She pouted, attempting to plead with her eyes. 

“I don’t have to fuck you to remind you what you really wanted,” he continued, “I don’t have to show anyone who you belong to.” 

“Oh?” she countered. He was so close—hand on her waist, body caging her in—yet he kept an agonizing distance. “Your grip on my waist says otherwise.” 

She sighed in relief as he leaned forward, lips ghosting over hers. But before she could pull him in—deepen the kiss and trap him there until he gave her what she wanted—he moved his mouth to one of her ears. 

“You’re going to have to try a bit harder than that, darling.” 

He stepped away again. 

She let out a sigh of frustration as he smirked at her. 

Circling around, she stepped in front of him. “I suppose I’ll make it up to you,” she hissed, determined and needy. 

His eyes widened as she gently pushed him to the wall. 

Not breaking eye contact, she sank to the ground on her knees in front of him. 

“Would this make you feel better?” she asked, her voice dripping like honey. 

His jaw clenched as he looked down on her. “It’s a start,” he breathed. 

She smirked as her hands found the buckle of his belt. He could pretend he was in charge—hells, she would pretend, too. 

But they both knew she held the power here—the power to make him fall apart, to edge him, to stare up at him until he begged. 

As her own need grew stronger between her thighs, she decided the begging and teasing could wait for another night. 

She felt as desperate as he did as she freed his cock. The tip was engorged, leaking precum. Astarion hissed above her as he was exposed to the cool air. 

Eyes locked onto his again, she moved forward, her tongue swirling around the tip of him. 

He groaned—one simple sound, one yearning sound that told her just how badly he was craving this. 

As she moved her mouth, lavishing him with licks and open mouth kisses, his hips thrusted forward insistently. 

His hands came to tangle in her hair. He pulled her head back gently, forcing her to look at him. 

“Be a good girl,” he rasped, so close to losing his composure, “and take me in your mouth. Fully.” 

Talia was used to doing what men said. For anyone else, she may have opened her mouth instantly, all too aware of the coin that came along with it. 

With Astarion, though? 

Well. She was struck by the idea that she could say what she wanted. 

And since she wanted to play with fire, she smirked as she answered.

“Make me.” 

“Is that an invitation?” he hissed. There was more to his question than a sly remark—he was checking in again, making sure they were on the same page. 

It was stupidly kind and a feeling she couldn’t afford to deal with, but his care only furthered the heat in her core. 

She swallowed as she looked at him, nodding softly. 

He sighed—out of relief or arousal, she wasn’t sure. Maybe both. 

And then, finally, he pulled her head forward until her lips rested at the tip of his cock. 

“Now,” he murmured, voice hoarse. “Let’s try this again. Open.” 

She wondered how far she could push him—how long she could make him beg, tugging on her hair until she finally gave in. 

But as she looked at him—almost shaking, brow furrowed with want—she relented finally, opening her mouth and letting him push inside. 

He groaned as the wet heat of her mouth enveloped his cock, her tongue dragging along the underside of his shaft. 

His fingers stayed wrapped in her hair, guiding her closer. 

She struggled for a moment, mouth adjusting to the feeling of being filled. She breathed deeply through her nose as he sheathed himself fully in her mouth, and he paused, allowing her a moment to accommodate. 

He swore above her, his legs shaking just slightly as he resisted the urge to thrust forward. 

As she hollowed her cheeks, applying suction for the first time, he throbbed in her mouth. She let out a soft moan, eyelids fluttering closed. 

Some part of her was still aware that they were in an unfamiliar manor, at a party with strangers. They had just done something they shouldn’t, and if they were caught—not having sex, but stealing— the consequences could be grave. 

Somehow, the danger of it—of being found out, of having the wrong person stumble upon them—only increased the need building deep within her. 

That very need made her increase her pace, relieved when Astarion loosened his grip on her hair so she could move. 

She had done this to him enough to know exactly what he liked, and she didn’t want to tease. 

Not tonight. Not when she hadn’t been expecting to see him at all, and was shaking at the thought of his touch. 

Her tongue flicked over his tip as she moved upwards, moaning at the taste of his precum. Gods, he tasted amazing—everything about him was perfect, from the taste of his spend to the heady smell she found herself overwhelmed with. 

He whimpered above her as she began to bob her head in earnest, barely focused on technique as she met his eyes again. 

She could feel him tensing—so close to losing control, his brow furrowed and mouth hanging slack. 

Eager to see him lose himself, she brought a hand to wrap around the part of his length her mouth didn’t cover. She moved her mouth and hand in tandem, gentle strokes of her palm matching the flicks of her tongue. 

“Gods, Talia…” he gasped, length throbbing in her mouth.

Abruptly, his hands reached for her hair again. He gently pulled her off of him. 

She sat on her knees, pouting as she looked up at him. 

The confusion was evident in her voice as she spoke. “You were so close.” 

“Yes,” he agreed, breathing ragged and heavy. “ So close.” He was silent for a moment, red eyes dark and hazy as he gazed at her. “But I’d prefer to come inside of you.” 

“Oh,” she breathed, eyes widening.  “Well, I’d prefer that too.” 

He took a deep breath as he tucked his cock away, then reached a hand down. She took it, standing up. She was breathless—completely, utterly wrecked. 

“Come on,” he murmured, quietly enough that only she could hear. “I’d rather not do this in the open.” 

Her heart surged as she followed him. He pushed open a door and they found themselves in an office—not unlike the ones he’d searched earlier. 

She arched an eyebrow. “So. We’re doing this here?”

“I saw this room earlier,” he grinned. His eyes drifted to a desk, covered in papers and various knicknacks. He walked over to it, brushing the contents off with a sweep of his hand. 

“And here I thought you didn’t want to draw attention,” she laughed, entertained by his blatant disregard for whoever this room belonged to. 

“Oh, we’re not doing anything wrong now. Plenty of couples are in nearby rooms, doing this very dance .” As he spoke, she found herself drifting—distracted.

Distracted by the way he looked at her, as he grabbed her arm and placed her in front of the desk. She felt him behind her, erection pressing into her backside. 

“Now,” he purred. She shivered as a hand snaked up to her throat, not applying pressure—just resting there, reminding her she was his. “Tell me, darling.” 

“Tell you what?” she breathed, moaning as he released her throat and pushed her forward. She was bent over the desk now, his hands moving quickly to expose her ass. 

He didn’t speak as a finger found her clit, rubbing through her panties. He applied just the right amount of pressure and she moaned, throwing her head back. 

With his free hand, he gripped her hair, pushing her head downwards until her cheek rested flat against the cool wood of the desk. 

“Tell me you’re mine,” he hissed. She yelped in surprise as he reached for her panties, a loud tearing noise filling the room. 

They both paused—distracted by the ruining of her underwear. 

He sounded sheepish when he spoke. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to do that.” 

Despite her arousal and the charged tension between them, she laughed. 

Was this what love felt like? Having the ability to laugh in between charged moments—to stop and talk— without ruining the lust? 

“It’s fine,” she mumbled, relieved he couldn’t see just how wide her silly smile was.

“I figure you owe me, anyway,” he murmured. It was hard to make sense of what he meant, as his fingers found her clit again. 

He stroked her slightly, enough to make her keen but not enough to make her come. He knew she wanted his cock, and she groaned in frustration. His fingers were amazing—they always were—but she’d only taken him twice, and she needed to again. 

“Owe you for what?” she groaned, aware in the back of her mind that there was a conversation going on. 

“Ruined clothing?” 

She mumbled something, maybe in agreement—she wasn’t sure what she said, as he slid a finger inside of her. 

“Oh, darling,” he breathed. “You’re so far gone, aren’t you? You act all sweet— all seductive, like anyone could do this for you. Like that guard or those nobles from earlier.” 

Her breathing was heavy, her cunt clenching as he slid another finger in. 

She cried out as his thumb found her clit, flicking it in time with the thrusts of his fingers. Her hips ground backwards, desperate to feel his groin. 

He didn’t let her, instead continuing to speak. “But they don’t have you like this, do they? They don’t touch you the way I do—make you fall apart the way I do?” 

“No,” she breathed. She would say anything at this point—she would vow off all other men, if it meant he would fuck her. If it meant he’d fill her and kiss her in the way only he could. 

“Then I’ll ask one last time,” he hissed. She felt his cock brush against her leg, and she whimpered—she really was so far gone, to the point she hadn’t even realized he’d bared himself. “ Tell me you’re mine.” 

“Yours,” she breathed, whimpering as he brought his cock to tease along her folds. “ All yours.” 

As the admission left her lips, he slid inside of her. 

They both moaned—lost in each other, as he began to pound into her. 

It was clear that he was as pent up as she was, hips snapping fast and practiced. She was pressed flat against the desk, eyelids fluttered closed. There was something so primal about it—so raw, so carnal—to be bent over and claimed. 

Astarion’s nails dug into the flesh of her waist, cursing and groaning as he thrust into her. All she could feel was his hands and his groin, his cock claiming every inch of her as she shook beneath him. He kept a careful distance between their bodies—fucking into her fast, but not pressing his abdomen and chest against her back. 

Somehow, she felt safe. Cared for, despite the distance between them. Her eyes were closed, her body weightless—all that existed was him. All she had to do was feel— feel the pressure that built up, and the satisfying sting of his nails in her flesh. 

Sweat dripped off her forehead from the effort to hold back. She was crying out pathetically with every drag of his cock along her walls, with every delicious sound of skin hitting skin. 

It was all too much yet not enough—she was close, so fucking close. And his moans above her—the way he moved even faster, nearly losing control—told her he was, too. 

With a strength she didn’t know she had, she forced herself to push herself up on her hands. 

Turning her head just slightly, she went rigid at the sight of him. He was sweating, moving like a man possessed—completely feral, his fangs sunk into his bottom lip, to the point he was bleeding. 

The blood dripped down his chin, and gods, she throbbed. 

His eyes were closed, so lost in her. 

“Astarion,” she breathed, voice weak yet firm, “look at me.” 

His eyes snapped open and took her in—hanging off every word her pretty lips formed. 

She wasn’t looking him in the eye as her gaze followed the trail of blood. “Kiss me?” 

He exhaled sharply, pulling out of her. She whimpered at the sudden loss. 

“I said kiss me, not stop fucking me,” she hissed. 

“It’ll be easier to kiss you if you’re not bent over,” he said, an amused smirk falling across his frustratingly perfect lips. 

“Oh,” she mumbled. It made sense, but sense was quite far away when he’d been inside of her only seconds before. 

She adjusted quickly, moving off the desk then turning—sitting on the edge and inviting him in with the spread of her legs. 

He didn’t hesitate, positioning himself at her entrance as he thrusted back in. 

His lips crashed against hers as he began to move again, slightly gentler but with just as much need. 

Tentatively, her tongue trailed to where he’d been bleeding. She swiped her tongue over the small wound, moaning as his taste flooded her mouth. 

It wasn’t that she liked the taste of blood—in all honesty, his blood was rather… unremarkable. It tasted just like hers—metallic and tangy. 

Craving his blood wasn’t why she did it. 

She did it for what happened next, as he momentarily stilled inside of her. 

His eyes were wide as he pulled away. “Did you just…” 

“Mhm,” she murmured. Her eyes followed the small line of blood. 

She kissed the corner of his lips, her own mouth trailing downwards until she found where the blood trail ended. Extending her tongue, she licked the blood off his jaw. 

It had exactly the effect she wanted—he pulsed inside of her, and when she kissed him again, he was fucking into her faster than before. 

She tangled her hands in his hair, their kiss all teeth and tongue as he claimed her cunt.

Her body writhed under his practiced touch, each thrust pulling another moan out of her lips. 

Anyone could walk in now—hells, they were likely attracting a crowd with the way they both refused to keep quiet, combined with the desk scraping against the floor. 

She was tensing around him as he hit that perfect spot deep inside her—the one no one else seemed able to find, yet he reached with ease. 

She pulled away from his kiss, uttering two words that she knew would push them both over the edge. 

“ Bite me .” 

She bared her neck, grinning sweetly. 

He growled, and within a second, his fangs sank into her neck. 

She’d wondered what it would feel like—to have both his fangs and cock in her at once. Nothing prepared for the shattering reality. 

And the way he reacted—hips almost frenzied as he rhythmically thrusted into her—was enough to make her snap . 

White hot pleasure flooded through her, her body undulating beneath him. Coupled with the ache in her neck, she temporarily left her mind. Everything was pure sensation—his cock in her cunt, his teeth in her neck. It was overwhelming and intoxicating—it was everything.

She felt him follow a second later, his seed filling her up as she greedily took all of it. He continued to take deep pulls of her blood, groaning with every swallow. 

As she felt the dizziness set in, she tugged on his hair. “Astarion…” her voice was fading slightly, yet somehow sounding dreamy and happy. 

He disengaged quickly, hand resting behind her head to hold her upright. “Talia—are you okay?” 

“Hm?” Her eyelids fluttered open. She hadn’t realized she closed them. “Oh, yeah. Never better.” 

She felt drunk. She wasn’t sure if it was off his fangs or the intensity of the orgasm that had just wracked through her body—and she didn’t really care. 

All that mattered was he was here with her, smiling at her and pressing a gentle kiss to her lips. 

“You’re incredible,” he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. “And you taste delicious.” 

“So do you,” she grinned, the tang of his blood still filling her mouth. 

As he pulled out of her, she sighed at the loss. She had no idea what time it was, or if anyone had heard them. She didn’t particularly care. She’d spent time with a guest, and as far as she was concerned, she’d fulfilled her purpose for the night. 

She was ruined, anyway—she could feel Astarion’s come leaking down her thighs. She doubted anyone else would want to touch her tonight. 

And that was a relief. Because the only man she wanted to touch was in front of her, a complete and utter mess because of her. 

She was beginning to understand his feelings of possession towards her. She felt the same about him. For all she knew, he could have someone outside of her. 

And the thought of that? 

Well, it made her sick. 

She was torn from her thoughts as he finished dressing.

“I had fun with you,” he smiled, a silly look that made his laugh lines show and his fangs peek out. “Certainly not my typical work night.” 

“Same here,” she grinned, a fondness in her gaze that she showed only him.  

They were silent for a moment. 

“Can we do this again?” She asked the question softly—guardedly.  

He raised his eyebrows at her. “What, infiltrate a nobleman’s party and steal illicit documents? Then fuck on a random desk?” 

“Sure. But not what I meant.” She looked down, teeth sinking into her lip. “I meant like… can we spend time together? Outside of Sharess’ Caress?” 

He was silent, not responding. She finally looked up, flinching at the alarm on his face. 

“Okay, no, we don’t have to. I’m sorry for asking, it was silly—” she began to stand, biting her lip as she smoothed out her skirt. She turned her gaze back downwards, certain she would break if she saw the rejection in his eyes. 

“Talia—stop.” His words were hoarse—a kind command. “Look at me.” His tone was gentle, so she forced herself to meet his eyes. 

“ Yes.” He said the words earnestly— excitedly. “Yes, I would love that.” 

Her own eyes lit up, a smile gracing her lips. “Me too.” She hesitated, unsure of where to go next. She didn’t do this—didn’t make plans. Hells, the only people she spent time with were Harmony, Jessa and Finn—and Harmony was always responsible for the planning. She just showed up, and half the time, she didn’t even do that. 

“We could like… meet somewhere?” she offered, voice a little shaky. 

“Hmm. That would be a good first step, yes.” She glared at him for a moment, and he shot her a smile before he continued speaking. “I can give you my address. We can meet there—or if you’d rather meet publicly, we can do that too.” 

“Wait—your address? I thought you didn’t live in the city?” 

He sent her a coy grin. “It’s complicated. I’ll explain when you visit me.” 

“Gods, you’re not making me visit an assassin’s guild, are you?” 

“Of course not! It’s an actual, honest to gods home. Now, do you want the address or not?” 

“I suppose so,” she grinned. Despite her teasing, she listened intently to every word. His instructions were actually rather simple—it was in the lower city, near the Elfsong tavern. 

He was adorably eager, saying he’d wait outside to make sure she found his place. 

After deciding on a date and time—a tenday from now, which would go by far too slow— Astarion sighed. 

“I have to go. I should’ve left a long time ago—as soon as I got the document, really.” He said the words mournfully—regretfully. 

“I should tell my boss I’m done for the night, too,” she groaned. 

Neither wanted to leave—both wanted to stay, to pretend their night had been a normal date. 

And maybe their next night would be. Which was the only reason she was okay with him leaving. 

 He pressed one last kiss to her lips—not rough like before, but loving.  

Tender. 

“See you in a tenday?” he murmured as he pulled away, not quite letting her go. 

Her response was a breathy sigh. “I wouldn't dream of missing it.” 

She waited a respectable amount of time after the door clicked shut behind him to cover her mouth with her hands. 

She let out a muffled, excited squeal. 

For the first time ever, she knew exactly when she’d see Astarion next. 

She would see him in his own environment—and they could do whatever they wanted, with no pressure of payment. 

She still had questions—like how he got into the party, why he had to steal that list—but she was far too happy to focus on anything unsavory. Anything dark, that could ruin the girlish joy she felt.  

She had a date. 

With Astarion.

And she could face the next tenday—one of work and banality, the restless nights where she dreamed of his touch—driven on by that thought alone. 

 

Notes:

Thank you for reading, and thank you SO much for all the love on the last chapter
I swear I squeal (like Talia did when she realized she could go on a DATE with Astarion) when I read comments on the updates and see kudos. I didn't expect this to get any type of following so to know multiple of you wait for each update is so meaningful and makes sharing SO much more fun.
I'm so excited to share what comes next for these two <3

Chapter 14: Date Night

Summary:

Away from their usual environments, Talia and Astarion finally have time to themselves. No assassinations, no brothels—just two people who want to spend time together, building a space with no intrusions.

Notes:

I'm happy to be sharing this one. it's so meaningful for me personally and for the narrative <3 enjoy!

“I swear that’s the sixteenth outfit you’ve tried on.” 

Harmony’s voice cut through the silence of Talia’s bedroom. 

She was standing in front of her full-length mirror, examining every inch of her body. 

The last tenday had gone by dreadfully slow. Not that she’d expected anything different—how could it go by fast, when she knew her time with Astarion waited on the other side? 

A night together, outside of work. No coin involved. 

Just two people who wanted to be together. 

Two people who wanted to waste the night away, doing whatever it was their hearts desired. 

A novel concept—something she hadn’t experienced since long before she started her current job. 

“Wrong,” Talia muttered. As Harmony came into view in the mirror, she had an amused expression on her face—she had never seen Talia like this. Hells, Talia had never seen herself like this—shuffling through her wardrobe, trying to look perfect for a man . 

“More like fifteen,” she murmured, acknowledging the ridiculous number of outfits she’d tried on as she grinned at Harmony. 

In all the times she’d met Astarion, she had always dressed similarly. Provocative and scantily-clad—exactly what one would expect from a worker in a brothel. 

She didn’t know what to wear — how to dress— when she went out for herself . She wanted to show him a different side—she wasn’t always a seductress, and she’d be damned if she dressed like she did when she was working. 

“Did he say if you should dress casual? Fancy? Do you even know what you’re doing?” 

Harmony’s questions were meant to be helpful. Of course they were. She’d observed Talia’s anticipation and nerves for a tenday straight. But they were far from helpful when Talia didn’t know herself. 

All she really knew is she wanted to look good for him. 

“I literally have no idea what we’re doing,” she sighed, running a hand through her hair. “Like, I don’t think it’ll be fancy? But it could be…” she trailed off, biting her lip. “Gods, what if I dress casual, and he wants to take me out? To some like, upperclass party?” 

Harmony was fighting the urge to smile. Talia glared at her, and she coughed nervously before speaking—always folding underneath the intensity of Talia’s gaze.

“Yeah, but he could equally be guiding you to a tavern. Or, you might just spend the night at his house. If he wanted you to dress in a certain way, he would’ve told you.” 

Talia sighed. “You’re right. Probably. Still doesn’t mean I know what to wear, though. My wardrobe is either work dresses, or my night clothes. There is so little in between.” 

“What about that outfit we wore to that tavern a while back? You know, when you fell ill?” 

She scoffed. “Yeah, I’m really going to wear the exact same thing I wore last time he saw me outside of Sharess’.” 

Harmony’s confusion was clear as her eyes narrowed. “What do you mean, last time? You didn’t see him that night.” 

Shit. Of course Harmony would ask that—she didn’t know Astarion had, in fact, seen her. She didn’t know about the murder, the vampirism—the secrets that had made Talia sick. 

And Talia certainly wasn’t going to tell her. 

The most she’d told Harmony was that she’d ran into him at the party. She’d made up a lie—his hero status let him mingle with the upper-class, and after a night of passion, they’d agreed to spend more time together. Time he didn’t have to pay for. 

Harmony had practically screamed, yelling out a mixture of “ I knew it!” And “ I told you so!”  

And it was true—Harmony had watched it all along, always calling out Talia’s ridiculous smiles and glow after Astarion left. Of course she would be happy—wary, since Talia never let herself grow attached, but happy. 

“He might have seen me in the tavern,” she said, carefully and slowly. “I can’t risk an outfit repeat.” 

She doubted he remembered what she wore that night. He had been caught up in the shock of her discovery—in the realization that she’d witnessed something she was never meant to. 

But she didn’t want to wear that outfit. Not when it was associated with the moment she’d been sure she’d lose him. 

No, she wanted something new. Something that was solely for him—for them. 

Harmony rolled her eyes, apparently satisfied with her half-assed excuse. She felt a twinge of guilt over how easily the lie came out—she hated d eceiving others, especially when that other was Harmony. 

They’d never been romantic, but Harmony was the closest thing she had to a partner. She hadn’t known the value of friendship—of trust—until she met Harmony, and her stomach twisted at her own behaviour. 

The ease with which she lied, protecting both Astarion and herself from Harmony’s concern.

Harmony’s eyes lit up suddenly, unaware of Talia’s internal conflict. “I bought a new shirt the other day. It would be perfect for tonight. Leave those trousers on—I’ll be right back.” 

Talia sighed. The chances that Harmony’s clothing would fit her were miniscule. The tiefling was much slimmer than she was—she was all slender muscle, while Talia was all round curves. 

But when Harmony ran back in, fabric in hand that looked far too big for her own frame, Talia paused. 

“I have so many questions,”  she muttered. 

She didn’t really need to ask—sometimes Harmony would buy Talia clothing under the guise that she’d accidentally sized up. No matter how many times Talia told her not to do that—to save her money for herself—she did anyway. 

And seeing the excitement in Harmony’s eyes—the pure joy— she couldn’t begrudge her for it. 

The blouse was a deep red colour—one she was instantly sold on, when she realized just how much it resembled Astarion’s eyes. It had a gold lace pattern and a deep v neck cut—it was far from modest, but it was more than perfect. 

Combined with the plain, dark trousers she had on, she looked just how she desired— not like a brothel worker, but like a regular woman, dressed nicely yet casually. 

She shot Harmony a grateful smile, and Harmony beamed back at her. 

“Can I braid your hair? Gods, this is so fun— you’re always the one helping me with dates.” 

Talia sighed, eyes drifting to the window—he’d told her to meet him around dusk, undoubtedly because of the lack of sun. She had a bit of time—so she nodded, deciding to indulge Harmony’s enthusiasm. 

She cursed the whole time between Harmony’s mumbled apologies, as she insisted on braiding her hair just right. 

The tugging sensation wasn’t nearly as enjoyable as it was when Astarion did it. Not that she was surprised—pain during her nights with him served a whole different purpose. One she rather enjoyed. 

After her hair had been abused to the point that Talia was certain her scalp was bruised, she appraised herself in the mirror. She shot Harmony a wide smile. The pain had been worth it—she did, in fact, look beautiful.  

Beautiful in a way she wasn’t used to—not sexy or enticing, but pretty. Almost plain— in an outfit any woman could wear, one they just might when they wanted to look nice for a date. 

After a moment of taking herself in, she spoke up. “Okay, great. I should leave, shouldn’t I? The walk might take a while, and I don’t want to be late—but I don’t want to be too early, either.” 

Harmony let out an exasperated groan. “Talia— stop panicking. As gorgeous as you look, he’s not going to care about your clothes, or your hair, or if you’re a little early—he just wants to see you.” 

“Yeah! Yeah, you’re right. This is only the first date with the man I may or may not be falling in love with—absolutely nothing to worry about!” Her words came out as a nervous chatter—ones she didn’t really think through, until Harmony’s eyes widened. 

“Did you just say love?” 

Talia’s own eyes matched the shape of Harmony’s. 

Sure, she had thought it before—thought that what she felt with Astarion could be love —but saying it was a whole different level.

One she didn’t know if she was ready for. 

“I meant like. Obviously. I like him. And I don’t usually like people, so it’s a big deal.” 

Harmony sent her a knowing smile. 

“Oh, Talia—you’re far better at lying to yourself than you are to me. But fine. Now go see the man you like.” 

With one last playful glare sent in Harmony’s direction, she appraised herself for the final time, satisfied with her appearance. 

Then she was moving—gliding down the stairs, yelling goodbye to Harmony at the bottom, slamming the front door shut behind her—practically bouncing with every step. 

It was date time. 

---

The walk to the lower city wasn’t particularly long. The darkness fell as she strode along, a spring in her step as she made her way to Astarion’s house. A dagger was strapped to her hip, just in case. Harmony often expressed concern over the way she’d go out at night alone, citing crime rates and recent news stories she’d heard of women brutalized. 

But it wouldn’t be easy to catch Talia by surprise—not when she’d trained in darkness, wielding daggers and short-swords with ease. 

Thankfully, she didn’t run into any troubles, aside from a few leering stares. Something she was used to—unbothered by. 

When she rounded the corner behind the Elfsong tavern, she stopped in her tracks. 

There he was. 

Leaning against a door to a modest home, idly flipping a dagger of his own. He caught it with practised ease after every toss. How did he make playing with knives look so beautiful? 

She felt relief flood her at his own attire—casual, like hers. An outfit she hadn’t seen before—an off-white shirt with a frilled collar, and plain black trousers. 

As she drank him in, a warmth flooding her chest, she realized that it didn’t matter what he was wearing, or what he was doing. 

All that mattered was that he was there. 

Waiting for her. Just like he promised. 

With a deep breath, she walked towards him. 

When she was a few feet away, his eyes shot up, a dazzling smile overtaking his features. He tucked his dagger away—a hidden sheathe, one that even she wouldn’t have noticed. 

She returned his smile. It was taking every measure of self-control to resist running over to him and jumping in his arms. 

When she finally closed the distance—standing close enough to touch him, but resisting the urge—he spoke softly.

“Hello, darling.” 

She wondered for a moment if it was possible to be in love with a voice. She had never found the way someone spoke—the tone with which they spoke—to be equal parts comforting and seductive. His voice was a source of relief—heat spread through her every time he murmured darling or whispered her name. 

He was looking at her quizzically, and her cheeks flooded red as she realized she’d just been staring. 

“Hi,” she breathed, her voice far less stable than she wished it was. 

He stepped back for a moment, his eyes raking over her figure. Not in a creepy, uncomfortable way—no, he was just staring. 

Taking her in. 

Gazing, as if he was as surprised she was there as she was to see him. In such a new setting—a new light. 

“You look different,” he said finally. Noticing her expression fall slightly, he was quick to correct himself. “No! Good different—I’ve never seen your hair like that. Not that the way you usually wear it isn’t gorgeous, but—” he trailed off as she raised an eyebrow. 

He gave her a sheepish grin. “Gods, I’m not very good at this, am I?” 

“Considering I went silent the moment I saw you, I don’t think I’m much better.” 

It was equal parts absurd and amusing. Talia and Astarion were both gorgeous people—they stood out in any room, and they both knew it. Seduction came easy to her—and from everything she’d seen, she had an inkling it was the same for him. 

But here they were, smiling at each other and attempting not to stumble over their words. It was such an innocent, exhilarating feeling. 

“Would you like to come in?” he murmured. 

She nodded eagerly, and for once, he was leading her into his space. 

A space for just the two of them—a space where Talia wouldn’t look around and see flashes of everyone else who had taken her. Who had touched her, in a way she only wanted from him. 

It was a happy feeling, to be sure. But it was also a confusing, distressing feeling—she had never once struggled with her work. Sometimes, she even enjoyed it—Astarion wasn’t the only attractive man who had hired her. 

But he was the first to make her feel things. 

The first to run his fingers along her body and show her touch could be about more than just temporary pleasure. 

And as happy as she was to have met Astarion, it did make her work more difficult. 

Because with every touch she gave someone else, her mind flooded with desire to save that touch for him. 

A predicament she’d never expected—and one she was far from figuring out. 

Shaking her head, she focused back on the present. 

The environment she found herself in. 

These contemplations—ones that haunted her every moment she spent not in his presence—could wait. For now, she was here. With him. Other clients could fade to the background: he was all that mattered. 

As she looked around, she made a note of the entry way, which led to a spacious sitting room. The living room and entry way weren’t quite what she expected. It wasn’t that they looked bad— the house just didn’t look lived in. 

Astarion was either a minimalist, or didn’t stay here often. 

A couch—one that looked as if it had just been delivered from a custom furniture merchant—sat in the middle of the adjacent room, with two small end tables on either side. 

The window across from the sofa was boarded up—a small reminder of his vampirism. 

He undoubtedly knew what she was thinking as he spoke. “I don’t stay here often, so forgive the lack of furniture.” He paused, glancing around the barren living room. “This technically isn’t my house. Tav stayed here after the fall of the Absolute. She's always been far too charitable for my tastes—wanted to help rebuild the city. We’d already saved the city —possibly Toril—and then she stays behind to help? ” He scoffed and rolled his eyes. 

Talia bit back a smile. “Yes, what reason could someone possibly have for wanting to help others?” 

“Exactly! I’m so glad you—” he glanced at Talia and saw her smirk, and he glared at her. “Ah. You’re joking. Look, I’m not against helping others, but we’d just spent months searching for a cure—” 

She closed the distance between them, reaching for his arm. “I’m not judging you, Astarion. Gods know you’re more of a hero than most—I was just teasing.” 

He let out a sigh—a soft, relieved one. “I suppose I get a tad defensive—spending enough time with Tav will do that to you!” His voice was dripping with sarcasm as he spoke, but there was an unmistakable fondness in his voice. 

“She means a lot to you.” 

“Indeed,” he murmured. “She was the first person to show me what love was—not romantic love, not lust— no, just the pure, sweet kind, where you give and expect nothing in return.” He hesitated for a moment, and the words that followed sent a twinge of empathy through Talia’s gut. “I hadn’t even known that existed.” 

She was silent for a moment as she considered his words. Astarion was like a mirror—every time he spoke, she saw more and more of herself in him. 

The way he spoke—wistful and softly, grateful yet guarded—was all too familiar. 

“I know what that’s like,” Talia said, a smile falling across her face as she thought of Harmony. “It’s lovely, isn’t it? To realize people care —that not everyone has ulterior motivates, or expects something from you.” 

Astarion raised an eyebrow at her. “Oh? Is this about the tiefling?” 

“You’re observant,” she responded, trying to hide her surprise. 

“Well, you were together that first night I saw you, in the tavern. And whenever I went to see you at work, her eyes were glued to you.” 

“To us,” Talia corrected him. “She doesn’t always stare when I’m with clients—she stares at you.” 

“Oh? Is your dearest friend attracted to me, too?” 

Talia stared at him flatly. “No—she’s…” she hesitated, unsure of how to word it. “… protective,” she finally settled on. 

He made a humming noise—one she couldn’t read—and she was struck with the realization that they hadn’t moved from the front door. 

“Would you like to sit?” he offered, and she nodded. 

He took her hand, guiding her to the couch. She tried to sit as gracefully as possible, something she quickly found difficult when she realized how close to the ground the seating was. 

Astarion shot her a knowing grin. He didn’t move to join her, instead gazing down at her. The tenderness in his eyes—the softness on his face—was something she had never quite seen before. Her heart was pounding as she looked up at him. 

He finally broke the silence by clearing his throat. “I have something! Make yourself comfortable.” 

She opened her mouth to respond, but he was gone almost alarmingly fast. He was so silent—so stealthy, even in his own space—that he could’ve gone anywhere. 

He returned rather quickly—certainly quicker than a mortal could. 

Her eyes widened as she saw what he was holding: an elaborate platter with meats, cheeses and fruits, one that looked like it was made for large gatherings instead of one person. 

“I don’t know what you like to eat,” he began, “or if you ate before coming here. I know if I were mortal, we would probably eat, or drink, or go out, or—” 

She cut him off before he could continue his spiral. Gods, he was adorable—usually suave, he seemed to be in a small panic over if she liked food.  

“It’s perfect,” she murmured, beaming at him. 

And it was. Perhaps she was used to the bare minimum—but the thought of him, buying food he had no use for, just for her, caused a familiar warmth to spread through her chest. 

His features flooded in relief, and he placed the platter on the table next to her before joining her on the couch. He kept a slight distance, allowing her space to eat. It felt odd to be so close, yet so far away. If they weren’t undressing each other, they at least were touching in some manner. Yet it was almost more intimate this way—to feel so connected to someone, with a lack of physical touch. 

As she bit into one of the cheeses, she resisted an embarrassing urge to moan. Wherever he got this from couldn’t have been cheap—the quality of everything on the tray was amazing . 

“Taste good?” he murmured with a smile, and she nodded, her mouth full. 

As she swallowed, reaching for a piece of fruit, she continued their conversation from earlier. 

“So, if this is Tav’s house, why are you living here?” 

“Short answer? I don’t—not usually. I stay here when I’m in the city.  Tav knows about my line of work, and offered me a key—for the nights contracts bring me here.”  He paused for a moment, taking a deep breath. 

“Before meeting you, I tried to take on contracts outside this place—usually on the outskirts where I’m far enough away from any unwanted memories, or in small towns. Easy contracts—I could kill and leave the area before anyone even realized my targets were gone.” 

Her heart twisted at his implications. “So… you started coming here more? After meeting me?” She tried to keep the hope out of her voice. 

“Well, you coincided with some of my more… serious contracts. But…” he hesitated, looking away from her. Almost as if his next words were scary—a confession he wasn’t quite ready to make. “I suppose knowing I could see you made being in the city… worth it. It was a motivating factor to continue coming back.”   

She nearly choked on the piece of fruit she was eating.  

The thought that she had even had a slight influence on him being in the city was… overwhelming. 

Overwhelming, in a delightful way. Because if she had a job like his—one where she could choose to spend time here? 

She would’ve done the exact same thing, if it meant seeing him. 

She wasn’t sure what to say— how to say it—so she just beamed at him as she finished her fruit. 

Her gut twisted as he allowed her a moment to eat. Questions were plaguing her—ones that wouldn’t go away. She had to ask one—even if it was only one. As she finished swallowing her food, she took a deep breath—forcing herself to voice her thoughts. 

“Okay, tell me what the list was about. Please.” 

Astarion’s face fell. They both knew what list she meant—the one she’d helped him steal. 

“Darling…”

She pouted at his hesitation, causing him to roll his eyes and relent.  

"Fine. It will implicate men—influential dukes and patriars—in some… illegal activity.” 

She recalled his reasoning for his work. He had principles —although she still wasn’t sure that was possible in his line of work. 

“It must be morally questionable illegal activity, or you wouldn’t have stolen it.” Whether her words were for clarification or simply to reassure herself, she wasn’t sure. 

“Observant, aren’t you?” He hesitated again, his eyes searching hers. “Look, Talia—I don’t want you to be any more involved in this than you have to be.” 

“I’m involved with you,” she countered, “and I was rather instrumental in getting that document. I think I should at least know what you stole. And why you stole it—I thought you did more small scale assassinations." 

He sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Fine, I’ll tell you this—then can we please talk about something else? I want to enjoy my night with you— this night where I have you all to myself— and not waste time talking about work.” 

Her eyes softened—she could understand that. She even felt similarly.  “Of course.” 

“Okay.” He paused, and she chewed anxiously on the next piece of cheese she’d picked up. “These men—they’re slavers.” 

She wasn’t sure what she’d been expecting. It evidently hadn’t been that, as she choked on her food. 

If she weren’t so anxious—so concerned for Astarion’s questionable career decisions—she may have been embarrassed by the way she coughed so hard that her face went red and her eyes welled up. 

Astarion’s own eyes widened and he reached forward reluctantly, patting her on the back. 

“Slavers?! Like… organized slave trade?” 

“I don’t know why you’re surprised,” he countered, narrowing his eyes. “You’ve seen far worse.” 

 She knew what was referring to—her stories from the Underdark, growing up in an environment where slavery was normal. Expected. 

“It’s not that I’m surprised that corrupt, powerful people would own slaves,” she began carefully, “I’m just surprised you’re involved in it. Or well, involved in dismantling it .” 

“I’m not involved in it—not as much as you’re thinking. I did this as a favour to someone; someone I’ve worked with in the past, who is much more invested in this… endeavour,” he paused, and she rolled her eyes at assassinations being simplified to endeavours, “ than I am.” 

She breathed deeply, putting her food down to turn her body towards him. “Look, I know you do questionable work. I just…” she stared at him intently, trying to show her concern in a single gaze. “I worry. Wouldn’t you?” 

He took a moment, an unreadable expression in his eyes. Then, it was replaced by something more tender. “Yes. I would.” They exchanged a look—one that was loaded, full of nerves yet adoration. “If it’s any comfort, I’m back to the more… small-scale operations. And I know you still have questions, but can we please talk about something else? Anything else?” 

The pleading look he shot her—the one that said he thought about this far too much, and never had time for himself— made her relent. 

“Alright. But you’ll tell me more one day, or…” 

An amused smirk fell across his features. “Or?”

“Well,” she purred, attempting to distract him in the best way she could. “ Maybe we’ll have to take a break… physically.” 

Even as she said it—words she definitely did not mean—she was closing the distance between them, the platter she’d barely touched forgotten. 

His eyes glinted in amusement. He was quick to grab her by the hips, pulling her on top of him with a speed that made her dizzy. 

“Oh, my dear,” he smirked, looking far less hypnotized by her proximity than she’d hoped, “I’d like to see that. We both know you’d be the one suffering.” 

She sighed as she wrapped her arms around his neck, somehow comfortable as she straddled him. “ Please. After a tenday, you’d be at my door. Begging.” 

“Well,” he drawled, looking more amused than aroused by her antics. It was… perplexing. “One flaw in your logic: I don’t know where you live.” 

She huffed out a sigh. If this was a game, she was not going to win. “You know where I work. And you know exactly what you can get if you come and find me.” As if to remind him, she rolled her hips. 

Being so close to him—body pressed into his, looking down and seeing his infuriating smirk—they both know that if he desired, she’d be the one begging. Within seconds. 

“Well,” he countered, body like stone underneath her. Unmoving, unbothered, despite her racing heart she knew he could hear.  “Why would I do that, when I can have you for free?” 

She wasn’t sure if he intended the words to be as enticing as they were. But the reminder of it—of what he was to her—caused arousal to stir all the same . No one had a hold on her the way he did—she had never done this. With any client. Sharing her body out of desire, not gold. 

When she didn’t answer, he cleared his throat. “I’m not opposed to this fortunate position I find myself in, but I was thinking we could do something else.” 

She paused, considering his words. She supposed she never had ridden him—but she also hadn’t had too many chances. 

“You don’t like being on the bottom?” 

He let out a giggle, seemingly amused with her words. Her brow furrowed as she looked at him—it had been a genuine question.  

“Oh, shit—you’re serious.” He sounded caught-off guard, and looked as confused as she was. “Darling. I mean I want to do something with you. Other than the wonderful, carnal delights we usually get up to.” 

She was silent for a moment, staring at him intently. Trying to determine if he was joking. 

His expression softened as she looked at him, still not speaking. “Have you ever spent time with someone—someone you’re interested in—and not had sex?” 

“Uh…” she rolled off of him, sitting beside him on the couch. She didn’t know how to describe it—and didn’t know if he would think it was pathetic when she said no. “I don’t spend time with people,” she said finally, “in a setting like this.” 

She gestured around the room, pointedly looking at the boarded up window so she could avoid his piercing gaze. 

“You mean a barely-furnished vampire den?” The sarcasm in his voice wasn’t appreciated, so she sent him a glare. 

“You know what I mean,” she said finally. She looked down again, thoughts rapidly consuming her. 

Sex? Sex was easy. Letting him touch her would have been simple. Instead, they were doing the annoying little dance she simultaneously adored and despised: talking about their feelings. Getting to know the parts of each other they showed no one else.  

“I think I do,” he murmured. There was a note of empathy in his voice—like he really understood what it was like to be valued for your body, and to doubt your worth outside of it. 

She dared herself to look back at him. “You really don’t want to have sex with me?” Her tone was almost… hopeful. 

Hopeful that they could just spend time together. Talk. Go out into the city and do whatever it was he’d been thinking, like a couple. 

“Well of course I do. But not right now. I thought tonight we could just… be.” 

The way she smiled at him—wide-eyed and bright—made him grin back. 

“Okay, where are we going?” 

He stood up, offering her a hand. “Honestly? I have no idea. Let’s just go for a stroll—see what mischief we can get into.” 

She took his hand, heart fluttering at how perfectly they fit together. 

“Alright, but please… nothing illegal.” 

He gasped in faux shock. “Is that really what you think of me?” 

“It absolutely is,” she agreed, “without a doubt.” 

He shot her a playful glare and she followed him out, a surge in her stomach at the excitement of what the night would bring. 

---

 Their walk around the city was exactly what Talia had wanted—peaceful and normal, as if they hadn’t met under such unusual circumstances. 

It was happy. It was the type of thing she imagined couples did. 

Astarion held onto her hand the entire time, occasionally pulling her into obscured areas to kiss her between giggles and conversation. 

As they went, he would point out various businesses and landmarks—and almost always had an outrageous story to go with them. 

They were sitting in Bloomridge Park—somewhere she’d never been at this time of night—when he sighed dramatically. 

“Last time I was here, I almost got murdered by Bhaalists.” 

She sent him a bemused glance. “Every story you tell makes you sound slightly more…” she trailed off.

“Deranged?” he offered. 

“Well, I was thinking more along the lines of… someone who makes up insane stories? Is there a word for that?” 

He shot her a grin. “You mean a liar? How dare you.” 

“Not a liar… maybe like… an exaggerator? Is that the word? Is that even a word?” 

“It could be . But I swear, every little thing I’ve told you tonight has happened—some of them I wish hadn’t.” 

“Like the hag in the Blushing Mermaid?” 

He shuddered as she teasingly brought up the tale he’d told earlier. It had certainly made her look at the familiar tavern differently. 

“Auntie Ethel. Gods, that poor child.” 

She hummed thoughtfully. “I wonder what became of her.” 

“Hag hunter maybe? Or,” he waggled his eyebrows in an almost conspiratorial fashion. “she refused to leave her mother’s side for years.” 

She let out an exaggerated gasp. “And that’s how she found out,” she whispered, ominous and dark. 

His eyes widened, leaning closer. 

They had been doing this all night—inventing ridiculous stories and giggling at them, refusing to take any aspect of their date seriously. 

Well, it was mostly her making up the stories. Something she had once done almost daily, as a source of comfort and joy. She wasn’t a liar—she just loved to invent worlds of her own, something she’d begun to do as a child. 

And sharing that? The younger Talice, the one who valued imagination and creativity, the very things she was eventually taught were weakness? 

It was the most fun she’d had in years. 

Astarion seemed invested in her current fabrication. “Oh? Don’t leave me in suspense, darling. What did she find out?” 

Talia paused for dramatic effect. “The girl went to bed one night. Early. Much earlier than usual—an exhaustion fell over her. Maybe it was the after effects of the hag’s magic—maybe she just fell ill. Her mother saw her nearly-still form and a panic arose. Was her beloved child sick? Was a new hag coming to claim her? Maybe it was some kind of preliminary curse, she reasoned. She ran out—for just one moment—despite swearing she would never leave her side again. She had to do something—anything—to find her child a cure. But… she wasn’t even sick. Just tired. Her heroic journey was for nothing.   And then…” she paused again, staring Astarion directly in the eye. “The girl woke up. Terrified and alone, it happened.” 

“My dear, I am on the edge of my seat! You can’t stop there.” 

The way he was smiling at her—as if her ludicrous tale was the most endearing yet intriguing thing he’d ever heard—made her keep going. 

“Well, you see… she was filled with so much dread, her mother gone missing... she was all alone again…” she hesitated again—building suspense as Astarion pretended to be terrified. “That the house burst into flames.” 

His eyebrows flew up. “Gods, did you just kill off a child? I didn’t know you had it in you.” 

“No! What the hells,” she pouted, “you ruined it.” With a dramatic sigh, she finished the story. The flair from her voice was gone as she gave him a dead-panned stare. “The house went up in flames because she was a sorcerer! And her fear was the key to bringing out her latent power. She escaped, naturally. And grew confident and strong with her newfound magic. She reunited with her mother, and all was restored. The end.” 

He shot her a wry grin. “That’s… much more uplifting than what I thought. You love a happy ending, don’t you?” 

She didn’t hesitate to nod. “Don’t you? Reality is tragic enough as it is—at least our fiction can be hopeful.” 

He chuckled softly, the warmth enough for her to laugh, too. 

“How did you get so good at this? At creating mystical adventures from… nothing?” Everything he'd asked tonight had an air of curiosity—a genuine one. One that told her he cared, and wanted to know as much about her as she was willing to share. 

She paused for a moment to think through her words.

To say it in a way that didn’t sound as sad as she knew it was

“When I was young, like really young, life could be… lonely. Or miserable. Or a combination of both. I was inventive—I would tell my stories to anyone who would listen.” She sighed, remembering those days. 

The days where she spent so little time around other children—where she made friends with the daydreams in her head. 

“Some of the adults indulged me, while some rolled their eyes. I will always remember getting my hands on a book—gods, I don’t even remember the name of it, or how I got it—that was full of the most elaborate children’s tales.” She smiled fondly as she thought of the book—she had immersed herself in the imagined worlds, rereading every page until she had the words memorized. For a while, it was her most prized possession—her sense of normalcy, in a life that expected things of her she wasn’t prepared to give. 

But the story didn’t end there, as much as she wished it had.

“I brought it to my mother one day, and told her I didn’t want to fight—that I was going to write stories like the author did.” 

She felt a lump form in her throat—a manifestation of a memory she had long since buried away. A child who had dreams, but was constantly told those dreams didn’t matter. Not when she’d been built to be a weapon—a leader in a resistance she had no stake in. 

“What happened to the book?” Astarion asked, his voice cautious—sad. He knew where this story was going, but gave her the space to tell it. 

“She told me it was not what I was made for, and burnt it in front of me.” Her voice was flat—detached. Somewhere, little Talice still existed—screaming and crying, until her eyes went numb and she curled up. Her mother had watched her the entire time, eyes cold. She didn’t speak—just stared. 

“Are you done?” she’d snapped finally, and Talia had nodded. 

It was the last time she’d ever shown her mother a desire to do anything but fight. 

Astarion took a deep breath next to her. “Well. That’s….” he hesitated, likely searching for words. When he spoke again, she couldn’t help but laugh at the simplicity and crudeness of his language. “Fucked up.” 

“Maybe,” she agreed, “but it taught me a lesson, which was her goal.” 

His next words were heart-wrenching—not because they were painful, but because they were true. “But you never stopped dreaming—you never stopped creating. You’re doing it right now. I may have told you about a hag and a child, but you came up with everything else.” 

“Oh, come on,” she muttered dismissively, “it’s not that impressive. You helped, and anyone could’ve made that up.”

He reached forward, cupping her face. She’d long since looked away—she always did when things got too vulnerable: too real. 

Which was a frequent occurrence with Astarion. 

“It is impressive. Maybe not to you, but it is to me.” 

The way he looked at her—red eyes almost glowing with the passion that accompanied his words—made her swallow audibly. 

She didn’t know what to do with this. 

What to do with any of it. 

How did she interpret this—how did she deal with— someone hearing her mournful,  nearly-forgotten memories? 

Not just listening— but turning them around, pointing out how every single one was just part of her? 

The good and the bad, the beautiful and ugly: he made them all seem okay. Not just okay—no, he made them seem like they were worth worshipping. Honouring. 

And it was terrifying. 

“We should move on,” she said finally, glancing downwards again. His hand fell away from her face at her movement. 

She felt him stiffen beside her. Anxiety fluttered in her stomach at his reaction to her words. 

Her reluctance to let him in—to really trust him in the way he deserved—could very well be the end of them. 

As he stood up and offered his hand, she swallowed her fears and spoke. Still sitting down, holding his hand while looking up at him. 

“I’ll keep telling my stories,” she began, heart fluttering at the thought, “ if you promise to listen.” 

His eyes lit up and his lips curved—a smile of both relief and excitement. “It would be my greatest pleasure.” 

He pulled on her hand just slightly, and as she stood, she wrapped her arms around his neck. It was almost instant—the way his hands found her waist, leaving no room between them as their bodies closed the distance. 

“ Maybe we can write a romance,” he murmured, eyes drifting downwards to her lips. 

“I don’t know,” she replied, her voice a breathy whisper. “I might not be the best at that. I’d need more experience first.” 

He brought a thumb to trail along her lower lip, and her eyelids fluttered close. “Yes,” he whispered. “You certainly needed all your experience with sorcerers and hags to invent your tale earlier.” 

She opened her eyes to glare at him, a scathing retort already prepared in her mind. But the way he looked at her—amused yet enamoured, teasing yet infatuated—well, words failed her completely. 

So she closed the distance instead, pressing her lips into his. 

As they kissed, she couldn’t wipe the smile off her face. It was difficult to move her lips in any way that was sensuous or skilled—she had never smiled during a kiss: a kiss that requested no more than presence. And she felt his lips curve a moment later, matching her giddy energy. 

When he pulled away a moment later, she was giggling and breathless. 

He gazed at her for just a moment, before his eyes drifted upwards, drinking in the sky. 

“Ah. I should get you home.” There was a hint of sorrow in his voice, one she returned as she frowned. “The sun will be up soon,” he explained. “And I am a much better lover when I’m not a pile of ash.” 

She flinched at the thought. They’d never actually spoken about his lack of sunlight. She’d heard that about vampires, of course—they couldn’t walk in the sun, couldn’t enter homes uninvited, couldn’t cross running water… and likely a whole bunch of other rules she couldn’t remember. 

She’d spent most of her life in the dark, but now that she saw the sun daily, she couldn’t imagine losing it. 

“Okay. Should we say goodbye here, or…?” 

“I can walk you home?” he offered. He looked almost… nervous. Nervous to do what many would consider the chivalrous thing, and she smiled at him for what must’ve been the millionth time tonight. 

“I would love that. Do we have time, though? I live not far from Sharess’ Caress’, and I don’t want you to risk getting caught out in the sun…” she trailed off, biting her lip. Seeing Astarion burst into flames was not a trauma she needed. 

“We have a few hours left. As long as we walk at a reasonably normal pace—and you don’t seduce me in a bush or an alleyway—we should be fine.” 

She sighed. “Yes, Astarion. Seducing you in a bush was my exact plan. What a shame that I can’t.” 

He smiled sheepishly again. “Oh, a man can dream.” 

Stepping away from him, she took his hand. “Let’s go. I’d like to see you again, without having to sweep you off the ground.” 

He mumbled in agreement, and they began the walk home. 

A walk home.

With Astarion. 

A novelty she wasn’t sure would ever wear off. 

After more laughs and occasional kisses, they regretfully arrived at her front door. 

“This is me,” she murmured, eyes never leaving him, even as he glanced away to take in her house. 

“It’s… cute,” he said, raising an eyebrow as he appraised her house. 

“It’s home. Perfect for Harmony and I; two bedrooms, a spacious living room, a nice kitchen, and—” 

“Darling, you sound like you’re talking to a prospective buyer.” 

“And you sounded judgemental,” she countered. 

“Me, judgemental?! How dare you .”

Gods, she loved their banter—the way they could joke and laugh, and be equal parts sassy and serious. It had been happening all night, and with a pang, she realized just how much she was going to miss it when he left. 

“Are you in the city much longer?” she asked softly. 

He let out a deep sigh. “I’m going to be gone for about a tenday.” 

She tried to keep the disappointment out of her voice. “Oh. Well, I guess I’ll see you around?” 

“I was going to say we can plan a date when I come back, but if you’d rather see me around,” he sneered the words, only half-serious, “I suppose we can hope for another tavern run-in, when I’m two moments away from killing someone.” 

She should’ve felt uneasy at his words. She really should’ve. But she’d let go of her concerns for his career almost alarmingly fast. 

How could she begrudge him, when he treated her the way he did? He wanted her— cared for her—in far more ways than his desire for her body. He encouraged her long-forgotten dreams, and kissed her like she was so much more than she was. 

And it wasn’t just what he did for her—it was everything he was. Beautiful, resilient, somehow always joking about any dark topic they may stumble upon to make it feel lighter . He was open with her—trusting her with his very heart —after two centuries of proof that trust was dangerous. 

The cruelties he must’ve witnessed—the ones he must’ve endured—were unimaginable. 

Yet… he stood here. Smiling at her. Encouraging her to view herself in a better light. 

Yes, he was an assassin, which was admittedly not great —but at least he did it with a purpose. 

And maybe… maybe her black and white beliefs weren’t above reproach. Maybe he was her proof: proof that some things were holding her back, evidence that her principles weren't always absolute. 

Astarion filled the silence, snapping her out of her musings—ones she would certainly be focused on the second she laid down in bed. 

“Is that alright? I can stop by here, or your work, or…?” 

“Yes,” she grinned. “It’s perfect.” She chewed her lip for a moment, recalling her conversation with Lydia about his lack of payment from last time. “Maybe stop by here—you know my days off. I’m usually home.” 

He smiled, but his eyes drifted away for just a moment. He stepped closer to her suddenly, drawing her close as his lips brushed her ear. 

“Darling… no sudden movements. Someone is… watching us.” 

She went completely still at his words, a deep dread flooding her. 

“Where?” she whispered back. “What do they look like?” 

He paused. “They’re in your house.” 

“What the hells do you—” she pulled away from him, unsheathing the dagger from her waist. 

Astarion let out a yelp as she whirled around to face the front window, moving fast from the adrenaline in her veins. 

She breathed a sigh—both of relief and embarrassment—when she saw who was in the window. 

Harmony gave her a sheepish wave, completely unphased by her dagger. Jessa, who she saw for only a second, at least had the decency to duck out of the frame. 

Turning back to Astarion, she sent him her most withering glare. 

“You’re evil.” 

“And you’re armed!” He looked equal parts disturbed and impressed. “Hells, I was trying to joke around and I almost got stabbed. Actually, how did I not notice that dagger  one of the many times I touched you? Hmph.” 

Ignoring his contemplations—which were admittedly very logical—she focused back on the issue at hand. “She’s only watching because she’s intrigued by… us. And my feelings for you. I have no idea why she’s up at this time, but…” 

Astarion grinned. “Ah, so you going out is a shockingly rare occurence?” 

“When you put it like that it sounds rather pathetic. But… yes.”

Her eyes drifted back to the window. Harmony had absolutely no shame as she stared. Talia sent her a lewd hand gesture, but she only waved in return. 

She sighed, before speaking to Astarion. “She probably thinks I’m going to kiss you.” 

“Oh? Then perhaps…” Within a second, he had her pulled back in. She dropped her dagger thoughtlessly, moving on instinct to wrap her arms around his neck. “We should give her what she wants.” 

She laughed—her face hurt from the amount of times he’d made her laugh on their date—and nodded. Everything about him was everything she needed—she’d had no idea how he’d handle her somewhat overbearing best friend, and the lack of privacy of her dwellings—but he was dealing with it perfectly. Playing into Harmony’s silly games: not flinching at a protectiveness and a curiosity some would consider strange. 

And as he closed the distance, kissing her hard, she knew Harmony would be watching. 

She knew her neighbours might walk down the street and see her losing herself in Astarion’s lips. 

Hells, even her clients could walk by. 

But none of that mattered. 

No one mattered, except for him and the way his lips moved in tandem with hers. 

The kiss was two things at once: both a kiss goodbye, and a kiss that promised more. Goodbye for the night, but not forever. 

Because they’d had a date. 

A real, honest to gods’ date. 

And they’d have another soon. 

As they pulled away and exchanged one last fond smile, she stood by her front door. 

She watched him go. He glanced over his shoulder a few times, his smile growing wider each time he did. It was a smile that spoke thousands of words: he felt the same. 

He wanted to see her again. 

He wanted to have more nights with no expectation of sex or gold—just two people who enjoyed each other’s company. 

And as the cool night air washed over her, she revelled in the magic of them sharing something she’d never truly had: a first date, one that could turn into something more. 

Something beautiful, and something that might just last.

Notes:

I love the idea that these two get so nervous and have no idea what to say when they first see each other. Like, they're so used to being smooth and seductive when needed, but when they're actually trying to TALK they get anxious. and only with each other. I love them so much.

also... thank you for 100 kudos!! it's absolutely insane to me that this fic has reached so many people, and that 100 of you engaged with it in that way<3
always always thankful, y'all are the BEST.

Chapter 15: The Sweetest Deceptions

Summary:

Talia's personal life bleeds over into her work life. When Astarion shows up at her door, she does what she can to escape from it.

Notes:

happy weekend :) enjoy some plot followed by some shameless smut <3

It was hard for Talia to feel anything but light after her date with Astarion. 

Over the course of the following tenday, Talia strode into work brightly at the start of every shift. She did her work, and did it well. 

Her clients would probably be less than happy if they knew where her mind actually was in the moments they’d paid for—but honestly? She couldn’t be bothered to care. 

Her shifts felt more bearable—undeniably better— now that she had something to look forward to on her days off. 

And they were going by fast. Everything was suspiciously pleasant—for once, she had a strange feeling that maybe there was more to this life than the mundane things she’d come to expect. 

It was her last shift before her days off when things went awry. 

The pessimist in her was unsurprised.

The cautious optimist, a side that had been coming out more and more lately, was disappointed. 

The day had started normally enough. She had wandered in, greeting Lydia and making her way to the bar. 

Finn and Jessa were visiting Harmony. It was a common occurrence now, to find Jessa glued to Harmony’s side. They were both shocked that Lydia hadn’t put an end to it. The most she had said was that as long as Jessa kept buying drinks and Harmony kept on top of her work, she was welcome to the bar. They didn’t make most of their money from liquor—but having a frequent patron didn’t hurt. 

It was rare to see Finn there. 

He noticed her first, looking up and giving her an easy smile. She made her way over to her friends. Maybe if looked like she was entertaining Finn, she could avoid actual clients. 

Work hadn’t been bad lately, but if she could shirk off her duties… well, she certainly would. 

Harmony and Jessa were engaged in their own conversation, barely looking up as she approached. 

“Hey, sweetheart,” Finn grinned, standing up and wrapping his arm around her in a half-hug. 

He let go of her quickly—not at all holding her in the way she was used to from men. Especially men she met in this setting. 

“Hey, handsome,” she responded, resisting the urge to roll her eyes. 

Finn was hard to understand—he was affectionate and had admitted his attraction to her, yet he seemed intent on giving her friendship. 

A wild concept—albeit one she didn’t mind. 

“Handsome, eh? Careful—if I hadn’t heard all about your date, I’d think you were flirting with me.” 

She groaned. “Gods, does Harmony seriously have nothing to talk about other than my love life?” 

“It was Jessa, actually. Apparently you gave them quite the show.” He waggled his eyebrows suggestively. 

She didn’t resist the urge to roll her eyes that time, as her cheeks flooded with the thought of how Astarion had kissed her goodbye. 

Unashamed, passionate. Pulling her body flush against his on the street with no regard for who may see. 

Publicly declaring her his. 

“Wait, are you blushing?” Finn’s voice, incredulous and amused, only increased the heat in her face. 

She opened her mouth to respond—but all thought left her when she heard a voice. 

Well, voices. Raised ones. One of them she recognized, yet couldn’t quite place. 

As she turned her gaze to the front counter, her blood ran cold. Any attempt at conversation from Finn was quickly tuned out. 

Lydia was speaking with two men. 

Two men from the party. 

The guard she had nearly seduced, and someone else—dressed similarly, in armour. Likely one of the other hired swords. 

She thought that she’d escaped the consequences from that night—a foolish idea. 

Of course what she’d done—what Astarion had done, really—wouldn’t be ignored. She was naive for even hoping that was a possibility.

She swallowed, eyes locked onto the exchange. 

She wanted to inch closer—to hear what they were saying. But the fear of them seeing her far outweighed any curiosity. 

She forced herself to look back at Finn, asking him to repeat himself. 

All she had to do was look inconspicuous. Surely it couldn’t be too hard. 

“Come here,” she murmured, an idea dawning on her that may have been incredibly stupid. 

He stepped closer—confused and slightly hesitant. 

She wrapped her arms around his neck. He was still, clearly unsure of what she was doing. Hells, she barely knew.  She pulled him closer, her lips moving to his ear. She felt him shiver, and gods, she hated how she was using him. 

“Say you’re hiring me,” she whispered, fingers trailing along the back of his neck. “I won’t make you pay. I’ll explain everything when we get upstairs. Just say you’re hiring me. Please.” 

He hesitated—went rigid in her arms. She heard him swallow. She felt a stinging in her eyes—she was making him nervous, almost as nervous as she felt herself. 

She hated it. 

But he pulled away and smiled. He looked apprehensive and conflicted, yet he nodded anyway. 

“I’d like to hire you.” His voice came out confident— sure. If the situations were different— if her mind wasn’t constantly consumed with thoughts of Astarion—she may have found it attractive 

But maybe it wasn’t attractive—maybe it was just what a friend would do. 

Her voice fell to a low purr as she responded. “It would be my pleasure.” 

Finn hesitated, his eyes meeting hers. His voice fell to a whisper. “What now?” 

Avoiding Harmony and Jessa’s gazes, she took Finn by the hand. Gods, it felt awkward—borderline uncomfortable. 

They walked in silence, and she didn’t look back. Not when she knew the guards could still be there. Not when she knew Jessa and Harmony would be scandalized. 

Instead, she found a room quickly, pulling Finn inside and closing the door. 

“I’m assuming you’re not actually trying to seduce me.” 

She shot him a nervous smile. “No. I just… saw someone I didn’t want to.” 

“Oh?” he sighed, moving towards the bed and taking a seat. “I think I deserve more of an explanation than that.” 

“Do you really want to know?” 

“Yes,” he countered, looking at her unflinchingly. “I really do. If you’re in some kind of trouble—” 

“I’m not!” Her protest fell from her lips before she had time to think it through. It came out defensively—she wouldn’t have believed it from someone else, and Finn didn’t seem to either if the wary hum he let out was any indication. 

With a sigh, she spoke again. “Look, there were two guards talking to Lydia—my boss. Guards for noblemen at a party I worked. I wasn’t exactly polite to them. And I don’t know what they want, but I do know that I don’t want to find out. Not until they leave.” 

Finn’s brow furrowed as he stared at her. “They could still be there when we leave, you know.” 

“Lydia will get rid of them, one way or another.”

Her confidence conveyed the truth of her words. 

Talia was as safe as she could be in her line of work. Lydia could be a hard-ass at times—offering lectures and scolding Talia when it wasn’t completely necessary—but her intentions were pure. She treated the workers how she imagined most bosses would—she got annoyed when they didn’t do their work, but made no aim to own them. 

It was one of the reasons she’d taken this job in the first place. 

All of her experiences with sex work prior to doing it herself had involved one common theme: the workers didn’t always want to be doing it. They did it because it was expected—because they had to. 

And maybe that’s why her job felt so comfortable: she had heard tales of what those jobs could be like, and had been fascinated when she found a place where it was the opposite. 

She wasn’t at risk because of her work; no, she was possibly unsafe because of her own actions. 

A stinging truth. 

Finn appraised her for a moment—she had a feeling he was deciding if he should question her, or let it go. 

Thankfully, he decided on the latter. 

“Well,” Finn sighed. “I guess we can… chat?” 

“Yeah,” she murmured, plopping down on the bed a considerable distance away from him. “Let’s chat.” 

They spoke about a myriad of things—completely irrelevant topics, unrelated to her concerns. It was hard to focus— to think of anything but the men who had come through the door. She didn’t know when to leave or how to leave. But she was grateful to have someone present with her in her panic—someone who gave her a steady source of support, without pushing her to explain. 

She wasn’t sure how long went by when she heard a knock on the door. 

A specific knock—three quick raps, followed by two slow ones. A code: one that rarely got used, but was a safety measure all the same. 

She breathed a sigh of relief as she made her way to the door. 

Opening it up, Harmony stood on the other side. 

“Gods, I am so glad you both have your clothes on,” she muttered. “I knew something was wrong the moment you let Finn hire you.” She glanced behind Talia, where Finn still sat on the bed. “No offence.” 

“None taken,” he mumbled, thankfully sounding more amused than offended. 

Taking the tiefling in, she breathed a sigh of relief. At least Harmony was the one who came to get her. Harmony may have questions , but she wasn’t Lydia. 

Lydia’s questions would be far more pointed—far more difficult to answer. 

“What did they say?” Talia inquired. There was no need to specify who they were. 

“They just had questions,” Harmony began, eyes darting around the room. “Something about the party and stealing. And I know you wouldn’t be involved in that. Right?” 

There was clear doubt in her friend’s voice. 

“I didn’t steal anything.” 

It wasn’t a lie. Not at all. She didn’t. Did she aid someone in stealing? Yes, but that was a technicality. One she didn’t want to explain. 

Harmony glowered at her for a moment. She didn’t believe her. 

“Did they say what was stolen?” 

Harmony hesitated. “Not really. They seemed… hesitant to share more details than necessary. It worked in your favour; Lydia told them to get out. And that her girls would never be involved in that.” 

She swallowed—unsure if relief or anxiety was the emotion she should be feeling. 

After a moment of tense silence, Talia replied in a forlorn voice. “She’s going to scream at me.” 

“She’s not angry, Tal—well, maybe a little angry. But she’s worried. We all are. This is so unlike you. And I didn’t tell her that Astarion was at that party—you’re welcome for that.” 

Talia flinched at the mention of his name. Meeting Harmony’s eyes, she tried to look grateful. “Thanks. But it’s seriously not what you think.” 

Harmony groaned. “Whatever, Talia. Lydia’s waiting downstairs—good luck.” 

As Harmony began to head for the door, Talia spoke up again. “You know, you could be concerned for me instead of being angry. What if I was actually in danger? Would yelling and spitting out unfounded accusations help me then?” 

She turned on her heel and glared at Talia. It made her flinch—she had never seen Harmony stare at her with such vitriol. 

“You said you didn’t steal anything, so why should I be concerned? Unless you lied. Which you wouldn’t do, would you?” 

All of her lies from the last few days flashed through her mind. With a pang in her heart, she stared at Harmony. “No. I’ve never lied to you.” 

Her eyes softened for just a moment. “Fine. Well, go talk to Lydia.” 

She left before Talia could respond or join her. Instead, she turned to Finn. 

“Sorry,” she muttered. “This isn’t your problem.” 

Finn just shot her another easy smile. “In a roundabout way, it kind of is. Harmony gets upset, she tells Jessa who in turn gets upset because Harmony’s upset, Jessa tells me… I’d hear about it one way or the other, so might as well get it from the source.” 

Talia didn’t acknowledge his words, instead just nodding. There was a twisted kind of logic there, she supposed. 

“Let’s go,” she murmured, making her way to the door. She paused to look at him one last time. “And hey, despite the reasoning? Thank you.” 

He just grinned at her, the same soft smile he often shot her way.  

Talia felt a small surge of relief. At least one person wasn’t upset with her. 

---

Her conversation with Lydia went surprisingly well. She had told Lydia half-truth’s. 

It was easy to explain some of it, with facts sprinkled in: yes, she’d gone upstairs. She’d snuck away after two men made her incredibly uncomfortable. And then she’d seen an innocent looking guard—she’d reasoned it would be far more enjoyable to spend her night with him than one of the old men she’d been hired for. Before Lydia could tell her she was supposed to be working for the men she’d insulted, she shot her the most effective pout she could muster. 

“ You know I don’t like these parties. The men—they’re just so awful, so disrespectful. You understand, don’t you?” 

Lydia had sent her a sympathetic nod. She continued her story by insisting that if something had been stolen during that time frame, she had no idea what. A tragic coincidence, but one she really shouldn’t take the blame for—she was just looking for a variation to the routine. She had no idea what the young man had been guarding—she just knew she wanted him. 

Her story, which admittedly had more than a few holes in it, was apparently convincing enough—or Lydia just didn’t feel like dealing with her blatant lies, which was equally as possible. 

And Talia had been fortunate, somewhat. The guards who came in were far too vague with their questions. Of course they were—they weren’t going to say what had been stolen, given the illicit nature of it. 

Lydia didn’t appreciate accusations about her workers with no proof—or at the very least, no detail. Especially from mere guards. Talia was half-convinced Lydia was offended— if this was really such an issue, Lydia probably thought someone of higher status should be the one to bring it to her. 

And at the end of the day? 

Talia was still a good worker—a model worker, up until recently. Two guards coming in to intimidate Lydia wasn’t enough for her to be in any type of trouble. If the nobles had come in themselves, perhaps that would be different. But they hadn’t. And that was very fortunate. 

Talia was safe. 

At work, at least. 

Lydia sent her home early—something that rarely happened, but something Talia was more than okay with. 

She’d muttered something about her exhaustion of handling this today, and told Talia to come back when there was less buzz. A small blessing in disguise: getting a day off when she hadn’t expected it. 

As she went to say her goodbyes to Harmony, Jessa and Finn, Harmony stared at her suspiciously. 

“I’m avoiding asking more questions for now,” she began. “But I’m not sending you home alone. Finn’s walking you.” 

“You do realize that if someone attacked me, I could take them out before he did?” 

Harmony glared at her. “I don’t care. You’re less likely to be attacked if you have him with you.” 

Talia didn’t bother correcting her. If someone—especially someone as dangerous as these men might be—was dead set on ambushing her, Finn’s presence wouldn’t do a thing. 

Instead, she just turned to him. “You sure you’re okay with this?” 

“Well!” His voice was far too bright given the situation. “I had nothing better to do today anyway. C’mon, let’s go.” 

She smiled at him gratefully, sending one last pointed stare in Harmony's direction before they left. 

---

They walked the short distance home mostly in silence. 

She had to admit it was at least somewhat comforting to have him beside her. She felt less conspicuous—less obvious— when in someone else’s company. 

When they arrived at her home, Finn hesitated at the door. 

She recalled his words from earlier—he had nothing better to do. 

So she smiled at him brightly; she was going to spend the day brooding anyway, and misery loved company. Even though Finn didn’t exactly seem miserable. Maybe he could cheer her up. 

“Wanna come in for a bit?” 

He nodded silently, following her in. 

He was familiar with their place now; he was oddly close with his sister, often walking her over to see Harmony and staying for a drink. 

She wondered for a moment what it must be like to have family like that. 

Not chosen family—no, family you had a blood relation to, that you grew up with, saw through all the awkward phases of lanky limbs and growing bodies. Family who saw you at your best and worst, forgiving and forgetting. Family you had no say in your relation with, but still kept around. 

It was something Talia would never understand. Something that filled her with a pit of envy deep in her stomach. 

She focused on Finn instead, trying to remember that she wasn’t alone. Her blood family may be far gone, but the people who chose her were here. 

She didn’t know how long they sat together, chatting on the couch about various things. He’d tell stories about his own mercenary work; she’d share stories of ridiculous clients that she probably shouldn’t have repeated. They had an easy banter—a funny one, a friendly one. 

It was shortly after dusk had fallen that she heard a knock on the door. 

Her body immediately tensed. 

Her conversation with Finn had made her nearly forget about the events at work. Yet a million thoughts rushed through her mind at the sound of the gentle raps—a million suspicions of who could be on the other side. 

“Want me to get it?” Finn offered, noticing her previously relaxed posture had turned rigid. 

“Yeah,” she muttered. She would peek out the window, if she hadn’t closed the blinds as a precautionary measure. A dumb move, she was now realizing. 

She thought of her dagger, freshly polished as it sat upstairs. The irony wasn’t lost on her that the one time she didn’t have it was the one time she may actually need it. 

She stayed hidden around the corner as Finn made for the door. 

Her heart hammered as she heard it creak open, her palms wet with sweat from the unknown of what this encounter may bring. She was hit with another pang of guilt—Finn could very well be in danger because of her. 

But as the door opened fully and she heard a voice, she was immediately flooded with both relief and excitement. 

“Er, hello. Is Talia here?” 

Not waiting for Finn to answer, she rounded the corner as her face lit up with the vision in front of her. 

Gods, he looked beautiful in the moonlit—silver-white hair shining as if the stars themselves reflected off of it. Maybe she was just helplessly in love, or maybe he really was that magical. 

But she didn’t have much time to contemplate as her body instinctively plummeted towards him, launching herself in his arms. 

She had been pushing the fears out of her mind throughout the day. The terrifying question of “ what if he’d been caught?” 

Her brain had gone on a constant loop of reassurance and doubts creeping back in. She’d told herself it was impossible for them to have found him—not when he was out of the city, and not when their first stop had been to the brothel. Surely, if they knew where Astarion was, they wouldn’t have wasted time with her. Yet the anxieties had crept in all the same. 

Seeing him now? Feeling his arms quickly meet her body, wrapping around her waist? Burying her face into his neck and inhaling his scent? 

Well, she felt better than she probably deserved. 

“That answers my question,” he murmured in her ear. 

She pulled away to give him a dazzling smile, one he was quick to return. 

“I didn’t think I’d see you today,” she said. “I’m…” she trailed off, taking him in. The comfort of his presence made the fears of the day flow away. “So happy,” she settled on finally, incapable of forming any eloquent phrase. 

“As am I,” he responded. They took another moment to gaze at each other, affection and fondness flooding both of their faces. 

The silence broke as Finn cleared his throat behind her. 

Ah, yes. Finn. She’d forgotten he was even there —something she should’ve felt guilty for. But guilt was impossible—any emotion but happiness was impossible when Astarion stood before her. 

“Shit, sorry.” She smiled sheepishly at Finn. 

“Astarion, this is my friend Finn. Finn, Astarion.” 

Finn gave a little wave and Astarion gave a half-smile in response. 

The air began to feel awkward—uncomfortable. 

She bit her lip as she realized what this might look like. She’d changed into her nightclothes when she first got home—nothing but a pair of silk shorts and a matching tank top. Ones that were rather revealing, although no more explicit than what she wore to work everyday. 

Still, she knew she’d make assumptions if she knocked on Astarion’s door, only to have an attractive stranger open it up. And then have Astarion walk out behind them, scantily dressed while giving Talia a half-hearted introduction. 

As Astarion gave Finn a once-over, he spoke abruptly. 

“Right! Well. I should go. Lovely to see you Talia.” He paused to give her a soft smile, before turning to Astarion. “And nice to meet you. 

He was gone in a flash, and Talia watched his retreating form. 

With a spring in her step, she turned around to retreat back into the house. She expected Astarion to be right behind her, but as she made her way to the couch, she realized he’d stayed standing in the doorway. 

“What are you doing?” she asked, arching an eyebrow as she took him in. 

He didn’t answer, instead giving her a smile that fully exposed his fangs. 

Confused, she smiled back—an exaggerated grin to match his own. 

He sighed, both amused and exasperated. “Darling. As much as I enjoy seeing you smile for me, I was trying to remind you that I need to be invited in.” 

“Oh!” Her cheeks flushed—gods, she must’ve looked ridiculous. “Do I have to word it a specific way, or?” 

He shrugged noncommittally. “Just ask and we’ll see what happens.” 

Glaring at him, she sighed. “Fine.” Clearing her throat, she began to speak in a theatrical voice. “Astarion. My dear, sweet vampiric lover. Please, allow me to formally invite you into my home.” 

He shot her an amused smirk, then easily walked past her. 

“What are you doing here?” she asked. She was brimming with excitement at his unexpected visit. 

“I just got back to the city,” he responded, a soft smile gracing his lips. “I didn’t know if you’d be home yet, but decided I’d stop by anyway. It was… on the way.” 

By the way he looked sheepishly away from her, she had a feeling it was, in fact, out of the way. But she was hardly in a place to complain, simply beaming at him as he gazed around her house. 

“So,” he drawled, walking into the living room. “Bringing more men home nowadays?” 

His tone wasn’t serious, so her response wasn’t either. 

“I had to keep myself entertained while you were gone,” she began, airy and unbothered. 

 She knew the reaction she’d get out of him. And the way his eyes darkened was just what she needed after a day of uncertainty. 

As happy as she was to see him, she could think of many ways to distract the both of them—something she quickly decided she deserved. 

“Hmm…” Astarion turned back to her. She’d trailed behind him, standing at the archway that joined the entrance hall to the living room. 

He moved closer—not enough to touch her, but enough that she could step forward and reach for him. 

“And did you?” He looked down at her body. “Dressed like that, I wouldn’t be surprised.” 

Her eyes widened. Oh. He was going there, and quickly. 

She knew she should pause and tell him about her workday. She knew she should bring up the guards and the stealing and all of the other illicit activities that were making her sick. 

But she was just mortal, after all. And the throb in her core told her that those conversations could wait. 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” she murmured, eyes wide and feigning innocence. 

Astarion paused for just a moment. Eyes searching hers, the arrogant tone that she loved so much dropped from his voice. “Is this alright? Do you want this right now? Because if you don’t, that’s—” 

She was quick to reassure him. “ Yes. It’s okay with me.” His eyes flooded in relief, and she was struck once more with how lucky she was. 

Moving closer to him, she let her eyes linger as they drifted down his body. “I like it when you talk to me this way.” 

It was true. Since meeting Astarion, she’d uncovered a few things about herself. She’d always found arrogance to be unattractive, and jealousy to be utterly ridiculous. If a client showed those traits, she was often turned off completely. She’d turn up the exaggeration, pretend it was the best sex she’d ever had—and inevitably, her poor acting quickly brought those clients to release. 

When Astarion did it, though? 

She forgot how to think. The way he so confidently claimed that he knew her body in a way no one else could—that he was what she needed—had ignited something in her that she had half a mind to be embarrassed by.

She couldn’t control what she felt. She could stop him at any time; it wasn’t the physical control she was worried about. It was the emotional hold he had on her. 

Like how her heart raced and her cunt throbbed with her admission. 

She enjoyed this. 

And he did too, as a predatory smirk overtook his features. 

He closed any distance between them, roughly fisting her hair so she was forced to look at him. 

“What it means,” he growled, eyes menacing as they bored into hers, “is that if he hadn’t thought of taking you before, he certainly did when he saw you dressed like this.” He paused for a moment, releasing her hair and moving his lips to her ear. “And I thought you were going to be a good girl for me. A good girl wouldn’t have other men opening her door when I’ve come to take what’s mine .” 

If she was in her logical mind, she might’ve pointed out the fact that she had no idea he was going to visit tonight. Or that Finn had seen her in her work dresses plenty of times. 

Yet logic ceased to exist. It ceased to exist when Astarion’s possession made her ache—made her desperate for any touch he’d give her. 

“Well,” she breathed, her breathing heavy and heart racing. “I never know when you’re coming back. I have to have options, after all.” 

Astarion pulled back to look at her. No insecurity was present in his narrow gaze—no, he was amused. He saw right through her every word. It only served to increase the arousal that was threatening to overtake her entirely. 

“And he’s an option?” he let out a low, cruel laugh. “Here I thought you had standards.” 

For the millionth time today, guilt flooded through her at the way she was treating Finn. But there was something so enticing about this, so forbidden— she’d be dealing with her remorse in the morning, but for now? For now, she’d let it happen. She’d let Astarion spit his name, if it meant he’d fix her with the hungry gaze he was giving her right now. 

When she didn’t answer, thoughts drowning out any ability to speak, he let out a sigh. 

“I suppose I left you neglected for far too long, didn’t I? Perhaps you need a reminder—a little reward to demonstrate who you belong to.” 

She let out her first moan of the night as the words left his lips. 

Who you belong to.

She didn’t belong to anyone, not in the literal sense. But since the moment they’d met, he had owned her. He had owned every moan, every touch, every orgasm that wracked through her body. He had owned her thoughts and dreams, her desires and emotions. He had owned every tear and every smile—and gods, it was exhilarating. 

He kissed her then—kissed her hard, his lips pressing into hers as a way to say I need this. There was a searing intensity in the kiss—her teasing, her provoking words, had exactly the effect she’d been hoping for. 

She let out a moan as her mouth opened slightly, her back hitting the wall as he pressed into her. 

He pulled away and took her in, his dominance replaced with something tender. 

“I missed you,” he murmured. 

Her heart fluttered at the intensity—even as he claimed her, he treated her with such care and reverence. 

It was something beautiful—the way he could fulfill her desire to be taken in a way she gave to no one else, while making her feel loved. 

“I missed you too,” she breathed back. 

He smiled at her softly for just a moment. She returned it, allowing herself a moment to catch her breath. 

As she reached for him, he stepped back. Her brow furrowed, a pout falling across her full lips. 

“This doesn’t feel like much of a reward.” 

He shot her a wicked grin, gesturing to the couch behind him. “Go take a seat, darling.” 

She swallowed. She’d expected them to go upstairs—to do this in the comfort of her bedroom, behind a locked door where only they existed. 

She didn’t know what time it was, or when Harmony would be home. If she’d be home—she’d taken to staying at Jessa’s more and more. 

The shame of being caught made her momentarily question if she should grab Astarion by the hand and turn him around.

But then he was reaching for her. “You poor little thing. Since you can’t follow a simple instruction, let me help you along.” 

His teasing made the possibility of shame fade into the background. 

As she sat down on the couch, he didn’t hesitate to drop down to his knees in front of her. 

Her breathing grew heavy as his lips found her knee, pausing teasingly as he looked at her through hooded eyes. 

His hands found either side of her outer thighs, rubbing soothing circles through the thin fabric of her shorts. She let out a sigh, her eyes falling shut. His touch wasn’t enough—he knew it wasn’t—but she relished in the limited stimulation he was giving her. 

As his lips moved up slightly, she spread her legs to give him untethered access. She heard him chuckle, seemingly amused by her yearning. 

When she felt his tongue lick a long stripe of her inner thigh, she yelped, her hips moving upwards of their own accord. 

He laughed again as she breathed deeply. She could feel her wetness collecting to a point of discomfort—she was about to beg when he finally relented, fingers finding the waistband of her shorts and removing them completely. 

He let out a strangled moan as they came off, likely as he realized she wasn’t wearing panties. 

As he paused, her eyelids fluttered open. 

The way he looked at her—eyes trained on her core, completely transfixed and unmoving—made her throb around nothing. 

She thought of his cock, and how good it would feel when it finally filled her. 

She let out an impatient groan. As much as she loved the way he took her in, like her cunt was the essence of raw magic from the weave itself, she wasn’t enjoying the anticipation. Not anymore—not when it had been days without his touch. 

“Eager, aren’t you?” he murmured, eyes finally shifting as he grinned at her. 

“You would be too,” she responded, one of her own hands coming to play with her nipples which were poking through the thin silk fabric. “If I was on my knees for you.” 

His fingers finally made their way to her core. She let out a shaky breath as a single digit found her clit, rubbing a gentle circle around it. 

He hummed thoughtfully as he moved his finger, dipping it inside of her and coating it in her slick. The intrusion was delicious, causing her to arch her back and whimper. As he moved it back to her clit, he increased his pace. 

“We both know you’re the one who wouldn’t be able to wait. Even when you’re on your knees, you’re so desperate, aren’t you? You don’t need me to touch you—you’re so wanton and depraved, grateful I let you touch me.” 

She let out a gasp as he slid two fingers in, her sex clenching tight around his fingers. 

His pace was slow at first. Building up, stroking along her walls in a way that was now so familiar yet no less enjoyable. He knew her; he knew how she would nearly scream if he curved his fingers just right, and how she needed his thumb to stroke along her clit. He knew how to get her off with just his tongue, fingers digging into her waist. 

He knew her. And with every thrust of his fingers, every drag along her walls, she plummeted more and more. 

Tension filled her, starting in her legs and travelling all the way to her abdomen. Gods, he’d barely touched her—it had to have only been moments, but with every practiced motion, she was falling. She was close, so close, finally going to find her release around his fingers again, body aching and thighs beginning to shake—

When he pulled out of her abruptly, she hissed in frustration. 

“This is hardly a reward if you stop right when I’m about to come!” She blurted out the words with no patience for sounding seductive or enticing; no, he’d been right. She was desperate and she was his, wanting to come around his fingers like a good girl. Wanting to show him the pleasure only he could elicit. 

But he didn’t answer, just sending her an entertained smirk. And after he did, he pulled her hips forward, placing her legs around his shoulders. 

As he dove in, mouth finding her clit, she was right back where she had been. She could hear the wet sounds of him devouring her, the sucking noises as he reminded her just how well he knew her body. 

She felt weightless; light. She was vaguely aware of the way her legs locked behind his neck, trapping his body between her thighs. She felt him chuckle, the vibration sending a jolt between her thighs. The noises leaving her mouth were loud enough that she was sure anyone walking by her home would hear. 

Gods, how did his tongue do what it was doing now? How did it circle perfectly, flicking and stroking in a way that ruined her every fucking time? And how did he know exactly when to speed up, as she was on the cusp of falling over the edge once again? 

He knew her. He didn’t need to claim her like she thought; she was already helplessly his, and all she could do was cry his name as she began to writhe against his face. 

Talia had faked more orgasms than she could count. It was par for the course with her job. The first time Astarion had made her come, it had felt foreign. The white hot pleasure, the way her eyes had shut and her body had shaken, felt far more like surrendering control than finding a release. But it was a control she liked giving away—as long as the only person who would take it would be him. 

And every time since? Every time since she first gave him the power of reducing her to a moaning, writhing mess?  The intensity seemed to increase. She could barely comprehend it; how did it get better, every single time? 

As her body undulated with pleasure, hands finding his hair and yanking roughly, all thought ceased; everything did, really. 

All that mattered was the way he worked her through it, keeping the pace that had gotten her right where she was now. His name fell from her lips until her voice was hoarse; her legs shook until they were sore; her heart pounded fast enough that she was sure she wouldn’t survive the night. 

When she finally stilled, he flicked his tongue one last time, making her whimper and jolt. 

Her legs relaxed, spreading so he could remove himself from the space between them. 

When he pushed himself up, the self-satisfied smirk on his face told her everything he was thinking. 

“Shut up,” she mumbled, her eyes falling to where her arousal soaked his lips and chin. She flushed at the sight of it—at the evidence of the mess he just made of her. 

“I didn’t say anything, darling,” he murmured with a grin, “I didn’t need to.” 

She breathed out a sigh, her whole body still alight with the intensity of her orgasm. 

Her eyes trailed down Astarion’s body. He was still completely dressed, but a smirk of her own fell across her face when she saw the outline of his length straining against his trousers. 

“Not so unaffected, are you dear?” she purred, meeting his eyes. 

Despite the borderline exhaustion she felt, she wanted more. Needed more. Needed to feel him fucking into her, chasing his own release. 

“I am never unaffected when it comes to you,” he admitted. The words made the carnality in her mind fade for just a moment as the intimacy of his voice washed over her. 

Taking a moment to smile—a hazy, unfocused grin—she responded quietly. “I know the feeling.” 

They were silent for a moment as she caught her breath fully. 

Her next words were a challenge: one she’d throw out shamelessly to get what she wanted. “Now, are you going to fuck me or not?” 

His eyebrows raised, a laugh falling from his lips. “Can’t get enough?” 

Even as he joked, the want was clear in his every action. As she removed her shirt and he rid himself of his clothing, she stared up at him. 

His eyes drifted away from her, into the dining room. She bit her lip in anticipation, wondering where he would take her. In her very own home. She wanted to look in every room and be flooded with memories of this night. 

It was strange to think—for someone who had sex as often as she did, this was her first time doing it here. 

“Wait,” she murmured. His eyes snapped back to hers in an instant. “Can we… go upstairs? I’ve never done this with someone…” she swallowed, eyes darting away from his. “In my own bed.” 

He didn’t protest—didn’t ask any questions she was too embarrassed to answer. 

Instead, he took a deep breath. “Yes. Please.” 

His voice was strained. She wondered if he was as affected by this as she was—the knowledge that for the first time, she was letting someone touch her in her own space. 

She had always kept sex tidy, wrapped away as a working activity. She hadn’t been a virgin before coming to the surface by any means—she’d even had sex in the months before starting her job, with random men and women she met on the surface. But no one that lasted. No one that made her want to give up everything—hand herself over and hope she didn’t get hurt. 

And when she started her work, sex became professional. Something she occasionally got pleasure out of, but mostly treated as a service. It was hard to want to spend her free time doing it, when it already took up every working hour. 

Now? Now, she led a man up the stairs of her home, her own space, their clothes shed and left in a pile by the couch. 

She opened the door to her bedroom with shaky hands. She had a momentary worry flood her—what if he thought her room was girlish or strange, not up to his unknown preferences? What if he noticed the dust on the mirror, or how her dress from earlier laid in a heap on the floor? 

But as he clicked the door shut behind him and she turned around, his eyes never left hers. She doubted he’d even glanced around the room—not when he was so intent on the movements of her body, on the way she glided towards her bed. 

Before she could lay down, he grabbed her by the hand. She turned to face him and let out a muffled groan as he pulled her in for a kiss, insistently pushing her with his own body until she laid flat on the bed. 

He maneuvered them so her head laid flat against the pillow. She felt weightless as he touched her, slotting himself between her legs like he was meant to be there.

He pulled away from her lips with a ragged grunt, moving his hips just slightly so he could reach between their bodies. 

He stroked himself once, twice, then found her entrance. 

As he pushed himself into her, they each let out strangled moans, the feeling of their joining overwhelming them both. 

He pressed himself fully into her, and as she wrapped her legs around his waist, her body invited him to enter and never leave. 

“I’ve missed this,” he rasped, right in her ear. “Missed how well you take me—missed how good you feel, how tight—” he cut himself off as she throbbed around him, a guttural noise leaving his throat. 

“Fuck, you feel so good—so perfect, so—” her own words made him increase his pace, moving inside of her in earnest. 

Sometimes, they could talk in these moments. They could spit out their usual banter, their words only edging them further. 

Tonight wasn’t one of those nights. From the moment he entered her, words began to fail them both. The only communication necessary were the animalistic noises that left both of them, and the loud sounds of slapping skin as he pounded into her. 

Her eyes drifted open at one point, gazing at the ceiling of her very own bedroom . His face was buried in her neck, as she mewled and clawed at his back. 

Something occurred to her then: She was happy. She was so fucking happy as he fucked into her, cursing her name. She was so happy to feel his length throb in her cunt, every nerve on fire as he moved. She was happy—sex was something beautiful again. He was something beautiful. He was taking her in her room—in the bed, where she let no one else have her. 

“Astarion,” she breathed, tugging on his hair. She said his name more firmly. “Astarion.” 

He paused to look at her, concern in his eyes. “Are you alright, darling?” 

“Yes,” she reassured him. “I’m just…” her words were cut off as he moved again, gentle and slow now. “I want you to look at me. Please. You’re so beautiful, and I want to remember this, and I want—” she cut off her own ramblings with a moan as he moved, still slower than before but with more intensity. 

“Gods, you won’t just remember this,” he breathed. The slow pace he began to give her was both torturous and lovely. It was tender and kind. It was like they were making love. “I’m going to keep doing this for as long as you’ll allow me—I’ll take you every night if you let me—fuck,” he breathed. 

She whimpered—she honest to gods whimpered. “I—please keep going,”she begged, even though he hadn’t stopped. “Just don’t stop. Just keep fucking me, keep making me yours, keep—”

“I won’t.” And then he let out a noise that sounded suspiciously like a whimper. “Gods, I won’t—tell me if I go too fast, alright? Is this good, darling?” 

He was being so attentive, eyes trained on hers as he kept a steady slow and gentle pace. 

“Yes, so good.” She breathed. “No one has ever done this before, no one’s ever been so soft with me, no one’s ever—” she felt tears prickling in her eyes as he continued to thrust, cursing under his breath. “I love this,” she managed to say finally. 

I love you , she thought—wanting to say it but far too afraid. 

“Fuck, I love it too,” he groaned, never breaking eye contact. “I love the way you take me, I love how your eyes turn deep violet, I love the flush of your skin, I love feeling the softness and heat of your body, I love how wet you get, how responsive you are, I love—” he let out a guttural noise as he pulsed within her. 

Every time he said I love— every time he listed off all the things he thought were beautiful, every confession that fell from his lips—she drew closer and closer, his words doing something even his body couldn’t. 

And his strokes stayed tender and slow as he spoke, his body flush against hers as his hips moved gently. 

The possession from earlier was gone—it had turned into something deeper, something that felt strangely like worship.

She had never come from sex like this before; sex that was languid and soft, giving far more than it demanded. And gods, it was so mutual—neither of them were seeking the upper hand, neither had ulterior motives. 

They both just wanted to be this moment—of bodies joining and motions that expressed the feelings they couldn’t yet name. 

“I’m going to come,” Astarion rasped, his eyes a dark shade of red and pupils blown wide. “I’m going to come—but not until you do. Gods, I want to— need to —feel you come with me.” 

As he spoke, he repositioned just slightly—leaving just enough space that his hand could snake between their bodies to find her clit. 

“Will this help, darling? Will you come for me?”

She was so overwhelmed by all of it—by his fingers, his cock, his voice, his eyes seeing all of her—that she’d gone nonverbal, instead a whimpering mess beneath him. 

She didn’t have time to answer—she didn’t have time to say that yes, she would. 

As he stroked her clit in time with the strokes of his cock inside of her, her release hit intensely and hard. 

She had been climbing to it since the moment he entered her, yet she hadn’t been prepared for how the pleasure wracked through her entire body. 

She was faintly aware of Astarion cursing above her, but she was floating. Gone. All she could think were the words he’d uttered, the soft confessions that she finally believed were true. 

He loved so much about her. And even though she had no idea what love really felt like, she was certain—in her orgasmic haze, a moment where sex became so much more—that she loved him. Not just the way his eyes darkened when he saw her, or how his voice made every word sound like a prayer. Not just his beauty; his devastating good looks that had ruined her entirely. 

No, she loved him. Every ounce of who he was, of what he was—assassinations and vampirism, contrasted by the safety and warmth she only felt with him. And as he came inside of her, spilling all the built up desire of time apart, she wondered if he felt the same. 

They didn’t speak at first. He stilled inside of her and above her, his hand leaving the space between her legs. She felt so full—she understood the desire now to have someone finish inside. Of not just witnessing release, but feeling it. 

He gave her one last soft kiss on the lips before pulling out of her, plopping down on the bed next to her rather unceremoniously. 

“That was…” he didn’t finish his sentence; he didn’t need to. 

“Yeah,” she breathed, her eyes fixed on the ceiling. 

He let out a sigh, as if he, too, needed to catch his breath. 

After a moment of silence, he spoke again. “I meant what I said, you know.” 

Her heart thrummed. He had said a lot of things—if even one of them were true she’d be ecstatic. 

“That I would do this every night, if I could.” 

She turned her head to look at him. He was also looking at the ceiling, his voice conveying the incredible vulnerability that accompanied his words.

“So would I.” 

It was perhaps the closest they’d come to fully acknowledging how they felt—that they wanted this to be more than just occasional meetings when their schedules allowed. They wanted to be together often—maybe even constantly. 

She didn’t know if it was a rational desire—if it was even achievable. But now she knew he felt the same. 

And that? That alone was worth treasuring. 

As he pulled her into an embrace, the events from her work day crept back in. 

She should tell him. She should really fucking tell him. 

He could be in a danger too—they both could be, really. And if he didn’t care to know for his own sake, he’d at least want to know for hers. 

Instead, she swallowed the lump in her throat. Astarion was a sweet escape—one that took away the outside world and made conspiracy and the gritty reality of the city irrelevant. She wanted to exist in this space for just a while longer. 

“Will you stay the night?” she asked, refusing to confront her growing doubts. 

He hesitated. “I can’t get caught in the sunlight…” seeing her disappointed pout, he continued quickly. “But I can stay for a few more hours. I just need to leave an hour before it comes up.” 

“Well,” she murmured, a smile taking over her features. “I can think of many things we can do in the next few hours.” 

And as he let out a breathless laugh, she made her decision. 

She would tell him soon—she promised herself she would. 

Just not quite yet. Not when she had him alone, in her very own bed.  Sharing an intimacy with him that was so new.

When his lips pressed into hers again, the pit of anxiety in her stomach began to fade. 

The fear of the guards—the worry of what their appearance could mean—didn’t matter right now. 

All that mattered was Astarion. 

All that mattered was the two of them, tangled up in her bed as they giggled and took solace in the comfort of love.

Notes:

Talia is very much in her infatuation phase lol. I love writing a character who is learning in real time what intimacy can feel like when it's with the right person.
I do wanna specify this isn't gonna completely turn into an assassination of the rich and powerful story—it's still very Astarion/Talia centric, and every little plot point brings them together... or tests their relationship.
Thank you for kudos and comments as always <3

Chapter 16: The Delights of Losing

Summary:

When Astarion realizes Talia could be in danger, he shares more about how he came into his line of work.
Afterwards, he insists on training her, and she's more than happy to prove she's far from helpless.

Notes:

warning for this chapter: there's some under-negotiated kink here (mild knifeplay). It's fully consensual and enjoyed by both characters, but there's no in-depth discussion until next chapter. take care while reading <3

It was in the early hours of the day that Talia finally worked up the courage to tell Astarion about the appearance of the guards at her work.

She was exhausted—sticky with sweat, her hair a mess, her lips swollen—and she didn’t know how many times she’d come. 

She only knew it happened a lot— far more than she thought her body was capable of. 

After every climax, she was certain she was done. She would lay back, breathing hard. She felt sore— spent the way her clients often seemed after a night with her. 

But every time she’d fall back into Astarion’s embrace, his smallest touches would ignite a new wave of desire. 

He wouldn’t be trying to turn her on. But the electricity when he trailed his fingers across her arm, the soft feeling of his lips on her forehead, the cool planes of his abdomen underneath her fingertips—it quickly made her realize that as long as she laid in bed with him, she would want more. 

He’d been more than happy to fulfill her need—whether his head was between her legs, or his cock was buried deep in her—she was reduced to a helpless mess, her voice hoarse and her cheeks stained with tears. 

As he left the bed, though, she knew the blissful distraction from their reality was over. 

“So!” Her voice was suspiciously cheerful as she forced herself into a sitting position. 

His eyes instantly narrowed, turning around to face her. “Yes, darling?”

“I didn’t tell you before, because, well, I got a little overwhelmed when I saw you—and it’s really not a big deal but I think maybe you’ll wanna know this before you go—it’s really nothing to worry about, I just feel like maybe I should tell you.” 

He clocked her anxiety in an instant. “The only time you stumble over your words—like you don’t even speak common—is when you’re nervous. So yes, I’m assuming I want to know.” 

She cleared her throat. “Yeah! Okay, so. I got off work early, right? And Finn walked me home. That’s not really my typical day, as I’m sure you know.” 

He nodded, waiting for her to continue. 

She looked down at her hands, wringing them together. “So the thing is…” she groaned, unsure of how to word it. She took a deep breath, forcing herself to look him in the eye. “You remember the party? And the room you stole that list from?” 

Something flashed in his eyes—anger, worry, maybe frustration. 

“Hard to forget,” he muttered, running a hand through his uncharacteristically messy hair. 

“The man guarding it… he showed up. At my work.” She attempted to speak the words casually, although her shaking voice betrayed her nerves. 

Astarion inhaled deeply, before exhaling and uttering a single word. 

“Fuck.” 

She stared up at him with wide eyes, trying to read his gaze. 

There was an almost uncanny calmness in the way he spoke. “You should have told me right away.” 

She bit her lip and nodded. “I know, but—” 

“But what? You’d rather waste the night away, fucking and pretending everything is fine? You could be in danger—we both could be!” 

He wasn’t quite yelling—hadn’t quite let go of his deceptively composed nature. But he was clearly growing exasperated, pinching the bridge of his nose. 

“Nice to know that sex with me is a waste of time,” she muttered. 

He let out a loud sigh, glaring at her. “Why do you do that?” 

“Do what?” 

“When something serious happens, you pick apart my words. You latch onto one phrase and twist it until its meaning is unrecognizable. We both know it’s not a waste of time, and my continued presence should tell you that.” He stopped—taking a deep, strained breath. “But when someone shows up at your work —someone with both the means and motive to bring you harm—don’t you think that’s a tad more important than bedding me?” 

She was silent for a moment. He wasn’t wrong, as much as she wanted him to be. 

When the tension grew unbearable, she spoke again. 

“I’m sorry,” she sighed. “I didn’t even talk to them. The man we met was there with a friend —another guard, I think. They told Lydia something had been stolen, and that one of us had distracted them. They didn’t say what—they were sparse with the details. I don’t think Lydia took it too seriously.” 

Astarion let out his own sigh in response. “Was that so hard?” 

“Yes,” she muttered. “It was.” 

He came to sit on the bed next to her again. “Look, I don’t want to argue with you—but you have to tell me if this happens again. Obviously I knew they would realize the list was gone, but…” he paused, swallowing audibly. “I didn’t realize they’d come after you. I never would’ve involved you if…” 

“You didn’t involve me,” she said, turning to look at him. “I’m the one who offered to help. Besides, I doubt they want to hurt me—they just want to find whoever took it. In their minds, I’m just the whore who got in the way.” She let out a bitter laugh, one that held no humour. 

His eyes softened. “Either way, I’m sorry. This isn’t your problem—hells, it usually isn’t mine, either. I’m never doing a favour for anyone again.” 

“Who was this favour for?” she murmured. She didn’t like to press for answers he was unprepared to give, yet she was all too aware this could be one of her few chances. 

He spoke reluctantly. “I never intended on this line of work. I suppose I killed someone once—someone that an actual assassin had been hunting—and they took notice of me.” He looked at her intently—maybe worried she’d flinch or scream. Instead, she fixed him with an even gaze, hoping it conveyed that he could tell her anything. 

“I was so dreadfully bored before that night . Tired of playing the hero, tired of pretending to be something I wasn’t. And when I saw…” he swallowed, pausing. “When I saw the man I ended up killing, I didn’t hesitate. I was headed to a tavern to meet a man I used to feed off of; that’s when I heard a woman scream. Not a strange occurrence in Baldur’s Gate, but some instinct told me to investigate. Curiosity got the better of me. I walked into the alley—and well, I didn’t really stop to think when I saw…” he trailed off. 

“What did you see?” she asked, both cautious and curious.  Now that he was telling her pieces of the truth, she wanted to see the full picture—hells, some part of her felt she deserved it. 

“A man was about to assault the woman—in a way I don’t feel the need to describe. You can use your imagination. Killing him seemed like the best option.” 

She responded simply, a single syllable as her mind struggled with what he’d just admitted to. “Wow.” 

He shot her a bemused glance. “Wow, indeed. Anyway, after that I was confronted— accosted, more like. I was given an opportunity:  keep killing predators and monsters who roamed the streets, and be paid handsomely in turn. I had a stake in it, given previous, personal experience.” He let out a deep sigh, closing his eyes. “I work alone. I always have. And I do not get involved with nobles and dukes—it’s too dangerous. But a leader of this ridiculous organization asked me for a favour. I would be the least likely to draw attention in the setting we found ourselves in. I am a hero of Baldur’s Gate, after all.” 

“Using your status for good, I see,” she muttered, only half-sarcastic. 

He let out a soft, humourless laugh. “I suppose. And they do keep me paid. It only seemed right to do something in return.” 

She swallowed down the thousands of questions that went through her mind. She was getting something, at least—she knew how he’d started his job, something she hadn’t known a day ago. 

“How do you get your targets?” she asked finally, hoping she could glean a little more of the knowledge she coveted. 

He shot her a wry grin. “It’s all very cloak and dagger. Sometimes a note slipped under my door, although that’s rare. Sometimes someone brushes past me on the street, murmurs that I’ve dropped a piece of paper. Or a name gets slipped in my back pocket, and I don’t realize until they’ve left. It’s why I always end up back in the city—I have to get the contracts somewhere.” 

She swallowed. “So like… do they have a base? A name? A… goal?” 

“I know where one of the leaders stays—part time, at least. She’s the one I did the favour for. Gods, I should have said no.” His voice was laced with regret. 

“But… that’s all you know? How do you know you aren’t just killing random people?” 

“Well, I look into it first. I study their habits, their behaviours, their schedules—I spend a concerning amount of time stalking them, honestly. It gets tedious. But eventually they slip up, and that’s when I come in. It’s quite the process, really.” 

Talia spent a moment wondering if she should be concerned with how casually he spoke of this. 

“Interesting,” she said finally, deciding she’d press the issue another day. 

He looked at her. “Don’t hate me yet?” 

“Not yet,” she agreed. “I still think there’s more to this than you’re telling me, but I’ll accept the explanation. For now.” 

His smile was enough for her to ignore the sinking feeling in her gut. 

“You should be safe—those guards are going to have bigger concerns soon. But we aren’t going to chance it. I need to know you can protect yourself.” He hesitated, his gaze full of concern. “When I leave, you’re going to get some rest. Then at dusk, you’ll come visit me. You keep saying you can fight—I’d like you to prove it.” 

She let out an incredulous laugh. “ Prove it? Are you serious? I don’t need to prove anything.” 

“Well, you don’t need to,” he agreed, humming thoughtfully. “I do think you’d enjoy it, though.” 

“Maybe I will,” she murmured, considering his words. 

She didn’t need self defence lessons—far from it. But the idea of surprising him—of knocking him over and showing that she was far from helpless—was motivation enough. “I’ll be there tomorrow.” 

He sent her a dazzling grin and she kissed him softly, excited for what the night would bring.

---

Harmony had returned in the early hours of the morning, not long after Astarion left. 

She’d mumbled something about having to stay late at work, said she was relieved to see Talia was safe, then promptly went to bed. 

Talia had left her a note before setting out for Astarion’s, explaining she’d be out. She was grateful she’d avoided an interrogation—something she was certain would be coming her way. 

Dagger strapped to her hip, she began the walk to the Lower City with adrenaline coursing through her veins. 

When she approached Astarion’s home, she froze in her tracks. 

The front door was slightly ajar, as if someone had entered in a haste and not taken the time to shut it behind them. Panic was quick to flood her, starting in her chest and spreading to her gut.  She moved hurriedly, unsheathing her dagger as she pushed the door open. 

Entering as silently as possible, she took in her surroundings. There was no mess, no sign of a struggle—everything was exactly as she remembered it.

She felt it at the last second—a presence, materializing behind her.  Instinct set in; before her attacker had time to grab her, she was twisting her body. She threw everything into shoving the mass on the ground, ending up in a straddling position on top of them, with her dagger pressed to the flesh of their throat. 

As she prepared to launch into an interrogation, she froze. 

“Hello, darling.” Astarion had a cheeky grin on his face as he looked up at her, appearing far too relaxed given the predicament he found himself in. 

Letting out an angry huff, she removed the dagger from his throat. She kept her thighs clenched around him, unwilling to forgive him just yet. 

“What the hells was that? I could’ve killed you!” 

He laughed. The infuriating man underneath her had the audacity to laugh. 

“Well, I didn’t expect you to do that. I was trying to impart the importance of always being prepared. And you certainly are.” 

She glared down at him, still refusing to move. “I told you I know what I’m doing. If you’re stupid enough to attack me with no warning, I think you got what you deserved.” 

“Oh, I quite agree.” His smirk was almost as annoying as it was attractive. “I’m very impressed.” 

He rolled his hips slightly—gods, he was hard. 

It was enough for her eyelids to flutter shut, and a small moan to escape her throat. 

Suddenly, she found her own body flipped to the ground. She yelped as Astarion expertly disarmed her, pinning her hands above her head as he hovered over her. 

All amusement and arousal had disappeared from his eyes as he leered down at her. “If an enemy distracts you, you could be dead in an instant.” 

“You know, you could’ve said “hi, Talia! How are you, darling? Let’s begin our training now!’ like a normal person!” Her voice dripped with sarcasm as she mimicked his, and she saw a half-smile flicker across his face. 

“An enemy won’t say that,” he hissed, a glare settling over him once again. 

She rolled her eyes at his dramatics, irritated yet thoroughly entertained. 

“Fine, Ser Enemy. Let me up and we can have a fair fight.” 

He grinned and was on his feet in an instant, moving faster than most mortals could. She grabbed her dagger off the ground then pushed herself up, facing him directly.

Glancing around her surroundings, her brows furrowed. “Are we gonna do this here? In the middle of the living room?” 

“Well,” he drawled, amusement glinting in his eyes, “if you’d prefer the bedroom…” 

She glowered at him, stalking closer. “I don’t think I’ll be taking any of my foes to the bedroom.” 

“Oh?” he murmured, that infuriating expression never leaving his face. “Pity for them.”  His eyes drifted to the dagger in her hand. “I didn’t expect you to show up with an actual weapon. 

“Scared?” Her lips curved as she taunted him—more of a sneer than a smile. 

His eyes narrowed for just a moment. “I was more concerned with your safety.” He circled her carefully, like a predator sizing up his prey.  “But if you want me to a press a knife to your throat, then who am I to stop you?”  He pulled out a dagger of his own; apparently, all of his trousers had hidden sheathes in them. She vaguely wondered what he did with them in the nights he’d been visiting her at Caress’. 

“Shall we begin?” she grinned, ignoring his dangerous comment that somehow bordered on flirtation. 

He nodded, his eyes quick to focus as they began their dance. 

They circled each other, her steps careful while his were graceful. He moved with the poise of someone who snapped into battle without a second thought.  She let him take the first few lunges—studying his every movement, tracking any minor error. She dodged with efficiency, as if it hadn’t been years since she’d done this.  He slashed at her once more, but she dodged again as she examined his form. He was excellent, undoubtedly. Most opponents would have been on their backs by now. 

But she wasn’t most opponents—this was in her very blood, a teaching that encompassed her upbringing. She was having a shocking amount of fun as she demonstrated her finesse, always feigning when he least expected it.  Letting out a dramatic sigh, he lunged again. He was growing impatient— bored. Sometimes the best offence was to let the enemy tire themselves out; Astarion seemed to be reaching that point quickly, a fact that delighted her to no end. 

“What’s the matter, darling?” he asked through gritted teeth. His frustration at her lack of effort was getting the better of him. “Afraid to touch me?” 

In a blur, she twisted past him: hooking his wrist, his dagger fell to the floor with a pathetic clatter. 

His eyes widened as hers pressed into his throat. 

Leaning in, she mocked his tone. “No, darling,” she grinned, her voice sugary sweet yet laced with poison, “just waiting for the perfect moment. It was almost too easy. Maybe you’re not as good as you think.” 

He huffed out a laugh, completely unbothered by the proximity of her weapon. 

She was breathing heavily, pleased with his defeat. 

Admittedly, she’d been a little too cocky. In a single movement, her back hit the ground with a thud— her own dagger disarmed and tossed to join his. 

She let out a muffled yelp as Astarion’s body caged hers in on the hard ground, pinning her wrists above her head as he straddled her hips. 

“Gloating while your enemy’s still breathing? An amateur move.” 

In other circumstances, she would be quite pleased to find herself in this position: on her back underneath him, hands pinned tight against the ground. In the present, however, this situation was less than ideal. 

They clearly weren’t playing fair so she gave him her best pout, forcing her body to fall limp underneath his. 

“Fine,” she muttered, glaring up at him. “You win.” 

He grinned, evidently pleased with himself. He let his guard down just long enough for her to quickly surprise him, switching their positions.  Her hand pressed into his throat. Not actually choking him, but just resting. Reminding him that she was the one who came out on top, and she held the power. 

His eyes shot daggers as she grinned triumphantly. 

“I’m the true champion, aren’t I?” she cooed, refusing to move her hand until he nodded his assent. 

After a moment of glaring, he finally did. 

She was barely on her feet when she turned to him again, smiling softly. “Ready for round two?” 

He simply let out a laugh of agreement, and her grin widened. 

Today was going to be fun.

---

  They continued their sparring for what could’ve been hours. She wasn’t tracking the time; she never did in his presence. He was shocked by the sheer amount of times she was able to best him. It regretfully wasn’t every time—she was still out of practice, after all. 

She’d worried that maybe seeing him like this—showing an innate expertise in the art of besting his prey—would ruin her attraction to him. 

Instead? 

It increased it. She had long since accepted that everything Astarion did, he did beautifully. But she hadn’t been prepared that this would leave her intoxicated, desperate to feel his hands on her skin.  As her arousal grew, so did her mistakes. She found herself enjoying the loss—any opportunity to be on her back for him was a gift, frankly. 

After one time too many, he let out an amused sigh. He had her pinned again, her dagger somewhere across the room as she laid beneath him, feigning helplessness. 

“If I didn’t know better, I’d think you wanted to fail.” 

She let out an exaggerated gasp. “Never! I have far too much honour for that.” Her voice dropped to a sultry whisper. “Besides, if I really want to distract you, I have plenty of ways.” 

As if to prove it, she rolled her hips upwards.  He exhaled sharply and she smirked up at him. 

“And is that your plan, my dear?” he murmured, eyes running hungrily down her body. “To win by your beauty alone? Hoping your opponents will forget themselves the way I do?” 

She swallowed. “I have to use the gifts the gods give me, don’t I?” 

“Yes,” he mused, “I suppose you do.” He leaned closer then, lip brushing her ear. “But you’d do well to remember that gift is mine alone.” 

Talia’s grin turned sharp, almost daring. “Or what?” 

His voice went low—dark and possessive. The heat that had been building in her core—the one that had started the first time he’d pinned her to the ground, and intensified since—grew to an inescapable yearning. All he had to do was speak to her—to utter words in that territorial growl, that enticing cadence that ruined her so well. 

“Well, I suppose I’d have to mark you.” His lips found her neck, fangs grazing gently. 

A gasp escaped her lips, yet she had no time to react as he murmured against her skin. “I’d start here. I’d leave the indentation of my fangs where anyone could see. Anyone who gazed upon you would know. You belong to me.” 

Her eyes fell shut as he spoke, the sound of his voice sinful and enticing. 

After a moment of silence—of listening to her anticipatory breaths—she felt him reach for something. 

She opened her eyes to see what he held: he had picked up his dagger. Her eyes widened—she felt a confusing surge of both arousal and fear, unsure which was stronger. 

“Relax,” he murmured, “I’m not going to hurt you.” He looked her in the eye, a patient attention present in the depths of his own. “But I can put it down, if you’d prefer. I thought you might enjoy it—that we both might. If it’s too much, please tell me.” 

She swallowed, staring into his eyes. She considered for a moment, biting her lower lip through her contemplations.  She’d never brought a knife in the bedroom. She wasn’t opposed to the idea—she’d simply never felt safe enough to do so. It was never even a consideration in the brothel—clients shouldn’t hold that level of power. And her lack of personal relationships meant she’d yet to build up that trust— the level of confidence she realized she had with him. 

And with the way Astarion looked at her, calm and not pressuring, she nodded her head.   

“Do it,” she uttered, breathless. “I trust you.” 

She should’ve asked what he was going to do. If he’d slice into skin, or leave her marked with cuts—instead, she stayed silent. She meant it: she trusted him. Every time he’d touched her, every new thing she’d let him do—she enjoyed all of it. 

And there was something so erotic, so deeply exciting, of what was usually a weapon being used for more. A symbol she had spent her life fearing, becoming a source of intimacy and pleasure. 

He brought the dagger to the top of her blouse; she was modestly dressed, her outfit suited for fighting and not seduction. The wetness collecting between her thighs increased tenfold as she heard the dagger slice through the thin fabric of her shirt. He dragged it down slowly—carefully. His eyes stayed transfixed on where her skin came into view, breathing deeply with every inch exposed. 

She tried her best to stay still—to avoid squirming and feeling the dagger cut her skin. But she inevitably shifted upwards, and she moaned unbiddenly as the dagger nicked her.  

Astarion removed it instantly. “Are you alright, darling?” His eyes were dark and filled with lust—gods, he loved this as much as she did. But in the midst of it, the tender care never left his eyes. He wasn’t doing this just for him—he wanted them both to love it, and hells, she did . 

Her thighs clenched together and she whimpered again, nodding. 

“Keep going,” she groaned. “Please.” 

He smirked at her. “Since you asked so nicely…” 

Picking up the knife again, Astarion continued its descent. She felt dizzy with the anticipation—with the utter unknown of if, of sharing something new with Astarion once more. Every drag downward had her breath hitching as she struggled to still herself—to simply submit. 

It almost felt too soon when her shirt fell away —completely, utterly ruined. 

Astarion threw the dagger across the room—honestly, the way they tossed daggers around was likely a hazard . 

But safety was the last thing on her mind as he tore the wrecked fabric away, her bra now the only thing covering her upper-body. 

“Now, where were we?” 

She looked at him through hazy eyes. She had no idea where they were with anything—she was dizzy and floating, her skin tingling from the soft caress of the blade. 

“Ah, yes. All the places I can bite you—the ways I can mark you.” 

He looked at her body, appraising where he could sink his teeth. 

He made a humming noise. “Your chest… one of my favourite parts of this beautiful body of yours.” 

With open mouthed kisses, he made his way to above where her bra sat. She whined in need—she wished he’d sliced open the lace too, despite it being one of her favourite pieces. 

Her nipples were taut and ready, hardened from his attention. She longed for his mouth—the feeling of being teased and sucked, tongue flicking across her buds.  His fangs grazed the top of her breast, the flesh of her cleavage exposed. Her hips jolted at the touch. 

She spoke without thinking, whining at the sting. 

“Do it,” she hissed. “You say that I’m yours, so prove it.” 

He grinned up at her. “Not so fast, darling. Sit up.” 

He shifted onto his knees, pulling her up with him. With an almost preternatural speed, his hands snaked behind her back and exposed her breasts. He shoved her gently by the shoulders, and she laid flat on her back. 

Astarion was on her in a flash, resuming his previous position with his mouth positioned above her breast. 

“Lower,” she murmured, captivated by the sight of his lips so close to her skin. 

He sounded amused as he responded. “Oh? I thought I gave the orders here.” 

She let out a whimper. She wasn’t above begging at this point—not when her cunt was throbbing. 

“I’ve been so good for you,” she breathed. “I trained with you—I let you use your knife on me—I’d get on my knees in a second if you asked. Please. ” 

His voice was taunting when he responded. “ Please what?” 

“ Please bite me, or put my nipple in your mouth. Or both.” 

He inhaled sharply at her words—she wasn’t usually this direct, and it clearly had an effect on him. 

She expected to feel the sting of his fangs. Instead, she was delighted as she felt his mouth, eager and wet. 

She looked down as he drew a hardened bud between his lips, and gods… the sight of him, crimson eyes trained on her face as he sucked hard, was an image she was sure she would fixate on for days to come. 

As he flicked his tongue across her nipple, his free hand came to massage her other breast. He was gentle at first, just enough to build tension—but then he changed his pace, as he rolled the dusty peak roughly between two fingers. 

She let out a cry, never breaking eye contact. Her hips jolted upwards again, thighs clamped together in search of any friction. 

He chuckled—a low, amused sound. The vibration on her breast was overwhelming—she whimpered in turn, growing needier with every movement. 

All too soon, his mouth pulled away from her breast. She whimpered at the loss of his touch. 

“Gods,” he murmured, continuing to roll her other bud between his fingers. “I could do that for hours.” 

“Why don’t you?” she gasped. She hesitated, a confession slipping from her lips. “I’ve never come from just doing that, but I might be able to. As long as it’s with you.” 

It was true—the tension in her core, the way her thighs shook—it happened with no one else, and she was near-certain she could reach her peak if he kept going.  It felt amazing—not just the sensation, no. It was him that made it so devastating—providing exactly what she needed, with just his touch on her breasts. 

And Astarion loved a challenge. He loved being her first for anything—a fact she was using to her advantage.  The gleam in his eyes told her everything she needed to know, and he was back on her in seconds. 

There was no gentleness in the way he worked her breasts, switching between them with his mouth and hands. He let his fangs graze over her nipples at some points—she quickly realized how much she loved that sensation.  Each suck, each tug, each flick of his tongue—every single motion increased the throbbing between her thighs, as a full body ache threatened to overtake her. 

It was as she was close, so very desperate to fall over the edge, that she spoke. 

“Bite me,” she breathed. “Bite around my nipple. Please.” 

He pulled away abruptly. “Gods, Talia… that’s going to hurt.” 

She grinned at him. “ Good. I certainly hope so.” 

He let out a groan, but his eyes never left hers. “Are you certain?”

She nodded, exhaling her assent. 

His eyes darkened as he positioned himself over her left breast, his tongue teasingly flicking over her nipple again. 

She inhaled sharply as she felt his fangs on either side of her nipple—not set to sink into the bud, but set to leave a delicious mark on the surrounding areas. 

He massaged her other nipple gently, almost like he was preparing her. 

“Please,” she whimpered again, the yearning spreading through her unbearable. 

He finally sank his teeth in, and she was floating. It was the exact sensation she’d been hoping for—the one she’d missed so dearly. 

The sting of his fangs—so sharp and precise, a pleasure she hadn’t known she needed until that first night he bit her; the feeling of her life force flooding his mouth; the warm liquid she felt trickle out of her, as her crimson flooded his throat; the greedy growls he let out, his feral side awakened at the taste of her blood. 

Combined with the fact that her nipple stayed sucked in his mouth, it was overwhelmingly perfect. 

It was hardly a surprise when her orgasm hit, entire body tensing around his bite. Her thighs clenched and her moans grew unbidden as white hot pleasure began in the pit of her stomach, flooding through her entire body. Astarion’s grip on her free breast tightened, the flicks across her nipple growing more insistent as she writhed beneath him. She let out a mixture of curses and his name, a gushing sensation escaping her cunt. 

It was so strange— to have a climax hit while her pussy was ignored. Yet it was no less powerful—no less intoxicating as she shook and cried out for him. 

When she finally stilled, he pulled away. He was breathing as heavy as she was, looking completely wrecked. 

She forced herself up on her hands, desperate to see the mark he left on her. Her nipple was swollen, the teeth marks around it incredibly obviously—she let out a blissful giggle at the sight. He’d marked her, indeed. 

“That’s going to bruise,” she murmured, in fascination and reverence. 

He let out a breathless laugh. “It certainly is.” 

Looking him in the eyes again, she sent him a devilish grin. “So. You’ve marked me once…that’s certainly not enough, is it?” 

With his eyebrows raised, a predatory smirk formed on his lips. “You’re insatiable,” he growled. 

He reached for the waistband of her pants, her hips instinctively lifting so he could pull them off.  As she laid before him in nothing but her panties, he moved downwards until his lips hovered over her thighs. 

He pressed a gentle kiss to her inner thigh before he spoke again, breath coolly exhaling over her heated flesh. 

“Right here,” he murmured, his tongue snaking out to lick.  “It’s perfect. Your breast, so close to your cunt… anyone who sees you like this will know you belong to another. That they’re a sad excuse, a mere distraction from the one you really desire.”  

She whimpered her agreement, and he wasted no time as his teeth sunk in for the second time.  It was overpowering to feel him feed so close to her core—if he unlatched and moved just slightly, his mouth would be against her clothed heat. 

His hands came to either side of her hips, pinning her to the ground. She could no longer squirm, could no longer jolt her hips upwards—instead she stayed trapped, still against the floor as he took his fill. 

Her eyes focused on the ceiling, eventually fluttering shut. She focused on the sensation—the weightlessness of her body, the sharp sting of teeth in flesh, the way her cunt began to throb again—it was all too much, and somehow too little. 

As if he could read her mind, Astarion removed one of his hands, bringing it to spread her legs further. He stayed latched onto her leg as he took needy pulls, bringing his free hand to rub her folds softly through her underwear. 

She didn’t speak—couldn’t speak. Instead she let out a pathetic whimper, hoping he would have mercy and touch her properly. 

He teasingly trailed his fingers up and down, light enough that she cried out with every motion. She was still so sensitive, so stimulated—he hadn’t even touched her cunt, yet she’d already came once. She was uncomfortably wet; without a doubt, these panties would be ruined. 

She almost felt like a toy—like a plaything that he was having far too much fun with, consuming her blood and pleasure all at once. And gods, she loved it. She loved being at his mercy, underneath his fangs and desperate for his touch. 

When his fingers slid underneath the thin fabric, she let out a cry that was neither dignified nor attractive.  A digit slid into her entrance, finding absolutely no resistance. She breathed deeply at the feeling of finally having something touching her needy hole. 

He pumped languidly for a moment, unfocused as he took more deep pulls of her blood. She was dizzy from both blood loss and lust, unable to move as he had his way with her. 

She felt his fangs dislodge from her skin, and she whimpered—somewhat at the loss of the sensation, and somewhat in relief of the fading pain.  He wasted no time moving, his fangs tearing through the fabric as he pumped his fingers. 

She cried out—at both the feral nature of his actions, and the feeling of the cool air hitting her cunt. 

He removed his fingers, moving them upwards to spread her folds. When her clit was exposed, he dove in, a groan escaping him as his mouth met her cunt. 

He was no longer teasing; that much was evident in the way he pressed his tongue flat against the bud, flicking it in the perfect place. He continued with firm, precise licks, never relenting as he anchored her hips in please. 

She moaned pathetically the entire time, too spent to even reach down and tug on his hair. She was gone— all she could focus on was the wet sensation of his practiced mouth, assaulting her clit in all the right places. 

She felt the electricity flowing through her, the tension in her stomach and thighs growing once again. She was already on the edge, already so close. 

As two fingers found her entrance once more, sliding in with careful ease, she felt herself throb around him. He moaned, the vibration on her clit sending a jolt through her entire body. 

His digits found a punishing pace, fucking into her fast and sure. As he curled them to find that perfect place deep within her, she let out what could only be described as a scream. Perspiration dripped from her forehead as his tongue flicked in time with his fingers, and gods, she was lost. 

Her whimpers increased with every insistent lap, every thrust of two digits moving in tandem with his mouth. 

“So close,” she managed to hiss, her voice insistent and unrecognizable. “More. Please.” 

His deep laugh vibrated through her core, igniting an animalistic noise to escape her throat. 

The pleasure spread through her entire body; her ascent was growing higher and higher, her need to come almost painful. 

And then he pulled her clit into his mouth, sucking it hard. 

That was all it took for her fall over the edge. He didn’t relent—not even as she shook, her hips breaking free of his grasp to lock around his neck. He kept going, even as she sobbed his name, back arching off the ground as she tugged on his hair. 

He kept going, kept pumping his fingers and sucking her bud, until she went completely limp. 

Maybe it was the build up of everything—of the knife slicing her shirt, of his fangs sinking into her breast and thigh, of the way he’d played with her nipples until she fell apart—but she was certain she’d just experienced the most intense orgasm of her life. 

She laid on the cool ground, eyes shut as she attempted to catch her breath. Every noise that left her was laboured. She was vaguely aware of the feeling of Astarion’s fingers leaving her cunt—vaguely aware of him shifting to lay next to her. 

He allowed her a moment to just be—to feel the full body ache she was now experiencing, to ride out the throbs that had yet to cease. 

Astarion let out a self-satisfied sigh, and her eyelids fluttered open to take him in. 

His lips and chin were covered in her arousal—she had half a mind to be embarrassed at just how messily her fluids covered his face. He appeared entirely unbothered, instead just grinning at her. 

“Alive over there?” he murmured. 

She snorted. “Hardly.” 

“I sure hope you are,” he responded, eyes trailing hungrily down her body. “I’m not done with you yet.” 

Her eyes widened. “I don’t know if I can—” 

He was quick to cut her off. “Yes, darling. You can. And you will.” 

Before she could respond he had stood, scooping her up into his arms. She yelped in surprise, secretly enjoying the feeling of his strong arms beneath her. If carrying her was any strain on him, he didn’t show it—picking her up like she weighed nothing, carrying her with ease. 

He placed her gently on the couch, stepping away once she was settled.   Her eyes drank him in as he undressed, more than pleased with what she saw.  His body was exposed quickly—pulling his shirt over his head, unlacing his trousers efficiently. He didn’t tease or make her wait; he was undressed as fast as he could be. 

She bit back a moan at the sight of his cock—tip leaking, shaft so hard that it looked painful. Her eyes stayed trained on it and she heard him chuckle, undoubtedly aware of where her mind was at. 

She expected him to crawl on top of her, slotting himself in the space between her legs. Instead, he sat next to her.  He reached for her hips, quickly pulling her on top of him in a straddling position. She whimpered at his cool touch, breathing heavily as she looked down at him. 

“I can’t,” she whined, resisting the urge to collapse as her hands rested on his shoulders. “I can’t ride you right now. My legs are barely functional.” 

He smirked at her—a devious, pointed look. 

“Oh, you don’t need to do a thing. Take a seat, and I’ll do all the work.” 

With a shaky breath, she nodded. Being above him like this—his cock so close to her needy core—meant she was in no position to argue. Not when he looked so devilishly enticing— not when he’d already ruined her entirely. It was only fair, she reasoned, after all he’d done for her. And despite the exhaustion in her body, she yearned for the feeling—the feeling of him deep inside of her, taking what’s his. 

With her assent, he snaked a hand between them, guiding himself into her hole. She hissed as his tip entered her—just an inch of his length, as if he was adjusting to her overwhelming heat. 

“Gods,” he muttered, unmoving. Her thighs were burning as she kept herself upright. She knew she could push down, take him in all the way—but she obediently waited, desiring his instruction. 

He was tense beneath her—she had half a mind to ask why he was doing this: gentle, teasing movements, not giving her the full thing. Still, she waited. Trembling breaths, wanting to be good for him. To let him hold the power, even as she rested on top. 

“Enjoying yourself?” she managed to choke out, her voice coming out strained. 

He laughed—gods, he laughed. “Yes. Watching you struggle, wanting to take me so badly yet waiting for my command… I’ve never enjoyed myself more.” The arrogance—the condescension in his tone—made her entire body shiver. 

He seemed to feel it as he hissed, finally pulling her hips down. She sank onto him, his full length claiming her entirely. The moan that left her was almost unrecognizable. She barely felt like herself anymore—more like some feral creature, whose sole purpose was to be taken, over and over again. 

He let out an animalistic groan of his own. Wasting no time, his nails dug into her waist as he guided her back up—his cock dragging along her walls, making her pulse around him. 

She tried. She really did. She gave a few gentle rolls of her hips, a few bounces—but her thighs were aching, completely spent from her previous releases. 

And Astarion? He didn’t have any patience—not tonight. He began to piston upwards from underneath her, setting a punishment pace that had them both crying out. 

Her face was buried in the crook of his neck as he thrusted, finding that sweet spot that made her keen. Every stroke of his cock grew more and more insistent, low grunts leaving his throat as she took him deep. 

The entire room was filled with their coupling—the sound of skin slapping skin, the heady scent of their arousal, the tension between them almost palpable—he was claiming her so eagerly, so perfectly. 

As his arms wrapped around her waist, her head buzzed with gratitude. How lucky was she, that her lover was an abnormally strong vampire? That she could be fucked up into with no effort? She felt like a doll—just his little plaything, existing for this . 

With every buck of his hips, every brush across the nerves of her pulsing walls, she was falling again. She was close, so close again as her arms wrapped around his shoulders to hold on. 

He continued to bounce her up and down, growls and groans accompanying every movement. She wanted to look at him—to see the darkness in his eyes as he broke her completely—but she couldn’t bring herself to move, instead letting out sobs in the crook of his neck. 

He began to utter words in her ear, increasing her whimpers. “Gods, Talia… fuck, so good. You take me so well. Made for me—made for this.” 

With a shaky breath, she forced herself to speak. “You didn’t finish biting me.” 

He stilled inside of her for just a moment. 

“My neck,” she continued, her voice as broken as her body felt. “My neck. You didn’t bite my neck.” 

He didn’t hesitate to give her what she implied. He roughly grabbed her hair, baring her neck and sinking his fangs deep. 

As he did, his hips resumed their previous pace. Gods, she could feel his own thighs shaking now, fucking into her hard while still holding back on his own release. 

That wouldn’t do. Her urge to feel his seed fill her grew to an overpowering point—she wanted him to come, needed him to. 

With a strength she didn’t know she had, she began to roll her hips. Meeting every urgent thrust with a bounce of her own, he let out a surprised moan. 

Her legs were burning; her cunt and neck were stinging; but she continued with small bounces, until his own hips stilled. He focused on feeding—the sucking noises from his mouth on her neck bordering on lewdness—while she focused on their joining. 

Fingers tangling in his hair, she managed to pick up her pace. She couldn’t move as fast as he did, but she did have more control this way. She attuned to his body, quickly finding a rhythm that made him let out feral groans and dig his nails sharply into her waist. 

Her breaths were labored as she moved up and down his length, her walls tightening with every motion. He reached such a deep part of her in this position. The overwhelmingly full feeling he provided—stretching her out to match his size—was perfect. 

A dizziness set in from the continued blood loss, her hips beginning to grind instead of bounce. Sensing her loss of energy, he pulled away. 

“Fuck,” she heard him hiss, sounding as wrecked as she felt. “Fuck, Talia. Look at me.” 

She managed to open her eyes at his words, looking down at him through lidded eyes. 

He grinned at her—devilish and amused, blood dripping down his chin. 

Without thinking, her lips crashed into his own. She tasted her own blood—the metallic tang now familiar, she moaned into his mouth. 

Now that he could focus on her pussy, he continued his thrusts from before. Holding onto her hips, he bucked upwards. She breathed a sigh of relief as she leaned into him, relaxing as he fucked her through her exhaustion. 

His mouth opened, teeth sinking into her bottom lip. She yelped in surprise—no protest left her lips, though, instead enjoying how his tongue quickly came to swipe along her bottom lip. 

She felt his hands find her hair, wrenching her head backwards. She thought he could be baring her neck to sink his teeth into again; his motivation quickly became clear, though, as he released her hair so he could knead her breasts. 

Oh. Her whole body quivered—especially as he met her eyes, looking at her through hooded lids.  

He spoke knowingly, his voice laced with amusement. “You’re close again, aren’t you?” 

She let out a pathetic whimper as she nodded, overwhelmed by his hands cupping her tits and his cock continuing to push up into her. 

“Hmm. You lied then, didn’t you?”

She groaned, glaring at him. “About what?” she managed to hiss. 

“You said you didn’t think you could. But from where I’m sitting, you seem to be loving this. So very eager and wanting, offering me your neck, your cunt—any part you can give me, you do.” 

“Astarion…” her voice came out as a low warning. 

“Am I wrong?” he teased. 

As unbothered as he pretended to be, a thin sheen of sweat covered his forehead. His hips were stuttering, his pace faltering—he was losing himself too, whether he’d admit it or not. 

“Not wrong,” she muttered. “Now make me come, and come in me. Please .”  Her voice was twinged with desperation, pleading with her eyes as they went wide and her full lips turned to a pout. 

He nodded, eyes dark as he fulfilled her request. While he continued to fuck her, her fingers began to circle around her clit. 

“Gods, yes—play with your clit, come on my—” 

He let out a strangled groan as she throbbed. 

“Fuck Astarion, wanna feel you fill me, need—” her own words were cut off with a cry. 

Her fingers moved fast and practiced, her cunt ready to milk him for every drop of seed she could get. 

With a few more thrusts, she lost herself.  She came hard, body jerking and shaking on top of him, any rhyme or rhythm gone. Her hand fell away as she collapsed limply on top of him, breathing into his neck. 

His body went tense a moment later, hips jerking and stuttering as he finally hit his peak.  She shivered as his climax filled her—wet, warm fluid flooding her core. A loud unbidden cry fell from his lips as he stilled inside of her, cursing at the intensity of his own release. 

They both took a moment to hold onto each other, desperate breaths the only sound filling the room. 

As she pulled away, she gave him a soft smile. “That was…” 

“Agreed,” he murmured, kissing her softly on the lips. 

She sighed into the kiss. It was surprisingly tender, considering the carnality of what they’d just done. 

He gently moved her off of him, placing her on the couch as he got to his feet. 

“Hold on,” he said, leaving the room before she had a chance to respond. 

Her eyelids fluttered closed, certain she could fall asleep in an instant. Her body felt completely wrecked—in the past day, she had been bitten three times, and had reached her peak more times than she could count. It was all catching up to her as she revelled in the softness of the sofa, the fabric like a caress against her heated skin. 

“Ah! Stay with me, do not fall asleep.” Astarion’s voice was almost panicked as he came back into the room. 

Opening her eyes, she saw him holding a towel, a glass of water, and some sort of necklace. 

She raised an eyebrow, focusing on the amulet.  “Giving me a gift for my amazing performance?” 

He rolled his eyes, handing her the glass then sinking to his knees in front of her. 

“No. It’s something Tav found near the beginning of our adventures, in a Druids grove. It lets you cast a lesser restoration spell—we quickly realized how useful it was after my feedings.” 

Her brow furrowed at his words. “Wait, you fed off Tav?” 

She took a sip of the water as she considered his words. It wasn’t that she felt jealous or insecure—no, she felt surprised. She hadn’t known his relationship with Tav had been… like that. 

“She was my first,” he responded, looking at her evenly. “I’d never fed off a thinking creature before—my former master compelled me to stay away from anything but vermin.” He let out a bitter laugh, taking a deep breath.

She listened intently, feeling a pit form in her stomach. It hit her just how little awareness she had of what his enslavement had been like. She’d never even considered what he did for blood, or if he was fed at all. 

“Anyway, the tadpole changed something in me. The compulsions my master placed on me no longer seemed to matter. After a tenday with Tav, I wanted to test my theory. The delicious scent of her blood was a bonus.” A half-smile flickered across his face, one that held no humour. “So one night, when she fell into her trance, I decided I’d… well.” 

Talia’s eyebrows shot up at his admission. “Wait, you bit her? In her sleep?” 

“Not exactly… she woke up. I’m shocked she didn’t stake me, honestly. But Tav is too kind for her own good, and offered me her neck. A very dumb idea on her part—I nearly killed her.” His eyes were laced with regret as he spoke. 

“Astarion…” 

He huffed out a breath as Talia sipped on her water. 

“Yes, I know, I’m a monster who attacked a helpless woman in her—”

She was quick to cut him off. “That is the opposite of what I was going to say.” 

Surprise coloured his features. “Oh! Well. That’s… nice of you.” He sighed, looking at her intently as he spoke again. “She continued to let me feed after that. It wasn’t anything more—just sneaking into her bedroll when she offered, sinking my fangs into her neck, feeling like I wasn’t starving for the first time in ages.” 

Talia smiled at him softly. “I’m happy you found that.” 

He cleared his throat, nodding. It wasn’t hard to recognize his discomfort with the topic. Some part of him seemed to still fear the moment she’d look at him, hatred in her gaze as she accused him of being like the predators he hunted. She swallowed, resisting the urge to tell him everything—that there was nothing he could tell her to turn her away. She wasn’t falling for the man he’d been fifty years ago; she was falling for the man who sat in front of her today, undeniably dangerous yet so fucking soft. 

He treated her with care she didn’t even show herself—a monster wouldn’t do that. 

“Here,” he murmured, bringing the amulet closer to her. 

He uttered an incantation, and she felt the magic of the spell wash over her. She breathed a sigh of relief at the instant effect—her body stung just a little bit less. She was still exhausted, still physically spent, but a calmness spread through her all the same. 

He joined her on the couch, pulling her close. “I’m sorry,” he murmured. “This isn’t attractive pillow-talk.” 

She pulled back to look at him. 

“I want all of you, Astarion.” Her voice was raw as she took him in, using every ounce of passion to convey the truth in her words. “I want every single part of you, attractive or not.” 

He didn’t immediately respond, instead swallowing audibly. 

His voice was shaky as he finally spoke, eyes rich with an emotion that she couldn’t quite read. 

“I—thank you.” 

She grinned, mumbling “you’re welcome” as she rested her head back on his chest. They fell into a comfortable silence, him stroking her hair as she fought the urge to fall into her trance. 

Her eyes fell shut more than once, and after her fifth or sixth yawn she finally spoke. 

“Can I nap?” she murmured. “I’m exhausted.” 

He let out a soft, careless laugh. As if having her here—in his arms, falling into a trance on his couch—was the most wondrous thing. 

“Yes, my sweet.” She felt the stretch of his lips as he kissed her hair. “Nap away.” 

She closed her eyes fully, leaning into his embrace.

Her last hazy thought was one of blissful contentment. 

She was in Astarion’s home. 

She was in Astarion's arms. 

And he held onto her tight, like he never wanted to let her go.

Notes:

another chapter that got away from me... I didn't intend on this being as smutty as it turned out, but here we are!

I hope everyone had a nice weekend <3 as always, thank you for all the love, I appreciate every comment and kudos so much :)

Chapter 17: Coming Home

Summary:

When Talia and Astarion get into a disagreement, they're forced to acknowledge the thoughts they've been scared to say aloud.

Notes:

a note on future updates: I'm gonna try to keep to a schedule of updating on either monday's or tuesday's, depending on everyday life <3 I may have two chapters out some weeks, but will for sure have at least one posted early each week.
anyway, enjoy these two finally talking about their feelings!

As Talia’s eyes drifted open, the first thing she did was smile. 

She was wrapped in a soft, plush blanket—one that hadn’t been there when she'd first closed her eyes. She was still bare underneath it—Astarion must’ve covered her as she slept. An all encompassing ache was present in her body, yet as she recalled the events of the last day, it didn’t take much for her to admit it was worth it. 

Her face fell into a frown as she glanced around the room. Astarion wasn’t on the sofa—he wasn’t anywhere to be seen. 

She let out a yawn, rubbing her eyes. His clothes were gone from the ground—the daggers from their sparring had been picked up. All that remained was her pants. He’d likely disposed of her torn up clothing. Part of her wished he hadn’t—she would’ve loved to keep the ruined fabric tucked away in her top drawer, a thrilling reminder confronting her every time she went to get dressed. 

Forcing herself up, Talia kept the blanket wrapped tight around her as she began to search for him. 

She called out his name, frowning at his disappearance. He wasn’t in the living room or kitchen, which were really the only two areas on the main floor. She was about to make for the stairs when she heard the click of the front door. 

“Look who’s finally awake.” 

She whirled on her heel, grinning at Astarion as he stood in the front hallway. 

He was holding a sack of food in one hand, and some sort of cloth bag in the other. She raised an eyebrow in response. 

If she wasn’t so exhausted, maybe she would drop the blanket. That would certainly be an entertaining greeting. As it stood, she could still feel the marks of his fangs and the soreness in her legs. The fabric stayed wound around her depressingly tight. 

“You’re cute,” he murmured. “Almost disappointed you aren’t wandering around my house naked.” 

He gave her a cheeky grin, and she rolled her eyes. 

“I need a day off,” she sighed, rolling her neck. “Last night was… a lot.” 

His brow furrowed in concern. “I didn’t hurt you, did I?” 

“What? No! Of course not. I enjoyed all of it thoroughly.” She smiled at him. Her next words came out as an afterthought—words she didn’t think meant anything. “Even the parts I wasn’t sure about.”

The look on his face could only be described as apprehensive. 

“What does that mean?” 

She hadn’t been expecting his alarm. “Nothing! I liked all of it—I just said that.” 

“No, you said you weren’t sure about something. What weren’t you sure about?” His voice turned cautious and slow—he was the stillest she’d ever seen him, just staring as he waited for her response. 

She ran a hand through her hair. “I guess… like, the thing with the dagger surprised me at first.” 

He blinked at her, almost uncomprehending. 

“When you cut my shirt open? You didn’t really tell me what you were going to do with it, and…” she hesitated. “Well, no one’s ever done that before.” 

A loud silence filled the air before them. She half expected him to be angry, or to laugh it off. Yet when her eyes met his, she saw something she hadn’t expected. 

He looked… guilty. 

“Hells, you’ve never…” he trailed off. 

She shook her head slightly. 

With a sigh, he pushed past her into the kitchen, setting the bags down on the counter. 

She followed after him, pausing in the archway. “I don’t know why you’re reacting this way. I quite literally said yes when you asked.” 

He looked over his shoulder, eyes sharp as he took her in. “That’s not the point. I should’ve asked you long beforehand—before you were underneath me, at my disposal—and if I knew I was the first—”

He turned his head away again, downturned as his gaze focused on the floor. Looking anywhere but at her. 

“I said yes. And why does it matter if I’ve done it before or not?” 

“Gods, Talia. Don’t be so naive.” He turned around slowly. “It’s dangerous. Obviously.  I assumed you were aware of the risks, and what it would feel like, and what I’d do—gods, you must’ve thought I was insane. I had you alone. In my own home. And I took a knife to your chest.” He laughed bitterly, shaking his head. 

She took a deep breath, stepping towards him. “You are missing some very important context, Astarion. There were so many opportunities for me to say no—you made sure of that. You always do. I trust you. And gods, just because I’ve never let someone cut my shirt away doesn’t mean I’m unaware of how it might be a risk. It’s not like you tried to slit my throat.” 

There was a pause as he took her  in. He looked agonized. 

And she hated it. She wished she hadn’t said anything—that she’d let him believe she was practiced in every kink that existed. Cutting away her shirt felt quite tame, anyway, but she knew that wouldn’t console him. 

He finally responded after another moment of silence. “Context or not, we should’ve talked about it—in depth.” 

“I let you bite me,” she countered, brow furrowing. “Three times over the course of a night. If anything was going to kill me, it’d be that.” 

He let out an exasperated sigh. “Forgive me for caring. For regretting that I could have made you feel in danger. Or like you couldn’t say no.” 

Her retort was quick and decisive. “But I could've said no. And I didn’t.”  

Watching him was infuriating. He had a counter for every word she said—every way she tried to reassure him—and she was struck with the realization that this went much deeper than her. 

He sighed, raking his fingers through his hair. “You said you had limits when you’re working, and if I recall correctly, that was one of them. And even if you hadn’t expressed it, we should’ve still—” 

She cut him off. “Limits. At work. Not when I’m here—not when I’m choosing to be with someone.” The mention of work was like a knife to the stomach. “Don’t you think this is different? That what we’re doing now—me sleeping in your home, going on a date—isn’t that different?” 

“Of course it’s different! That’s not the point.” He took a deep breath, his eyes shutting for a moment—as if he was trying to calm his thoughts, or resisting the urge to say the wrong thing.

“I don’t want this to ruin our night,” he said finally. “Just… in the future, I’m going to be more careful. And ask more questions, and make sure we’re on the same page.” 

She arched an eyebrow, folding her arms. “Oh? Are we going to have deliberations before you touch me? Should I draw up a contract? Should we have a witness to our activities to ensure no one gets hurt?” Her voice was teasing, trying to pierce through the heavy air of tension between them. 

He rolled his eyes at her, his lips twitching upwards. “You’re ridiculous.” 

“I can consult with a solicitor if it'd help,” she shrugged, trying her best to keep a straight face. 

Finally, he smiled at her—barely amused, but much more relaxed. “You’re not nearly as funny as you think you are, my dear.” 

She grinned at him, her relief palpable. “I’m hilarious.” 

She hesitated for a moment as they both fell silent once more. She knew she should say something, anything really, to validate his concerns—to show him she understood. But the words didn’t form. Not because she didn’t want them to—they just couldn’t. Not when she was so unused to this; not when this was so new. 

“What’s in the bags?” she murmured finally.

It had only been a few moments since he’d stumbled through the door, bags in hand. Yet it all felt so far away. The tension still felt thick—Astarion still seemed bothered. 

But he seemed as relieved as she was for the change in subject. 

“Ah, food! And clothing, since…” he gestured at the blanket she was still wrapped up in.

She shot him a smile, her shoulders relaxing as she exhaled. “My saviour. I didn’t cherish the thought of journeying home nude.” 

He laughed—an uneasy sound. “Yes, well.” 

He handed her the clothing bag as he spoke. It was surprisingly heavy; as she shuffled to the kitchen table, careful not to trip over her blanket, she began to unpack its contents. 

She was quickly caught off guard. “Hells—how much did this cost?” 

No wonder the bag was so heavy—Astarion seemed to have bought an entire clothing store. 

“Oh, I stole it. Wasn’t sure what size you took or what style you'd prefer. It’s still nighttime—nowhere was open.” He said the words nonchalantly, as if robbing ridiculous amounts of goods was just an everyday occurrence. For him? It probably was. 

“Please tell me it’s from one of those overpriced boutiques that’s already drowning in gold, and not some small seamstress who is barely making ends meet.” Her tone was exasperated but not angry—of all his crimes, robbery seemed low on the list. 

He moved across the kitchen, standing next to her. “But of course, darling. I must have some morals, after all.” 

She shot him a bemused look. “Lovely.”

 She pulled out a pair of trousers, a black, slender-fit pair. They were of high quality, of course—but likely ten sizes too small. “Really? I couldn’t even fit one of my legs in here. Was this from the children’s section?” 

“It was dark! And I had to be quick—ran in, took a little of everything, ran out. I could hardly afford to be caught; not when a beautiful woman is waiting for me at home.” 

She rolled her eyes, smiling in spite of herself. 

She shuffled through the contents of the bag, finally finding something suitable. It was a simple, dark outfit—one that was completely unremarkable, and wouldn’t draw attention. She was so very tired of eyes on her, of leering gazes when she dressed provocatively. It was typical at work, but on her nights alone? On her nights where she wasn't at her job? These outfits were perfect. 

Her eyes drifted to Astarion. “Uh, I should get dressed.” 

She was filled with a strange sense of vulnerability. He’d seen her nude countless times—yet usually, it was in the aftermath of sex. She’d never simply changed in front of him—never taken off one outfit and put another on, with no expectation for intimacy in between. Even if that outfit was just a blanket, one she wrapped herself in after a night of depraved carnality. 

Astarion seemed to sense her discomfort as he sent her a confused glance. She expected him to make a snarky, teasing comment regarding her sudden shyness—instead, he simply turned away. “Don’t let me stop you,” he murmured, walking back to where he’d left the food on the other side of the kitchen. 

“Do you have a mirror anywhere?” 

She heard him laugh softly, still facing away from her. “Well, they’re not much use for me given my condition, but yes. If you’d like to dress in front of one, just go up the stairs—first door on the left.” 

“Right. Sorry. Forgot you can’t see yourself…” she trailed off. 

An internal groan reverberated through her. Things felt awkward—strained. Despite their teasing, something felt off. Maybe it was their earlier discussion, or maybe it was the aching vulnerability she felt. No matter the reason, it made her stomach twist and her skin go pale. 

“It’s quite alright,” Astarion murmured, his gaze staying on the counter. 

As she retreated, she thought she heard him sigh. A quiet, controlled sound. 

She hovered for a moment, contemplating what she could say to make it better. But he just stood, eyes trained on the counter. With a deep breath, she left the kitchen. 

As she ascended the stairs, it occurred to her she’d never seen the second floor of the house. Uncomfortable energy aside, she still revelled at the novelty of it—being here, in his space. Seeing what he saw when he rolled out of bed; seeing the place he came between visits with her and contracts. Seeing little pieces of him—albeit not many, since his house remained woefully undecorated. 

She was quick to enter the bedroom. With a pang, she noticed the boarded up window. She found herself stuck in a thought: how desperately did he miss the sun? He had mentioned his longing to see it again, yet they’d never discussed it in depth. 

If she could do anything—anything at all—to help him bask in it once more, she would. 

Gods, he would be beautiful—she wondered what his skin would look like, illuminated by the light. Perhaps he’d look even more ethereal—more magical than he already did. She could picture it: holding hands as they walked through the city, walking into open stores while they tried on clothing. Going to taverns in the middle of the day—encountering much different crowds than they were used to. They could see shows, they could go on countless date that could only be had in the sun. 

And above all else? 

She could bring him joy. She could give him something no one else had—share something with him, for him. 

It was a vain notion, she realized. She was hardly a powerful wizard with obscure arcane knowledge, but it didn’t hurt to dream. 

Shaking her head, she let the blanket fall away as she approached the full length mirror. There was little other furniture in the room; just a bed; a dresser, and the mirror. The walls were a soft shade of light blue—they managed to brighten up the space, despite the lack of light. The floors were made of wood, much like the downstairs. 

As she took in her body, her eyes fell to her breast. She’d predicted his bite would bruise, and she’d certainly been right. A jolt of electricity coursed through her at the sight of it. Anyone who saw her would know: someone else had been there, laying their claim. Maybe not the best thing in her line of work, yet as she thought through the way he’d touched her, she certainly didn’t care. 

With a happy sigh, she began to dress herself. Astarion had stolen her everything she really needed—not just a top and bottoms, but underwear too. When she was fully dressed, she took a moment to observe her neck. The bite marks were the most prominent she’d ever seen them. She didn’t hate it—couldn’t hate it. She was, in every way, his. 

“Hello, beautiful.” 

Talia let out a screech as she heard his voice behind her, seemingly appearing out of thin air. 

Turning around, she shot Astarion a pointed glare. “Hells, don’t sneak up on me!” 

He smiled sheepishly. “Well, my lack of reflection is hardly my fault. If anything, you should’ve been prepared!” He paused, his voice taking on a forlorn quality. “I reminded you I couldn’t use mirrors, after all.” 

“I’m sorry,” she murmured. “It must be difficult.” 

He looked pained as he nodded. “Indeed. I haven’t seen my reflection since before I was turned—I hardly remember what I look like, aside from dashingly beautiful.” 

She offered him a sympathetic smile. “Well, you certainly have maintained that quality. You’re the most dashingly beautiful man I’ve ever met.” 

He gasped, as if her words were genuinely surprising. “Out of all the men you meet, I’m the most beautiful? Gods, I must be even prettier than I remember.” 

She rolled her eyes, a smile falling over her face. “Indeed. Very pretty.” 

He took her in as she stood in her new outfit, an almost awestruck daze distracting him from their conversation. 

“You look lovely,” he murmured finally, voice thick.  “Turn around.” 

She did as he said, his arms wrapping around her waist as he rested his chin on her shoulder. 

It was a strange feeling—knowing he was behind her, yet his form invisible in the reflection. 

“I love seeing you like this,” he said, quietly and softly. He pressed his lips into her shoulder, not teasing or demanding more—just a gentle, soft affection. 

“Like what?” she sighed, the feeling of his lips comforting. There was an unmistakable warmth that flooded her at his touch. It wasn’t arousal—it was comfort. 

“When you aren’t trying. When you wear outfits that any woman would, day to day—not trying to stand out or seduce, just existing. Gods, you’re beautiful.” He spoke with a quiet, careful reverence. 

Her heart thrummed softly in her chest. The tension from earlier faded as he held her, whispering compliments in her ear. 

His fingers brushed her hair from her neck, trailing over the mark of his fangs. 

She didn’t think as she spoke. The words fell from her lips naturally, without any consideration for what they implied—something she quickly regretted. 

“I don’t know how I’m supposed to work like this,” she laughed. “Gods, the moment I take my clothes off—it’s the same on my chest, my thigh—” 

She felt his body tense a moment before he pulled away, a sharp exhale leaving his lips. 

She turned as he moved, taking him. With an uncanny speed, he’d moved to sit on the edge of the bed with his head down. Not looking at her. 

She didn’t need to ask what was wrong. 

The more time she spent with him outside of the brothel, the more fragile their relationship grew. She’d contemplated it so many times—she’d agonized over her reluctance to share her body with anyone but him. 

Yet he’d never acknowledged it. Outside of the roles they fell into sexually, they’d never once spoken about how it made him feel. 

As she walked over to the bed, she sat carefully next to him. Their thighs touched, but she made no move to comfort him. Not when she didn’t know if he desired it—if it would even help. 

When the silence grew suffocating, she finally spoke. “It bothers you.” Her tone wasn’t accusatory or angry. It was a simple statement—a fact. Words spoken that they’d both thought but had feared verbalizing. 

He let out a sigh before speaking, gaze still trained on the floor. “It shouldn’t.” 

“Why?” 

Astarion looked up finally, shock colouring his features. 

“I—what? Do you want me to be bothered? Envious? Sitting at home, agonizing over who is touching you?” He let out a bitter laugh, peeling his eyes away from her. 

“That’s not what I—” she resisted the urge to groan. 

Maybe it was something in the air, but their efforts to communicate today had been painful. “Why do you think you’re not allowed to be bothered?” 

When he looked at her once more, his expression had fallen. He no longer looked angry—he just looked sad. 

“Isn’t it a tad hypocritical? Considering how we met?” 

She shrugged, gazing at him intently. She wasn’t good with words, not in situations like this. She could only hope her eyes made up for the lack of explanation.  “I don’t think so.” 

His jaw clenched, his voice coming out strained. “Oh? So if your other clients spent their nights pathetically pining—wondering what you’re doing, if you’re enjoying being fucked by someone else—it’s not hypocritical?” 

She wanted to be patient and reassuring—to take his face in her hands and kiss him, murmuring that he was the only one for her. And he was. He was the only person she wanted emotionally. 

But it was decidedly difficult to comfort him, as his eyes flared and his voice raised. 

With every word, he invalidated what she’d told him countless times before; hells, she’d even said it tonight. 

He was different. 

“My clients can feel however they want,” she snapped. “And frankly? I couldn’t give less of a fuck if they’re upset. I provide them a service. If they want to pretend it’s more than it is, they’re welcome to.” 

She paused, trying to push down the volatility that was seeping out with every syllable. “But you’re not them. If you took a moment to look around, perhaps you’d see we are in a house—your house, your room—and not a brothel! My clients don’t get that. You do. ” She sighed, trying to calm herself with a deep breath. His gaze stayed sharp, until it turned away from her completely. 

He wasn’t looking at her anymore. A scowl on his face, he stared at the floor. 

Her throat tightened as she looked at him. She didn’t know what to do with his disappointment. Her eyes began to burn, and gods, she was angry. Not at him, no—at herself. At the pathetic way tears swelled, threatening to fall down her cheeks. She didn’t cry. She hated it. She hated when sobs wracked through her body. She hated the loss of control; the unattractive expression of pain that had no business emerging from the depths of her mind. She bit the inside of her cheek, willing the tears away. 

If Astarion knew about the internal war she was fighting, he didn’t show it. He didn’t do anything, really—just kept his gaze on the ground, as if the wood was the most fascinating thing he'd ever seen. 

Her voice was thick with emotion as she forced herself to speak again, turning her towards the mirror. If she stared at her reflection, she wouldn’t see him.  

“I hate it.” 

“You hate what? That I loathe the thought of others laying their hands on you?” He scoffed. 

She bit back her annoyance at his assumption, trying to keep her voice steady. “Not that. I hate that I’m giving pieces of myself to others.” 

As she looked at herself in the mirror, she felt something akin to self-pity. A feeling she rarely indulged in. It was hard to avoid in her present state, as she took in the utter grief in her eyes. Her eyes, which were still filled with tears. Tears Astarion had undoubtedly seen, and didn’t acknowledge it.  

“Well, that’s your job, isn’t it?” He didn’t sound angry anymore. Instead, he sounded cautious. Like her answer could break him. 

“It is, yes. And before I met you, I was fine with it. Happy with it. I’m attractive, desirable, I can seduce a man with a single glance and make him feel like the only person in the realms—oh, and I’m a fucking novelty as a drow. It’s the perfect job for someone like me.” She spat out the words. She hadn’t realized how much she resented it. “Gods, I used to enjoy it, you know? It’s not difficult at all. I never feared for my survival, no one expects me to do anything but get on my back—and then you came along. And you ruined it.” The longer she spoke, the more haughty her voice became. 

His voice was dripping with sarcasm as he spoke. “Oh? I ruined it? Did I tell you that you had to quit? Did I force you to spend time with me outside of the brothel? Gods, have I been expecting too much from you, Talia?” 

Her tears born from sadness were quickly turning into tears of anger. 

“No! That’s not what I mean, and you fucking know it.” She hissed in frustration. “But I was fine before I met you. I never thought twice about what I was doing—I didn’t have to.” She wasn’t thinking anymore—she spouted any word that came to mind. 

“And you ruined that. You ruined it by touching me the way you do, like I’m something worth cherishing. You ruined it by focusing on my pleasure above your own—by thinking of me in a way no one ever has. Gods, you ruined it when I found out you were a fucking vampire, and I didn’t run away. You ruined it when you took me on a date, and when you showed me your home and your scars and—” 

She let out a muffled noise of surprise as his hand found her hair, turning her to face him. 

Before she had time to think, to process, to consider if this was a good idea, his lips were on hers. 

He kissed her hard, all of the anger and passion of the last hour pouring out in the movement of his lips. She returned it with equal fervor, wrapping her arms around his neck as she pulled him in. Gods, it still felt so right; even as she was hurt by him, even as resentment coursed through her veins, touching him felt right. 

She pulled away after a moment: not because she wanted to, but because she hadn’t finished her thought. 

“You ruined all of it. I don’t want anyone to touch me, unless it’s you. And in my line of work, that is not a feeling I can afford to have.” 

Before he could respond, she was crashing her lips back into his. She was terrified of the vulnerability that accompanied her speech. She was scared to see the look in his eyes. 

And maybe he was afraid, too, because he continued kissing her. 

Their lips and tongues met, needy little groans escaping them both. 

She felt him shift, pushing her on the shoulders until she laid flat on her back. 

He towered above her on his knees as she attempted to catch her breath, her resentment fading at the sight of him above her. 

“Do you think,” he began, reaching for the hem of his shirt and pulling it over his head. Tossing it behind him, he continued. “That it’s so easy for me? That you’re the only one who has been ruined?” 

She let out a deep breath as her eyes explored the planes of his chest and his toned abdomen. He was perfect—so fucking perfect. 

But his words—another admission of the effect she had on him—was where her mind stayed. 

Eyes wide, she gazed up at him. 

“Before you,” he muttered, reaching for the button of his trousers. “I was fine with being alone. Hells, I didn’t even care for sex—I could do without. Now every waking moment is torture, unless I’m with you. Every moment we’re apart, I’m forced to wonder what you’re doing, and who you’re doing it with.” 

As his trousers came undone, he stood up to pull them off, his underwear falling too. 

She let out a shocked gasp. They’d barely touched and he was hard. Very hard. As if the idea of them being ruined for each other was the most enticing thing he could think of. 

She contemplated taking off her own clothes, but quickly decided if he wanted her, he could work for it. The idea of him peeling off her clothes in the midst of emotion was more than a little appealing. 

As he resumed his position above her, he shook his head. “Sometimes, I think about going out to a tavern. Finding a random woman, maybe one who looks like you, and fucking her as a distraction, until I can have the real thing. Or maybe a man—maybe someone who is the exact opposite, as a reminder that I can be with others. That not everyone has to be you, and I can find pleasure elsewhere.” 

Her gut clenched, even though it had no right to. The thought of him—flirting in a bar, buying someone else drinks, bringing them back here and fucking them senseless—filled her with dread. 

Swallowing, she looked him directly in the eye. “And have you?” 

He let out a laugh. Less amused, more bitter. “No. Since the day I’ve met you, you’ve been it for me. I haven’t touched—haven’t even looked at—anyone else.” 

A disgusting sense of relief flooded her. Disgusting, because she had no right to feel it. But it was relief all the same. 

Ignoring the hypocrisy, she spoke again, voice low. “Good.” 

He raised his eyebrows. All restraint seemed to be gone as he finally reached for the waistband of her pants. He pulled them off in one go, barely giving her time to lift her hips. 

“That is so rich, darling.” He sneered at her—he fucking sneered—and it made her cunt throb. “So no one can touch me, but any number of men can have you? Is that right?” 

“You know I’d rather have you,” she hissed. 

The tension that had been building between them had quickly turned erotic. She didn’t quite know how it happened, and some rational part of her knew it wasn’t healthy. They needed to talk—to really, truly talk—and instead, they found themselves here again. Tearing off clothes, about to fuck to cope with their feelings. 

Astarion’s fingernails dug into her hips, and she let out a cry that she tried to keep quiet. 

“Maybe you would. In fact, I know you would. Yet you’re still so concerned with what others may think. You want to hide what you do on your days off, don’t you? Keep me locked away, knowing I’ll always come back? As pathetic and hopeless as always?” 

Gods, she was wet—painfully so. She wanted nothing more than to let him fuck into her, all of his anger dissolving into her body. 

Yet the undercurrent of pain in his words made her pause. 

He began to tug on her panties, but she couldn’t let him do it. Not when he looked so broken—so insecure. 

“Stop.” 

He froze immediately, eyes meeting hers. 

“You’re not pathetic. You’re not hopeless.” She let out a curse and scooted upwards until she was sitting, back against the wall. She wanted him—gods, she wanted him. She could imagine how needy he’d be, thrusting into her with a desperation to show she was his. It would be delicious—deeply satisfying, toe curling, and hot. 

But it wouldn’t solve anything. 

Somewhere along the way, her tears had gone away. And now they were back—they were back as he let out a dejected sigh, looking at her all wounded and vulnerable. 

Her words cut through the air, somehow easing the tension and increasing it simultaneously.

“I would quit if I could.” 

It was a thought she’d had before, but one she never dared to speak aloud. One that charged the air further; one that had the potential to change what they’d spent months doing. 

Astarion looked dumbfounded, his eyes never leaving hers. 

She continued with a broken voice. “Do you actually think I like this? Do you think I enjoy my day to day, now that I know much better things can be? That’s why you ruined it, Astarion. I don’t want to have sex with whoever offers the most gold—I want to have sex with you. And only you.” 

“I—” he truly appeared lost as he fell silent, a single syllable all he was capable of. 

“Unfortunately, sex is my livelihood. I can’t afford to quit. Do you remember when you said we should do jobs we’re good at? This is what I’m good at. Sex is what I’m good at.” A sob formed as she continued speaking. “And gods know I’m not very good at anything else.” 

Astarion spoke with so much conviction and intensity that she almost believed him. “That is not true. You are worth so much more than your body, than what your job expects of you—gods, Talia, you’re good at so many things.” 

She let out a humourless laugh. “Oh? Like what?” 

“You’re creative. You can tell a story better than anyone I’ve met—and gods, I’ve met my fair share of bards. You’re clever and perceptive—hells, you’d make an excellent thief if you wanted. You fight better than anyone I know. And you’re hilarious. When I’m with you, I forget what it’s like to frown. Your body is hardly the only beautiful thing about you.” 

Her breath hitched as she listened to him. The way he spoke with such careful reverence, such adoration, made her heart race. A single tear fell down her cheek. 

But she couldn’t believe it. She couldn’t believe him—not when he knew so little about who she really was. “I’m not creative. Gods, I spent my early years making up stories in my head, because I had to. Because I was so fucking miserable that these stories helped me survive. And I can fight—because I had to. And maybe I’m funny, but it’s because I need some way to cope with the mishaps I call my life.” 

He shot her a glare, moving to lay down next to her. It was slightly ridiculous—they were having a serious conversation, and he was naked, while she was almost bare from the waist down. 

“Stop. You were informed by those things maybe, but you aren’t those things.” He took a deep breath, his voice turning reassuring and soft.  “It’s not wrong to want more for yourself, darling. There’s nothing wrong with what you do, but if you want something else, you owe it to yourself to seek it out.” 

His words hit her hard. How long had it been since she’d dreamed of more? Hells, how long had it been since she’d believed she could dream? 

Life had been about survival. Surviving her mother, surviving the perilous journey out of the Underdark, surviving her first few years on the surface. 

And… she had. She had survived. And her job had brought her joy at points. It had brought her the comfort of security, something she’d been severely lacking. 

But now? Now she was outgrowing it. It was equal parts exhilarating and terrifying. She deserved to dream, yes, but what was the point of dreams that wouldn’t happen? 

Taking a deep breath, she finally spoke again. 

“I don’t know what I want,” she murmured. “Not for a job, anyway. But I know that I want you.” She hesitated, closing her eyes as she spoke a truth she feared to admit. “And I know my line of work is going to destroy us both.” 

He went still beside her. “What are you saying? That you don’t want to continue… this?” 

“What? No! Gods, I want to continue.”  Her voice had an almost desperate quality as she finished.“I think I need you.” 

The words hung heavy between them, and he inhaled sharply. 

He laughed softly a moment later, a sound of disbelief. “I need you, too. Even if it destroys us—even if it destroys me.” 

As another tear fell down her cheek, she giggled. “Gods, we’re foolish.” 

He reached for her, squeezing her hand. “Yes, we certainly are.” 

She bit her lip. She didn’t know where they went from here. She didn’t know if finding a new job was even feasible. But possibilities raced through her mind all the same. 

“I—maybe I can save up. Maybe I can think about other lines of work. Hells, maybe we can run away.” 

He paused, looking at her. He was conflicted—she could see it in the depths of his eyes. But he was also hopeful—yearning for something he didn’t think he could have. 

“Talia, I don’t expect you to quit for me. I may dislike the thought of you with others, but I won’t make you give up your livelihood.” His tone was measured, yet she could tell it was hard to say. He wanted this as badly as she did. 

She rolled her eyes. “You know, for someone with such large ears, you certainly don’t listen. I want a change—you make me think that’s possible.” 

“Excuse me! My ears are not large. They are perfectly average for an elf, thank you.” 

She stuck her tongue out at him and he gave her a relaxed smile, the anger and insecurity finally fading from his face. 

“But seriously… if you want something different, you can find it. And I can deal with my irrational jealousy until you do.” 

As she looked at him, she felt something—a dangerous feeling she rarely allowed herself to have—fill her heart. She felt hope. Excitement for the future. 

“Promise you’ll wait for me?” Her voice broke, raw with emotion.  “Just until I find something new. I only want you, no matter how I make my money. I need you to know that. So promise me you’ll wait.” She was begging, gods she was pathetically begging. “Please.” 

He didn’t hesitate. He didn’t make her second guess. Instead, he looked her directly in the eye. 

“Yes, my love. I promise. I’ll wait. And I’ll keep spending your days off with you, even if I’m waiting years.” 

She didn’t know why she was crying, but she let out a broken sob. 

He didn’t say anything—he didn’t need to. Instead, he pulled her to his chest, offering her silent comfort as she laid in his arms. 

He promised. Gods, he promised. 

And for the very first time, she let herself believe it: this relationship, this crazy, intoxicating love? It was real. 

And it could be so much more, if she found the bravery to change the only job she’d ever known. 

They could be a couple. A couple who committed themselves to being together, to doing little everyday things, to cuddling and laughing and running mundane errands. She could come home to him at night after a day at a perfectly average job, and they could make love until she was sore and exhausted. He’d have to stay in during the day, but that would hardly be an issue—she was used to the dark, anyway. 

Hells, it was perfect. 

It was perfect, he was perfect, and she clutched him tighter. One day soon, this could be an everyday occurrence. It would be an everyday occurrence. 

He was hers, and she was his. They were here, and they were real.

And as her sobs turned to silence, she smiled faintly into his chest. She’d found it. She’d found what she was searching for when she left the Underdark. 

In the arms of a man who was as flawed and as beautiful as she was, she had finally found a home.

Notes:

the temptation to let these two fuck their feelings away instead of having a conversation is always strong. alas, I thought that it was probably necessary for them to finally discuss things.

thanks for reading, and thanks for all the love you wonderful people have left on this fic <3